Chapter 15

Dearest Fidelia,

Is everything all right? It's been several days since I last heard from you.

Selfishly, I miss our correspondence, though it is very bad of me when you probably have far more interesting things to attend to.

As for myself, I am thoroughly blue devilled, and I don't know why. Perhaps it is just the lack of correspondence, for even my feline friend has not written this week. I cannot seem to settle to my embroidery, which I usually find so absorbing and I have no patience for company. I am irritable and out of sorts. I wish someone would do something dreadful so I could get cross with them and get it out of my system, but everyone insists on being thoroughly charming and delightful. It's most inconsiderate.

―Excerpt of a letter from the Hon'ble Miss Violetta Spencer (cousin and adopted daughter to The Right Hon'ble Kitty and Luke Baxter, Countess and Earl of Trevick) to Lady Fidelia Ponsonby.

11th March 1850, Isleworth, London.

"I'll do my best, but she's the Duke of Beresford's daughter, Ma, and I was born in the workhouse."

Fidelia frowned as she opened the bedroom door a crack upon hearing Hart raise his voice. She had not known that, and her heart immediately went out to him, imagining him as a little boy in such a place. Though she knew not how he had come to be adopted, she could only thank Mr and Mrs De Beauvoir with all her heart for having done so.

Fidelia turned her attention back to the conversation, for they were talking about her. Hart was determined to sacrifice his future, all his hopes and dreams, and resign himself to marrying her, as he felt was his duty. How good and kind and honourable he was, she thought despondently.

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

"Yes, because she fell in love with him and went after him with determination. Gabe didn't stand a chance. Neither did my father. 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."

Fidelia swallowed hard, not that it was news to her. She knew Hart didn't love her. Why on earth should he? She had caused him nothing but trouble and, if she agreed to marry him, would bring nothing to the arrangement but herself and a child that wasn't even his, not to mention her brother. Why should he welcome such an irksome and expensive responsibility? He had never wanted to marry, never wanted children, and yet he was proposing to throw away his own happiness to keep her safe.

"Oh, Hartley. Of course she has a choice." Mrs De Beauvoir sounded impatient and rather sad.

"Yes, the one she's taking at the moment—refusing to marry me, and courting disaster for herself and her son. 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 sharply.

"Why not? It's true!" There was a taut silence before Hart added, "I'm no good at hearts and flowers, Ma. You know that."

Fidelia closed the door, her spirits sinking. Oh, what had she done? For he was right, of course, and now with the cold light of day blazing through the window, she had no choice but to face the truth. As she had left so precipitously, she hadn't had time to prepare. All her jewellery, the pin money she had saved, not to mention her belongings, were all still at Hardacre. She had nothing but the clothes she stood up in if her father cut her out, and she did not doubt that he would. The Duke of Beresford had a vindictive streak a mile wide and was utterly ruthless. She had defied him, not only spoiling his plans but bringing down the kind of scandal upon him that he would have done murder to avoid. He might forgive Alex in time, but if not, she must provide for him too and she very much doubted she could. She might make a living by selling her paintings with Hart's help, but she hadn't the least idea how much money that would make or how much she would need. Not enough to provide for the son of a duke in the style he ought to expect, that was for sure.

Fidelia had prepared her entire life to run a vast household of servants and be of service to her husband through her connections and the entertainments she organised. That she could do with her eyes closed, but she could not cook, she had never had to clean or wash clothes, and she had never been a mother for all she had given birth to a child. She was as helpless as a babe herself in this world she had chosen to live in, and Hart spoke only the truth.

She needed him, needed the protection of his name and a father for her son, but if it had been only that, she would have refused his offer. Fidelia might have been selfish, but she was honest enough to admit the truth to herself. She wanted him so badly it hurt and the idea of marrying him was so close to a dream come true she could not bring herself to say no to him. Though he would likely come to resent her, she would marry him because she could not bear to be parted from him. The realisation was a lowering one and made her feel no better about herself. Lord, but he must be vexed by her.

