Chapter 14

Ash,

You'll not get an ounce of sympathy or the benefit of my much-needed advice until you confess all.

WHO IS SHE???

Don't play the innocent, my darling twin. I know you better than I know myself.

Spill the beans, you great oaf, and maybe then I'll see what I can do.

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

11th March 1850, Isleworth, London.

Hart looked out of the carriage window as the early morning light painted the sky over London in shades from peach through to soft pink and shocking magenta. The streets here were familiar to him, and yet they seemed changed since the last time he'd been here. Everything seemed different, but he could not put his finger on what had changed or why. As he glanced at the beautiful, if dishevelled young woman asleep opposite him, an odd sensation rose in his chest and his heart gave an uneven thud. The desire to protect her, to keep her with him always so he knew she was safe, was so overpowering it took him by surprise.

When Alex had told him Lord Malmsey frightened her, that she might be in danger, it had made him sick with terror and now… now Hart's emotions were all on end, something fierce and possessive rising inside him every time he looked at her. He wanted her more than he cared to admit, even to himself, but he had known desire before, and it was more than that. The powerful need to make her his tangled up with other feelings that had his guts all in a knot. That Malmsey had the power to take her away, could force her to marry him, for he had her father's consent, made Hart want to do violence, preferably to Lord Malmsey. But these new and too powerful emotions were disturbing, and he was not at all certain he liked feeling so… so… whatever it was. Tearing his gaze from Fidelia, he returned his attention to the passing scenery and smothered a yawn that made his jaw crack. Hart rubbed irritably at the stubble on his chin. Lord, he needed a wash and a shave and something to eat.

It had been an interminable journey. Though they'd had the good fortune to catch the train to town by the skin of their teeth, it had been a second-class carriage and Hart had hated the indignity of it on Fidelia's behalf. Though he had often spoken scathingly of the upper classes, there was no denying Fidelia was a lady and ought to be treated as such. He glanced at her now, sleeping with her head on her brother's shoulder and his heart did another odd little thud behind his ribs. Beautiful. Something like pain settled in his chest as he gazed at her. She was pale, her heavy blonde hair escaping its pins and her lovely face shadowed with exhaustion. Yet she had uttered not one word of complaint for the entire journey. Nor had she asked where he was taking her. She said she trusted him, not only with her own life but that of her brother and her son. Suddenly he was responsible for the three of them and the enormity of that sat on his shoulders with a weight that threatened to sink him.

"Where are we going, sir?" Alex asked, and Hart looked back at the boy to see him staring blearily out of the window, having just woken up.

"Here," Hart said as the carriage finally rolled to a stop.

He had previously intended to take her to Gillmont, but that had been when she had faced the future alone. He was not about to let her do that now, so this seemed the obvious solution for the present.

Alex looked surprised, and Hart wondered what the lad saw coming from a place like Hardacre Hall. To Hart's eye, the three storey, handsome red brick townhouse was a place that would always make his heart lift. It was a sanctuary from a world that had been terrifying to a small boy of six. Life behind the painted green door of the house on Church Street had opened his eyes to another life, one filled with love and laughter and safety, where he was tucked into a warm bed at night with stories and kisses, and never with an empty belly.

"Fidelia, love, wake up now," he said, reaching for her hand. She sighed, her slender fingers closing around his. It was devilish hard not to raise them to his lips, to kiss each one and make promises he hadn't a hope of keeping.

Her eyes opened and Hart felt the oddest sensation behind his ribs as those crystalline blue eyes settled upon his, filled with warmth and admiration. Gratitude, he reminded himself sternly. She was grateful to him for what he'd done for her, that was all. There was no point in getting excited about it, no matter if she fancied it was more than that. She had been through so much these past years, it was no wonder she thought herself in love with the first fellow who offered her a little kindness. She'd realise the difference soon enough. Once she had her son back.

Hart reached for her bonnet and settled it in place, tying the ribbons under her chin as she did not yet seem awake enough to manage it herself.

"Where are we?" she asked, blinking hazily at him.

For a moment Hart fought the desire to lean in and press a kiss to that lush mouth, to give her words that it would be more than foolish to speak, but he was no fool. Hart never spoke without thinking, if he spoke at all, and this seemed an excellent moment to hold his tongue before he went making a twit of himself.

