Chapter 18

Dearest Violetta,

Another day has dawned as days are wont to do. For once, the sun is shining, spring is in the air and the birds are singing. I'm hoping for a nice juicy robin for my elevenses if you want the truth, but I know you will scold me for eating birds and so I cannot allow myself the pleasure.

I wonder what it would take to make you look upon me with approval. If I never caught another pretty little bird, perhaps? If I stopped making a tangle of your embroidery silks and left no dead mice to make you squeal. Would you return my regard then, I wonder?

Yours, ever,

―Excerpt of a letter to the Hon'ble Miss Violetta Spencer (cousin and adopted daughter to The Right Hon'ble Kitty and Luke Baxter, Countess and Earl of Trevick) from The Hon'ble Cat, Mau – Never sent.

12th March 1850, Goshen Court, Monmouthshire.

Leo glanced up at the large cat sitting on the corner of his desk. His great yellow eyes regarded him with something that looked very much like contempt.

"Don't sneer, Mau," Leo said irritably. "What the devil else am I to do? Don't answer that," he added quickly.

"You've lost your mind," came a sad voice from the doorway of the library. "I knew it would happen, eventually. Not that there was much of it to begin with."

"Ha-bloody-ha," Leo remarked, glaring at Ashton, who lounged ornamentally against the doorframe, looking far too suave for his own good. "I'll have you know Mau is a fine conversationalist and has a good deal more sense that you do."

Ashton snorted and pushed himself upright, prowling into the room with a look that usually spelled trouble for anyone who spoke to him in a way he decided he didn't like. Aware of this, and despite appearances to the contrary, Leo was not quite as reckless as most people believed. He had a healthy regard for Ashton's lethal right hook and was in no hurry to spar with him. Caution was required.

"On that point, we are in accord," Ash said darkly.

Leo sighed and put down his pen. "All right. I'll bite. What's the trouble?"

"Women," Ashton growled in disgust.

"I think what you mean to say is… woman," Leo replied carefully. "As in singular."

"Oh, she's very singular, I'll give you that," Ashton brooded, gazing down at the fire in the hearth. "She looks like a china doll: porcelain skin, eyes so wide and blue you'd think they were made of glass, tumbled golden curls. The picture of a perfect English rose," he added savagely.

"Christ," Leo said in disgust, despite knowing better than to rile his friend. "You don't mean the pocket Venus everyone is raving about? The duke's angel? The diamond? Not that pretty little ninny that has the male half of the ton in a fever. Surely not? She's hardly your type, besides you've got more sense than—"

Ash sent him a volcanic look that made Leo clear his throat.

"Ah," he said. "I see."

"No, you don't," Ash said gloomily. "It's all a front. She's not a ninny, not by a long chalk, and she's not half so sweet as she looks either. She"s… She's…" Ash threw up his hands before throwing himself into the nearest chair and putting his head in his hands. "Damn her to Hades," he muttered furiously.

"Oh, lord," Leo said, suddenly feeling a good deal of sympathy and fellow feeling for Ashton. "You need a drink."

Ashton looked up, his expression grim. "What I need is a one-way trip to Bedlam, it's where I belong, Leo. I mean, I ask you. Narcissa Ponsonby, of all women? That stuck-up little princess deserves to marry some ancient, moth-eaten duke, perhaps then she'll be satisfied. I need my head examined, Leo. Not that I'd have a head if I laid a finger on her, Beresford would see to that. He loathes me, obviously, not being quite the right colour for his taste." Ash let out a sigh. "I came here to get her out of my mind but it's not working. Lord, but I'm an idiot."

"It's not the most sensible thing you've ever done, and it's got some stiff competition," Leo said gravely, pouring them both a very large measure, although it was not yet midday. Some things were too painful to get through without the bolster of a good deal of intoxicating drink.

Leo had just handed the glasses over when there was a knock at the door and Pip's butler appeared. "The post has arrived, Mr Hunt, Mr Anson."

Leo leapt for it, searching through the pile as the butler discreetly disappeared. He found one letter from his sister and another from his mother, but not the one he was hoping for. He sighed morosely, picked up the remained letter and handed it to Ash.