There was a sharp knock on the door before it opened, and suddenly he was standing there before her. Fidelia's breath caught as his broad frame filled the doorway, her heart leaping with the desire to go to him, to bury her face in his chest and hold on tight and beg him never to let her go. Instead, she stayed where she was, rigid with misery, standing beside the window that looked down upon a neat garden.

For a moment he just studied her, his blue eyes resting on hers for so long she blushed and turned away, afraid he could guess what she had been thinking. Perhaps he had guessed she had been listening in.

"This was my room," he remarked, looking away from her to regard the space with interest. "She's not changed it," he added, sounding surprised as he took in the stacks of books about plants and horticulture. There were botanical prints stuck to the walls, as well as some comical cartoons from various scandal sheets that Fidelia had deduced must have been aimed at him and his friends.

He closed the door, and she sensed his mood change, finding him strangely hesitant. She wondered if he wished he could just bolt, leaving her and her troubles far behind him. She could not blame him for it.

"Your mother is lovely," Fidelia said, needing to say something to make him look more at ease. The poor man. Proposing to a woman you had no desire to marry could not be a pleasant task, especially when she'd already rejected him once, fool that she was. "She's been so very kind."

"She is kind. I thought she was an angel when I was a lad. I'd no idea anyone could be so kind and gentle as her. I… I'm adopted, you see," he said, the words rather bald, a slightly defiant look in his eyes.

"Then you were lucky, and I'm so glad such a wonderful family took in you."

He frowned at her. "You don't mind? I was born in the workhouse, Fidelia. I'm about as lowborn as it's possible to get. I've no idea who my parents were, but I doubt they were married."

Fidelia laughed, incredulous despite knowing he was in earnest. "You think I'd care about that? Of all people? Oh, Hart, if I am blessed enough to find my son and he grows up to be anything like as good and honourable as you, I shall consider myself the most fortunate of women."

Some of the tension left his shoulders, and he crossed the room, holding out his hands to her. Fidelia took them, regarding her much smaller, paler hands against his, large and work roughened, tanned by a life spent out of doors. His knuckles were grazed and rather swollen from the fight with Richmond and Lord Malmsey. They were powerful hands, capable of knocking down an enemy or of tending to the tiniest of seedling with the utmost care. Strong as they were, Fidelia knew Hart would never raise them towards her in anger or hurt her. Of that, she was entirely certain.

His gaze settled on her, and she stared up into eyes of intense blue, her heart aching with longing. "I'm sorry for it, but you've got to marry me, love. You know that, don't you?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she lowered her gaze. Damn him for being so wonderful, so desperately kind. Fidelia nodded, not looking at him. "I know it, though I am sorry for it too, Hart, for bringing you so much trouble and responsibility. I know it's not what you wanted."

He was silent for a moment before he said carefully, "Things change."

Fidelia could not help but smile, looking up at him again, so serious and trying so hard to make her feel wanted when he'd told her in no uncertain terms this was the last thing he desired.

"They do," she replied with a nod. She was not about to make this any harder for him when they were both trapped. "And I shall do everything in my power to be a good wife to you, Hart. I give you my word, and I shan't nag or scold you if you spend all your days at work. I shan't interfere, I promise, but I shall make you a comfortable home to return to, a place where you may be at ease. I promise you that. I will make myself useful to you, so you never have cause to regret being so kind to me."

He gave her a look she could not read, but one that did not seem entirely pleased. His thick eyebrows drew together as he studied her face. "Is it enough, Fidelia? I'm no duke or marquess, but I've money enough to keep you in style. I'll buy a house for us, anywhere you wish. Mayfair, if that's what you want, but… but you must be prepared for the fact people might not—"

"Oh, Hart, I've absolutely no desire to live in Mayfair," she said in frustration. "Have you learned nothing about me? I don't give a farthing for society, though I admit being cut in the street would be mortifying. But I was miserable the entire time when I came out. If I'd not been, I probably wouldn't have made such a desperate mistake, for I'm not usually such a fool, but I was out of place and out of my depth. I have no desire to make myself ridiculous by trying to fit into a world that was never mine to begin with."