"My parents' house," he said shortly, climbing out of the carriage and reaching back to take her hand.

He saw the appalled look on her face and sighed.

"It's all right," he assured her.

"How can it be all right?" she demanded, shrinking back against the seat. "They'll be furious with me. Oh, Hart, take us away from here at once before we create an even bigger scandal than we have. What were you thinking?"

"Get out of the carriage, Fidelia." Hart sighed. "I'm too tired to argue with you."

"Well, that's tough, because I'm not going inside that door under any…eek! Oh, put me down, you big oaf! Oh, what will people say now, you dreadful—"

"Morning, Mother," Hart said as the door opened, and his mother looked out to discover what the commotion was on her front step.

"Good morning, darling boy," his mother said, apparently unfazed by the lady slung over his shoulder as he carried her inside. "I take it this is Lady Fidelia? And it seems you have been in a fight, too. How fascinating."

Hart hesitated for a moment, gazing down at the diminutive figure of his mother, who was staring at him with a look of amused resignation.

"How the devil…?" he began with a growl, only to shake his head. "Never mind. Yes, it is, and her brother Lord Alex."

Fidelia's voice was a little muffled but nonetheless incensed. "Hartley De Beauvoir, if you don't put me down this instant…"

His mother closed the door once Alex was inside. She turned to look at them as Hart set Fidelia gently on her feet. Upright once more, Fidelia smacked his chest in frustration, glaring at him, before turning to face his mother. Cheeks flushed with mortification, she put up her chin all the same.

"Mrs De Beauvoir," she began, her voice quavering a little. "I promise you if I'd had the slightest idea this was where your son was taking us, I should never have allowed him to do so."

"I suppose it's a good job he didn't tell you, then," his mother said frankly, for which Hart could have kissed her. "Now, if you've all stopped being very foolish, you'd best come into the breakfast parlour. I needn't ask if you are hungry, Hart. You always are and, if you're in as much trouble as I suspect, you'll need your strength. Come along, all of you."

Hart gestured for Fidelia to precede him, gaining a look of pure fury as she swept past him.

"Don't worry, she always takes a pet when she's embarrassed," Alex said confidentially. "It doesn't last."

Hart accepted this piece of advice with equanimity and followed Alex into the breakfast parlour, pausing as his father's sharp eyes looked up from the plate of eggs and bacon he'd been enjoying and settled upon him.

"Hartley," he said, his tone impossible to read. "You look dreadful, and it seems we have guests," he added dryly as he got to his feet.

"I couldn't warn you," Hart replied, feeling a little defensive. "It was all a bit last minute."

"Elopements usually are," his mother said wryly, giving him a sharp look that made Hart's cheeks feel hot, rather to his mortification.

"Oh, it's not an elopement," Fidelia said quickly. "We're not… that is… I'm not… I mean to say—"

"Fidelia, for heaven's sake, sit down so everyone else can," Hart suggested.

Fidelia shot him a look that suggested retribution in the near future but did as he instructed.

"Hartley, how likely is it that the Duke of Beresford will break my door down at some point over the next few days?" his father asked mildly as he returned his attention to his breakfast.

Hart cleared his throat, but Alex got in before he could speak.

"Not very likely, Mr De Beauvoir," he said politely. "Our father will probably wash his hands of us. He cannot abide scandal to attach to the family name, you see, and what with the fight at the inn last night, with Malmsey shouting his head off and my brother brandishing a sword, and—"

Hart groaned inwardly as his father's head came up, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, a sword fight?" his mother said, looking positively gleeful. "Goodness, it does sound like you've had an exciting time."

"I don't like exciting times," his father replied grimly. "I don't like scandal sheets and print shop caricatures, either. I won't be subjected to any of those things, will I, Hartley?"

"Er…" Hart began, rubbing the back of his neck.

Before he could stop her, Fidelia sprang to her feet again, meaning he and his father and Alex all had to do likewise. "I'm afraid there is going to be the most ghastly scandal, but it's all my fault," Fidelia said, bravely meeting his father's eyes. "It's nothing in the least to do with your son, Mr De Beauvoir, for despite being occasionally pig-headed, and foolish enough to bring me here, he is the kindest and most honourable man in the entire world, and he rescued me from a fate which I cannot think of without terror. Truly, sir, I beg you, don't be angry with him, for it was all—"

"Hush, child," his father said, his rather austere face softening in the light of her obvious distress. "I know my son better than you think and I don't doubt he did the right thing, drat him. Now do sit down and have some breakfast. My wife believes powerful emotions ought not be expressed on an empty stomach and I must agree with her."

