A Promise of More

by Bronwen Evans

He watched Christina as if what she was stroking a stranger, not him. Still nothing. He felt nothing. She reached up and began to take the pins from her hair, never taking her eyes from his face. Soon it fell free about her shoulders and he couldn’t help but compare her to Beatrice and find her lacking.

  What was he doing here? He wanted to leave …

  Without encouragement she tugged the plunging neckline of her gown, freeing her breasts for his eyes to feast on. Her hair fell forward, swirling around her milky shoulders, her pert breasts poking through the silky curtain. Sebastian thought he was going to be sick. It was wrong to be here.

  He watched revolted as her fingers began to work the placket of his trousers. He had no idea what she thought to do, he was still flaccid, completely unmoved by her display.

  Her fingers tried to stroke him to life even as he tried to push her away. “God, I’d forgotten how big you are. You’re the only man who’s ever been able to pleasure me. I knew your wife would not be enough of a woman for you.”

  She slid down his body, back to the floor, and began lowering her head to take him in her mouth.

  Beatrice filled his mind. He loved her. That’s why he hurt so. He looked at the beautiful woman on her knees at his feet and felt nothing. Just a cold emptiness.

  He pushed Christina’s head away and began to button his placket. Even though he knew the pleasure and revenge she could give him, the thought of what allowing her touch him this way made him feel, sobered him completely.

  An adulterer. He had made a vow to honor Beatrice. If he made love with Christina, he would be starting the same battle his parents had fought.

  Beatrice had hurt him but he would not stoop to her level in order to gain his revenge. He’d married her, happy to have a woman to bear his children. But he’d got so much more than that. He’d got a woman he thought he admired, who was clever and caring—a woman he thought he’d been the first to introduce to passion.

  Who was she really?

  This was wrong. He should not have come. Although he felt justified in finding pleasure with Christina, he couldn’t do it. Didn’t wish to do it.

  Marriage—no, Beatrice—had changed him. He wanted more than a quick fuck with a woman he cared nothing for.

  He closed his eyes and hung his head, loathing himself and hating Beatrice for bringing him this low.

  Christina sat on her haunches at his feet, confusion written on her face. “Are you all right? Perhaps some coffee first?”

  “It’s no good, Christina. I don’t want you.”

  Anger marred her face. “Then why did you come here. You want me.”

  He sighed and stood on shaky legs. “No, I’m sorry. It appears I don’t want any woman except my wife. More fool me.”

  To his despair, Beatrice was the only woman he wanted, the only woman who would satisfy him. All these years he’d bedded countless beautiful woman. How could he be so stupid to have finally given his heart, only to find the woman less than deserving? Perhaps it was God punishing him.

  Well, Beatrice would not win. He would not let her do this to him. He would not stoop to this dishonor. Marriage vows pledged fidelity and he would not be the one to break his vows.

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Christina, but I believe it is time I took my leave. Goodnight.”

  She flew at him. “Bastard!” she yelled, her nails clawing at his face. “You can’t do this to me.”

  “I’m sorry. I have nothing to give you.” Without another word he turned and walked out of the house, determined to go home and face the disaster of his marriage. And by God he would have answers, even if he really did not wish to hear them.

  He decided to walk home, heedless of the danger. The chilliness of the early morning air cooling his anger, while the pain in his chest still burned.

  “Here, sit down before you fall down.”

  She let Monica guide her to a chair and force her to sit. She couldn’t believe what had happened, the look on Sebastian’s face. He thought Henry was her child. There was no doubt in her mind about that. His look of horror upon seeing the child in her arms … she couldn’t forget it. She closed her eyes, screwed them up tight, wishing the hurt on his face could be wiped away as easily as a spilled drink. She knew that he had not believed her when she told him the child was not hers.

  She had hidden Henry from him. She had not been honest with him, and now he believed the worst. And it was her fault.

  “You are going to have to go after him and tell him,” Monica said as she knelt down and held Beatrice’s cold hands in her warm ones.

  Beatrice gave an anguished cry. “He is not going to believe me. Not now. I should have told him before we married, but I was too scared. I didn’t know him.”

  Monica rose to her feet and looked round the room.

  “What are you going to do then? If he doesn’t believe you, he can make life very, very difficult for you. In fact, he could discard you, and then how are we going to look after Henry?”

  Beatrice just shook her head and let the tears she had been holding back begin to fall. Monica said, “I’ll go and make you a cup of tea. Things are always better with tea,” and she left the room.

  Beatrice sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her body, rocking, thinking, racking her brains for a way to make him believe that the child couldn’t possibly be hers. Surely he knew she had been a virgin on their wedding night?

  It hurt that Sebastian hadn’t even bothered to ask her about Henry. He had just taken one look and accused. He didn’t trust her. Just as obvious was the fact he didn’t love her. If he had loved her, he would have at least tried to find out what on earth was going on before he reacted so strongly.

  She looked at Henry as he slept restlessly in the bassinet at her feet. The medicine the doctor had given him had finally sent him to sleep. Henry’s breathing was even and his temperature appeared to have lowered. She bent and caressed the child’s little cheek and he gave a small whimper. She’d do anything for this little boy, even face Sebastian’s wrath. She loved Henry and he loved her back.

