A Scandalous Pursuit

by Ava Stone

  He hated that chasm. Hated the time he’d spent apart from her. Hated that he’d hurt her so deeply. Everett Place grew larger in his window as they neared it. God, he hated it here. The awful memories still haunted him.

  When Anderson stopped the carriage on the front drive, Alex threw open the door and raced up the steps. Before he could knock, an ancient butler with tufts of white hair pulled the door open. Martin. It had been nearly two decades since he’d laid eyes on the man, but he’d know the old fellow anywhere.

  “Where is my wife?”

  “Y-your Grace? We weren’t expecting you.” The old butler blinked at him in astonishment.

  “My wife. Where is she?” Then he bellowed through the house. “Olivia!”

  Martin shook his head. “Sir, no one is here, save your mother.”

  Alex stared at the old man. “What do you mean, no one is here? She left before me.”

  “What is all the commotion?” came a cranky voice from the top of the stairs.

  Alex cringed at the sound. He could have gone the rest of his life without facing her. “Morning, mother.” It was early. Shouldn’t the old witch be in bed?

  A gasp sounded from the level above, and then a series of slow movements down the stairs.

  Moments later, Iris Everett, the dowager Duchess of Kelfield, came into view. She was older than he remembered, but of course it had been seventeen years since he’d last seen her and twenty-four since he’d last resided here. Her once ebony hair was now completely grey, knotted at her neck. Her brilliant blue eyes had softened to the color of a wintry sky. But her lips, pursed in anger, were just as he remembered.

  “Alex?” she asked with a frown. “What you are doing here?”

  Alex ignored the question and turned back to Martin. “They have not arrived?”

  The butler shook his head. “I can’t even recall the last time we had guests here, Your Grace.”

  Where could they be? They hadn’t passed them on the road. Anderson had kept a vigilant lookout the entire night. Why would she tell him she was going to Everett Place if she intended to go somewhere else? And where else would she have gone?

  For a moment he considered that she’d run off with Philip Moore, but it was only a fleeting thought. In the first place, taking Poppy along was not exactly conducive for romance if Olivia wanted to run away with Moore. If she wanted to be with the major, she could have abandoned his daughter and Kelfield House. There was no need to close it up tight.

  Could she have taken a different road? He shook his head at the thought. There wasn’t a better way to get from London to Brockenhurst. Coleman would have to know that.

  “Who are you looking for?” his mother barked, increasing the vicious pounding of his brain.

  Alex pinned her with his gaze. “Certainly not you, madam.”

  Then he stalked back outside to Haversham’s coach. “Anderson, they’re not here. She’s not here. Have you any idea how we could have passed them?”

  The coachman frowned and squinted his eyes, as if concentrating very hard. “I suppose they could have stopped for the night somewhere, Your Grace. We didn’t stop at any of the coaching inns since Basingstoke when we got fresh horses.”

  Alex cursed himself for being a goddamn fool. Of course they’d stopped somewhere. Olivia wouldn’t put herself or Poppy in danger riding through the night like he had done. There was nothing to do now but wait for her.

  He heard his mother’s foot fall behind him, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, willing his headache away. If he’d searched the inn yards and found his wife, he could have avoided coming here altogether.

  “I’ve heard word you married. Is it your wife you’re looking for? Or a troop of naked acrobats?”

  Good God, the naked acrobats? That was more than a dozen years ago. Alex glanced over his shoulder at his mother. “I had no idea you were so interested in my exploits, mother. You never showed any evidence of it before now.”

  She sneered at him. “You are indeed Arthur’s son.”

  “I don’t think there’s any question about that.” After all Arthur Everett was the only man she’d ever taken to her bed.

  The coachman covered a yawn with his thick gloves. “Do ya want to go the other way, Your Grace? Meet them on the road somewhere?”

  Alex would like nothing more, but he shook his head. Anderson looked close to dead, and he didn’t want to end up in a ditch along the way. “We’ll wait here. Martin will see to it that you have a nice bed and something to eat.”

