Chapter 11

My Lord Alex,

I hope this letter finds you well. I believe you know I was obliged to return to town to find a piece of statuary that was missing from the last delivery that arrived. I have not yet been able to track it down but hope to do so shortly.

With luck, I shall return to Hardacre within the next few days. I hope you will have completed the drawings we spoke of by then.

With regards to you and your sister.

―Excerpt of a letter to the Lord Rufus Alexander Ponsonby from Mr Hartley De Beauvoir (adopted son of Mr and Mrs Inigo and Minerva De Beauvoir).

5th March 1850, Old Mother Red Cap Tavern, Camden Town, London.

Hart woke with a start and sat up on the hard bed. A mistake on his part, as his head throbbed, and his bones ached from a night spent on a mattress that appeared to have been stuffed with rocks. Finding information about the night in question and the mysterious woman had not been easy. Though the patrons of the many, many establishments he had visited in his quest had been happy to talk—with the right inducements—they did not always have anything relevant to add. Of course, they did not like drinking alone either, and so Hart had been obliged to keep pace with them, hence the pain in his head.

Still, he knew more now that he had, though the information sat uneasily in his guts. Regretfully, he had to accept the fact his discovery might stir up a world of trouble, yet he could not leave Fidelia alone or the garden at Hardacre unattended any longer. He must return and tell Fidelia everything he had discovered. She would be worried sick at not having heard from him by now. He had sent a letter to Alex, hoping the information would be passed onto Fidelia and that she would understand what it was he'd been trying to convey to her. Subterfuge was not Hart's strong point.

Muttering under his breath and cursing the gut rot served in the tavern he was inhabiting, Hart saw to his ablutions, dressed as neatly as he could in the circumstances, and made his way downstairs.

The Old Mother Red Cap tavern was an ancient one, reputed to have once been the home of a witch who had done away with several husbands. Hart thought it unlikely in the extreme. For one thing, some stories said she'd been found dead before the fireplace after inviting the devil into her home, and another said she was hanged alongside her husband at Tyburn for murdering a young woman. Either way, it was a rather grim place, and Hart could not wait to leave it.

As it was the supposed reason for his absence, Hart went first to his place of business to add several pieces of statuary to the original order, something he had planned to do in any case. On arrival there, he greeted his manager, who handed him a letter.

"This arrived for you this morning, sir."

Hart glanced at the letter, noting the feminine handwriting that belonged neither to his sister nor his mother. The desire to open it at once was compelling, but he tucked it away until his business was concluded and sought the sanctuary of his office in which to open it.

As he had suspected, the letter was from Fidelia, but the contents were not at all what he'd expected. They made his blood run cold.

Dearest Hart,

I beg you will forgive me for troubling you with this, but I do not know who else to turn to. I pray that by now you have found my son and have taken him to the safe haven you spoke of, for I must join him at once and leave this place.

This morning Lord Malmsey arrived at Hardacre in company with my despicable brother, Richmond. He is, I am informed, to be my husband. I am left with no say in the decision. Malmsey is nigh on penniless, and my dowry is sufficient that any doubts that might arise over either my mental state, my health, or my virtue will be overlooked. The duke informs me this is my last chance. Either I marry or he will disown me and cease paying for any income he provides for me.

Once I would have doubted he would carry through such a threat, but since Ambrose was born, I am damaged goods in the duke's eyes and have little value. Any plans to reintroduce me to society have been forgotten, and it appears I have Richmond to thank for this. I cannot credit it, but my father seems to have confided in him and told all. So, my darling brother Richmond came up with the scheme to save his friend and deal with the problem of what to do with me, a scheme which suits them all admirably. They don't give a damn for my opinion—which I promise you I have given in no uncertain terms. I cannot, will not, marry such a man.

Lord Malmsey is a vain peacock and a mean-spirited, vile creature who I know for a fact beats and mistreats his dogs, his horses, and his servants. I have no reason to believe his wife would fare any better, likely worse. My father has decided we will be wed before the end of the month, here at Hardacre. I am a prisoner, Hart, but I must escape and be reunited with my son. I know I am putting you in an impossible situation, but I beg that you will help me. I give you my word I shall never ask you for anything ever again, nor by word or deed betray your part in my escape.

