genius, industry, intemperance, everything he was, everything that made him what he was. He was her Byron, and she his devoted muse. Come what may, nothing would ever change that.
D azed and sick at heart, Mary Ann returned to the parlor and sank down upon the sofa. For more than twenty-five years, a vast ocean and a thick tangle of lies had separated her from her husbandâs wife, but now Adelaide had come to Baltimore. Lightheaded, Mary Ann felt heat rising in her cheeks even as her hands grew icy cold. She clasped them together in her lap, but that did not cease their trembling.
She was unaware Junius had followed her until he sat beside her on the sofa. âMy son Richard has come to America too, and has been here more than a year,â he said.
âWhy did he come?â
âPerhaps because he hadnât seen his father in ten years, not since my last visit to England.â
âOf course. Forgive meâa foolish question.â How old would Richard be nowâtwenty-seven? Twenty-eight? A man grown, surely curious about his long-absent, famous father, and determined to forge the neglected bond that should have been his birthright.
âHe may have come becauseââ Junius hesitated. âThe truth is, I havenât sent Adelaide any money in quite some time. I suspect she sent Richard here to confirm that Iâm still working, still earning.â
âOh, Juniusââ Mary Ann left it there. It would accomplish nothing to scold him for neglecting Adelaideâs payments. The damage was done.
When Richard arrived in America, Junius told her, he had been stunned by a new acquaintanceâs accusation that he could not possibly be the legitimate son of the great tragedian Junius Brutus Booth, for everyone knew that the celebrated tragedian had a beautiful wife and a thriving brood of children in Maryland. Aghast, Richard had settled in Baltimore, where he had quickly discovered his fatherâs secret and had written to his mother urging her to come to America and prove his legitimacy. Adelaide had been in the city five months, watching the house on Exeter Street, gathering evidence, doing nothing to distract Junius from earning money until she could confront him.
âWith the manager looking on and the entire cast and crew listening at the keyhole, I could not deny her charges,â Junius said. âNevertheless, I ordered her to return to London. She refused, and she declared that she would not leave America until it was proven in court that she is my true wife and Richard my legitimate son, entitled to all the rights thereof. I could not suffer her another moment, and as I stormed off, she shrilled after me that I should expect to hear from her attorney.â
âWeâll have to tell the children.â Mary Ann rose, wringing her hands, dreading what must come next. âThey must hear it from us, not on the streets.â
June was away on tour, but Rosalie was in her bedchamber and the four youngest were playing outside. Mary Ann knew she would never forget the childrenâs stunned, pained, bewildered expressions when she and Junius gathered them together and told them, as gently as they could, that their parents were not married, that another woman was their fatherâs wife, and that she had come to demand what she felt he owed her.
Asiaâs eyes narrowed as she absorbed the news, and Mary Ann could see her shrewd mind at work. âYou married that other lady and had a son,â she queried her father, âand then five years later you eloped with Mother?â
âIt was closer to six years,â said Junius, as if each word were an effort, âbut yes, daughter, that is so.â
Asia frowned. âSo
her
six years mean everything, and Motherâs twenty-six years with you mean nothing?â
âAccording to the law, yes.â
Asia tossed her head to show exactly what she thought of the law.
Soon thereafter,
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