A Love Laid Bare
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Missing, presumed dead
Devastated after his young bride vanishes at sea only months after their wedding, Lord Halcombe is finally beginning to accept her loss when she suddenly reappears almost two years later—with a child she claims is his daughter. Where has she been, and why had she stayed away all this time?
Hard questions he needs answered before he dares allow her back into his life. Torn between the pain she has caused him and the love he still feels for her, Halcombe is forced to decide both her fate and his. Just what was he to do about Frances?
Pregnant, penniless and trapped in a foreign country, Frances has but one goal—survival for herself and her daughter. Only after their safety is assured is she free to choose her destiny—return to the husband she still loves and who may have betrayed her, or build a new life far from England. Frances is no longer the naïve girl Lord Halcombe married. Can he accept the determined, self-reliant woman she is now?
Two strong-willed people navigate a rocky path strewn with heartache and risk. Only if they can learn to put the past aside and build on the future will they succeed in creating the loving union they both desperately desire.
A Love Laid Bare
Constance Hussey
Published by Constance Hussey at Smashwords
Copyright 2014 Constance Hussey
Smashwords Edition
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Chapter One
Sussex, England 1809
They never did find her body.
Mine, mine, mine. The sea’s mocking litany beat in his head with each wave that crashed against the rocky shore below. Lord Halcombe settled his restless horse with a reassuring touch on its neck and allowed the animal to back away from the edge of the cliff. It was ill judged, stopping here today. Almost two years now, and he was no more reconciled to his wife’s absence than he had been in those first months of disbelief.
Halcombe shook his head, mouth tight to contain the shout of denial he wanted to throw at the sky boiling above and turned Zeus toward the house perched on the hill behind him. He at least had enough sense to not have them both soaked and in lightning’s path when the fast building storm slammed ashore. Was that what happened that day? The storm blowing up so quickly as to take her unaware, experienced sailor though she was? It ate at him, not knowing.
Clifftop. It was a surprisingly mundane name for his wife’s childhood home, considering she had named his horse Zeus, but perhaps Frances had not chosen it. Perhaps the house already bore the name when she moved here. It was yet another thing Halcombe did not know, and that gnawed at him as well, the many things he had never learned about her. He did feel, however, that she would have been pleased to see the house as well kept now as it was before her father’s death—something owed more to the careful ministrations of the steward than any effort on his part.
The earl rode up the winding path, thinking of the first time he had done so. The image of Frances was in his head, the picture of her as clear as on the day he first saw her, framed in the window as he walked up the front steps. So achingly young, her eyes wide with surprise at his sudden appearance. He learned later she had been deep in her studies, not expecting company, which explained the careless sweep of hair, tumbling childlike around her face. He had been amused at the quick rounding of her lips and the sudden laughter in her eyes.
“My lord?”
The groom’s hesitant voice drew him from the past. Halcombe dismounted and handed over the reins with an absentminded nod. His steward, Thomas Blount, stood waiting for him on the wide porch.
“I trust your journey was agreeable, my lord,” Blount said in his grave voice. Halcombe smiled. Blount said the same thing every time he arrived here, and if the man ever smiled, Halcombe had yet to see it.
“Mr. Blount. You are keeping well?” The steward nodded again and, the ritual over, they entered the house. It smelt of beeswax and lemons and was scrupulously clean, exactly as it was when Frances and her father, Lawrence Nesbitt, had lived here.
Halcombe cut off the memory of his visits here and said, more curtly than he had intended, “You take good care of this place, Blount, but it does no good for a building to sit empty. I am considering letting it out. The staff is welcome to stay on.”
“Of course, my lord. Have you someone in mind? Shall I make inquiries?”
“Please do that. In the meantime, I want the contents of Mr. Nesbitt’s study boxed up and sent to Halcombe Manor, along with any personal belongings of Lady Halcombe’s that remain here.”
“Certainly, sir. The work will begin at once.”
The earl braced himself for the effort of walking into Nesbitt’s study. This would be the last time he would put himself through this ordeal. He would not come here again.
Chapter Two
Portugal, 1809
Those who claim that eavesdroppers usually hear ill of themselves speak wisely. Frances certainly knew this as a truth. She stared at the waves rolling onto the Portuguese shore and pictured another sea, one that tossed cold grey water roughly upon the Sussex cliffs. Home. She had to go home. The thought of it swamped her with a mixture of longing and dread. Now she had no choice, and if she were honest, she’d admit knowing weeks ago that she could not put it off much longer. Only the thought of facing Richard and the certain knowledge that he would never forgive her had kept her here.