Mollified by this gentle reproof, Fidelia did as he told her and accepted a cup of tea before his mother loaded all their plates with more food than any of them could possibly eat in one sitting.

It took his mother little time to encourage Alex to tell her the whole story, which the lad did with gusto, relishing the descriptions of the fight, and especially of Richmond brandishing his broadsword. He made Hart sound like some gallant knight of old, much to his discomfort.

"Well, we shall certainly be the centre of attention for a time," his mother said with a sigh. "But I cannot see how you could have done otherwise, Hartley. I'm very proud of you. We both are," she added, for his father was not looking entirely pleased.

Hart could hardly blame him. Though he had been a wonderful and loving parent, all his father really wanted was to work peacefully in his laboratory and have his wife all to himself. Anything that interfered with those desires was never greeted with enthusiasm.

"I'm so sorry," Fidelia said.

Hart noticed she had eaten little of the breakfast his mother had given her and frowned.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he said fiercely, discovering too late he sounded cross when he'd not meant to. "Eat your breakfast, you've hardly touched a bite."

"I've a good deal to be sorry for," she said, glaring at him, but he heard the uncertainty behind the sharp words, saw the way her eyes glittered too brightly and reached for her hand.

"No, you don't!" he said crossly, before modifying his voice, this time to something softer. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"How can you say that?" she demanded, her voice quavering with emotion. "I've ruined my own life and n-now I've ruined yours too!" she exclaimed, tugging her hand free of his before bursting into tears and running from the room.

Hart stood, intending to go after her but his mother stopped him. "Leave her to me, Hartley. She's had a trying time, and she's overwrought."

Hart scowled, but reluctantly sat back down again.

His mother paused before she left the room, turning back to him with a curious look in her eyes.

"Has she ruined your life, Hart? For she's certainly ruined your chances of finishing the garden at Hardacre. You may never get another chance like that one."

"I know that," Hart said tersely before he let out a breath and replied in a milder voice. "No, Mother. She couldn't ruin anything if she tried."

His mother smiled and gave a satisfied nod. "I thought not."

"Women," Alex said, shaking his head. "Whatever was that about?"

"Have another sausage. You've a few years before you need to figure out the complexities of the female race," his father said dryly, gesturing for Alex to help himself. "I'd make the most of it."

"Thank you, sir," Alex replied with a grin, tucking in with renewed appetite.

Hart poured himself another cup of coffee, uncomfortably aware of his father's scrutiny.

"Come to my study if you would, Hartley," he said, getting to his feet.

Grimacing, Hart swallowed his coffee and followed his father out of the parlour, closing the door behind him.

Inigo De Beauvoir was a tall man with severe and rather hawk-like features. Hart had always felt rather awed by the brilliance of his father's mind. Intelligence shone from his narrowed eyes as he studied Hart with interest.

"You've a marriage licence, I suppose?" he asked casually.

Hart nodded. "I got it a few days ago. Figured I'd need it," he said with equal nonchalance, though the admission made his heart thud.

"She's a duke's daughter," Inigo said, regarding him with concern. "There's marrying above yourself and then there's—"

"I know it," Hart said quickly. "But she's got no choice, not now, and better me than that bastard Malmsey."

"Malmsey is a vile creature, I agree, but it seems to me there is more to this story than you're telling us."

"It's not my place—" Hart began defensively.

"You've brought the woman into our home, Hart, we're about to be embroiled in a God-awful scandal, and you intend to marry her. I think we've a right to know the complete story. All of it."

Hart glared at his father, jaw set.

"I'll ask Lady Fidelia, then," Inigo said with a shrug, heading for the door.

"Wait! No," Hart protested, and then gave a sigh. "Fine. I'll tell you. I just don't want her embarrassed. The thing is… when she had her come out, some… some bastard took advantage of her. The usual story, promises of love and a happy ever after. He hoped to force the duke into allowing the marriage, even though he must have known her father would never submit to blackmail."

