by Gill, Tamara
"I've known Rose for some years, and trust her word. Stop hesitating. Are you the one who society cast out due to your actions toward Laura?"
A muscle worked in his jaw. His lips thinned. "I am the very man who was forced to leave England over the scandal. But not everything is as it seems, Molly. Allow me to explain, and you may think differently."
Molly slapped a hand over her mouth, having heard enough. "See things differently." She stood. "You must be jesting. I will never see anything of that situation other than what occurred. You slept with my cousin, ruined her, and then left her for dead. She did die by the way, during the birth of your son. Did you know that?"
He stared at her, his eyes wide, his face draining of color. "Laura was your cousin? But your last name was Clare. I knew Miss Cox in town, and not once did I see you with her."
"My uncle made his fortune importing and exporting goods from India, he married my father's sister. My father is a vicar. A modest life and income, and because I was a few years younger than Laura, when her fall from grace occurred, I was sent away to France to school. To remove me from the scandal and to keep my reputation safe."
"We were both sent away. I'm sorry for what happened to Laura, but let me explain my side of events. You will see that I'm innocent in all this."
Molly strode to the door. A chair scraped behind her, and before she could open the door but an inch, Hugh was behind her, slamming it shut. She turned, glaring at him. "I married the one man my family and I swore to curse for the rest of our days. How can I return home and tell my parents, aunt, and uncle, that I have slept with our enemy? The very man who ruined a woman's life. You left her to die. For days she suffered in childbirth, and not one word from you."
"You do not know what you speak," he said frowning. "I cared for Laura as a friend, but that is all. I did not do what you accuse me of."
"Really, then tell me, Your Grace, who did? Your elder brother, perhaps? You cannot think that I would believe that your mother would go about society as she did, sorrowful and apologetic for her younger son's actions. No mother would throw the blame on one child over the other, especially if they were innocent of the charge."
He scoffed, running a hand through his hair and leaving it on end. "You did not know my mother." The words were self-derogatory, and she hated that this was what was happening to them.
"You go by the name Mr. Armstrong?" she asked, needing clarification.
"It's my mother's maiden name and not commonly known. A vicar's daughter would not know the intimate details of a duke's marriage that took place years before, now would she?"
The words were cutting, and Molly felt the nick of his tongue's blade just as severe as if he'd cut her with the physical object himself. So, now she was not good enough for him? Not high enough on the social ladder to circulate and know the Duke of St. Albans intimate details?
"I will pack my things and be gone by the morning."
"The hell you will." He glared at her, his eyes narrowing in anger, and yet fear, not hate lurked in his dark depths. Not that it would change her mind. He could not keep her here, no matter what he said or thought. She would return to England and forget her few weeks in Italy.
Or at least try and forget her time here.
Her heart ached at the very thought of it.
"You cannot stop me, Hugh. I will leave you and be gone by morning. Nothing you say or do will change that fact." The thought of their farce marriage near crumbled her resolve to remain strong. “We’re not even married. All this time I’ve been living in sin and with a man I do not even know.”
“We are married. I signed the register St. Albans, not Armstrong.”
“That does not make it legal,” she seethed, blinking to stem her tears. “In a court of law, I highly doubt that would make our marriage legitimate.”
A muscle worked in his jaw as he thought over her words. “We will marry again. Without the guise of Armstrong.”
She shook her head. Who was this man? “I will not marry Lord Farley, not now or ever. I’m returning to England.”
"And so that is all I deserve. You choose to believe I am capable of such a crime and do not believe me when I tell you otherwise."
Molly crossed her arms. She wanted to go to him, to soothe the hurt in his voice, the pain etched on his handsome visage. But she could not. Her cousin's image, cold in her coffin, her little child laying in her arms, put paid to that notion. "What is your side, then, Your Grace? Do, please, enlighten me."
He growled, stalked to the fire where he fisted his hands on the marble mantle. "I never touched Miss Cox. My brother courted her during her first Season, made her believe she was loved and his favorite. Henry had many favorites, your cousin was merely one of them."
Molly listened, not liking that he sounded like he truly believed the words coming out of his mouth. Had she married a madman? A liar? Society would certainly say she'd married a rogue who had ruined an innocent woman and left her to face the ton's wrath. Laura certainly had paid the ultimate price for giving her heart to a man.
"Henry got her with child, and when she demanded he do the right thing by her, he threw her aside. Laura threatened Henry in a letter to my mother. A mistake she would live to regret. No one tells the Duke of St. Albans what to do."
She narrowed her eyes, the arrogance of the man, of his family. "She was an heiress, more than suitable for your family. I'm sorry, Your Grace, but the notion behind your excuse is absurd. For years, you've been living abroad, people know it only to be you that was shunned out of society, not your brother. I do not believe you."
"I took the fall, Molly. That is all. I was forced to leave England for the sake of the family image. I prefer Rome in any case, and I've been happy here. But now, as a married man, I know that my life has been missing one important element. You."
"Well, you shall miss that element again, for I am not staying. I cannot believe the Duke of Whitstone is your friend. Once he finds out that Laura was my cousin, I doubt you'll have even him as your supporter."
