by Gill, Tamara
"If we're to stay as we were in Rome, I need you to trust me."
"Trust you? You did not even marry me using your real name. How can I trust you? If you were not trying to hide your identity, why did you not tell me the truth? All of it, the weeks we spent together look like a falsehood now. How can I trust you ever again?"
"First, I signed the marriage register with St. Albans, you just did not notice it. Second, I would not be in London, having the ton gossip and sneer behind my back unless what I said was the truth. Unless I knew they were wrong, and I was right. My friends, the Duke of Whitstone and Duncannon believe me, but you do not. I do not understand it. I thought you loved me. Was that a misunderstanding on my behalf?"
The music faded to a stop, and she pulled out of his hold and strode for the entrance hall. She needed to leave. How could he ask her such a question? He knew as well as herself how much she adored and loved him. To be angry with her made no sense. It was not she who had done the wrong thing. He had. A youth at the time or not, did not excuse his actions.
He caught up to her in the foyer as a footman was handing her her pelisse. Hugh clasped her hand, calling for his carriage.
"I can have a Hackney cab called. I do not need you to return me to my home."
"The hell I'll allow my duchess to travel in a hackney." The black, highly polished carriage rolled to a halt before the townhouse's front steps. Hugh held out his hand to assist her into the vehicle, and she ignored his proffered hand, climbing up herself.
He followed, calling for St. Albans house. She scowled at him across the shadowy space that separated them. "I'm not staying at Grosvenor Square. You cannot make me."
"I can, and you will. Whether you love me anymore, trust, or believe me, St. Albans House is where its duchess resides. You will be safe there, be well cared for when I return to Rome."
She could not look at him when he mentioned such things. So he intended to leave her? Of course, he would, if she could not believe or love him as she had in Rome, what was left for him in London? Her heart ached at the very idea of Hugh living so very far away from her. If her aunt confirmed Hugh as the one who had ruined Laura, what was she to do? The man she fell in love with in Italy was honorable, sweet, and kind. So very loving to her, at least.
Her cousin had been played the fool, so how could she forgive such treatment to soothe her own selfish wants and needs from the same man? An older, more mature Hugh than Laura obviously knew. An impossible choice.
"Very well, I shall stay at St. Albans House, but until I know who is telling me the truth and who is not, I do not wish to live as husband and wife. Please do not expect me to open my apartment doors to you. I will not."
His eyes flashed with annoyance, and for the life of her she could not look away. To stay away from her husband would be a chore, Molly had no doubt about that. Her body yearned for his touch, his lips on her flesh, what his clever hands and mouth could do that sent her pulse to race. Her core ached at the memory of their last coming together, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
"When you learn the truth, my love, and you will, I expect recompense for the time that I've had to live without you."
She scoffed at him. "And if you are proven to be the ruiner of young, unmarried women, what do I get? Oh, let me tell you. A farcical marriage to a man who will live hundreds of miles away from me and I stuck with society forever laughing at me that I had been fool enough to marry the man who ruined my cousin."
"They do not know Miss Cox was your cousin. And anyway, I am right, and you are wrong, so it will all work out in the end."
"It will only be a matter of time before they do know Laura was a relation." She shook her head. "You're so very sure you'll be proven innocent."
He leaned forward, his beautiful features coming more into focus as they rumbled through the London streets. "Do you not wish to see me proven innocent? You seem determined to believe everyone else except me."
Molly wanted to reach out, soothe the hurt she could read in his eyes, but she did not. Instead, she slumped back onto the squabs and watched the passing houses in Mayfair go by. "I have invited my aunt and uncle to stay. If anyone knows the truth it is them, and then I shall know how to act."
Chapter 14
The following weeks in the St. Albans house were not a comfortable existence, certainly not for Hugh. His wife went about her days, paying calls, visiting her close friends, and hosting them in return. Outwardly, the ton believed that they were a happily married couple. That Miss Molly Clare had tamed the rogue Lord Hugh Farley, now Duke of St. Albans, but they would be wrong.
