Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Hetty gazed around the vast foyer of Warwick Manor, trying hard not to show how impressed she was. The ceiling was so high she had to crane her neck to see it properly. It was intricately carved. The floor beneath her feet was white marble.

Her mother looked as gobsmacked as she felt. "Oh, this is so very grand," she whispered, almost fearfully. "It makes Hillsworth House look like a doll's house."

The Duke came up to them, smiling. "Welcome to my home," he said, in a satisfied voice. "I will get the butler to show you to your rooms, where you can rest after the journey." His eyes lingered on Hetty. "I hope you will find the accommodation to your satisfaction."

Hetty shivered, seeing the desire in his eyes. They were almost burning with it. Hastily, she looked away, pretending to be absorbed in contemplation of the house. She tried to ignore the leap of response she felt as her mother thanked him.

She had been surprised when he had invited them to stay in his home. He had merely said that he was eager to show her Warwick Manor. He mentioned his vast collection of books in his library, and that he could show her the hidden passageways that he had talked about previously. Her parents had been eager to accept his offer on her behalf. Papa had been unable to accompany them, but her mother was here, as chaperone.

As she studied the three-tiered chandelier, falling dramatically from the ceiling, she couldn't quite believe that if her divorce came through, and she did agree to marry him, this house might one day be her home. That she would be a duchess, living on a vast estate, in a home built centuries ago.

She hardly knew how she felt about that possibility, now. Ever since the day that he had kissed her, so passionately, beneath the apple tree. She blushed, thinking about it, the feel of his lips on her own, the way his hands had caressed the most intimate parts of her body. He had suckled one of her breasts, causing such torment within her that she had not known what to do. And then, his hand had touched her, down there. She shuddered, thinking of the sensations that had coursed through her body as he had caressed her …

The butler arrived, and the Duke excused himself. The next moment, they were following the man up the grand, winding staircase, towards their rooms. But as her eyes swept over the hallway at the top of the stairs, taking in the intricate wood panelling of the walls and the exquisite rose and white Abyssinian hall runner on the floor, she frowned. She must not get overwhelmed by all of this.

Yes, he was a duke, with an impressive home. And yes, he made her shiver with desire. He claimed that he would wait forever to make her his wife. That he was sincere in his regard for her. But there were still unanswered questions about him. His moodiness, and his haste to leave Hillsworth House in the months that he had been courting her. Things that made her uneasy to fully trust him.

As they walked down the hallway, she resolved to herself that she would confront him about it, once and for all. It would be easy, so very easy, to get swept away by him, to forget her plan to join a convent. She had to make sure that he was worth it. She must make sure that if she put her life into his hands, that he was worthy of it. She simply could not endure being wronged by another man.

Her heart lurched. Especially this man. She did not know if she would survive it at all.

***

In her room, as she rested before luncheon, she took out the letter. Frank's letter. She had brought it with her to peruse again if she felt like it, even though she had read it a hundred times, now, and probably could recite the words verbatim if anyone asked her.

But the shock of it, the sheer rage, was still the same as the day she had first read it.

My dear Hetty,

I trust you are well. I heard that you had returned to your parents' home.

I write to you to inform you of my current circumstances. I am in the town of Villefranche-sur-Mer, in the region of Provence, France. A truly beautiful town, a fishing village, on the edge of the sea. It is the hometown of my mistress, Mademoiselle Amelie Marchand. The lady that I have always been in love with, I am sorry to say. I know that this will hurt you, but I must be truthful with you, at long last.

We have come to Villefranche-sur-Mer as Amelie desires to be close to her family at this time. She is expecting our child and naturally wishes to have her confinement here, amongst loved ones. And it is a chance for us to start afresh without the weight of what has happened between you and I. England is too small a place for scandal, after all.

It is our intention to settle here. I will not be returning, Hetty, and there is no chance that we will be reconciled. It is Amelie, who I love, and have always loved. With her, I feel that I can truly breathe. We are as two hearts, beating as one, and always shall be.

I wish the best for you, I truly do. I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me and understand that I had no choice but to act as I did. I had to follow my heart, come what may.

Au revoir, my dear. I do not think we will have occasion to meet again in this life.