"For you."

Ash stared at it with a frown before snatching it from Leo's hand and tearing it open. His expression changed as he read, moving through several emotions before it became carefully blank.

"Oh, the devil," Leo said in disgust. "It's from her, isn't it?"

Ash tucked the letter away in his pocket and said nothing, just downed his drink in one large swallow and headed to the door.

"Ash, where are you going?" Leo demanded, hurrying after him.

"I'm leaving," Ash said, not turning as he strode to the stairs.

"Why? What for? Oh, you great lunatic, you're going to do something ridiculous, aren't you?" Leo shouted after him.

Ash paused on the stairs, regarding Leo with an enigmatic smile. "Quite possibly," he said, and carried on his way.

12th March 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.

"Darling! Fidelia, love, wake up!"

Hart's chest was tight with fear, even though he knew Larkin was right and she had only swooned. Women swooned all the time, he told himself, except he had never experienced this. His mother and sister were more likely to swear like sailors and demand a stiff brandy if they were experiencing powerful emotions. Fidelia was a high-born lady, though, and she'd been through a great deal. It was quite normal in the circumstances. His brain refused to accept this as fact, however, until she sighed, opened her eyes, and gazed up at him. For a moment her expression was blank, then she made a choked sound and threw her arms about his neck, pressing her face against his shoulder and sobbing.

"Oh, H-Hart," she wept.

"What is it?" he asked in alarm. "You know this girl?"

Fidelia nodded, her gaze straying to Larkin, who looked just as stricken as she did. "His sister," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Hart needed no clarification as to whose sister she must have been. It seemed the girl had more backbone and honour than her blackguard of a brother.

"She was just a girl, Hart, only eighteen, and… and she must have ruined herself for the sake of my boy."

"If the boy is really your son," Larkin said stubbornly, apparently not yet ready to believe it. "Then that is precisely what she's done."

"She's still at Gillmont?" Hart asked, needing to clarify that much. Whilst he paid his contributions and wholeheartedly endorsed the work his friends did for the women's refuge, he took no active role in the place. Unlike Larkin, who virtually lived there despite their warnings that he should keep his distance.

Larkin nodded. "She practically runs the place."

"Right," Hart said, turning back to Fidelia. "Well, love? Are you up to going for a visit?"

Fidelia glared at him, the hint of steel he had always known she possessed glinting in her eyes. "Of course I'm up to it. I was only shocked for a moment, that's all. I never dreamed she would do such a brave and wonderful thing. You do not know the relief I feel, knowing he has been loved and cared for all this time. I have been so terribly afraid for him."

Hart smiled at her and squeezed her hand, helping her up. He adjusted her bonnet, which had gone askew when she'd fainted. "Let's go then, love."

The journey to Hampstead Heath was a quiet one. Fidelia kept wringing her hands, hardly able to sit still, such was her agitation. That was understandable, but Hart did not quite understand Larkin's pensive expression. He stared out of the window in moody silence, clearly brooding, but Hart was uncertain about what. It had obviously come as a shock to him that Elmira's son was not hers, but if she had done as they now believed, her silence was understandable. That her brother had let her do it, though… that Hart could hardly credit. He could not wait to get his hands on the bastard.

Hart could not help but worry about what would happen when they got to Gillmont. The idea that Fidelia might be hurt by what came next made him wild with the desire to make everything right for her, but there were some things he could not fix. Miss Hastings had sacrificed her name, her hopes of marriage and a good life, for the sake of her nephew. Would she welcome the child's mother into her life now or not?

Despite his growing apprehension, Hart looked on with approval as they passed through the trees that hid the house from the road, quiet as it was, and Gillmont appeared. The women who lived here tried to make themselves as self-sufficient as they could and there was a splendid kitchen garden, expertly tended. The gardens around the huge brick house were also lovely, and he recognised many varieties of plants and trees that he had donated himself to make the place beautiful, a peaceful refuge from the world. All the women here had stories to tell, and all deserved the tranquillity of Gillmont after the trials they had endured.

The carriage drew to a halt and Larkin jumped down. "Morning, George," he said to the slim figure that appeared out the front door of the house. "Is Elmira in?"

