Wedded for His Secret Child

by Helen Dickson

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of putting anyone to so much trouble.’

  ‘Why not? You are the mistress of Winchcombe. You can do exactly as you please.’

  Side by side they entered the house. At a glance Melissa became aware of the rich trappings of the cool interior, the highly polished parquet floor and wainscoted panelled walls. An ornately carved oak staircase opposite the entrance cantilevered up to the floor above and a large atrium allowed the sun to flood in above them.

  With a growing sense of unreality, Melissa was introduced to what she considered to be a veritable army of servants—she was certain she would never remember all their names. Asking to be shown to her rooms, she followed Mrs Robins up the grand staircase, closely followed by Daisy carrying Violet.

  * * *

  Later, when Melissa had bathed and changed her clothes and made sure Violet was settled for the night, Laurence came to escort her to dinner.

  ‘Do you approve of the rooms we selected for you?’

  ‘Yes—they’re lovely.’ How could she say otherwise? They were elegant and tastefully furnished. Mrs Robins had told her that they had been Alice’s and it was to her relief they had been designed by Laurence’s mother. ‘I like the prospect from the windows and they are comfortable and not too far away from the nursery. They will do very well.’

  ‘I’m relieved. Shall we go down to dinner?’

  He held out his hand to her, and, instead of taking it, she walked straight into his arms. For one breathless moment his eyes studied her face while the pressure of his arms slowly increased, then he bent his head and captured her lips in a kiss of such tenderness and tormenting desire. His hands slid over her back, pressing her body closer to his and she kissed him back willingly and with all her heart.

  With an effort that was almost painful Laurence dragged his mouth from hers and folded her to him. Melissa stayed in his arms, wishing she could remain there always.

  ‘We should go down to dinner,’ Laurence said softly, his breath warm against her ear. ‘But before we do, I have something I would like to give you.’

  Melissa pulled back in his arms and looked at him, her delicate brows pulled together in confusion. ‘Oh?’

  He smiled, taking her hand and placing a large sapphire and diamond ring on her wedding finger, above the gold band that already rested there.

  ‘When we met everything happened with such haste that we had no time to get to know each other. This ring belonged to my mother and her mother before her.’

  ‘And Alice?’ Melissa whispered, unable to take her eyes off the splendid gift and deeply moved that he had given it to her.

  ‘I never gave it to Alice.’

  Melissa didn’t question the reason behind this as she touched the beautiful stone reverently. ‘This—it—it is beautiful, Laurence—and extremely generous of you.’

  ‘You are my wife. It is yours by right. There are more jewels locked away that are yours to wear on special occasions, but I wanted to give you this now.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll treasure it always—and one day...’

  ‘It will be passed on to Violet.’

  She smiled and, reaching up, drew his face down to hers and kissed him again with all the love and gratitude that was in her heart.

  * * *

  In the days that followed, Melissa was content to settle down, although she would miss Laurence when he left for Plymouth. Hopefully he would soon be back home. Her day began when she parted from Laurence after breakfast, after a night in the candlelight, beneath the caressing boldness of his hands and eyes, when she was his woman, when her treacherous female body came breathlessly alive, willingly, and she clung to him in a great desperate yearning, her naked body achingly but pleasurably fatigued as she left their bed each morning.

  Although Laurence had a very efficient bailiff and a steward and a number of efficient workers on the estate, when he was home he insisted on familiarising himself with everything that was being done and the concerns of the tenant farmers were his own concerns. Because of this attitude, the farms were productive and His Lordship a popular figure when he was seen involving himself in the work.

  Melissa was pleased that before he engrossed himself with his responsibilities of the estate and his many business affairs, Laurence went each morning to the nursery to see their daughter. He would gently swing her up into his arms, listening to her baby talk and looking with rapt attention at the angelic face. When he had finished his work, with Melissa he would make his way to the drowsy warmth of the nursery again, gently holding Violet in the crook of his arm until she began to fall asleep. Carefully he would hand her to the nursemaid before going to have dinner with his wife.