Frank

Her heart lurched, and she suddenly threw the letter on the floor as if it had burst into flames.

She didn't know what hurt the most. The fact that Frank had a mistress, the whole time that they were engaged, or the fact that he was so casually dismissive of her. The fact that he and his mistress were starting afresh in France to escape the scandal he had made, while she was left here, licking her wounds, her life in ruins around her.

But, there was some good in his letter. As the Duke had said, it was proof that she could bring before the court. And her father had looked triumphant, noting that Frank had revealed where he was hiding out. He claimed that it would not take much work to locate his current address now, and then, if and when the court set a date for proceedings, he could be informed.

Hetty's eyes filled with tears of frustration. There was still no word from the court. It had been months since the Duke and her father had lodged the application. The silence was growing ominous. Would she ever be free of her husband? Would she ever be able to make him suffer for what he had done to her?

She suddenly heard footsteps walking down the hallway outside her room. There was the sound of murmuring through the wall. A child's high laugh quickly suppressed.

She frowned. What was a child doing in this manor walking the top hallway?

Quickly, she walked to the door, opening it, and peering down the hallway. But whoever had passed by was gone, now. There wasn't a sign that anyone had ever been there.

Her frown deepening, she closed the door. She must have imagined the sound of a child. None of the servants would be walking their children along this section of the house, or even have them in residence. Perhaps she was going just a little crazy.

***

That afternoon, the Duke took her on a long walk of the estate, her mother trailing behind. The grounds were extensive, with crisscrossing paths, flanked on either side by tall, white statues of Greek gods and goddesses. The gardens were glorious, too, tended to by a team of gardeners, all busy at work, digging and trimming.

It was hot, the air filled with the humming of bees that seemed to form a cloud above the flowers and bushes.

"What do you think?" he asked her, smiling. "Does Warwick Manor pass muster?"

She smiled back, cautiously. "It is truly beautiful. You must be very proud to be the owner of such a historic residence."

"I am," he said slowly. "Very proud. But it was touch and go for a while on whether I would be able to keep all of it intact."

"Why?" she asked curiously.

He sighed. "My father was not a wise man when it came to money," he said slowly. "He bled the coffers dry, with his extravagance." He paused. "His legacy to me when he died was little wealth, and much debt. It took me years to pay it all off and recoup it. For a while, I thought I might be reduced to selling off portions of the estate, to keep afloat. It would have broken my heart."

"How awful," she said, in a quiet voice.

He took a deep breath. "Yes, well, I just had to get on with it." He glanced at her sideways. "It was the reason that I never tried to find you and court you after we met at that ball. I could not offer for your hand when I was in such a precarious position. But I never forgot you, Hetty, not for a moment."

She smothered her surprise at his words, remembering her father saying the Duke had been charmed by her but was unable to pursue her in the past.

"I did not forget you, either," she said slowly, her heart beating fast. "I searched for you for months when I was out at parties and balls. But you were never there …"

He stopped abruptly, gazing down at her, a solemn expression on his face. "Is it true?" he whispered. "That you thought about me, as well?"

She nodded, her face burning. "You made an impression upon me," she admitted. "But then Frank came along, and I thought that I would never see you again …"

He was silent for a moment, his green eyes glittering as he kept gazing at her. Her heart flipped over in her chest.

Desperate for reprieve from the intensity thickening between them, she forced herself to look away, her eyes trailing the grounds. She saw a small cottage in the distance.

"Is that house part of your estate?" she asked, to change the subject.

He jumped, a little, almost in alarm. "Yes. I own it …"

Curious, she stared at him. Why was he reacting this way to such a benign enquiry?

She was just about to keep walking when he laid a hand on her arm, stopping her.

"Hetty," he said gravely. "There is something that you must know. Something that I must tell you."

She felt herself grow cold, all over. She knew it. Her instinct had been right. There was something that he was hiding from her.

She gazed at him, feeling goose flesh breaking out on her skin, despite the heat of the day. He looked almost as if he was about to be sick. Pale, with beads of sweat, along his hairline.

Her heart fell to the ground. "What is it that you want to tell me?"

He looked away, for a moment, staring into the distance. But then, he took a deep breath and turned back to her.

