"Yes, but if he's not—"

  "Who's to say what makes a father?" Malcolm was keenly aware of his own son, though he didn't let his gaze shift in Colin's direction. "He raised you. He loves you."

  "I feel like a fraud."

  "You're yourself, Sandy. You'll always be, no matter what facts you uncover. A loyal friend. A devoted lover to Bet. A thoughtful son to your parents."

  "I can't help but wonder—I can't possibly ask my mother. I don't think I could in any case, but after what's happened to Matt I know for a certainty I can't add to her strain. But—did you wonder? Who your real father was? Before you knew about O'Roarke for a certainty?"

  "Sometimes. And then I'd tell myself it didn't matter."

  "Did you really believe that?"

  Again, he tried to force himself to honesty. "It matters that it's O'Roarke. But that's because I already had a relationship with him. He already was my father to all intents and purposes. If it had been someone I'd never met or barely knew, who'd never taken an interest in me—I'd be curious, I think. It's human nature to be. But I'm not sure it would really matter."

  Sandy nodded. "I wish I could do the same. I'm not sure I can. I want to tell Bet."

  "I think you should."

  "Really? You don't think it's a betrayal of my mother?"

  Malcolm glanced at Bet. She had Jessica and Drusilla in her lap and was bent over them, laughing. "I think your secret—your mother's secret—would be safer with Bet than with anyone."

  Sandy looked at Bet as well, and gave a sudden grin. "I think you're right."

  Chapter 16

  "Have I mentioned that you're wonderful friends?" Laura said. "Truly, it couldn't have been lovelier. I'm sorry I ever said anything about not wanting a wedding celebration."

  Mélanie smiled at her friend. Evening shadows filled the Berkeley Square library. The leafy plane trees were dark smudges in the square garden, fading into the darkening sky. The wedding breakfast guests were long since gone. So were Laura's family, Manon and Crispin and their children, Paul and Juliette and their children, Allie, Geoff, and Claudia, and Rupert, Bertrand, Gabrielle, Nick, and Stephen, who had stayed on for dinner. Malcolm and Mélanie, Laura and Raoul, and the two Davenport couples were gathered in the library over whisky and tea while the children played at the far end.

  Raoul had an odd smile on his face. He had been smiling all day, which was unlike him, unlike even the much-changed man he had become. "Moments like this should be shared with people one cares about. It's good to be reminded of that." He hesitated a moment. "And it was good, beyond words, to share it with all of you." He moved to Laura's side and put a hand on her shoulder.

  Laura turned her head and pressed her lips against his fingers.

  "I'm glad Lord Weston came to the wedding," Mélanie said. "It was good to see him looking happy."

  "Yes." Raoul smiled. "He told me he's taking Lady Darlington driving tomorrow. From a man with Weston's reticence, that's practically a declaration." He drew Laura's hand up to his lips. "And I'll own my own happiness makes me particular happy to have had any role in helping someone else reach for theirs."

  "It's good to savor victories," Archie said. "We've actually had quite a few lately."

  Emily came running up from the midst of the children's game. "Am I Colin's aunt?" She looked from Laura to Raoul and then at Mélanie and Malcolm. "Or his sister? Or his cousin?"

  Laura and Raoul looked at each other and then exchanged glances with Malcolm and Mélanie. "What an excellent question," Raoul said. "Sometimes we're different things to the same person."

  "I think you can decide what you want to be to Colin," Malcolm said.

  "Maybe not the same thing all the time," Mélanie added.

  "You can talk to Colin about it too," Laura said.

  Emily considered. "I think I'll just be his aunt when I need him to do what I want."

  "That sounds like an excellent plan," Malcolm said.

  Emily nodded and ran back to the other children, where she appeared to be informing Colin of her newfound authority.

  "Well done," Archie murmured.

  "I'd swear you all had that planned," Cordelia said.

  "Making it up as we go along." Laura gave a rueful smile.