Their close friends knew the truth of the situation. That when they were home, Molly barely spoke to him, spent her days in the warm, sunny parlor at the back of the house while he whiled away his hours in the library at the front.
He hated their separation and would do anything to correct the wrong. Molly had come to him and told him that next week her aunt and uncle would be traveling to town to see her. To discuss what they knew.
Molly's family had not taken the news of their marriage well, and her parents had refused to attend, to come along with her aunt and uncle. Hugh knew the slight hurt Molly. She had been close with her parents. To have them turn their backs on her now, left a rage to simmer in his blood.
No one gave the cut direct to the Duchess of St. Albans and got away with it.
Hugh leaned back in the leather-bound chair behind his desk, his mind frantic on how he could prove to her his innocence. He had hoped to speak to his late brother's valet, who was privy to all the duke's whereabouts and had known of his liaison with Miss Cox, but returning to London, he'd found out that he'd been killed along with his brother in the carriage accident.
And now he was fucked. How was he going to prove that it hadn't been him, he was merely the brother, the spare who had taken the blame? The letter his mother had sent too was no use, for the fool that he was, he'd burned the blasted thing in a fit of rage.
Over the last two weeks, he'd watched his wife with a longing that both frustrated and vexed him. He'd never been a man who could not live without a woman. His life up to meeting Molly had been full, entertaining, and had its shares of liaisons too, but it was different now. He wanted her trust, her love. To have her back in his arms where he knew true happiness and contentment.
The ducal bed was vast and cold as it now lay. He wanted her back in it, to be with him.
"Your Grace, the duchess," a servant puffed, sliding into the library on the polished parquetry floor, his breathing ragged from running. "She has collapsed in the back parlor."
Hugh shot to his feet, running past the pale and wide-eyed servant as he raced to the parlor Molly liked to use. He charged into the room, seeing a maid trying to rouse the duchess. Hugh slid down next to her, leaning close to her to hear if she was breathing. A small flutter of breath touched his cheek, and relief washed through him like a balm. She was alive. As long as that were so, all else would be well. "What happened? Was she feeling ill this morning?" he questioned the maid.
She shook her head, frowning. "Her Grace was well when I brought in the tea just now. As I stoked the fire for her, she complained of dizziness and dropped the teacup she was holding. She must have been leaning forward on the chair a little, for she slumped onto the floor."
"Send for a doctor and hurry. I will carry Her Grace to her room."
"Yes, Your Grace," the maid said, dipping into a curtsy.
Hugh reached under Molly and scooped her up in his arms. He carried her to her room, a maid hurrying before him to open her door and pull back the bedding.
Just as he laid her down on the cool linens, she stirred, confusion clouding her features. "What happened?" she asked, looking about her room. "How did I get back into my bedchamber?"
"You swooned in the parlor. I have sent for the doctor. How are you feeling?" He reached out, touching her forehead. She was not warm, it did not seem like there was anything wrong with her outwardly.
"Not again," she mumbled.
Hugh frowned. She'd fainted before today? "This is not the first time you've collapsed?"
"No," she sighed, rubbing her brow. "I found myself on the floor in my room last week, but I'm, well, merely pregnant, Hugh."
Hugh stared at her, slack-jawed. "What?" He stumbled back, running a hand through his hair. He took in his wife, and for the first time, noticed that her stomach was a little bigger than when in Rome. Her breasts too strained against her day gown, and her complexion was pale. "You're what?" Emotion welled up inside him, and he blinked back the burn of tears. He was going to be a father?
She stared at him, patent and calm, a little quirk to her lips. His heart gave a thump. She had not smiled at him at all since his return. "We're having a baby, Hugh. I became ill on the boat back from Rome, and when that illness did not abate, and my courses did not arrive, I knew that I was carrying your child."