"Out back, she was hanging the washing out. Is anything amiss?"

Larkin didn't answer but hurried past George and around the side of the house. George watched him go before turning to Hart with a curious expression.

"George," Hart said with a nod, not about to explain. "If you'll excuse us."

George nodded, frowning as they hurried away after Larkin.

Hart took his wife's hand, and she clung to him as if her life depended on the connection. He could only imagine her feelings in this moment.

They turned the corner and found Larkin standing at the edge of lawn, watching. Hart halted beside him, about to ask what he was doing, when he heard a childish shriek of laughter. Half a dozen washing lines were strung across the lawn, all full of sheets and towels billowing in the breeze. A small boy ran between the wash, weaving in and out of the sheets and giggling madly as a woman pursued him.

"I'm going to get you," she called. "I'm going to eat you up!"

"No!" he screamed, laughing hysterically and running as fast as his little legs would take him, darting in and out of the washing as the young woman made a show of just missing him when she could have caught him with ease.

Hart heard Fidelia's breath catch. He turned to her, sliding an arm around her waist for support. Her hand had gone to her heart, pressing there as if to keep it from pounding out of her chest. Hart could feel the tremors running through her as she saw her son for the first time.

"I will gobble you up," the woman insisted as the boy gave a squeal and she caught him, taking him to the floor and pulling up his shirt so she could blow a raspberry against his chubby belly. The boy shrieked and wriggled gleefully as the woman laughed. "Got you!" she said in delight as the boy scrambled to his feet and threw his arms about her neck.

"I've got you!" he said back to her.

The woman's face softened, such love filling her expression that Hart felt his chest grow tight.

"Yes, you do," the woman said softly, kissing his cheek and hugging him tightly to her.

Then she looked up and saw the three of them standing there, and her smile faltered.

"Good morning, Mr Weston," she said, staring at Larkin. "And Mr De Beauvoir, how do you do?"

She got to her feet, lifting the boy into her arms as she did so, and then she saw Fidelia, and the way she was staring at the child. The woman's complexion turned stark white, her jaw tightening. She turned an accusing gaze upon Larkin. "What did you do?" she demanded, her voice choked.

"Nothing!" Larkin exclaimed. "Perhaps I might ask the same question."

Before any of them could react, she turned and ran into the house.

"Elmira!" Larkin ran after her.

Hart turned back to Fidelia, whose face was a mask. She seemed outwardly calm—too calm, perhaps—but he could still feel the way she trembled. "Come, love. We'd best follow."

She nodded and went with him into the house.

"Joanie! Joanie!"

Miss Hastings' voice could be heard throughout the house and Hart and Fidelia stepped inside just as a pink-cheeked, flustered looking woman, similar in shape to a generously rounded cottage loaf, ran into the hallway.

"Where's the fire?" she demanded, puffing indignantly as she looked around at the assembled company.

Miss Hastings ignored this and handed the boy into the woman's arms. The child was clinging to her, aware there was tension in the air.

"Mama?" he wailed anxiously, his chubby arms holding tight to her neck.

Fidelia sucked in a sharp breath, and Hart tightened his grip on her, wishing there were something he could do, some way he could bear the pain for her.

"It's all right, darling," Miss Hastings told him, giving the boy a reassuring smile as she smoothed his ruffled hair. "You go with Joanie to the kitchen, and she'll give you a biscuit for being such a good boy."

"Everything all right?" Joanie asked suspiciously, taking the boy from her, and glancing at everyone with intelligent blue eyes.

"It will be," Miss Hastings said, her voice brooking no argument. "You run along now, Joanie."

"Righto, Mira. You call me if you need me, eh?"

Elmira nodded, giving them all an unloving look before turning and striding down the corridor. She did not invite them to follow. They did anyway, arriving in a bright front parlour strewn with books and journals and toys. Elmira stood before the fireplace, arms folded, apparently ready to do battle. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Hart realised he had been right to feel such concern.

