by Susana Ellis
He shook his head. “We were overwhelmed with fear that she might not survive. William stayed by her side night and day, and I tried to keep the girls occupied.”
Cornelia squeezed his hand. “It must have seemed an eternity. Only imagine how dreadful it would have been for the entire family had she not survived—leaving William alone with the little girls.”
They reached her bedchamber and he paused outside the door, focusing his gaze on her eyes. “I always assumed my older brother could withstand anything, but now I see that he is as vulnerable as the rest of us. He’d never be the same without Joanna, and the girls without their… It is unfathomable.”
He swallowed and continued on in a husky tone. “Cornelia, I—. For the first time, I recognized my responsibility to my family. They need me. I suppose they always have, but I was always too busy pursuing my own selfish whims to see it.”
Cornelia tilted her head up and kissed him on the cheek. “We must talk, Preston. Would you like to come in?”
He hesitated. “Thank you, but tea will be served shortly, and I know how weary you must be from your travels. Perhaps we can walk to the folly after tea. We should not be interrupted there, unless it rains.”
She chuckled. “No talk of rain, please! We have suffered its ill-effects for nearly the entire journey. Since it hardly rained at all on our previous trip, I must conclude that it was your presence that made the difference.”
“Since we have been plagued with incessant rains here as well, I would guess that it is our presence together that brings out the sun.”
He leaned in, kissed her briefly on the mouth, then bowed and crossed to his bedchamber across the hall.
Chapter Ten
After tea
“Are you certain you are not too tired for a walk?” Preston took the crimson silk shawl from Norton and draped it around Cornelia’s shoulders.
Cornelia sighed, glad to be finished with tea. “A good walk is just what I need after being confined in a coach for hours every day. And the weather is particularly fine for a stroll.”
They left the house via the terrace, arm-in-arm, sauntered past the pleasing floral groupings and stone urns of the parterre garden and down the gravel pathway through the wide expanse of grass and trees of Warrington Park.
Finally, Preston said, “She isn’t always so melancholy, you know. I’ve seen glimpses of the real Joanna from time to time, when the girls are around. We try to get her out of the house as much as possible. The doctor says it will take time for her to grieve her loss.”
Cornelia nodded. “Losing a child is a dreadful blow, let alone not being able to have more children. I can’t even imagine…” She wiped away a tear. “But Joanna is strong. She will recover. I will make sure of that.”
“We will, won’t we? Together.” His voice cracked, and Cornelia squeezed his arm. “Yes, we will.”
They walked in silence to the folly, a stone Temple of Venus built on a hill overlooking the lake. The still water sparkled with the reflection of the trees and the setting sun, and Cornelia closed her eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to absorb the tranquility.
“It’s so lovely here,” she said finally. “And yet you seem so eager to leave it.”
Preston ran a hand through his hair. “It is rather spectacular,” he agreed. “But it is William’s. He was the one with the duty to the title and the estate. My duty—well, I had no duty, as I saw it, except to please myself. It was a fair bargain, I thought.”
She frowned. “You risked your life on the Continent for King and Country. Surely you have not forgotten.”
He grinned. “How very like me to find an honorable way to indulge my inclination for excitement.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
He studied her. “What do you mean?”
“Your work with the Crown. My father told me you were responsible for saving lives, Preston. I don’t know the particulars; as you said, some things must be kept out of the public knowledge, but I won’t have you denying the truth of your noble and brave character, at least not in my presence.”
His mouth fell open. “Cornelia…”
She shook her head. “Nor is there any doubt that you feel just as intensely for your family and your heritage. You are a good man, Preston. Any woman would be proud to be your wife. I’m just sorry that…” Her voice broke off.
He took her elbow and guided her to a seat on the raised base between two of the columns. After a long sigh, he slipped an arm around her waist and quoted:
“The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft a-gley.
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!”
“Indeed, Robbie Burns had it right,” she murmured. “Preston, our bargain seemed so simple. In retrospect, I cannot believe I was so naïve as to think there would be no consequences.” Tears stung her eyes. “Do you think—is there any possible way this marriage can be set aside?”
* * *
Preston closed his eyes, unable to envision a life without Cornelia. He loved her. He wanted nothing more than to be a true husband to her. Above all, however, he wanted her to be happy, and he would not obligate her to be his wife. Still…it appeared she liked him well enough. Successful marriages had begun on far less sturdier foundations.