“Judging by the look on your face, you have read my letter from England? From Thomas Blount?” Olivia declared as she entered the room. She took Frances’ arm and led her to a chair. “Sit down, child, and tell me why it has upset you. Shall I get you some port?”
Frances summoned a smile. Aunt Olivia was convinced that a glass of rich wine could soothe most ills. “The news is not such as to take spirits at this hour of the morning, Aunt Livvy. In truth, I have expected it.” She opened her hand and smooth
ed out the letter she had crumpled up earlier.
“Perhaps I am reading more into it than is needful,” Frances said. “But the fact that Richard is going to let Clifftop, and have all the books removed to Halcombe Manor, makes me think he is finally attempting to put my disappearance behind him.”
Olivia sank into the chair beside Frances. “I see. I’ve become so accustomed to Mr. Blount’s correspondence that this did not seem anything out of the ordinary. I believe the dear man writes with these little anecdotes about your father to console me, and I do enjoy them. But, yes, other than an occasional snippet about your childhood scrapes, he seldom writes of anything else.” She smiled, somewhat sadly. “You will be going back to England, I imagine.”
It was the hint of fear in Livvy’s sympathetic expression that moved Frances to reach over and take her hand. “Yes, I must. I have already done enough harm. I cannot allow Richard to make an irreconcilable mistake through no fault of his own. What if, thinking as he must, that he is a widower, he petitions the court to have me declared dead? I believe there is usually a seven-year wait, but I know him. He will not allow that much time to pass, and he has very influential friends to support him with such a petition.”
Livvy nodded, clearly having expected no other answer. “I will go with you, of course.”
Frances looked at the lovely face of her father’s sister, strained now with worry, and blinked away the moisture filling her eyes. “You are kind to offer, but I know how much you love your home here in Portugal. I’d never ask it of you. You have already done so much for us.” Olivia Blake had taken Frances in when she and Flora arrived without warning, both wretchedly ill, and nursed her and her daughter to a full recovery. Then Livvy had coaxed and bullied Frances into building a productive life.
“Nonsense. I’ve done nothing I did not choose to do, and now I choose to return to England. It’s more than time I visited my homeland. When do you plan to leave?”
There was to be no argument with that firm voice and straight back. Frances knew Livvy considered most displays of emotion a waste of time and energy better spent elsewhere. She bit back a sigh, released the older woman’s hand, and stood.
“As soon as I can book passage and pack. I will ask one of the men to get a shipping schedule.” Frances looked down at her aunt. “You do know it will be unpleasant, at best. The scandal will be horrid. I cannot begin to predict what Richard will do.”
“We will deal with it as it comes,” Livvy said briskly. “Now, I believe we have company.”
Frances turned to see her daughter dance into the room. “Mama, Mama! Pretty dress!” Flora twirled around and around until she plopped down in a heap. Her laughter was infectious and both Frances and Livvy chuckled at her antics.
“How fancy you are! Did Nancy make that for you?” Flora’s nursemaid sewed beautifully and enjoyed making clothing for her charge. Frances went over and picked up her elfin daughter. “I hope you thanked her, young lady.”
Flora nodded so vigorously that her hair ribbons were in danger of sliding out of her red-blond hair. “T’ank you.”
“That was well done, pet. Perhaps I should thank her too and ask her if she will make some more pretty clothes for you. We are going on a journey—a grand adventure. Shall we go and see if Nancy wants to go with us?”
Frances exchanged a smile with her aunt and walked from the room with Flora. What would they do if the young woman did not want to go to England? Nancy had been Flora’s nursemaid since they arrived in Portugal. The child faced so many changes. She did not need to adjust to a new nursemaid as well. You will have to be very persuasive. The one thing working in your favor is that Nancy would not easily be parted from Flora. That might be enough of an incentive. Frances certainly prayed so.
***
The weeks that followed were hectic. Frances was almost relieved as she watched the brightly colored houses that dotted the Portuguese coast dwindle as the ship drew away from the shore. She leaned on the rail, ignoring the wind that tugged at her hood, and tried to order her mind. Her thoughts had tumbled about in her head like the oft-wild Sussex waves ever since the letter from Thomas Blount had arrived.
“Are you having second thoughts?”
Frances turned at the light touch on her shoulder. “I don’t know, Aunt Livvy,” she admitted with painful honesty. “Part of me wants desperately to go home, but I also dread it. Facing everyone …especially Richard.” She took one of her aunt’s hands and tried for a lighter tone. “It may be that we will become permanent guests, after all.”
Livvy smiled, but the concern in her eyes remained. “You know you are welcome to live with me as long as you wish,” she said firmly. “It is your choice.”