"You've got a nerve," she said to Fidelia. "You think you can swan in here after five years when you didn't give a snap of your fingers for him until now? How dare you? How dare you when you gave him away as though he was nothing, just an inconvenience to your nicely ordered—"

"That's enough!" Hart said, his voice hard and forceful enough to make Elmira jump.

She glared at him too, a lioness defending her young.

"Think you frighten me, do you?" she started, only for Larkin to intervene.

"Elmira, for heaven's sake, calm down. You don't understand. Let them explain."

"Explain what, that they've come to take my boy away from me?" she said with a sneer. "You have, haven't you?"

"He's my child," Fidelia said, holding Miss Hasting's furious gaze without blinking.

"So what? Were you the one who changed him and fed him and sat up nights when he was poorly? Are you the one that faced the shame of having a child and no husband? Are you the one he calls out in the night for? Will he cry for you if you go away and leave him? Does he love you?" she demanded in triumph.

Fidelia's face crumpled and Hart glared at Miss Hastings, despite understanding her side of the story. It was too cruel, after everything she had endured, to put his wife through this pain.

"And whilst you've been living your life all this time, you think you can come in here and leave with my boy?" the young woman demanded, every line of her body taut with the desire to fight with everything she had.

"No."

Hart swung around to look at his wife, too astonished to speak. She was white-faced and taut with the effort of holding her emotions in check, her voice resigned but steady. "I did come here to take him from you. He's my boy, my baby and I have dreamed of this moment for so long. He has been all I could think of, all I have wished for. You cannot know how I have longed for it, but how can I find happiness in a moment that will frighten and cause him p-pain. I see now that… that I cannot do that to him. He believes you are his mother, and you are, for you have l-loved him and cared for him and given him a h-home," she added, her voice trembling before she broke down entirely and turned blindly to Hart.

"Oh, love," Hart said, pulling her into his arms. Fidelia clung to him and sobbing so hard he did not know what to do, what to say. He wanted to rearrange the world to make her happy, but how could he snatch a little boy from the only mother he had ever known, from the home where he was safe and loved? It was an impossible situation, and once again Fidelia must bear the pain of it. He wanted to howl with rage for the injustice of it all.

Yet his wife was a miracle, so much braver and more loving than even he had guessed. Setting her own grief aside, she pushed out of his embrace and dried her eyes, facing Miss Hastings once again. The young woman was looking uneasy now, for no one could have witnessed Fidelia's obvious distress and remained unmoved.

Hart let go of her reluctantly but remained close, his grip on her hand tight as she clung to that connection.

"Miss Hastings," she said with quiet dignity. "My father took my baby from me within moments of his birth. I barely got to look at his sweet face before he was torn from my arms. It was not my choice. I wanted my son. I have wanted him and worried for him and loved him for the past five years, but my father has kept me a prisoner at Hardacre, and I did not know where he had taken my boy, or what he had done with him."

Hart looked up to see Elmira's face was ashen now. The young woman dropped her aggressive stance and sat heavily on the arm of the nearest chair. "I-I didn't know that," she admitted. "The footman gave me a hand-delivered letter. It had been raining and the ink was smudged, but it was clearly addressed to E. Hastings. My brother and I often got our post mixed up as we have the same initial. E for Edward, and E for Elmira. He had gone to join his regiment that morning as they were shipping to India at the end of the week. The note was from your father. I'll never forget the words, so callous and impersonal."

Fidelia made a choked sound. "Oh, that sounds like his grace."

Elmira nodded. "It said, ‘this is to inform you that your bastard son was born this morning. I will leave him at the foundling hospital in Camden at midnight tonight, as you have declined to make other arrangements. I hope you enjoy your time in India. It pleases me to tell you I have ensured your duty there will be as uncomfortable as possible.'"

Hart's chest hurt as he watched a tear roll down Fidelia's face and he clasped her hand between both of his, silently offering his support.

"I went at once to see my brother, assuming it must be a mistake. For surely, he would not give up his own son to such a place? But it was no mistake," she said, her voice cold and hard. "He was furious with me. Told me not to interfere. He was still indignant that your father had refused to let you marry. Fool that he was he'd assumed the duke must agree to it if you were ruined, but even with a child on the way, Beresford wouldn't hear of it. Edward was not of blue enough blood to join such an elite family. The duke said he'd see you ruined before he allowed such a mesalliance."

