Page 35 of The Mad Baron's Bride
“You ought to thank those who do for you, Ives, but do not say ‘bully,’” Betsey scolded. “You say ‘fine’ or ‘splendid.’”
“Or, if you must express yourself in mixed company, ‘cracking,’” Brancaster suggested.
Ives nodded, absorbing this instruction. His lordship’s interest apparently set him to a confiding turn of mind. “I needs to learn proper speech and manners,” he informed their guest, “because there’s a house I am to have, and a grand gent I’ll be, but only if I say my name is Toplady, and Miss Leda my mother.”
“Mrs. Toplady, and perhaps we should not speak of this,” Betsey said, shooting a swift, covert look at Leda.
Leda cut her sliced hare into tiny pieces and considered them while her stomach twisted and hissed. How much dare she confide in Brancaster? How safe was he?
“So Mrs. Wroth has adopted you.” Brancaster’s tone was even. He took a second tatty, much to Mrs. Blake’s delight, and inspected it. Then his eyes lifted to Leda’s.
“You know an adopted son cannot inherit property,” he said softly. “At least, not if it is entailed. I beg your pardon if the news is unwelcome.”
Was he taking her side? Leda couldn’t be sure. The purslane bit in her mouth.
“That is why I will say she is my mother to the world. Though this one,” and Ives patted Betsey’s hand with a fond look, “is the mother of my heart.”
Leda put down her fork, an awful thought visiting her for the first time. It was as if the usual paths of her logical mind were trapped with thornbushes and quicksand whenever she came to this subject. She had not thought anything through, not with her usual clarity. Perhaps shehadbeen a touch mad when she conceived this project.
“Do you mind it, Ives? It is a deceit we are asking of you. ThatIam asking of you.”
He was eight, and though Leda had not much experience with children, she recalled her own childhood self being righteously, almost religiously honest. She’d rebelled at falsehoods, even into adulthood. It was why she had fought so hard not to lie and say she wished to marry Bertram Toplady.
How ironic. She’s once been so pure, and now look at her.
Ives shared a look with his mother, then Mrs. Blake, that told Leda they’d discussed this topic, many times. “But the fancy gent was my father,” he said. “It is for fathers to provide for their sons.” Leda heard Betsey’s argument in his words.
“And,” the boy added, of his own invention, “then I can set up Mum and Mrs. Blake in the fine house, and they can be waited on, not serving, and I think that’d be a bully fine thing, don’t you?”
“What they deserve, I agree.” Leda picked up her own lark, determined to enjoy it. “And you’ve only a few more years to wait. Until you can hold your own against any argument.”
Ives frowned and turned to Betsey. “Will they still believe she’s my mother if she’s not Mrs. Toplady too?”
Leda’s stomach flopped in the most appalling fashion. She’d changed the name to escape, to be free, to have nothing of her old life following her. She would have to explain all of that to a judge and pray for sympathy.
“The magistrate will believe her, lad, with Mrs. Blake and myself as witnesses. Or the assize judge, if it comes to that.” Betsey calmly spooned rhubarb onto the boy’s plate with another serving of hare.
Brancaster cleared his throat. “Not to provide more unwelcome news, but an inheritance dispute might be taken to Chancery. If the current possessor of the property disputes the lad’s claim.”
Leda gazed at him in despair. She’d not thought ofthat, certainly.
She couldn’t afford a suit in Chancery. And what would happen to her little family here if Ives did not inherit? She’d never imagined his claim, backed by her word, would not be accepted.
Would they live out their lives here, if Toplady denied them? And where would Leda go?
Ives set his chin. “I’ll make it happen. For Mum. She deserves a fine house and those to do for her. She’s drave like a stone carver here, doing for me.”
Betsey’s cheeks reddened. “Nay, Ives. I was only quanked that day, worn out from the washing. You’re not to think I feel that way always.”
Brancaster turned to the boy at his elbow. “I have a daughter near your age. But you have two mothers, and she has none.”
Ives shook his head. “Now that’s a right shame. You ought to find her one.”
“He needs a housekeeper as well, for his big house.” Leda dabbed her lips, savoring the taste of the roast lard.
Ives’ eyes widened. “How big?”
“Have you seen the big house on St. Mary Street, behind St. Andrews Church, near Market Square?” Jack asked.
