Chapter 13

Dearest Viv,

I'm staying at Goshen Court for a while. Thought I ought to let you know. I need a bit of peace and quiet, though upon discovering Leo here, I rather doubt I shall get any.

I wonder if you know how I envy you your happiness, my dearest sister. I am tired. Tired of being the fellow the ladies love to flirt with and take to their beds, but never being quite good enough for anything else. I'm tired of seeing the look of horror in the eyes of those doting mamas or protective fathers, when they realise their little darlings might view me as a potential mate. It's not as though I'm in any rush to get married, for I'm not, only it is uncomfortable to realise that my choices may be limited if ever I decide to take the plunge.

I certainly don't wish to marry someone who is only looking for a title, though they'd be mad to marry me for the viscountcy. Our father looks as hale and hearty as a man half his age and I thank God that I won't be inheriting any time soon. Of course, his complete and utter disregard for the ton does me no more favours than my own behaviour. And yes, I know you warned me that my brawling would get me a reputation and so it has. Well done you for being right as usual.

How did you know August was the one for you? What was it about him that made you certain you had a future together? I find I am no longer able to trust my own judgement. Choosing the correct waistcoat is one thing, trying to decide if a woman has the potential to be one's wife, quite another. I'm out of my depth, Viv, and drowning by slow degrees.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Hon'ble Ashton Anson to his twin sister Mrs Vivien Lane–Fox. (children of The Right Hon'ble Silas and Aashini Anson, the Viscount and Viscountess Cavendish)

10th March 1850, Hardacre Hall, Hardacre, Derbyshire.

The village of Hardacre was a quiet one and Fidelia and her brother's arrival with Hart caused more than a little speculation. Fidelia realised then what Hart had known at once. There would be no keeping him out of the scandal. Everyone would know who had helped her run away from her home.

Still, Hart acted as though there was nothing out of the ordinary as he arranged for the hire of a carriage, and Fidelia could only feel glad that Alex was there to lend her countenance, as selfish as that was. She could not help but worry for her brother, wondering what on earth would become of Alex if their father disinherited him for playing a part in ruining his plans.

She had begun to hope they might get away without incident when shouts outside the coaching inn where Hart was paying for their travel made her heart skip. Fidelia immediately recognised the sharp, angry tones as those of Richmond, her elder brother. Alex recognised the enraged voice too and sidled closer to Hart. She didn't blame him. Richmond had always been a bully and had not improved with age, nor from the toll of a lifestyle that indulged all his vices to the full.

Fidelia gasped as he strode into the inn, shouting the odds as usual and pushing people out of the way as if he were some ancient feudal lord and they were nothing but chattel. He looked far older than his five and thirty years, dissipation showing on his rather bloated face. He'd been a fine figure of a man once, tall and muscular and as athletic as their father, but indulgence had turned much of that muscle to fat and his florid face was now red with fury.

"Fidelia, you little fool. How dare you make such a scene?"

"The only person making a scene here is you, Richmond," Fidelia replied, with as much calm as she could muster, horribly aware of the patrons of the inn turning their way with interest.

"Malmsey!" Richmond called. "Your errant fiancée is in here."

"Oh, lord," Alex muttered, exchanging a glance with Fidelia. "That's torn it."

Richmond crossed the room, glowering at her and Alex. "You'll regret making a fool of Malmsey," he muttered angrily, reaching for Fidelia's arm. Before his fingers could close around her wrist, his arm was yanked aside with such force, Richmond staggered. He righted himself and turned on Hart, who had interposed himself between them and their older brother.

"Who the bloody hell are you? Get out of my way."

"No," Hart replied, folding his arms.

Richmond was not used to being told no, and his expression was momentarily one of such incredulity that Fidelia almost laughed. The impulse for hilarity was short-lived, though, as Richmond's face became murderous, and he took a step closer to Hart.

"That woman is my sister, sir, and if you don't get out of the bloody way, I'll make you regret it."

"Go on, then," Hart said calmly, not moving an inch.

Fidelia could not have said exactly what happened next, except that one moment Richmond was throwing a punch at Hart and the next he was sprawled on the floor clutching at his nose while blood steadily from between his fingers.