Hart snorted, finding some pleasure in knowing that their marriage would make the old devil wild with fury.

Fidelia nodded. "So, you went to meet him yourself," she said in wonder, staring at Elmira with such gratitude Hart's throat grew tight. "Thank God for you, Elmira. You saved my son at the cost of your own reputation and… and gave him love and a home. I can see that you did, for he adores you. He's healthy and happy and… and… that's all I ever wanted."

She burst into tears again, sobbing so hard Hart could only hold on to her.

Elmira fidgeted as Fidelia wept, clearly uncertain what to do, what to say.

"My wife has had a wretched time over the past five years, Miss Hastings," Hard said, needing the woman to realise how much it was costing Fidelia to give up her own hopes and dreams for the sake of her son's happiness. "She pinned all her hopes on today, on finally having her boy with her again. I pray you understand the sacrifice she makes in leaving him with you?"

"You must see the truth of it, Mira," Larkin said quietly. "Hart is as honest a man as you'll ever meet. Can't you give, just a little?"

Elmira nodded and got up, walking to stand beside Fidelia. "I'm sorry," she said gravely. "So sorry for what you've endured. I didn't understand."

Fidelia gathered herself bravely, accepting the handkerchief that Hart offered her. "You have not a single thing to be sorry for. You sacrificed yourself, your good name, you gave up everything for my son. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for that."

"I'd do it again," Elmira said simply. "He is the greatest joy of my life. I'm so sorry, but… but I can't let you take him from me. I'm his mother, you see, the only one he has ever known and—"

"I know," Fidelia said, tears streaming down her cheeks. She took Elmira's hand and held onto it tightly. "I saw with my own eyes how happy and loved he is. If I took him from you now, I should only inflict hurt and confusion and I would not hurt him for all the world. I have only ever wanted him to be loved and h-happy."

"Oh, my dear," Elmira said hoarsely, and threw her arms about Fidelia, the two women weeping and hugging each other tightly.

"Where is your brother now, Miss Hastings?" Hart asked, a dark note to his voice that no one missed.

Elmira's lips quirked in a bitter smile as she looked up at him. "I'm afraid you're too late if you were hoping to teach him a lesson. His grace managed that, after all. He fell ill last autumn while he was in India. The regiment sent him home, but he died on the voyage back to England."

Hart nodded. "I can't say I'm sorry."

"No," Elmira said. "Neither can I. Sad, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry for you, though, Elmira. For your loss," Fidelia said, with such obvious sincerity, Hart was astonished all over again by the generosity of the woman he had married. "I believe you were close once."

"Once," Elmira said with a nod. "But that was a long time ago. He was not the man I had thought he was. It was just a fa?ade. Beneath there was no substance. I could neither love nor respect a man like that. I mourned the loss of the brother I thought I had known many years ago, but when I learned the truth of what he'd done to you, to his son, any lingering feelings of affection died."

The two women looked at each other, and Hart saw the dawning respect in their eyes, the beginnings of a bond that made him hope for the future. Elmira smiled. "I always liked you, Fidelia, before that fateful letter arrived, at least. I was so shocked by that discovery, but I'm more than glad to know I wasn't wrong about you after all."

"Thank you," Fidelia said, trying her best to return the smile, though Hart saw the pain in her expression and wondered how he could ever make it up to her.

Elmira hesitated before saying in a rush, "You can come and see him whenever you want." There were tears in her eyes, and her voice was unsteady, but she was willing to be generous now she understood just what Fidelia was sacrificing. "Perhaps you could be Auntie Fidelia."

Fidelia stared at her, her face alight with hope. "You would do that?"

Elmira nodded. "I would not be so cruel as to deprive you of your son entirely. If you think you could bear that?"

"Yes! Oh, yes." Fidelia wiped away her tears, though more kept coming, streaming down her face, even as she smiled now. "Yes. Yes, please."