  Melissa did her utmost to familiarise herself with the running of the house, happy to listen and take advice from Mrs Robins, the kindly, well-meaning housekeeper, who had been at Winchcombe for two decades. Melissa had never applied herself to any task of such magnitude, although her governess and her mother had attempted to train her in the duties expected of a lady of the gentry. It was a pity she had never paid them much attention, Melissa scolded herself, determined that she would learn everything she needed to know eventually. Winchcombe was a splendid estate, one she was proud to call her home, even though she might never be able to win Laurence’s love.

  There was a constant stream of neighbours who came to call out of curiosity. Most of them genuinely wished them well. She was delighted, too, when her father did as promised and sent Freckle, her beloved mare, to Winchcombe.

  * * *

  One bright morning she entered the dining room and found her husband already at breakfast. He stood up and came to pull out her chair. Her heart flipped over at the sight of him, tall and superbly built, wearing black knee boots, tight buckskin breeches and a loosely fitting shirt in thin white lawn, the sleeves full gathered. She sat opposite, impatient to be away to the stables to see Freckle. On the sideboard under silver covers were mushrooms, sausages and fluffy scrambled eggs, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat anything. To pacify Laurence, who was unashamedly tucking into anything and everything the servant placed in front of him—like most men he always insisted on starting the day with a hearty breakfast—she managed to eat some bread and butter smeared with jam and drank a cup of coffee.

  ‘You really should eat something more substantial this early in the day,’ Laurence said, drinking his second cup of coffee. ‘You’ll need your energy if you intend riding out. Cook is most put out. She takes you not eating breakfast as a personal criticism of her fare.’

  ‘Then I shall go by way of the kitchen and explain—again—that I never usually eat anything much until noon.’ Pushing back her chair and placing her napkin on the table, she went around the table and kissed his proffered cheek. ‘Are you at home today?’

  ‘Until noon.’ His handsome features became thoughtful as he contemplated his wife’s face. ‘We can have lunch together if you’re back in time from your ride.’

  ‘I will be. I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘Good. I don’t want my wife disappearing before my eyes because she refuses to eat.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No.’ The smile on his lips curled, and his mouth lifted slightly at one corner, lids drooping seductively over his silver-grey eyes. ‘I want you strong and healthy. It’s certainly an asset during our private times,’ he told her. His words sounded provocative—exactly as he wanted them to sound.

  Melissa laughed softly, relieved the servant had disappeared to refill the coffee pot for His Lordship. Leaning over him, she encircled him with her arms, resting her cheek next to his. Laurence was a potently sensual male and in the bedroom he was superlatively skilful and masterful. That aspect of their marriage could not possibly have been improved upon.

  ‘You’re incorrigible, Laurence. I think I’d better leave you to your breakfast lest you start getting idea
s about revisiting your bedroom—and I am not prepared to forfeit my ride.’ Kissing his cheek, she went to the door.

  ‘Don’t forget to take one of the grooms with you. He’ll show you the best places to ride.’

  Giving him one last smile, she left the dining room and went to the kitchen to pacify Cook.

  * * *

  The stables were a hive of activity when Melissa got there. She could smell horseflesh, old leather and damp hay. She’d sent orders to have Freckle made ready for her to ride out. Her beloved mare whinnied with delight when she saw her, prancing quite outrageously on the cobbles.

  The groom objected when she told him she would go alone.

  ‘But I must attend you,’ he said. ‘If you are thrown or...’

  ‘I have never been thrown from a saddle in my life,’ she told him, hoisting herself up into the saddle and settling herself, smiling at his refusal to be dismissed.

  ‘But the master will not like it...’