  She knew whom to blame for this mess. Dunmire was to blame for everything. But the one thing she could not blame him for was Henry. She knew in her heart that she loved this little boy. Loved him as if he were hers, and if Sebastian would not accept him, then she would leave. She would make her own way in the world and she would protect Henry with her life if needed.

  Sometime later Monica returned with the cup of tea and she tried to get Beatrice to drink it.

  “Well, there is one good thing that has come of this.”

  Beatrice raised her head and looked at her in confusion. She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and said, “I can’t see anything good that has come out of this. I’ve made a complete mess of everything.”

  “He obviously has very deep feelings for you.”

  Beatrice gave a bitter little laugh. “You must be mistaken. He has no feelings whatsoever for me. It’s obvious. He didn’t even stay to ask me about Henry. He just judged and left. It’s his pride that is wounded.”

  “Yes. But it was not pride that sent him running, it was hurt. A man who doesn’t care wouldn’t have left. He would have stayed and flayed you with his tongue. A man who doesn’t care wouldn’t have looked so devastated. He would have simply asked who Henry was.”

  Beatrice’s mouth dropped open. Could Monica be right? Is that why he was so hurt? A little ray of hope blossomed in her chest before it withered and died just as quickly. He would hate her more now if he did have feelings. One look at Henry had destroyed them.

  “It’s a pity Miss Lizzy didn’t survive, because she could have told Lord Coldhurst the truth.”

  Beatrice slowly put the cup of tea back on the table and rose to her feet. “Oh my God—Lizzy! I do have proof,” she said, and with that she left the room at a run.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She raced up the stairs to the attic where she had kept all of Lizzy’s belongings, one day hoping t
o let Henry have a look at who his mother really was. She pulled some of the chests out from against the wall and threw open the lid of the first one. In it she found what she was looking for. A bundle of letters, letters addressed to her from Lizzy, detailing everything Dunmire had done to her and relating the birth of her son. She did have proof. And she would go to Sebastian and make him listen.

  If he did have feelings for her, then maybe, just maybe, they could make this marriage work. She raced back downstairs and gave Monica a hug.

  “I do have proof. These are letters from Lizzy. I should have been honest with Sebastian from the beginning, but now I have to tell him everything. He will have no choice but to believe me once he reads these. However, I am worried about what he will do to Dunmire when he learns the truth. Sebastian is such an honorable man. He will want to extract revenge.”

  It didn’t take her long to summon a hackney and start driving back to the house. When she entered Waverly Court, she rushed to Sebastian’s study, but he wasn’t there. She searched the whole house to no avail. Then she heard the front door open and she raced back downstairs only to see Marisa, Helen, and Aunt Alison, accompanied by Arend and Maitland, enter the house, back from their shopping expedition. The girls were chatting excitedly about their new gowns and wanted her to come with them to try them on.

  But she couldn’t concentrate on anything. All she wanted was Sebastian, and as the afternoon turned to night she wondered where on earth he had gone.

  It was nearing dawn by the time Sebastian arrived home. His anger had dissipated and all that was left was sadness. Sadness that his marriage was not what he believed it to be. Sadness at destroyed trust and friendship.

  As he quietly made his way upstairs he didn’t know what he was going to say to Beatrice. He didn’t know what he was going to do. All he knew was he didn’t want her in the house with him. His pain was too raw and he couldn’t bear to look at her at the moment. He had been totally fooled by her innocent act and had been used just as Doogie had been used in his demise.

  When he entered his bedchamber, all the curtains had been drawn and the room was fairly dark, even though the sun was trying to rise. Then he heard a scrape as a match was struck and a candle was lit and he looked across to see his wife sitting on his bed.

  His traitorous wife.

  “I think it’s time we threw some light on this marriage,” Beatrice said. “There has been too much shadowing, fear, and angst. We need to get everything out in the open.”

  “It is a little bit late for that now, isn’t it?” Sebastian growled as he moved to the chair by the fire and slumped into it, his jacket dropping to the floor.

  Beatrice rose from the bed and walked across the room to sit at his feet. She tried to take his hand, but he wouldn’t let her.

  Jealousy reared its ugly head as she saw that his cravat hung loose around his neck, his waistcoat was buttoned up the wrong way, and he stank of a woman’s perfume. She didn’t dare ask where he had been, because she didn’t want to know. Besides, she was the one who was in the wrong. She should have trusted him. She should have told him the truth.

  “I have been waiting here for you all night.”

  He turned to look at her with dead eyes. “I’ve told you once before, what I do, where I go, and whom I do is none of your concern, even more so now.”

  “I am still your wife.”

  He looked at her with utter contempt and his voice rose. “You tricked me. You betrayed my good nature. It makes me ill just looking at you and thinking about what you have done.” He shook her hands off him.

  Nearly yelling now, he said, “I want you to pack your things and I want you to go up to York. I can’t bear to look at you at the moment.”

  “That’s it? You aren’t even going to ask me about Henry? You are not even going to try to understand what you saw in that room?”

  He slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair. “I know what I saw. That boy is Dunmire’s son.”