"Ah," his father said, his expression one of pity. "There's a child."

Hart nodded. "Her father took it from her within minutes of the birth. It nearly destroyed her," he said, shocked to hear the catch in his voice as he spoke.

"She looks strong enough now," Inigo replied with a smile.

"I promised to help her, to find her son. It's given her hope, something to live for. She's grateful to me," Hart replied with a shrug.

His father studied him with the intensity he usually reserved for scientific anomalies but said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he said. "Speak with your lady and make your plans, but if you want my advice, make sure you listen to her. Don't assume you know best. Don't bollocks it up."

Rather surprised by this endorsement, for it was one, Hart smiled at his father. "Thank you, sir."

"Hmph," Inigo replied. "Don't thank me. You will bollocks it up. It's inevitable, but hopefully she'll forgive you for long enough to get it right in the end."

Hart frowned and opened his mouth to speak but his father just made a shooing gesture. "Go away and make your own mistakes. I made mine and I'm the better for it. I don't see why I should save you from yours."

"Suit yourself," Hart replied, rather bewildered, but knowing he'd get no more out of his enigmatic sire if he didn't wish to explain himself.

Hart left the room and found his mother coming down the stairs towards him.

"She's quite all right," his mother said with a smile. "She told me about Ambrose. The poor darling thought I'd wish to throw her out again. What a wretched time she's had. You will make her happy, won't you, my dear? She's head over ears for you, I think, and I like her very much. I think she's perfect for you."

Hart snorted at that, unable to hold in the sceptical sound.

"What?"

"The poor girl is just grateful to me for saving her from marrying Malmsey and helping her find her son, and as for the making her happy, I'll do my best, but she's the Duke of Beresford's daughter, Ma, and I was born in the workhouse."

"What of it?" Minerva demanded. "Your father was also from the workhouse, and Lady Helena and Gabe have been happily married for years."

"Yes, because she fell in love with him and went after him with determination. Gabe didn't stand a chance. Neither did my father," Hart said impatiently. "This is different. It's a practical arrangement, not a love match. She has to marry me. She's got no choice. Not now, after everything that's happened."

"Oh, Hartley," she said, shaking her head. "Of course she has a choice."

"Yes, the one she's taking at the moment—refusing to marry me and courting disaster for her and her son," Hart said, frustration rising inside him. "Honestly, what the devil does she think she's going to do with no money and an illegitimate child on her hands? She's never had to fend for herself a day in her life. If I don't marry her, she'll end up in desperate straits and that's a fact."

"I shouldn't make that part of your marriage proposal unless you want things thrown at you," his mother said coolly.

"Why not? It's true!" he retorted.

Minerva gave him a hard look, and Hart glowered, folding his arms. "I'm no good at hearts and flowers, Ma. You know that."

His mother sighed and laid a hand on his arm. She spoke quietly, her expression soft as she gazed up at him with such fondness in her eyes Hart couldn't look at her. "I know you have a big heart, and that you care deeply about people. The moment you began writing to me about her, I knew you were done for. It was so obvious you cared for her, cared what happened to her, that you wanted to save her. You're in love with her and no," she said firmly as Hart opened his mouth, "there's no point in denying it. Not to me. Don't hide your feelings, Hart. I know that's your instinct. It always has been. You've always struggled to admit you care about anyone, but you must. Show her the truth, Hart. Show her you want to marry her and you're not acting out of pity. If not, she'll always feel as if she's ruined your life and that she's a burden to you."

"She's not," Hart said fiercely, shaking his head. "She never could be."

"Then make sure she knows that," Minerva said. "You know, you are more like your father than you realise, and I know it makes you feel vulnerable, putting your heart on the line like that, but if you do, you might discover that she feels the same way."

Hart shook his head. "No, she—"

"Hart," his mother said sternly. "Don't decide for her, and don't go putting words in her mouth and thinking a woman like that could not have such feelings for you. She'd be lucky to have you and don't you forget it."

Hart rubbed the back of his neck, finding it hard to believe a woman who ought to have married a marquess or some such title could ever consider herself lucky to have married him instead. Not that he thought any marquess was better than him, but he knew how most women thought and, if the choice was between him and a title, he knew well enough which they'd choose.