  "I think you handled it admirably." Frances shifted Philip, who was nursing. Despite her words, there was a faint line between her brows. She had been rather quiet all evening, Mélanie realized. Mélanie had put it down to Frances's not wanting to take center stage from Raoul and Laura, but now she wondered if there was more to it.

  "Fanny?" Raoul dropped down on the arm of the sofa, still holding Laura's hand. "Is something wrong?"

  "How could anything be wrong today?" Philip had fallen asleep in her arms. She shifted him to Archie and took Francesca from her husband. "But I had a rather odd conversation with Amelia Carfax. I hesitated to bring it up today, but I don't know that I can hesitate any longer."

  "We're neither of us under any illusions that our wedding stops the other intrigues we're in the midst of," Laura said.

  Frances looked down at the baby in her arms and drew a breath. "It concerns Alistair," she said. And then went on to tell them.

  Mélanie felt tension shoot through Malcolm's arm, which was wrapped round her shoulders. "Good God," he said.

  "It's certainly a surprise," Mélanie said.

  "Yes," Malcolm said. "But in some ways, not as much as it might have been. Only this afternoon, Sandy told me he's come to suspect Marchmain isn't his biological father. Apparently he overheard his parents talking after Matt's exile."

  "Does he suspect Alistair Rannoch is his father?" Cordelia asked.

  "I'm quite sure he doesn't. He told me because he knows Alistair isn't my father. That Raoul is. He—wanted to know how long I'd known. And how I felt about it." He looked at Raoul. "I told him it was easier because you've always been my father in so many ways."

  "At least we can stop wondering if Sandy had a role in the intriguing around his getting the junior secretaryship," Laura said.

  "It definitely offers an explanation of whom Lady Marchmain gave the Craanford information to," Raoul said.

  "So that's why the League want Sandy to have the junior secretaryship?" Cordelia asked.

  "Out of loyalty to Alistair?" Archie frowned. "It's possible. I wouldn't say the League are driven by friendship much of the time, but Alistair does have a number of League members who are still loyal to him. They may have simply wanted to put his son in an advantageous position. Or perhaps they thought they could tell Sandy the truth at some point and that it would give them a hold over him or ensure his loyalty."

  "If Lady Marchmain told Cresswell about Anne Darlington's letters, she may still be actively connected to the League," Laura suggested. "Perhaps they did it as a favor to her. Perhaps in response to something else they wanted her to do."

  "Interesting thought," Raoul said. "If she's the source of the Craanford information, she does seem to have been very enterprising as an agent."

  "And her elder son went to work for the League," Archie said. "Perhaps not as unwittingly as we thought."

  "All of which suggests we may be in the midst of something that isn't yet resolved," Malcolm said, "however well we've managed to extricate Weston and Lady Darlington." He took a sip of whisky. "Alistair is a Scottish form of Alexander. Not that that should have told us anything. Both are common enough names. But Lady Marchmain seems to have wanted to link Sandy to Alistair in some way." He frowned across the room. "Given the life Alistair lived, I shouldn't be surprised he sired children. Very likely there are more I don't know about. I suppose I've always known that, but since Alistair wasn't my father—" He shook his head.

  "Children aren't responsible for their parents," Raoul said in a quiet voice. "You certainly aren't responsible for Alistair."

  "No, I never thought I was. But now I know—" Malcolm stared at the glass-fronted bookcase.

  "It's difficult to keep it to yourself." Harry, as usual, didn't shy from putting difficult choices into words.

  "You've said you're glad you know," Raoul said in a quiet voice.

  Malcolm met his father's gaze. "Of course I am. But I found out my father was someone I knew. Someone I care about. Loved. Who had actually been a father to me. And I already knew Alistair wasn't my father. If my biological father had been someone I'd never met, I'm not sure how much the truth would have mattered to me. I said that to Sandy earlier today, in fact."

  "I don't think it would matter to me," Harry said. "I had little enough relationship with my own biological father. At least, I assume he was my biological father."

  "He was," Archie said. "You look like him. For that matter, you look like me."

  "And I'm rather glad you're my uncle by blood. But if I suddenly found out someone else had fathered me, at this point, I don't think I'd care very much. It doesn't change who I am."