  Beatrice nodded. “You are right. He is Dunmire’s son. But you didn’t ask who his mother was. You just looked and blamed me. You didn’t trust me. Even after I had said that trust was the only thing we have in our marriage. You didn’t stay around to ask me the truth.”

  He sneered. “So you could tell me more lies? You told me no other man wanted you and that is why you had come to me, that you had no choice but to marry me. Was that true?”

  She felt her face flush with color. She knew that what she said next would destroy whatever little faith he had in her. “Not exactly.”

  Sebastian threw back his head and laughed. It was a hollow laugh, filled with pain. She didn’t take any comfort from that. Monica’s words rang in her head. Why would he be so hurt if he didn’t have feelings for her?

  “I’m beginning to wonder if you knew I hadn’t killed Doogie too. You simply needed me to believe I had shot him in the duel so I’d marry you. Perhaps you’re H.B.”

  Beatrice cringed as if he’d physically struck her. “You think I’d kill my brother?”

  His silence said all.

  She stood and moved to the bed, where she collected some letters. She walked back to her husband and put her heart and her life, and Henry’s future, in his hands. “Read. Read these letters, they explain everything. And when you are ready to talk, to apologize, come and find me.”

  She made her way to her bedchamber, but at the connecting door between their rooms she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “And when you read them, have a look at the initials on one of the letters. That is where I remembered H.B. from. H.B. is clearly on one of them. The letters are from Dunmire. David Henry Bartholomew, Earl of Dunmire.”

  With that, she quietly left his room.

  Sebastian looked down at the pile of letters in his hands. He didn’t want to read them but knew he would. A little bit of hope saw him pull free the ribbon that held the letters together, and he picked the first one up and started reading.

  Dear Bea,

  You don’t know what your friendship means to me. When all society has shunned me for my shame, you alone have stood by me. I know deep in my heart you are a beautiful person, inside and out. I know you wanted me to go and tell the world what Dunmire had done to me, but I couldn’t do that. I’m not as strong as you.

  Besides, it wouldn’t have made any difference. They still would have shunned me for being the stupid girl who walked into a darkened garden and met a man she really knew nothing about, a man with two faces in this world, one a respectable lord’s, and the other a monster’s.

  So now I’m going to do the only thing I can do for my son. I’m going to beg, plead, and pray for your help, counting on my best friend’s loving heart.

  We both know I’m dying. The infection is spreading and I’m growing weaker every day. All I care about now is what happens to Henry. I want you to promise me that you will look after him. I have a little bit of money saved, enough to lease a small house somewhere. I know it may also help you too, if your family situation gets any worse, for it gives you a place to escape to. I know what your mother wants you to do and I have to try and help you. There is no way you can marry a monster like Dunmire.

  So please, I ask you, no I beg you, to look after Henry for me. To ensure he is loved and cherished, and perhaps one day you can tell him a little bit about his mother and how much she loved him regardless of how he was made. Even more, I want you to promise that Dunmire never finds out about his son. He is unlikely to ever want to acknowledge him, but he is a vindictive man. There is no knowing what he will do if he finds he has leverage over you.

  Your devoted friend,

  Lizandra

  Sebastian let the letter drop from his fingers, sobriety almost instantaneous. Now he understood why Beatrice could never marry Dunmire and why she had turned to him out of desperation. He didn’t blame her; all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and beg her forgiveness.

  Any anger he felt was now directed at one man. A man whom he would ch
allenge tomorrow morning if that was what Beatrice wanted.

  He looked down at his clothes and realized he wanted a bath. He wanted to wash the smell of Christina from his body before he went to his wife and got down on his knees and begged her to forgive him.

  He walked into the bathing chamber and began filling the bath. He stripped the clothes from his body and threw them in a corner, and as he stepped into the bath he took the packet of letters with him and began to read them one by one. As he read, his anger toward Dunmire grew and grew. His pity for Lizzy also tugged at his heart.

  He couldn’t say he remembered the woman. He tended to stay clear of single ladies of marriageable age, but he had a brief memory of a plain girl with slightly crooked teeth. He also learned from the letters that Lizandra had no brothers to protect her, and he understood that was what Dunmire counted on when he attacked the young woman. She had no one to turn to for help.

  Except Beatrice.

  Loyal. Empathetic. Courageous. Beautiful Beatrice.

  He’d kill Dunmire slowly.

  He rested his head back against the tub and realized that Marisa and Helen were very lucky to have him to ensure their safety. He should be taking his responsibilities of looking after their welfare more seriously. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually accompanied them to a ball and made sure they were well chaperoned. He had forgotten that there were men like Dunmire out there.

  Once he was dressed, he made his way slowly into his wife’s bedchamber. She was sitting by the fire, looking beautiful but forlorn.

  She glanced up as he entered, her face showing no emotion as she returned his gaze. He simply walked across the room, got down on his knees in front of her, and laid his head in her lap.

  “Please forgive me. I lashed out. I should have asked you about Henry and not reacted so ridiculously.”

  Beatrice began stroking his hair, running her fingers through it, and he loved the touch.

  “Why did you lash out? Why did you not stop and discuss Henry with me?”