  As the butler directed the coachman toward the stables, Alex brushed past his mother, returning to the house. She was quick on his heels. “You can’t stay here. This is my house.”

  “The house is mine, mother. You only live here thanks to my generosity. Don’t make me reconsider it.” He entered the house and threw open the doors to the study. Perhaps he could pass the time away by sorting through his father’s things. That’s what he’d originally come to do seventeen years ago, after the bastard’s death, before he’d been blindsided by his mother’s resurrection.

  He felt his mother’s presence in the doorway, but he didn’t look up.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Alex blew away what looked like years of dust on the desk, revealing a ledger. How long had it been since someone had cleaned the room. “Your presence is not required, mother. Go do whatever it is you do and leave me in peace.”

  “Will you never stop hating me?” she asked softly.

  For the briefest of seconds, Alex thought he noted a hint of sadness in her voice, but he shook off the thought. “My wife and daughter will arrive sometime today. If you’d like to stay living here, you’ll treat them both with more respect than you’ve shown me.”

  She gasped slightly at his words. “You have a daughter? I thought you’d just recently married. That’s what the papers said.”

  “One does not need to be married to father children, mother.”

  “I have a granddaughter,” she barely whispered to herself.

  Finally, he glanced up at her, only to see her lips trembling. “She is nothing to you, as you are no mother to me. I’ll thank you to remember that.”

  “You and your father have made sure I could never forget it.”

  Alex shook his head and began thumbing through the old ledger. It was just an old account book. Nothing interesting in the least. “I am busy, mother.”

  She didn’t say a word, but he knew when she walked away. Alex pulled open the top drawer and found a rusty letter opener and several fragile, old quills. Honestly, when was the last time anyone tidied up in this room?

  The next drawer was filled with old ledgers, similar to the one he’d gone through before and equally uninteresting. However the bottom drawer seemed more promising as it was locked. What could Arthur Everett have kept hidden?

  Alex retrieved the letter opener from the top drawer and stuck the rusty, old thing in the lock. Of course it didn’t work, that would be too easy. He shook the drawer which rattled the desk, but it didn’t open. However, it did dislodge a key that had been hidden along the edge of the desk.

  It dropped to the floor with a soft thud.

  Alex shrugged. It was worth a try. He put the key in the lock. Though it was stiff, it did fit. Then turned it to the right and the drawer popped open. “What were you hiding, father?”

  Alex looked into the old drawer and was thrown back a bit. It was filled with letters. Hundreds of them. All addressed to him. None of them had ever been opened. He reached through the pile, picked one randomly, and broke the seal.

  October 6, 1795

  Dear Alexander,

  I understand from your father that your school marks are quite good. I am not surprised as you were always such a bright boy. He did note, however, that your theological marks could be higher. Again, I am not surprised as neither Arthur nor I have been sterling examples for you. I do hope you will find your way despite your parentage.

  Last
week, Mrs. Dinks’ sheepdog had puppies and your father allowed me to have one. Zeus is a happy little fellow, full of energy, and whenever he scampers about the place, he nearly falls over himself. I am certain he will grow into his name. If you come home for Christmas, I am sure you will adore him.

  I keep hoping that you will come home on your next holiday from school, but understand from your father that you prefer to spend your time with your friends. Please consider coming home, if only for a few days, my dear son, as it has been forever since I’ve seen you and I do miss you terribly. I hope that eventually you can come to forgive me for my sins.

  Love Always,

  Mother

  Alex stared blankly at the pages, in complete bewilderment. He picked up another letter and then another. All of them from over several years, all of them professing her love, all of them begging him to forgive her.

  Clutching a number of letters in his fist, Alex staggered backwards. What was this about? What sort of trick was this? He steadied himself and stomped from the room, finding Martin in the hallway. “Where is my mother?” he growled.