  ‘I don’t suppose he will,’ she said, knowing perfectly well that Laurence would be livid. He had told her not to ride alone, but he was beginning to discover he hadn’t married a mouse or a puppy that would obediently roll over at his every command. ‘I will be all right—truly. You have given me an excellent description of the area so I won’t get lost. I shall be perfectly safe.’

  Her manner was firm but kind, and the groom soon realised he was no match for her determination. Reluctantly he backed away. She had every intention of being alone on her first ride on Freckle in a long time and she didn’t want anyone holding her back.

  Nudging her horse into action, she was soon riding beyond the grounds of the house and taking to the gently undulating countryside. There were meadows on either side of her, the hedges bright with wild rose and elderberry, the buzz of insects on the warm air. There were cows standing knee deep in clover, their heads down as they pulled contentedly at the lush green grass, their tails swishing their backs to swat away the midges. She breathed in deeply and luxuriated in the feel of the gentle breeze caressing her face. It was good to be riding Freckle again. She had missed her as much as she missed her parents and she was determined to have them down to visit as soon as it could be arranged.

  Calculating that she had ridden about three miles, she reined Freckle in on the top of a humpback bridge which spanned a fast-flowing stream, the road veering sharply to the left on the other side. Unable to resist the temptation of taking a closer look into the clear depths of the water, she dismounted and rested her arms on the wall, looking down. Becoming carried away by the gentle sound, she failed to notice the man leaning against a tree at the side of the stream. When she did she gasped, for it was none other than Gerald Mortimer, attired in sombre garb without the fancy frills and lace and without his usual wig. She hardly recognised him. His hair was fair with a hint of curl and drawn back in a simple queue. His horse was nibbling the grass close to the water and Sir Gerald was watching her calmly, his expression one of gravity. Shoving himself away from the tree, he slowly climbed the bank and walked up on to the bridge where she stood.

  ‘Lady Maxwell. I’m surprised to see you here. Why did you choose this particular place to stop?’

  ‘Because I have ridden far enough and the stream tempted me.’ She looked up at him. ‘Why? Is there some significance to this place?’

  He shook his head. ‘Are you settled at Winchcombe?’ he asked, taking a different tack.

  ‘Yes. It’s a fine place. But what of you?’ She looked at him closely. This was a different Gerald Mortimer to the one she had met in London. He was more serious, quieter—troubled, without his usual swagger and smug arrogance. His face was deceptively youthful, despite the fine laughter lines around the eyes and mouth. Quick to laugh and quick to smile. But it was the eyes that gave him away. They were a deep, arresting shade of green, and fathoms deep with sadness, the kind that comes from losing a loved one. ‘I believe you are to close up your house. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to make their home in London when they have all this on their doorstep.’

  ‘Can’t you? No, I don’t suppose you can,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s nothing left for me here. Eliza and Antony are with me. My sister is helping me prepare for the closure. I imagine she will be calling on you before she leaves.’

  ‘I do hope so. You are our nearest neighbour, I believe.’

  He nodded. ‘Our lands join to the south. Perhaps you should leave, Lady Maxwell. Your husband would not be pleased to see you talking to me—not here.’

  Nonplussed, Melissa looked at him. He was standing a little away from her, gazing at the far end of the bridge. That was when she noticed the stones had been dislodged and fallen into the stream. Then she knew. Its significance hit her.

  ‘Oh, dear—I see. This—this is where it happened—the accident.’

  He nodded, avoiding her eyes. ‘It was here that the carriage left the road and overturned—the carriage carrying Alice and Toby.’

  She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t. For a moment she was totally incapable of speech, her throat tight, her body numb. ‘I—I’m so sorry,’ she said at length. ‘It was such a terrible tragedy.’

  He looked at her. ‘Why? Why should you be sorry? She was a stranger to you.’

  ‘Yes, she was, but the tragedy has affected so many people.’

  ‘It is painful for me to reflect on the past. Sometimes I imagine she is still here.’

  ‘Is that why you are closing your house—because coming here reminds you of Alice?’