Hart stared at the piece of paper in his hand in horror. Surely not. He must have misread, misinterpreted…

With a sick sensation growing in his gut, he reread the letter, dismayed to discover no chink of light, no possibility that Fidelia was overwrought and reading too much into a situation she had misunderstood. Fidelia was no fool and there was no chance the duke had been anything but blunt in his explanation of what he expected of her. Unless Hart intervened, by the end of the month, Fidelia would be Lady Malmsey.

His guts, already in a knot, churned at the idea, a cold sensation of dread settling in his chest, squatting in the vicinity of his heart like a fat toad.

No.

No matter if it cost him the garden at Hardacre, no matter if he walked away from it thousands in debt and with his reputation in tatters, no matter the price, he could not leave Fidelia to such a fate. He would never forgive himself.

That didn't mean he had to like it.

Hart walked to the window of his office. It looked out over the extensive grounds of his empire, over dozens of greenhouses, the fabulous orchid house, and miles of nursery beds. His business was going from strength to strength, and financially he could bear any loss incurred by walking away from Hardacre. The loss of his dream, however, his ambitions to cement his reputation so securely no one could ever take it from him, that was another thing. He had wanted to make the name his own, to have people speak it in years to come and remark that he was the one who had created such beautiful and innovative gardens. If nothing else, Hart was a realist, and never shied away from the truth, no matter how hard to swallow it might be, and if he did this, he must say goodbye to that dream. There would be a scandal, and none of the grand houses in the country would wish to be associated with him once that scandal broke.

His decision made, there was no reason to linger. Hart strode to the door and walked out. It was time he returned to Hardacre.

Fidelia sat in the window seat in her bedroom, staring out at landscape beyond the glass. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to allow herself to sink into melancholy, to believe there was no hope, no chance for escape and no glimmer of happiness to be found in the world, but she refused to give in. Every time despair threatened to overwhelm her, she remembered Hart, the deep tenor of his voice, the warmth and strength of his arms, and the soft touch of his lips upon hers. He had promised to see her and Ambrose safe and with everything they needed. Hart had given his word and Fidelia knew he was not a man who would ever renege on such a promise. She had believed promises before—foolish, flimsy things with no more substance than gossamer—but Hart's promises were of a different variety, build on firm foundations of decency and honesty and as strong as oak. He would not let her down, despite the fears that had arisen from the letter he had sent to Alex, and which she had understood meant something entirely different from the words written on the page.

Why had her son not been at the foundling home? Had he been adopted? By whom? A loving family who treated him kindly or…? Terrible images paraded through her mind and Fidelia forced herself to stop. There was nothing to be gained by tormenting herself. She must be patient a little longer, then Hart would come for her and all would be well. It did not stop her from feeling sick to her stomach.

The door to her bedroom flew open and Fidelia leapt to her feet in alarm, gasping as Alex burst in. He closed the door and leaned heavily against it. His eyes were glittering too brightly, his chest heaving, and a thin trickle of blood ran from his lip.

"Alex!" Fidelia exclaimed, running to him.

The boy's lips trembled, but he struggled manfully against tears, putting up his chin.

"I told him," he said proudly, though his voice trembled.

"Told him what?" Fidelia asked in alarm, needing no explanation that ‘he' referred to their father.

"That forcing you to marry that despicable brute of a man was pure wickedness and dishonourable too, and that I wouldn't let him do it."

"Oh, Alex," Fidelia said in wonder, astonished and deeply touched that her little brother would stand up for her when he was so afraid of their father. "Oh, love. You brave, foolish boy."

"He… He said…" Alex went on, and now she saw his face was white and he held himself stiffly, his fists clenched at his sides. "He said you were lucky any man wanted to marry you, Lia. He s-said you're damaged goods, that you've got a bastard son, but… but that can't be true, can it?"

The last words of enquiry were those of a child, asking for something they knew they could not have but wanted all the same and Fidelia's heart broke.

Facing him with regret, wondering if she was to lose her brother now too, she met his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I'm afraid it's true."

Alex stared at her, shaking his head. "But it can't be. Where is the child? If… If you had a son I would know, and…"

Fidelia moved forward, taking his hands in hers. "Father sent me away as soon as he realised and made me stay away until after the birth. He took my son from me the moment he was born, and then he sent me home and expected me to carry on as if nothing had happened," Fidelia said, hating the duke for doing this to Alex, even as the confession lifted a little of the burden from her soul.

She saw the information sink in, saw Alex fitting the pieces of the puzzle into place, all the things he had not understood before now making sense to him.

"That's why you were so unhappy. Because he broke your heart? Because you wanted your baby back?" he whispered.