His expression relaxed somewhat, a look of relief in his eyes. "Well, that's good, then," he said cautiously. "There's a fine house near to my business, in Chelsea. I've never considered it for myself but… but it's a handsome place with a bit of land, enough to make a wonderful garden, and if you think you'd prefer something quieter…"

"I would," she said firmly. "And if it is close to your work, and it pleases you, it sounds perfect."

"You don't want to see it first?"

Fidelia shook her head. "If you like it and it's convenient for you, then it's what I would like best."

Hart gave her a doubtful glance but nodded. "As you wish, then."

He was still holding her hands and Fidelia was terribly aware of it, his touch sending little sparks simmering beneath her skin. She wished he might feel something of the sort, that he might want her as much as she did him, but he only stared down at their clasped hands, a slight frown on his face.

"Are you certain you can find my son?"

The question seemed to snap him out of whatever reverie he'd fallen into, and he nodded.

"Yes, I do. As soon as we are married, we'll find him, love. I promise you that."

Fidelia let out a breath. She needed nothing more from him. If Hart promised something, he expected to deliver it. He would not say such a thing when he knew how important it was to her. "Thank you so much, Hart. I… I don't know what I would have done if you—"

He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "Don't say it," he said, his voice firm. "I cannot bear to think of that. I am here, and soon your son will be too. We'll… We'll be a family."

Fidelia's throat grew tight. "But you don't want a family, Hart, you never—"

Once again, he silenced her. "Hush, love. I said a lot of things, but the more time I spend with you, the more you make me question the things I have always thought were not for me. The idea of being a father to your son is rather terrifying, but I think I can handle it. I certainly don't dislike the idea, I promise you that."

"You are the dearest, most wonderful man. You do know that?"

He made an indistinct sound that suggested incredulity and Fidelia would have pressed the point, but she knew he was uneasy with such declarations, so she held her tongue.

"What now?" she asked, uncomfortable with the silence that was growing strained.

"We'll be married this afternoon if possible. I've already arranged it, but I expected to have a few more days. It ought not be a problem to bring the date forward, though. I'm going to the church now to sort it out."

"This afternoon," Fidelia repeated faintly, an explosion of nerves making her stomach flutter as if it were filled with winged creatures looking for escape.

"I'm sorry to rush you," he said diffidently. "But if your father or Malmsey comes looking for you—"

"No, no, I don't mind. I d-don't mind at all," she added with a smile, blushing a little as she glanced up at him.

He looked down at her, holding her gaze, studying her face so intensely she felt he was trying to read her mind. She swallowed, refusing to act the coy maiden, and did not look away, though her cheeks blazed hotter with each second that passed. Slowly, let go of her hands, putting his on her waist, pulling her closer. Fidelia's breath hitched.

"Fidelia," he said softly. "You wanted me once. Do you think…?"

"Yes!" she said in a rush, reaching up and pulling his head down to hers, pressing her lips against his so forcefully he made a startled sound of surprise.

Hart pulled back, regarding her with interest, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "I'm glad to hear it."

Fidelia bit her lip, trying to force the mortifying question she needed to ask from her lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkening in a way that gave her courage enough to speak it. "And y-you, Hart. Do you—?"

He pulled her close, his mouth firming over hers before she could finish. The part of her that had always felt unworthy and out of place insisted he kissed her because he did not wish to tell her a lie and was merely evading an answer. Hadn't he told her before that he didn't want her? Why would he say such a thing when it was not true, when he had always been so kind to her, and he must know the words would hurt? Yet he had also told her she was the one woman who had tempted him to consider a life of marriage and children, and the way he was holding her now made her want to believe it.

Fidelia closed her eyes, lost in a kiss that made her bones feel insubstantial. Everything inside her seemed molten, liquid fire sliding through her veins. She could not get close enough, though she pressed herself wantonly against him, feeling the proud jut of his arousal against her. The hard evidence of his desire for her was a balm to her pride, for surely he could not be indifferent to her if his body reacted so.

She gasped as his mouth left hers, trailing ardent kisses along her jaw and down her neck as his hands moved restlessly over her. His palm cupped the soft swell of her breast, and a quiet moan escaped her lips. Hart gazed down at her, his thumb moving back and forth over the fabric that covered her nipple. He stared at her, his expression unreadable but when he spoke his voice was deeper than usual, husky with desire.