  He nodded. ‘Something like that. I miss her, you see.’

  ‘Yes. Eliza told me you were fond of her.’

  He looked down at the rippling stream, seeming not to hear her, his thoughts clearly far away. ‘I loved her. She was my life. I have never loved anyone else—I never will. She should not have died the way she did—she was so lovely. I loved her the moment I saw her—long before she ever laid eyes on your husband. And she loved me, too—she never stopped loving me. But she was blinded for a while by everything Maxwell could give her—things I could not. But she tired of him in the end. She was leaving Laurence, do you know that?’

  ‘Yes. He told me. And—do you blame Laurence for the accident?’

  He smiled sadly. ‘No. I do not blame him. It was what it was—a tragic accident. The driver was going too fast—as you see the bend on the other side of the bridge is sharp. The carriage hit the wall and tipped over into the water. There was nothing anyone could do.’

  ‘Did—did the driver survive?’

  ‘He was in a bad way for a while, but he pulled through—unlike Alice and her son. I had no idea she’d intended leaving with Toby. I wish to God she hadn’t.’

  ‘I know Laurence wishes she hadn’t either.’ Reaching out, she took Freckle’s bridle. ‘I must be getting back. I managed to get away without a groom. Should Laurence find out I have disobeyed him he will not be at all pleased.’

  Gerald folded his hands for her booted foot and hoisted her up into the saddle. For the first time he laughed. ‘Well, well. You ride astride, I see. Do not let the ladies hereabouts see you. You will scandalise the countryside.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ she said, returning his smile. ‘I do not favour the side-saddle—it’s like an instrument of torture. I prefer the freedom of riding astride. I find it much more natural and comfortable—but I shall do as propriety dictates and make a point of riding side-saddle when I am in company to protect my good name. Good day, Sir Gerald. Please give my kind regards to Eliza and Antony. I look forward to seeing them at Winchcombe before they leave.’

  * * *

  Melissa rode back to Winchcombe deep in thought. She was deeply troubled by her encounter with Sir Gerald. That he had loved Alice had been plain for her to see and he felt her loss as great, if not greater, than Laurence. On the two occasions she had seen him he had been bold and alive and
full of vigour. Today he had looked beaten, tempered by something which had taken all the arrogance and vitality from him. How hurt he must have been when Alice had married Laurence.

  Her thoughts were so occupied with their conversation that she didn’t at first see an irate Laurence striding impatiently at the entrance to the stable yard. He was obviously waiting for her and aware that she had ridden off without a groom in attendance. She drew the mare to a halt and jumped down, handing the reins to a groom who had coming running from the stables the moment she had ridden into the yard. Laurence had become still, watching her, like a soldier on sentry duty, waiting for her to pass. There was not a single trace of reason in his expression, only an undeniable aura of restrained fury gathering pace inside him, waiting to be unleashed on her.

  Smiling at her husband, she began walking towards the house, trying to ignore the anger burning in his eyes. She was aware of him striding after her, his fury reaching her in waves.

  ‘Melissa! Don’t you listen to anything I say? I specifically told you not to ride out without the accompaniment of a groom, yet you blatantly flouted my authority. Are you out to incur my anger? Is that it?’

  ‘What? More than I have already, you mean?’

  ‘Don’t be flippant,’ he ground out.

  Without slowing her pace, Melissa turned her head and looked at him. She could see that he was furious. The glacial look in his silver-grey eyes and the stern set of his features sent shivers down her spine. There was certainly nothing soft or lover-like in his tone, as there had been earlier when she had left him at breakfast.

  ‘I didn’t, Laurence, at least not on purpose. I simply couldn’t resist riding out and a groom would only have held me back. I wanted to enjoy my first ride on Freckle without restrictions—as I have done all my life.’

  ‘And if you had been thrown, hurt, I would not have known where to look. I am only concerned for your safety.’