"Oh, I say, what a corker!" Alex said, much diverted by this show of pugilistic talent. "Well done, sir!"

"Thank you," Hart said wryly, ushering them both past the prone figure of Richmond and out into the yard where the carriage was waiting. He had just given Fidelia his hand to help her up the steps when Alex gave a yelp of pain.

"Come here, you little shit," growled a furious voice as Fidelia gave a shriek of alarm.

"Alex!" she cried, horrified to see Malmsey had taken her brother by the throat and looked intent on squeezing the life out of him.

Hart didn't hesitate but delivered a punch to Malmsey's kidneys that made the colour drain from his face in an instant. He dropped Alex, who staggered away and ran to Fidelia. She gathered her little brother into an embrace and held on tight, too terrified by the way the two men were glaring at each other to speak any words of comfort.

"This is Lord Malmsey, I take it," Hart said, not taking his eyes from the fellow.

"I have that pleasure," Malmsey answered before Fidelia could do so. "Though you have the advantage of me, sir. You also have my fiancée, a state of affairs I cannot allow to continue."

Hart snorted. "She's no fiancée of yours, you miserable son of a bitch."

"Her father says different," Malmsey replied with an arrogant grin that showed too many teeth. "The duke is paying me to take her off his hands. He knows I'm the only man capable of managing a wilful little minx like that. I'll school her quick enough. She'll make me a proper wife in time, with the right management."

Fidelia smothered a sound of outrage, knowing well enough he was doing his utmost to goad Hart into losing his temper and acting without thinking.

Hart was only staring at him with such contempt in his eyes, Fidelia thought it would be Malmsey who cracked first, though.

"What you mean to say is, you'll beat her until she's too terrified to defy you, because that's the only way you know how to get what you want, isn't it, my lord?"

Malmsey's jaw tightened, his eyes glinting with malice. "She's mine, damn you. Now get out of my way before I show you what it means to take a beating."

Hart grinned at him, the expression one Fidelia could hardly credit had come from the man who had showed her such tenderness. He looked positively feral, and very much as if he was enjoying himself.

"Oh, my word," she murmured, seeing the crowd that had gathered around the two men and realising there were bets being laid.

"Go on, Hartley, flatten him!" Alex shouted with enthusiasm.

"Hush!" Fidelia begged him, wondering if there were any way on earth she could stop the fight before it began, but it was already too late.

The two men lunged at each other and hit the floor hard, the following sounds a series of muffled thuds and oaths as the crowd surged forward. Soon the noise was deafening as the onlookers shouted encouragement and advice. Hart got to his feet first, wiping his bloody mouth on his hand and waiting as Malmsey staggered upright. His lordship was covered in dust, his coat torn, and one eye was already swelling shut, but he was grim-faced and apparently ready for more.

Fidelia covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a scream as Hart took a vicious blow to the guts that she expected would double him up, but he only took a step back and delivered a right hook that sent Malmsey windmilling backwards into the crowd. The men there caught him and pushed him back into the space cleared for the fight. He lunged at Hart once more, who stepped to the side and delivered a punishing blow to Malmsey's ribs that made the fellow fall to his knees, retching onto the cobbles of the yard.

Hart looked down at him with contempt for a moment, waiting to see if he would get to his feet again when a disturbance behind him had Fidelia turning her attention.

"Hart, look out!" she cried, as her brother appeared suddenly in the crowd, wielding an ancient broadsword he must have taken from the wall of the inn.

"Christ," Hart muttered, ducking as the heavy sword swung wildly over his head, almost decapitating half the crowd. "Put that down before you hurt someone, you damned fool," Hart shouted at him, but Richmond was too incensed to listen.

"Oh, good lord," Fidelia muttered, watching in horror as the crowd shrieked and ran out of striking range while Richmond bore down on Hart. Looking wildly around, she searched for a weapon before noting the carriage driver. He was watching with his mouth open, his whip held curled in his hand. Without stopping to think, Fidelia leapt down from the carriage, snatched the whip from the man's hand before he had the wit to object, and struck out at Richmond.