  The butler looked a little pale and he cleared his throat. “In the orangery, Your Grace.”

  Alex stormed off down the hallway, around a corner, and down some steps until he reached the orangery. He threw open the door, causing his mother to scream and drop her watering pot. He paid no notice to her state of shock and stalked towards her. “What is the meaning of this?” he roared, thrusting the letters at her.

  His mother frowned, shaking her head. “I don’t understand you, Alex. You show up out of nowhere. You rant and rave. You threaten to dismiss me. Now you’ve tracked me down to bark at me. What do you want?”

  “Pray explain these mendacities, madam.”

  She scooped one of the letters off the floor and opened it. “It’s a letter I wrote to you.” Then she looked at him with a quizzical expression. “Have you kept them with you this whole time? I never thought they meant anything to you.”

  “You never sent these to me,” he replied icily.

  With an affronted look, she tipped her head haughtily in the air. “I most certainly did. Every week after Arthur sent you away. I only stopped when I got your letter telling me that you didn’t need your whore of a mother and to stop pestering you.”

  Alex’s mouth fell open. “Mother, I never received one letter from you, nor did I send one. I thought you were dead.”

  She stumbled backwards and would have fallen over completely, except that he steadied her. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because father’s solicitor sent me a letter saying so.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks and she turned away from him. “No wonder you hate me so much. You thought I’d abandoned you.”

  “You weren’t exactly welcoming when I arrived last time.”

  “I was hurt from the things you’d said to me, or thought you’d said to me. It was childish of me.” She spun to face him. “Oh, Alex, I am so sorry. My dear son, all this time lost…”

  All the time he’d spent away from her, thinking she blamed him, thinking she hated him. He stepped backwards. “Mother, I need some time.”

  Livvie smoothed her hand over Poppy’s back as the girl stared out the carriage window. Her step-daughter had been so excited to arrive at Everett Place, she’d even bounced on her toes half the way to Hampshire.

  “Olivia, do you really think Papa will come to visit us in Brockenhurst?”

  She wished she knew the answer to that, and she didn’t want to get the child’s hopes up. “I’ve asked him to visit us. I don’t know if he will, Poppy.”

  “It’s so pretty. There aren’t any buildings or theatres. Just land.”

  Hampshire was going to be a change for a child who’d only ever lived in the city. “Country life is bit quieter, dear.”

  “Ooo,” Poppy nearly squealed. “Olivia, look. Do you think that is Everett Place?”

  Olivia leaned over her step-daughter and peered out the window. A large, sandstone baroque mansion proudly stood in the distance, and her heart flipped. It had to be Everett Place. “I do believe it is, Poppy.”

  Iris found her estranged son sitting in Arthur’s old study, reading one letter after another. She had thought her heart would break all those years ago when her husband had punished her by sending her son away. But watching the painful expressions wash over his face was much worse. It was one thing for Arthur to punish her, but another entirely different to have done so to their son. What was left of her old heart was slowly crumbling.

  When she sniffed away her tears, his eyes flashed to her in the doorway. He held up a letter. “You breed sheepdogs?”

  Iris nodded her head. “Eighteen, nineteen years now.”

  Alex smiled tightly, holding up one of the letters. “1796.” Then he dropped the letter in a pile and gestured for her to sit on the room’s settee. “My wife, Olivia, is terrified of dogs. You’ll need to make sure they all remain in the kennels while we’re here. Her condition is delicate, and I—”

  Iris walked into the study, her heart expanding since he was opening up, even if just a little, to her. “You’re to be a father again?” She sat opposite him, studying his handsome face. She had missed seeing him grow into this man.

  He nodded. “I’m sorry for what I said about Poppy. You are, of course, her grandmother.”

  “Please don’t apologize. I can well imagine what you must have thought about me.”

  “All his lies. I don’t even know you. I vaguely remember you from when I was a child.”

  “I’m certain I’m not even the same person anymore, Alex.”