"Why did you not send for me?" Pain sliced through him that she would keep such news from him. Did she loathe him so very much that she would deny him the chance to be a father? To teach his child right from wrong. Guide his daughter how to be kind and resourceful and his son, honorable and strong. All the things that his parents failed when it came to his elder brother. His sister Sarah was kind and resourceful, a woman not to be crossed, and he loved her for it, but it had been his father who had taught them what was good in life and how to treat people. His mother had spoiled their older brother and ruined him, made him the man who was now causing all the problems he faced within his marriage.
"I wanted to be sure first, and then the fear that you would not come, would not care to return stopped me. We did not part on the best of terms."
He came over to where she lay and sat. He picked up her hands. They were cold to the touch, and he rubbed them, trying to bring warmth back into her veins. "I know you do not believe me, not many do, my elder brother was a masterful liar and swindler. It was probably why your cousin fell for his false charms so easily. With all that is between us and still to be solved, I will always be here for you, whether you wish me to be or not. I love you, Molly, and I'm going to fight for you until the truth is known."
She squeezed his hand a little, and hope bloomed in his chest. Somehow he'd find someone who knew the truth and clear his name. He would not lose the woman he loved, adored with all his heart over a brother who had brought nothing but pain and cruelty wherever he went. He would not take the one good thing in his life.
His wife.
Chapter 15
A week later, Molly sat in her favorite parlor that was for her own personal use and poured her aunt and uncle tea. They had traveled up from the country the day before, opting to stay at a hotel rather than here with her or at their London home where Laura had passed. Her hands shook as she poured the tea, and she hoped they did not notice. She had woken up more ill than normal, her stomach roiling with dread at having to face her family and explain her actions. Try to get them to understand that she had not known that Mr. Armstrong was one and the same as Laura's lover.
If that were the case, after all.
She handed them both a cup of tea and sat, steeling herself for the forthcoming conversation. "Thank you for coming today to see me. I know it's not under the best of circumstances."
Her aunt refused to look at her, and as for her uncle, he stared, a look of contempt shadowing his normally jovial countenance. "We were shocked and saddened to hear of your wedding. Not a statement I thought to utter, but Molly, what were you thinking marrying this bounder?"
Molly swallowed, eschewing that anyone would talk of Hugh in such a way and hating that they may be right. "I married a Mr. Armstrong, not Lord Farley. I did not know Hugh was in any way related to Lord Farley or St. Albans."
"How could you have done this to us? After everything that man did to our family?"
Molly adjusted her seat, her hope that Hugh would be vindicated in his claims to innocence slipping away like the seconds of time. "I did not know, and the marriage was consummated before I found out the truth. I cannot change what is done, but my future happiness relies on what you tell me today. Are you certain that it was the Duke of St. Albans’ younger brother that seduced Laura?"
"Why our darling Laura never told us exactly who it was that ruined her, we did find in her bedroom dressing table a small likeness." Her aunt searched through her reticule and pulled out a miniature frame and picture. "Here, this is the likeness with the initials H St. Albans on the back."
Molly took the small painting and immediately viewed a man who very much looked like Hugh, although there were some differences, this gentleman seemed to have more of an aquiline slant to his nose than to Hugh's straight one. His eyes also were smaller, less almond-shaped to Hugh's, beadier. "While they are similar, the H could also stand for Henry, my husband's elder brother."
Her aunt's mouth pinched into a disapproving line. "While we may like to think a duke took an interest in our Laura and courted her, I have little doubt that it was the younger brother who suited her better. A second son could marry an heiress such as Laura, not the heir. And I saw Lord Hugh Farley with Laura at balls and parties, sometimes with their heads together as if they were plotting and planning their futures."
Molly sat back in her chair, taken aback by the idea that Hugh had been close with her cousin, had been, in fact, her lover in truth. Within her own mind, she had decided to find the truth before believing anything else. The idea made her want to cast up her accounts for the second time this morning.