Though she was certainly never going to gain membership to the four-horse club, Fidelia had a small gig she used to tool around the grounds of Hardacre in happier days. Though she was no expert, she knew how to wield a whip and strike where she wished to. Richmond howled with pain as the leather thong struck the back of his neck. Whirling around, he glared at Fidelia with murder in his eyes.

"You dare, you little bitch!" he seethed, so furious now he had totally forgotten the fact he was causing a dreadful scandal, and one which his father would not thank him for. Fidelia almost grinned as she considered the trouble Richmond would be in when her father discovered his part in this fiasco.

"I do dare, you great brute, and I shall do it again if you don't stop behaving like a drunken lout. You've always been a bully, Richmond, and we've all had enough. Put that sword down at once, you look utterly ridiculous," she added scornfully. "Who do you think you are, Edward Longshanks?"

"Who is this man, Fidelia?" Richmond demanded, still holding the sword aloft, though he was sweating, and his arms were trembling under the strain. "What is he to you?"

Fidelia regarded her brother with disgust. Lord, did the man have no sense of discretion or family honour? Their father would disembowel him when he heard of this. "That's none of your business, Richmond. Suffice to say he is a gentleman and willing to do the honourable thing and help Alex and I leave a home where we are held in contempt and treated as prisoners. Now do go away."

Richmond's expression darkened, and he let out a howl of rage. Still holding the sword aloft, he ran towards Fidelia. She gasped in horror. Before Richmond could take more than a step, however, Hart put out his foot, tripping her brother who landed face first in the dirt, the broadsword clattering over the cobbles with a ringing sound that made Fidelia wince. Thankfully, the landlord, who had been sweating with anxiety in case murder was done on his premises, snatched the sword up and hurried back inside with it. Richmond, humiliated as well as furious, scrambled to his feet and turned on Hart, who had clearly had enough. He struck Richmond with a blow that sent him to the ground like a felled tree and then stepped over him as her brother writhed on the ground, emitting sounds of misery and pain.

Malmsey looked no better, and Fidelia watched in satisfaction as he had to be helped to his feet and guided back into the inn. Then she turned to look at Hart. His expression was grim as he strode back to the carriage, and for a moment she felt a little daunted, but his eyes softened as he went to her, taking her by the shoulders.

"Are you all right??" he demanded.

"Perfectly all right," she replied crisply, before adding with a sigh. "Oh, Hartley, you were magnificent."

"You weren't too shabby yourself," he replied, his lips quirking. "You looked like Boudicca, wielding that damned whip and speaking to him like that."

"‘Who do you think you are, Edward Longshanks?'" Alex piped up, in a fair imitation of his sister.

Hart snorted and shook his head. "For the love of God, get in the carriage," he said with a sigh. "I think we've caused enough of a stir for one night."

Fidelia did as he asked, Alex following her inside. Hart climbed up next and closed the door and finally the carriage moved away. The light from the carriage lamp was not bright, but it was enough to see Hart's face was bruised and bloody.

"Oh, Hart," Fidelia said, producing a clean handkerchief and applying it to a cut on his cheek.

"Don't fuss," he grumbled, pushing her hand away. "I'm fine."

Fidelia sighed and sat back, knowing he would not allow her to look after him, not with Alex looking on with interest. "It's bad though, isn't it?" she asked, knowing he would understand she did not mean his injuries, which appeared to be superficial.

He nodded. "By morning, half the county will know you've run off with me."

"But Alex is with us," Fidelia protested.

Hart raised his eyebrows at her, and Fidelia swallowed. It wouldn't make any difference. "Well, I fully expected to be ruined, so it makes no odds," she said, trying to sound cheerful and matter of fact.

Hart said nothing, and she knew then what he was thinking. He would sacrifice himself and all his hopes and dreams to keep her safe. He didn't want a wife, but he'd marry her because he was decent to his marrow and believed it was the right thing to do.

"No," she said, shaking her head and glaring at him. "No, Hart. I won't have you give up everything for me. I've caused you enough trouble. Oh, and your garden, you've already lost so much, and I'm so sorry," she added, her voice trembling now as the enormity of what had transpired came home to her.