"Like that, do you?"

Fidelia stared back at him, too embarrassed to speak but she nodded.

"I want to put my mouth on you here," he said, the words so shocking to her Fidelia thought she might burst into flame. "Would you like that too?"

Swallowing, Fidelia gave another taut nod, determined not to act like a ninny when he knew she was no blushing virgin. Yet her experiences of physical love had been disappointing, rushed and furtive, not to mention uncomfortable and downright painful. But she had been a na?ve fool with no more notion of men and their desires than what she had read in romance novels. Not so now, and she knew what she felt for Hart was entirely different from the insubstantial desires she had known before.

He smiled at her response, a wicked curve of his lips that made her heart leap. "I'm glad, for I've every intention of kissing every inch of you."

Fidelia gasped, blinking up at him. "Ev—" she began in astonishment.

Hart pressed a finger to her lips. "Every. Inch," he repeated firmly. "Don't go thinking I'm sacrificing myself at your altar, love. If you think I don't want you, you really are a fool."

She smiled then, such a broad, delighted smile that Hart laughed softly.

"You silly goose, you did think so, I suppose?"

"I was afraid you were just being kind. Honourable," she added sheepishly.

He snorted and took her hand, pressing it against the rigid shape behind the fastenings on his trousers. "I'm sorry to disillusion you, my lady, but I'm just not that nice."

Fidelia's breath hitched, her full attention riveted upon the feel of him, the blatant masculinity and proof of his desire for her. An intense feeling swept over her then, the realisation that she had power too. She could stir this strong, capable man to passion. A fierce, possessive heat blazed to light inside her and she steeled her nerve, undoing the buttons at his fly and sliding her hand beneath the fabric. As her grip closed around his naked flesh, he sucked in a startled breath that only made her confidence grow. Intrigued, Fidelia moved her hand, stroking him, beguiled by the satiny feel of him beneath her fingers and daring to glance up and see the results of her experimentation.

The look in his eyes made her heart skitter about behind her ribs like a spring lamb. Good lord, he looked like he might devour her in one bite. How wonderful.

He pulled her back into his arms, kissing her so hard and deep she let out a squeak of surprise as he crushed the breath from her. Rather delighted and deciding the reaction was exactly what she had hoped for, she firmed her grasp on him, eliciting a deep growl that made her pulse leap. Hart broke the kiss, lowering his forehead to hers and resting it there, his eyes closed as she stroked him.

"Like that, do you?" she asked breathlessly, repeating his words to her. Fidelia wondered how she dared tease him at such a moment but felt emboldened by the way his breathing had become somewhat ragged. One eye cracked open and his lips quirked with amusement.

"Little devil," he murmured, ducking his head and nipping at her ear. "I suppose you think you're funny?"

"Perhaps I am funny," she countered, running her thumb over the silky head of his arousal and finding it slick beneath her touch.

Hart groaned and shook his head. "You'd best stop that, love," he ground out, sounding deliciously breathless as his hands tightened on her. "We're in my parents' house, you might remember."

"Oh!" Suddenly mortified by her wickedness, Fidelia let go of him and would have stepped away, but he held her fast.

"Don't look so appalled," he said, a thread of laughter in his voice. "I'm glad to know you want me, that you want to touch me, for I want you too. I want you something fierce, love. Don't ever feel embarrassed for wanting me, or for showing it, for it pleases me to see your desire. I like it when you're bold. Do you understand?"

Fidelia gave a jerky nod, wondering if she had ever been so embarrassed in her entire life, yet his words made her want to be braver, bolder for him, if it pleased him for her to show her desire. "I d-do want you, Hart."

"Not such a bad basis for a marriage, then," he said with a quirk of his lips she did not entirely like, for there was something wry and self-deprecating in the expression which bothered her. "But I'd better go now before I do something outrageous and shock you into changing your mind. Best get a ring on your finger first," he added, that slightly mocking note still clear.

Before Fidelia could question him and ask him what exactly he meant by that, he kissed her once, so hard and passionately any sensible thought melted like candle wax and then, he was gone.