"Did you hear a word that I said?"
"I did," she said, “and I do not believe it. No one would leave their homeland, take the fall for anyone, not even for their brother." She glanced about the room, the well-stocked shelves of books, the leather chairs before the fire, and mahogany desk. The opulence that she'd never noticed before. Of course, she knew he was not struggling, but she had not seen everything as clearly as she now did. "They paid you to leave. Guilty or not, you choose money over honor." She rushed for the door.
"Molly, wait." He clasped her arm, and she shook off his hold.
Molly held up her hand, trying to gather all the tidbits of information as she knew them. "Say your brother did dishonor my cousin, you still chose to leave England. To live abroad and in the same type of lifestyle that you enjoyed back home. Instead of forcing your brother to do the right thing, making him marry Laura, you ran away. Like a coward."
He swallowed, his skin a deathly gray. "I had no choice, Molly. Please believe me that I did try. I know you do not believe me, but I did fight for Laura. Henry would not be moved, and my mother even more so. Do not leave me. I cannot live without you."
Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and she sniffed, not wanting him to see her cry. "You did not try hard enough. I do not know who you are."
He clasped her arms, pinning her before him. His hands shook, and she willed herself to be strong. To not be swayed. "You do know who I am. More than anyone else. Do you believe I could act so callously toward a woman? For all your sweetness and how much I love you, you are not nobility. I did not have to marry you if I did not choose to. I love you, fell in love with you, and want to spend the rest of my life with you. No title, not even a ducal one, could stop me from having you forever, and it did not.
“When we took our vows, I said mine as the Duke of St. Albans. The registrar is signed with St. Albans, not Armstrong. Why would I have not married your cousin had I loved her? She was an heiress,
some would say more suitable than you were for my rank. It was not me, Molly. I was not the man behind your cousin's downfall."
She pushed him away, having heard enough. "I do not know what I believe, but what I do know is that everyone believes it was you, even your mother. You ran away to Italy and hid here for years like some sort of criminal. How am I to just dismiss all of that? I cannot."
"You're making a mistake."
She turned and reached for the door, wrenching it open. "Maybe I am, but know this, you allowed me to marry you when so much of your past was hidden. Like a thief in the night, you concealed why you left London and your true name. Even if my cousin was not involved, you seem to be so very comfortable living a lie that it sends shivers up my spine."
"I intended to tell you the truth. I just could not find the right time. I'm sorry that I did not."
Molly scoffed, glancing at him over the shoulder. "Hindsight is a wonderful thing, is it not? If only we could do things over again, perhaps we would've acted differently, but I suppose we shall never know now." She walked from the room, leaving Hugh behind. She would return to London tomorrow first thing, return to England, and figure out her life without her husband.
A man she had thought she knew, loved with all her heart. Worse, however, would be when she faced her family. When they found out who she had married, they would never forgive her. They, too, would shun her and demand she leave them be. The thought sent a pulse of revulsion to course through her body, and she ran the last few steps to her room, just making it and retching into her chamber pot. She slumped against the wall, spent and nauseated. No more fitting end to a wretched night could she have asked for. Perfect.
Chapter 12
London - One month later
Molly returned to London a few weeks into the new Season. Her trip made less arduous and long due to Lord Brandon allowing her the use of his ship to escort her back to London. A welcome reprieve due to her stomach ailing her the whole time she was at sea. Molly had put her infirmity down to her churning stomach. Her thoughts taunting and mocking that she was returning home without her husband. That Hugh had not attempted to stop her the morning she left was a hurt that ripped her in half and would never heal.
How could he have sat in his office, staring at his paperwork, not bothering to look up as she passed his door? Molly wasn't sure what hurt her the most. That he was a liar, a man who had fled England after ruining her cousin, or that he couldn't care one whit that she was leaving him. Did not a man who declared he was in love with her, not fight to keep her heart? How could he have been so cold and aloof when inside her chest, her heart broke into a million pieces?
She sat in the parlor in the house her good friend Marchioness Ryley owned. A home Willow used to share with Molly and Evie until they married and went on with their new lives. The Duke of Albans’ man of business had called in on her only yesterday, offering her the ducal property on Grosvenor square. He stated the house was fully staffed and at her disposal should she wish to use it. She merely only need travel there.
She would not be going anywhere near the London home or the duke's country estate. Neither home held any interest to her. Although at times, she had found herself driving past the house in town and looking at it, marveling at the grand Georgian design, the pillars and house frontage that had its own carriage entrance off the square.
A silly little fool who needed to remember why she left her husband in the first place.
Guilt pricked her soul each time she thought of who she was now. No longer Miss Molly Clare, but the Duchess of St. Albans. A traitor to her family, to her cousin. Even though she had not been aware of her wrongdoing, it still did not make her current circumstances right.
A light knock on the door sounded, and her footman announced the Duchess of Carlisle.
"Evie!" Molly stood, all but running to her friend to pull her into a tight embrace. "I'm so very happy to see you. Please tell me you are now arrived in town and are here to stay."