"You must believe me that it is you that I always wanted," he said in a strangled voice. "I fell in love with you, at first sight. I could not get you out of my mind." He gave a short laugh. "I told myself it was ridiculous to feel such a way towards a lady I had barely spoken to. But the image of you was so strong, so powerful …"

She gasped in shock. "You claim that you have always been in love with me?"

He laughed shortly. "You must know. I told you, the day that I held you in my arms, that for me, there has only ever been one woman." He paused, gazing down at her, intently. "But I was not in the position, as I just said, to court you. I told myself that I would do it when I had recouped my wealth. Only then, could I put in an offer for your hand."

She was silent as the words sank in. Yes, it was true. She had always known that he loved her. She had just been running from the truth of it, not willing to admit it to herself. She had been too scared, too hurt, fighting him, at every turn.

"But it took longer than I expected," he said in a strangled voice. "Much longer. And then I heard that you were engaged, to Frank Blackmore. That my chance was gone." He blinked back tears. "I was devastated that I had lost you before I ever had the opportunity to have you. I made a silly mistake …"

She gazed at him, feeling another shudder fall through her.

"I … made love to a lady," he whispered. "I was lonely, mourning that my chance with you had gone, and she looked like you … just a little." He hesitated. "I regretted it the next day. But that one encounter had far-reaching consequences. Three weeks later, she arrived on my doorstep, claiming that she was with child …"

Hetty gasped, her head reeling. "What?"

He took a deep, ragged breath. "It was true. I was not in a position to marry her any more than I was in a position to marry you, but I set her up in that cottage that you just asked me about." He paused. "I told her I would marry her when I was able to. She spent her confinement there, but she was not happy."

Hetty was silent. She simply did not know what to say.

"She gave birth to my son, Benjamin, there," he continued quietly. "But she did not believe me when I told her I intended to marry her when I could. She grew bitter, claiming that I was toying with her." He paused. "One day, when our son was only months old, she disappeared, abandoning him."

He gazed out towards the cottage with eyes full of sorrow. "Ben is the light of my life," he said quietly. "I would never abandon him like his mother has. I can never legitimise him, now, but he is still my son, and always shall be. He lives with me here, at the manor."

"You have an illegitimate child, who lives with you?" Her voice was thready.

He nodded. "Yes, I do. And I do not resent it, for it would mean that I regret his existence, which is impossible." He hesitated. "When I heard that you had been deserted, Hetty, I seized my chance to court you. You must believe that it has always been you. You are the only woman that I have ever loved, or shall ever love …"

His voice was fading in and out, now. She staggered a little. He reached out to support her, but she snatched her arm away, quite violently.

"So that is what this has all been about," she said, her voice bitter. "You need a mother for your illegitimate child. A disgraced, abandoned wife would not be fussy, would she? She would accept anything, and be grateful for it …"

"No," he moaned, in agony. "No. I love you. I love you , body and soul. It was never about that." His eyes pleaded with her. "I do not care if you are disgraced, Hetty. I would love you still, if the whole world rose up condemning me for it. I would still choose you, and it is not because I need a mother for my son …"

But she wasn't listening to him, anymore. A fury had risen in her chest, so deep that she could barely contain it.

She knew he had been hiding something from her. And all of these mincing words about love, and the fact that he had always wanted her, were just lies. She should have known. She should never have opened up to him at all. She should never have let him hold her and kiss her, and do all those other things.

She should never have fallen in love with him.

Because she knew, at that moment, that she had. She had fallen hook, line, and sinker. She had been fighting it for so long that she had not been able to even admit it to herself. Desperately trying not to look out the window for him when he was about to return to Hillsworth House. Desperately trying to thwart her body's traitorous reaction to him. Trying so hard to keep her dignity and self-respect, after another man had trampled all over them.

She took off, running, down the path, back towards the house, desperate to get away from him. She heard him call her name but ignored it. It was imperative that she escape.

She flew past her mother, who gazed at her, shocked. But she didn't stop to reassure her. Tears were already blinding her vision, and she could not have talked without sobbing, anyway.

And now she knew that she had not imagined that child's laugh in the hallway. It had belonged to his son. His illegitimate son that he had been hiding from her this whole time.

All men were liars. She didn't know why she had ever forgotten it.