Fidelia swallowed hard and nodded, wondering if she would see disgust in his eyes, if he would revile her and turn his back. She ought to have known better.

Alex threw his arms about her and clung on tight. "Oh, Lia, I'm so sorry. I… I wish you had told me. Why didn't you tell me?"

Fidelia felt a lump rise to her throat, tears burning her eyes. "I wanted to," she admitted. "I wanted to tell you and Narcissa so badly, but Father said he would punish you both if I spoke a word about it, and I knew it would be awful. I couldn't have you pay for my mistake, so I said nothing and… and I wasn't certain what you would think of me, whether you could forgive me for what I'd done."

Alex stared at her in reproachful astonishment. "Lia… How could you think that of me? You're my best friend in the world, and you've always protected me from Father. How could you think I wouldn't do the same for you in a heartbeat?"

"I'm s-sorry," Fidelia said, and finally her composure cracked, and she burst into tears.

"There, there," Alex said, taking his turn to comfort her now as he guided her to the bed and sat her down on the mattress. "It's all right."

"It isn't the least bit all right," Fidelia said, doing her utmost to calm herself. "You're bleeding for one thing," she added crossly, taking a clean handkerchief and applying it to the blood on his chin.

"Father backhanded me," Alex said, wincing as she dabbed at his split lip. "But it was worth it," he added, with more courage than she had credited him.

"You were very brave," she said, kissing his cheek and regarding him fondly.

"What now, Fidelia?" he asked, concern in his eyes. "You can't marry Malmsey. If he's a friend of Richmond's, he's obviously vile and I've heard stories about him, and—"

"I've no intention of doing so," Fidelia said crisply. "Mr De Beauvoir is even now looking for Ambrose. Your nephew," she added with a smile, as Alex looked perplexed.

"He knows?" Alex asked indignantly.

"He guessed," Fidelia said. "I don't know how, except that he seems to know things about me I hardly know myself. He's… He's very perceptive."

"You love him," Alex replied, proving Hart wasn't the only perspicacious male in her life.

She shrugged, her lips quirking. "That's neither here nor there, Alex, but he is a good man, and one who has promised to help me. I believe he can get me away from Hardacre and reunite me with my son, but… but then I shall be lost to you, Alex. The duke won't let you have anything to do with me after that, for I shall be disgraced. There will be the most appalling scandal."

"Not if Hartley marries you," Alex said, with all the na?ve assurance of a boy who has seen nothing of the world.

Even so, Fidelia's heart leapt at his words, and she was forced to scold herself severely and tell that ridiculous organ not to be so foolish.

"Now, why ever would he do such a thing?" Fidelia demanded of her brother. "Be reasonable, Alex. He doesn't love me, and he hardly knows me. This isn't a fairy story, he isn't a prince, and I am certainly no princess."

"But you're the daughter of a duke, and besides, I think he likes you. I've seen the way he looks at you," he added mutinously, folding his arms.

Despite the desire to demand to know exactly how Mr De Beauvoir looked at her, Fidelia stuck to the point. "I am the disgraced daughter of a duke with an illegitimate son. Mr De Beauvoir is a businessman with ambitions to make an illustrious name for himself. He's not fool enough to saddle himself with such a wife, no matter how kindly he thinks of me."

"Well, I think he'd be lucky to have you, baby or no," Alex said, scowling so furiously Fidelia could not help kissing his cheek again.

"Thank you, love. You've no idea what that means to me."

Alex returned a sheepish smile and leaned into her. "You will be all right, Lia?"

"I will," she promised, though she did not know if that was true.

"And no one can keep me from seeing you, either, not even the duke," he added, obstinate to the last.

Fidelia smiled, knowing all too well there were plenty of ways the duke could enforce such a decree, but holding her tongue. Alex had been through enough for one day.

"And," he said, his courage rising, "I'll help you get away from here and that disgusting devil Malmsey, too."

"What a fine young man you have become," Fidelia said admiringly. "I am so proud of you."

Alex blushed, but she saw the words sink in. He straightened, growing almost visibly taller. Hart had played his part in that burgeoning confidence, in setting an example of what a man could and should be. It was not difficult to see the difference between Hart and the duke, and Alex was no fool, young as he was. Perhaps the duke had centuries of breeding behind him, but it was clear to Fidelia which of the two men was worthy of the title ‘gentleman,' and she did not doubt that Alex could see it too.