Evie hugged her back, before pulling her over to a nearby settee. Before sitting, she rang for tea, and came and sat beside her. "We are here for the remainder of the Season. I was so eager to return to town when I heard you were back from Rome. I also heard quite a remarkable rumor that you need to explain to me before my curiosity drives me to bedlam."
Molly knew only too well what rumor had brought Evie around to her home. Still, she was curious just how inquisitive she was. "When did you arrive in London?"
"Only just now. I had the carriage drop me here. Finn continued on to our townhouse." Evie adjusted her seat, meeting her gaze. "You traveled to Rome for an adventure, and from what I hear, you had quite a significant one. How are you faring being a Duchess?"
Molly sighed, slumping into her chair. "Not very well at all. I've made the most dreadful mistake, and I do not know what I shall do."
Concern replaced Evie's amused visage. She frowned. "Why is marriage to the Duke of St. Albans so very bad? He's rumored to be immensely handsome, not to mention rich. You'll be beholden to no one, not even your family. That is a good thing, is it not?"
Molly knew all too well how handsome Hugh was, and loving. The many mornings waking up in his arms had been the most wonderful of her life. His wicked grins that still made her stomach flip, her blood to heat. Even knowing the truth of his past. Her heart broke while her mind screamed to stay strong, to not forgive.
"Do you remember hearing of Lord Farley and his expulsion from London society and England some years ago? He ruined Miss Laura Cox."
A puzzled look crossed Evie's brow before she said, "I believe so. He fled to Spain the last I heard. Why is this relevant to your marriage?"
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swiped it away. Annoyed that after all these weeks without Hugh, she was still emotional about everything. His conduct. Her leaving. So many things left unsaid.
Lord Hugh Farley was the Duke of St. Albans’ younger brother." Molly met Evie's eyes and watched as comprehension dawned on her features.
"What? No, it could not be. You married the scoundrel that ruined that poor girl? Even his family turned against him. She was an heiress, perfectly acceptable really to marry a duke's second son, but he refused. How is it that your paths even crossed?"
"He was not in Spain, and he never went by the name Farley in Rome, but Armstrong. His mother's name apparently. Worse is yet to be spoken, however, Evie. So much worse." Her stomach twisted, and she took a calming breath, relieved when a servant brought in the tea and some ginger biscuits.
"I will pour, thank you," the Duchess of Carlisle said, dismissing the footman.
Molly took the tea and sighed in delight as the sweet brew met her tongue. She picked up a ginger biscuit and nibbled.
"Tell me what could possibly be worse than marrying that man?" Evie asked.
Molly sipped again, steeling herself to say the words that haunted her conscience. "Miss Laura Cox, the heiress whom my husband ruined all those years ago, is my cousin. My father and her mother are siblings. They were well-to-do. My uncle was business savvy and earned his fortune and climbed up into the society in which he wished Laura to marry. My father is a vicar, and so we circulated in different circles. When Laura fell from grace, I was packed off to France, where I would be safe from such rakehells."
"Oh, my dear Molly. I do not know what to say. That is, I have a lot to say, but I cannot believe how unfortunate this all is. What did His Grace say about Laura? How did he explain his actions toward her?"
"He said it wasn't him that ruined her, but in fact his brother, he merely took the fall. I do not believe him, of course. Now that his brother is dead, there is no one to naysay him."
"True," Evie said, biting her lip in thought. "But what if it is true? Is there a chance that he may be innocent?"
"I do not think so. His mother, the duchess even pulled away from him over his actions. No mother would turn away from her child, surely. You defend your children, love them and guide them as be
st you can."
"Not all mothers are created equal. From what I remember of the Duchess of St. Albans she was a taxing, haranguing woman who enjoyed belittling people she did not like. I do not think she would have been the most loving parent."
"Perhaps not, but it does not change what her son is accused of. Hugh told me himself that he knew Laura, he said that he'd tried to convince his brother to marry her, but was unsuccessful."
"So not entirely terrible, if he's telling the truth, that is," Evie said, her tone placating.
"Even if he's innocent of the crime, he allowed his family to let him take the fall. He was sent abroad, with all life's little luxuries that were not afforded to Laura. He's lived a full and happy life in Rome. Laura was buried at only twenty years of age."
"Oh, Molly, that is very sad. Whatever will you do?"
Molly stood, going to a nearby decanter and pouring herself a good serving of brandy. She downed it quickly, before pouring another. "I do not know. I married a Mr. Armstrong, not the Duke of St. Albans. I’m not even certain our marriage is legitimate, even though Hugh said he signed the register St. Albans.”
Evie stared at her, eyes wide in shock. “So you may not even be married?”
Molly chewed her lip, frowning. “Possibly not.” She paused. “To society we appear married, there is a register of our marriage, it was only the vows that were misspoken. I cannot let anyone know the truth. If they were to find out that our marriage may not have been legitimate, I will have ruined myself and brought more shame onto my family than I can bear.”
"I agree. It is best that no one is told of your unusual wedding." Evie placed her teacup and saucer down, studying her a moment. "Where is St. Albans? Has he returned to England?”
“No,” Molly said, hating that her heart panged at the thought of him being so very far away. “Hugh is still in Rome. It is unlikely he will return given our parting.”