Frances leaned over and gave her aunt a hug. “No one could be kinder than you, dear Aunt, but as soon as I read that letter from Thomas Blount my path was set, whatever the future may bring.” She stepped back. “Now, why have you come on deck? I know how you dislike navigating the ladder.”
Livvy accepted the change of subject with her usual grace and took Frances by the elbow. “Flora insists her mama come to tuck her in. She is delighted with the ‘funny bed’ and won’t sleep until you see it.”
“A treat, to be sure,” Frances said with a laugh. She took one last look at the receding shoreline and allowed Livvy to guide her to the gangway that led to the lower deck. With fair winds, they might reach Portsmouth in less than a week.
Chapter Three
Sussex, 1809
The earl handed Zeus’ reins to one of the grooms and walked across the stable yard toward the manor house. He was pleased with the condition of the estate. The land was in better heart than it had been for a long time, and he was justifiably proud of all he and his people had accomplished in the past two years.
He halted at the bottom of the shallow flight of front steps and eyed the building critically. The exterior was sound and the slightly askew tower in the center gave the building a rather charmingly unique character. The tower was all that remained of the original keep.
Frances had loved it on sight. She had talked of putting a study in the room on the second level, but for some reason it never happened. Nor had the place been redecorated, which it sorely needed. It was something he had expected Frances to do. Halcombe shook aside the thought and ran up the steps. He spent far too much time dwelling on the past.
“You have a guest waiting to see you, my lord.”
There was nothing in Benson’s careful expression to indicate an opinion of any kind, but Halcombe knew the man well. It was obvious that the butler did not approve of this guest, and the earl raised an eyebrow in question.
“Lady Merton,” the butler said stiffly.
Hell, what was Victoria doing here? She knew better than to call on a single man and he would bet a monkey she was here without her maid. His jaw tightened. The woman delighted in flouting convention. He had suffered through enough gossip and did not appreciate being involved in any of her nonsense.
She stood motionless, her perfect face bathed in the sunlight that streamed through the large window and though he was sure her stance was deliberate, it was an effort for him to remain impassive. He knew her to be close to his age, but she was still impossibly beautiful—flawless skin as creamy as the finest ivory, hair like spun gold—and a voluptuous figure that had a man itching to bed her. She was also totally self-centered, ruthless and had the instincts of a viper, something it had taken him a long time to learn.
“Victoria. I thought you fixed in London for the season.” Halcombe crossed the room and halted a short distance from her.
She shrugged and glided forward. “I was bored. The same tiresome people, doing the same tiresome things.”
“You expect life in the country to be less tedious?” He did not try to disguise his disbelief, and the flick of anger in her eyes told him the barb had hit home.
“I thought you might be glad to see me.” She raised a languid hand to brush her fingers along his
rigid jaw. “I am glad to see you.”
The breathy whisper stirred him in spite of his efforts. He caught her hand in a tight grip. “What do you want? Surely you have some reason to be here, the ‘most boring place in the world’ I think you once said.”
She swayed toward him, a pleading expression in her blue eyes. “I want you, Richard. I’ve always wanted you. Fate has kept us apart for so long. Now that we are both free, it’s time…”
“It is time for you to go, Lady Merton. Come, I will walk you to your carriage.”
He settled his expression into one of weary patience and even with that it seemed she might balk, but other than the narrow-eyed look she gave him, she made no protest.
“I see this is a not a good moment for you. Perhaps you will come to a dinner party I am holding next week,” she said smoothly as they walked to the door.
Halcombe handed her into her carriage and stepped back. “I believe I am unavailable next week, but thank you for the invitation.” It was a thinly veiled insult and the look she gave him was cold enough to give him pause. Fool to make an enemy of her, no matter how you feel. He forced a smile and bowed. “Perhaps another time. Good day, madam.”
“Perhaps,” she murmured with a regal nod and turned her face away.
He waved a hand at the coachman to proceed and watched until the vehicle was out of sight. Would he ever finish paying for his infatuation with her? A young man’s folly that he sorely regretted.
Returning to the house, Halcombe went into his study and picked up the handful of envelopes on his desk. Bills, for the most part, a few invitations, and several letters that appeared to be personal. He scanned through the missive from his steward at Clifftop first. All Frances’ belongings were boxed up and should arrive here within the week. He must remember to tell Benson to ready some storage. The other letter he carried over to a window. He braced one foot on the low stone embrasure and broke open the seal. Colin Hunter. Halcombe had not heard from his closest friend in several months, something that was neither unusual nor necessarily a bad thing, since the Viscount Summerton had a habit of pulling him into one scheme or another.
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