Hart wondered if, in time, Elmira might allow the child to know the truth about his mother, but he was not fool enough to raise that hope yet. There was time, and they would be guided by the boy they both loved, and by what was best for him. He was a lucky child, to have two women love him so wholeheartedly.

Elmira nodded. "Good. That's good."

"Thank you," Fidelia said again. "Thank you for everything."

"You gave me a gift," Elmira said. "It's been hard at times, and frightening too, but I have experienced more love and happiness in the past five years than in all my life before that. I am sorry for the pain you've experienced, but I'm not sorry to have Arthur in my life."

"Arthur?" Fidelia said, her voice trembling a little. "I n-named him Ambrose."

"Oh." Elmira looked at her with pity and regret shining in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I named him for my grandfather. He was a good man, an honourable one, and the only man I have ever esteemed. My father died when I was young, and he had the raising of us. He was the kindest person I have ever known."

"Then it is a wonderful name," Fidelia said firmly, though her voice quaked as she spoke. "And I approve wholeheartedly."

Elmira sighed, understanding and pity shining in her eyes. "Would you like to meet him?"

Hart tightened his grip on Fidelia's hand as her lip trembled, but she nodded eagerly, scrubbing the handkerchief over her eyes.

"I'll run and fetch him." Elmira scrambled to her feet and hurried from the room.

Larkin slipped out after her and Hart watched his wife, who turned her face to him, sorrow and happiness shining in her eyes.

"I couldn't do it," she said helplessly.

"I know, love," he replied, finding his own voice unsteady. "Because you have the kindest, most loving heart of anyone in the world. I'm so proud of you, Fidelia. I love you," he added, finding it suddenly the easiest thing in the world to tell her what was in his heart.

She smiled at that and made a choked sound, her eyes glittering with tears, with joy at his words, and he was so glad he could give her that, at least, if not her son. "You'll make me cry again! Oh, what would I do without you, my Hart? Thank you for everything. I love you quite hopelessly, I hope you know, but stop this now, for I am weeping again, and I don't want to frighten Arthur by sobbing all over him."

"He'll love you," Hart assured her, taking the handkerchief from her hands and tenderly wiping the wetness from her cheeks. "Just give him time, eh?"

She nodded, her breath catching as Larkin returned with Elmira, who was hand-in-hand with Fidelia's son. He was an angelic-looking child, pink-cheeked, with Fidelia's clear blue eyes and a shock of curling blond hair. Arthur looked at the assembled company cautiously, glancing up at Elmira for reassurance.

"It's all right, my love," Elmira said. "This is Mr De Beauvoir. He's the one who sent all those lovely strawberry plants. Do you remember?"

The little boy beamed. "I like strawberries," he said hopefully.

"Not yet, my lamb. It's too early in the year, but in a few more weeks you'll have strawberries. For now, I'd like you to meet someone. This lady is a dear friend, and we're going to see her often. She's called Fidelia. You can call her Auntie Fidelia, if you like."

Arthur gave Fidelia a shy smile, leaning into Elmira's skirts.

"Good morning, Arthur," Fidelia said unsteadily, holding onto Hart's hand for support. "I'm very glad to meet you. Are those your building blocks I can see?"

Arthur looked at the stack of blocks in the corner of the room and nodded. "Do you want to build a castle?"

"Oh, yes," Fidelia said eagerly. "I would like that better than anything in the world."

Arthur grinned at her and trotted over, gathering up an armful of bricks and dropping them at her feet. Fidelia bent down as Arthur moved to and fro, bringing the bricks to her, and she helped him build his castle.

Hart looked on, finding his eyes strangely wet as he watched his wife with her son, watched her carefully laying the foundations for a place in his life, but doing it with such delicacy and tenderness that the boy would never know a moment"s distress. She was the bravest, most wonderful, and loving woman in the entire world, and for some reason, she had chosen to love him too. In that moment, Hart accepted that fact as he had been unable to do before. It had seemed too unlikely to him that a woman from Fidelia's station in life could truly feel for him everything that she claimed to feel. But now, seeing how she set aside her own hopes and dreams for the sake of the child she had brought into the world, seeing how selfless and good she was, Hart believed it. There was no one else in the world like Lady Fidelia, and she was his.