  "I had a strained enough relationship with my own father," Raoul said. Malcolm looked at him in surprise. So did Mélanie. Raoul almost never talked about his parents. "I've maintained my whole life that birth doesn't define one. I still maintain it. But it would have meant—it would still mean—something to me to learn he wasn't my father. It would have been even more dramatic when I was Sandy's age. I'm not sure, to be honest, whether it would have made my life better or worse."

  "Gisèle wanted to know," Mélanie said.

  Malcolm turned his glass in his hand. "So she did."

  "And she seems to have handled it quite well," Raoul said. "At least on the surface."

  "She always knew Alistair wasn't her father," Frances said.

  Malcolm looked at her.

  "No," she said, "I didn't know about Sandy. I didn't know about Lady Marchmain and Alistair. As Amelia said, Alistair might have been particularly determined to keep the truth from me. As to how Sandy may react—I'd say it probably has to do with how he feels about his father. That is, Lord Marchmain."

  "He's fond of him in a rather distant way, I think," Malcolm said. "But hearing Alistair sired him or not hearing it doesn't change the fact that Marchmain isn't his biological father." He took another drink of whisky. "He was obviously wondering about it today. And he needs to be put on his guard against the League. I need to tell him."

  Frances looked up at Malcolm. They were alone in the library as she settled Francesca in her basket. Everyone else had moved into the hall. "You've never asked me," she said.

  "No," Malcolm agreed. "I never felt I had any right to. I still don't."

  Frances folded her arms over her chest. "My children haven't asked either. Which is rather surprising."

  "Perhaps it means they're comfortable with who they are." Malcolm touched her shoulder.

  "You have to have wondered."

  "What was between Alistair and you is your business. And Alistair's, I suppose, when he was alive."

  "And you wonder if I'm sure myself?" She raised a brow. "It's true in some cases it's a close enough thing I can't be completely sure. But I'm fairly sure he was Aline's father. And Chloe's."

  Malcolm was silent for a moment. "I had wondered. Allie has his eyes. Though it rather proves Raoul's point about none of us being defined by our birth. Allie and Chloe are both extraordinarily nice people."

  "Yes, far more so than their mother."

  "I was about to say they have their mother's innate kindness."

  "Don't talk twaddle, my dear."

  He was silent for a moment. "Edgar—"

  "Yes, they're Edgar's half-sisters. As well as his cousins."

  "And Sandy Trenor's half-sisters as well."

  "That's why I told you." Frances tucked the blanket about her infant daughter. "Too many secrets are tumbling into the open."

  Laura unfastened the pearl necklace her father had given her, centuries ago, it seemed. Before she'd married Jack. Before she'd known Raoul. "I must say, there are unexpected advantages to being with child at one's wedding. If you think about it, it's rather barbaric to have a party for one’s nearest friends and relations and basically announce one is going to spend the night with someone for the first time. Talk about a lack of privacy. At least we didn't even have to attempt to keep up a pretense that that was the case."

  Raoul laughed. "An excellent point. Not to mention that we avoided quite a bit of well-meant and thoroughly tiresome teasing."

  "Precisely." She aligned the pearls in their box, then looked up and met his gaze. "We really did it," she said.

  Raoul was watching her, an odd smile on his face. "Yes."

  Laura unfastened her blue topaz earrings, the earrings he had sent to her in the early days, when the bond between them had been based on one night together and understated words murmured in the Berkeley Square garden while the children played. That and an unstated sense of kinship during mental and emotional chess games in her cell in Newgate. "I'm so grateful for everything Mélanie and Cordy did to make the wedding lovely, but I meant what I said to them. I'm so glad we had a real wedding. It meant more to me than I thought it would."

  He went to her side and took her hands in his own. "To me as well. I said I wanted to make a commitment in front of our friends and family. But I didn't quite realize what it would mean. What it means that we've got to where we are now."

  "An improbable fairy tale."

  "It's far more real than a fairy tale." His gaze went serious. "I don't want to let you down, Laura."