Hart was silent, but there was a look in his eyes that suggested she would have a battle on her hands.

"What?" Alex asked, glancing between them. "What is happening?"

"Nothing for the moment, but we've a way to go. You'd best get some rest," Hart said, before turning his attention to the darkened countryside outside the window.

Fidelia stared at him, wishing she had the slightest idea of what he was thinking. The dim light cast his face into shadow, showing the firm line of his jaw and that rather uncompromising nose. Lord, but he was handsome, and oh, how she adored him. The longing to move beside him and demand he take her in his arms made her chest feel tight, her skin aching with the desire for him to put his hands on her. Though it only made matters worse, she gazed upon his heavily muscled shoulders and broad chest encased in the clothes of a working man and wondered what it might be like to build a life with him. For a moment she allowed herself the dangerous fantasy of a home with her son and with Hartley De Beauvoir as her husband, as father to her child. What a father he would be, too. She could tell that from how he'd treated Alex, and simply by the inherent decency and kindness that shone from him.

Hart turned, catching her eye. He frowned. "What?" he demanded, uncomfortable under the weight of what she knew must be a look of besotted adoration.

"Nothing," she said with a wistful sigh. "Those seeds I've tended so carefully will all die now, though. I hope that's not an omen."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, with something that sounded very much like fond exasperation in his voice. "There will be plenty more opportunities to try your hand at growing things, I promise you."

Fidelia refused to allow herself to contemplate the temptation of what those words implied and turned her attention to the window. Staring out for a long moment, she steeled herself to ask the question she had not been brave enough to demand before. Not that she'd had the opportunity, either.

"Where is my son?" she asked, not looking at him for fear of what she might see in his eyes.

There was a brief hesitation before he answered. "I don't know."

Fidelia nodded, fighting the swell of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.

"I see."

"I don't know yet, Fidelia. I have information that ought to lead us to him."

She turned to look at him, her heart leaping. She knew Hart well enough to know he would not give her false hope. He would believe it was best to face the truth head on. He was that kind of man. So, he really believed there was still a chance.

He returned a gentle smile. "It seems the night your father took Ambrose to the foundling home, a young woman who did not work there met him on the doorstep. According to the man your father made the rendezvous with, she was a lady, and a beautiful one too."

"A lady?" Fidelia repeated in astonishment. "But who? And… why?"

Hart shrugged. "That I can't tell you, not yet. But the night was freezing, snow falling heavily. The woman was obliged to take lodgings nearby, but no one would house a single woman with a newborn baby in her arms."

"Oh," Fidelia said, unable to smother the sound of misery that escaped her.

"Someone did, though," he said quickly. "An old lady who lived next to the inn took pity on them and let them stay until the snow melted. She did not know where they went next, but she said she saw the lady in the street on the morning she left, speaking with a gentleman. It seems she went with him."

"What gentleman, where did she go?" Fidelia demanded, her head spinning.

"Do you trust me, Fidelia?" he asked her, his voice low, his indigo eyes intent upon her.

She let out a little breath of laughter, staring at him helplessly. "With my life, and that of my brother, and my child. Of course I trust you, my dearest Hart."

Something flickered in his eyes, but the carriage was too dark, and she could not read his expression. He reached over and took her hand, though, squeezing it gently as he spoke. "Then trust me when I tell you I shall find your son. I give you my word I'll bring him home to you, Fidelia, but I can tell you no more at present. Can you be satisfied with that?"

"No," she said in frustration before relenting and giving a reluctant sigh. "But I shall hold my tongue, for I believe in you, and I believe you would scour the earth to return my son to me if it were necessary."

"Good girl," he said approvingly, his voice warm.

If anyone else had said such words to her, she would have reared up with indignation. But Hart did not mean it in terms of condescension, it was only that he viewed her as an innocent in a world of wickedness. Considering everything she'd done and what that world would soon think of her, that touched her deeply.

"Now get some rest."

"Yes, Hartley," she said, wondering if he had the slightest idea of how desperately she loved him.