  From the doorway, Martin cleared his throat. “Your Grace, a number of coaches seem to be headed this way.”

  “A number of them?” Alex echoed, rising from his seat.

  Iris followed her son out of the study and onto the front drive. He seemed quite agitated, so she softly touched his arm.

  “Your wife?”

  “Yes.”

  He stood there in silence with his mother until four large traveling coaches came to a stop. Then hordes of people began filing out of them like ants leaving a hill. Alex quietly scanned the crowd of maids, footmen, and then he heard…

  “Look, Olivia, Papa is here.”

  Then before he knew it, his daughter sprinted through the crowd and flung herself around his waist. “Oh, Papa. We have missed you. Are you going to stay with us here? Or do you still have business things to do?”

  Alex snatched the girl into his arms and held her close. “No, Poppy,” he choked, “I’m never leaving you again.”

  She tightened her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Olivia cried every day you were gone. She doesn’t know I know.”

  Alex blinked back a tear of his own when he finally spotted his beautiful bride climbing out of one of his coaches. The air rushed out of him and he felt faint. He’d been such a fool to leave her. He kissed Poppy’s forehead and then placed her back on the ground. “Let me see to her.”

  Then he pushed his way through the crowd, relieved to see a tentative smile tug at Olivia’s lips. Alex picked her up and spun her around in the air, kissing her soundly in front of his staff, his mother, and his daughter. “You’re never allowed to leave me again,” he whispered as her feet touched the ground.

  She laughed back a cry. “You left me.”

  “I’m a bloody fool.”

  “Agreed.”

  Alex held her against him, afraid that if he let her go, she’d vanish. “I’m not here because of the baby, Olivia. I mean, I suppose I am in a way. But I am here because I love you, sweetheart.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, then she buried her face against his chest. “I love you, Alex, and I was so afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  He stepped away from his wife, a look of chagrin on his face. “You told me not to come.”

  Olivia blushed and chewed her plump bottom lip. “Yes, but you never listen to me.”

  Amaze
d that she’d played him, but so glad that she did, Alex threw back his head and laughed. “You crafty woman.”

  “I’ve missed you so desperately,” she confessed.

  “Me too. I can never apologize enough for what I’ve done.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just hold me.”

  Alex pulled his wife back into his arms and kissed her soundly again. It was so healing to hold her, to let her love flow into his heart.

  “Papa,” came Poppy’s voice beside them.

  He stepped back to look at his daughter, and discovered she was holding his mother’s hand. Alex blinked at the sight, then took a deep breath. “Mother, you’ve met Poppy?”

  “She’s delightful,” his mother replied.

  “Olivia sweetheart, this is my mother—”

  “Iris,” the older woman clarified.

  Alex looked into Olivia’s pretty, hazel eyes, praying she wouldn’t be furious with him for not being completely honest about his mother’s current state of being. She did frown, but nodded her head in greeting. “Your Grace.”

  “Olivia, Livvie,” he whispered, “there are some things I should have told you.”

  “Caroline already told me, Alex.”

  The lies that his father had perpetuated. “Caroline doesn’t know everything.”

  Her eyes shot to his in question.

  Alex smiled at his mother. “Why don’t you take Poppy on a tour of your kennels?”

  Olivia’s muscles tightened at the mention of the kennels, and Alex caressed her back. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, the pups are safely locked away.”

  His mother offered her hand to Poppy and her eyes glistened as the child accepted her without question.

  On a settee in the study next to her husband, Livvie stared at the pile of unread letters littering an ancient desk. The mound was staggering. She was dumbfounded, hardly believing the awful tale Alex had just told her, and she brushed away a straggling tear. It was heartbreaking that her husband and his mother had been kept apart for nearly a quarter of a century due to the previous duke’s lies. It was unconscionable.

  Beside her, Livvie could see a line of worry marring his brow, and she shook her head, squeezing his hands. “I’m so sorry, my love.”