"Could he have been acting on behalf of the duke? Or trying to persuade Laura to look to someone else than his brother? Warn her off, perhaps?" If the duke was anything like Hugh had explained him to Molly, his brother was the worst of people. The other alternative that Hugh had been lying to her, had in fact been Laura's lover was unthinkable.
"May I keep this likeness? I wish to show it to Hugh and ask him if he or his brother is in the image."
"Laura's lover was not the duke," her uncle said, pointing to the small painting in her hands. "Never once did we see the duke with Laura at any balls or assemblies. When Laura confronted the Duchess of St. Albans about her son's actions and the consequences Laura then faced, she promised retribution against her son."
Her aunt dabbed at her cheeks, her eyes welling with tears. "Laura did not confide in us at first, took all this trouble on herself without help. By the time the scandal broke in London, Lord Hugh was banished from England and Laura heavy with his baby. She took his leaving hard, and by the time she had her son, she no longer had the will to live."
"Your husband killed our daughter." Her uncle glowered, his voice wobbly with emotion.
Molly stared at her aunt and uncle, the pain echoing off them still after all these years. That they lost not only Laura but also the babe made her departure from this realm even more devastating.
"Laura was an heiress, why did the Duchess of St. Albans not make Hugh marry her? Why force Laura to hide in the country, and send her son away abroad to live out his days? It makes no sense."
"The duchess was a proud woman, a daughter of a duke herself. She did not believe in the different classes marrying. Not even her younger son would she allow to marry a woman whose inheritance came from trade. Her sons would marry women equal to their birth or no one at all."
For a moment, Molly thought about what the duchess would think of her marriage to Hugh. A vicar’s daughter without an ounce of money to her name. A weight settled on her chest, and she took a calming breath. She had loved her cousin. Outside her family, she had been like an older sister, wise and beautiful and always kind. To think that her Hugh had left her to die with a broken heart, in turn, crumbled Molly's heart in her chest.
"Did Laura leave a diary at all? Anything that can, without doubt, prove who the father of her child was?" As small as it was, Molly hung on to any tidbit of chance that Hugh was innocent as he claimed. He had to be. She loved him, was having his child.
If she did not find out the truth, forever there would be this divide, a shadow that hung over their union. She could not live like that. She would rather never see him again if that were the case.
"We have not been able to find it. We've searched her room, everywhere where we thought she would leave such an item, and we knew she had for we gave her a diary the year she came out in London. We wanted her to be able to look back, read about her first Season. What a terrible memory that year ended up being for her."
Her aunt fumbled in her reticule and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes and nose. "She had been so happy, Molly. So full of promise and dreams. The day she died was a relief in the end, for her eyes had long stared at us as if in death. Her heart was broken and would never heal."
"And by your husband." Her uncle stood, helping his wife to stand. "You are welcome to search our London house for a diary if you think it'll help you ease your guilt."
Molly stood, ignoring the barb that embedded deep into her heart. She had hurt her family, and if what they had just stated was true, her husband had been Laura's lover. Despair washed over her, and she fought not to let the emotion make her panic. She walked her aunt and uncle to the front door.
"We are headed home today, we do not wish to stay in London a moment longer than necessary. Laura birthed her child in our London home. If the diary is to be found anywhere, it will be in that home. You are welcome to go there and search. We have a housekeeper, and two maids who live there, and you may ask them for entrance."
Molly nodded, handing her aunt her pelisse. "I am so very sorry to hurt you in this way. I fell in love, I did not know the truth of whom I fell in love with."
Her aunt reached out, clasping her cheek with her gloved hand. Molly reached up, holding her aunt's hand to her face. "We love you, our dearest Molly, and therefore we hope that you find a different answer to the one we've given you today, but when the truth does come out, and you feel you have nowhere to turn, please know you always have us. We shall never turn you away, no matter what you have done."