The Love Child

“Yes,” I replied, “he wants your fortune. He appears to be wealthy, but he has to keep up appearances and that requires a great deal of money. Yours will be useful.”

“This is so silly.”

“On your part, yes. On his, it is quite clever.”

“How you hate him. Is it because I love him?”

“No. It went back before that”

“Because he once liked you?”

“He doesn’t like anyone but himself, Carlotta. And he is so besottedly in love that no one else matters.”

“So you have seen him, and because you thought he would tell about Venice you thought you ought to tell me first.”

“Yes, that might be so.”

“You told him, when you were in Venice, that you were going to have me …”

“I did not tell him. I had no conversation with him … in Venice. I was dragged away from a masked ball. Fortunately Leigh was at hand and rescued me.”

“Then who told him?”

“He discovered somehow … I never knew how. He had people who worked for him perhaps.

I never found out.”

“And you hate him for knowing it?”

“Not for that… for other things.”

“Well, you will have to stop hating him because I am going to marry him.”

“No, Carlotta. It’s Impossible. You are too young for marriage. Good heavens, child, you’re not fifteen years old yet.”

“Many people have married at fifteen. Princesses … queens … always do. As for you, you may not have married, but it would have been more acceptable to society if you had been.”

“It’s a different case.”

“How? You loved my father. I love Beau.”

“He is so old.”

“So you think I want a silly boy?”

“He must be at least thirty years older than you are.”

“I don’t care if he is fifty years older. He is the most exciting person I have ever met, and I am going to marry him.”

“No, Carlotta, you are not. You cannot marry without your parents’ consent.”

“Considering I have only just discovered who my parent is that seems a poor argument to put forward. You have only just acknowledged your relationship.”

That hurt me. As if I had not wanted to claim her all these years!

“Carlotta, do understand. Everything I do is for your sake. You cannot marry this man”-I clutched at some respite-“yet.”

She responded at once. “How long would you expect us to wait?”

“Till you are sixteen.”

“It’s too long.”

“A year then,” I conceded. “Six months at least…”

She appeared to consider that.

Time, I thought. Time will help. As long as she does not rush into this there may be hope.

“All right,” she said, “perhaps we could wait for six months.”

I felt exhausted and desperately unhappy.

The very worst which I had feared had happened. But at least she knew now. That was like a burden lifted from my shoulders.

I went to Harriet and said: “I have told her. She knows now.”

Harriet nodded. “That is as well,” she said.

“And now, Harriet, I want to go back to Eversleigh. I don’t want another day here.”

She looked at me with that understanding which came to her at rare moments.

Then she said: “We will leave tomorrow.”

The next day we began our journey home. Carlotta looked sullen and scarcely spoke to me. At least, I thought, she will not see him for a while. Surely Harriet will not ask him to the Abbas, and I shall certainly see that he does not come to Eversleigh.

We arrived first at the Abbas, and I was hurt when Carlotta said she would stay there for a while and come over to Eversleigh later.

I went back alone.

I knew that I should have to tell my mother about Carlotta’s birth. The secret was out really, and I wanted her to hear it first from me.

She was a little concerned when I arrived. She said I did not look well. Had I had too many late nights? I told her how I had sprained my ankle and she insisted on calling Sally Nullens to look at it.

Sally prodded it and shook her head and said it was all that gadding about. But she could not really see anything wrong with it, and to satisfy her and my mother I promised to rest it every day.

My mother followed me into my bedroom and that gave me the opportunity I needed to be alone with her.

I began as I had with Carlotta. “I have something to tell you.”

She was all concern immediately. “What is it, my darling?”

The gentleness of her voice brought sudden tears to my eyes. I hastily blinked them away. I said: “I am afraid this is going to be a shock to you. I have hated keeping it from you but I was afraid to tell.”

She looked startled. “Surely you are not afraid to tell me anything?”

“I was only afraid of causing you pain.”

“My dearest, are you ill? Please tell me quickly. Can’t you see how you’re frightening me?”

“No, I’m not ill. It’s not that. Something happened to me long ago. I had a child.”

She stared at me incredulously.

“Carlotta is my daughter,” I said quickly; and I told of what had ensued on my night on the island with Jocelyn and of its aftermath.

“Oh, my dear, dear child,” she cried, “you should have come to me. I was the one who should have looked after you.”

“Harriet had this idea.”