  "You won't. You wouldn't have, whether or not we'd been married." She studied him for a moment. She knew his features so well now, but she still couldn't quite get used to the fact that she woke up seeing his face every day. Well, every day that they weren't separated by a variety of exigencies. "You never seem to wonder if I'll let you down."

  He kissed her nose. "That's because I know you won't."

  "My past record is at least as checkered as yours."

  He lifted the loosened hair off the side of her face. "Nothing you could do could change how I feel about you."

  "Then why do you refuse to see that I feel the same about you?"

  He tucked her hair behind her ear. "Perhaps because I find it so remarkable that you love me at all."

  "Well, if we're going to talk about remarkable—" She reached up and took his face between her hands. "It may not be a conventional wedding night, but it seems rather a shame to simply go to sleep."

  "Sharing a bed with no one to look askance at us seems rather remarkable in and of itself."

  "So it does. But a wedding night deserves more." She drew his head down and kissed him. "We've been very inventive for eight months. I'm sure we can continue to be creative."

  He returned her kiss and drew her closer. "You know I can't resist a challenge."

  Chapter 17

  Sandy stared at Malcolm. "So we're—"

  "Friends. As you already know, Alistair wasn't my father."

  "No, of course not. I'm not thinking."

  "I'd be proud to have you for a brother, Sandy."

  "He wasn't a very nice person, was he? Alistair Rannoch. My—father."

  "No. I'm a bit biased because we never got on, but he certainly wasn't kind. And you needn't call him your father if you don't wish to. He didn't raise you. Lord Marchmain did."

  "If it comes to that, a passel of nurses and governesses and tutors did most of the work. But Pater—Marchmain—was very decent to me, despite his suspicions. Christ, do you think he knows? About Alistair Rannoch?"

  "I don't know. It's not—"

  "Unusual in my parents' set. Our parents' set. Yes, I know that. Just never thought until a few weeks ago that I—"

  Bet, who was sitting beside Sandy on the sofa in his sitting room, slid her hand into Sandy's own. "I love you, Sandy. You're you."

  Sandy smiled down at her, like a man seeing his way through a fog. Then he looked back at Malcolm. "So this Elsinore League. Alistair Rannoch started it?"

  "With others. But it was largely his. Yes."

  "It makes me feel responsible."

  "He didn't make himself responsible for you. And even if he'd raised you, his sins aren't on your head."

  "No, but I can't but feel—you're trying to bring them down."

  "To check them, at least."

  "I want to help. Look, Rannoch, I know I'm not a spy, but there must be something I can do."

  It was very like what Malcolm's brother-in-law Andrew had said to him four months ago when Gisèle had decided to stay undercover. "There's plenty for all of us to do," Malcolm said.

  "Including me," Bet said.

  "That's good of you," Malcolm said.

  "We're not saying it to be good." Sandy regarded him for a moment. "How much does my mother know?"

  Malcolm returned his young friend's gaze. "I don't know."

  "But she gave Alistair Rannoch information twenty years ago?"

  "She seems to have done. If she was in love with him, that could account for it."

  "Matt worked for them."

  "For Lord Beverston. We didn't think he knew about the League."

  "Didn't."

  "This does complicate things," Malcolm admitted.

  Sandy gave him a look that was somehow at once vulnerable and hardened with growing adulthood. "It doesn't change my wanting to help. I won't tell her. I don't expect you to believe me—"

  "I trust you, Sandy. More than I trust most people. But it's hard for any of us to know what we'd do in all situations. I can't even be certain about myself."

  "Fair enough. Control what information you give me. But let me help."

  "So we have more allies," Mélanie said.

  Malcolm nodded. They were on one of the black metal benches in the Berkeley Square garden, beneath the shade of a plane tree, watching the children enjoy a game of tag while Berowne dozed in the sun. "Sandy has a good head on his shoulders. I hate that he's in the middle of this, but I think he actually can be of help. As can Bet. And it's not a bad thing for Sandy to come to terms with the world's complexities. For him or for Bet."

 

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