“I believe the marriage could be annulled,” he said. “I will speak with my solicitor in London, but I suspect the repercussions would be exceedingly unpleasant.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you might consider making ours a true marriage? I have come to believe that you and I would suit each other quite comfortably.”
Cornelia pulled from his embrace and jumped to her feet.
Preston rose. “Forgive me. I should not have asked.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t that. I… My past, I—”
He started at the tears in her eyes. “Cornelia, whatever it is, you can tell me. Surely you know by now that I can be trusted.” Tears slid down her cheeks. He pulled his handkerchief from his inner pocket and handed it to her. “You have nothing to fear from me. I am not one to judge the past conduct of another, most particularly not of a lady I have come to admire.” He wanted to add “and love,” but sensed this was not the time for such a confession.
Cornelia covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath. Finally, she turned toward him and blurted, “I am the daughter of a rapist.”
Whatever he expected to hear, it was not that. The admiral… a rapist? Not possible. The Hardcastle family’s affection for each other was genuine—the natural instinct that had made him such a successful spy confirmed it. Furthermore, there was no denying that the bond between the admiral and his wife and daughter was a powerful one. That meant that the rapist who had sired Cornelia had come from outside the family.
He clasped her hands and smiled gently “There, you got it out. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She tilted her head to stare at him. “You’re not—shocked? Disgusted?”
He looked directly into her eyes. “Surprised, yes, certainly. Disgusted? I don’t quite understand your meaning, Cornelia.” His eyes widened. “Unless you are thinking—surely not—that I could be disgusted by you.”
She burst into tears. He pulled her trembling body into his arms and held her close until she quieted and the tears slowed, eventually turning into occasional hiccups. When she raised her head from his chest, he said. “Shall we sit down? When you are ready, you can tell me what it is that has you so distressed.”
Dabbing at her eyes, she nodded and allowed him to guide her back to the stone seat.
“I must look a mess,” she said finally, in a shaky voice.
“You look beautiful.” He stroked gentle circles on her back.
She made a face. “Liar. I have seen my face in this condition before. Red eyes, splotchy cheeks, shiny nose. Definitely not pretty.”
In response, he turned her face toward his and captured he
r lips for a tender kiss. Her sweet gasp of surprise tempted him to deepen the embrace into something more passionate, but reined in his desire and broke the kiss.
“Do you still believe I was lying, my dear?” he said.
She swallowed. “Perhaps you are just being kind.”
If she did, indeed, need more convincing… He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, this time with more pressure. He drew back slightly and teased her lips with his tongue, probing between them. She gasped again, but pressed closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She smelled of violets and tasted like wild honey. He slid his fingers into her hair. Several pins loosened and dark locks spilled down her back. Preston plunged his tongue between her lips and coerced a timid response from her tongue. He slid his hands down her back and brushed the sides of her breasts before settling possessively at her waist.
My woman. Made for me. She has to know it.
When he pulled back, she looked down, flushed and breathing hard.
“Well?” he said when he found himself able to talk again. “Was that a ‘just being kind’ kiss, do you think?”
She looked up at him, eyes alight with a mischievous glow. “You proved your point. There was nothing ‘kind’ about it. I must allow that you are a magnificent kisser, Preston.”
His breath quickened. “There is nothing I would like better than to kiss you like that every day. Several times a day. I am convinced that we could have an exemplary partnership, my dear, if we were to make our marriage a real one.”
She drew in a breath. “What I said about my—er—real father does not cause you concern?”
He locked gazes with her. “Cornelia, the admiral is your father. Has he not proven it to be so?”
She bit her lip. “Indeed, he has. I could not have asked for a better father. I-I could not believe it when I discovered he was not—and that he knew he was not, all along.”
He slid an arm around her shoulder. “There. Does that not convince you, my sweet? Your father—both your parents—believe you are worthy of being loved. Why would you doubt it?”
She grimaced. “Because—because I know that my mother’s attacker is here, inside me. In appearance, I am like my mother, but I know I carry the blood of this—this creature who brutally forced himself on a young girl and murdered her family. It makes me feel unclean, and there is nothing I can do to scrub it out.” Her eyes filled with tears and she pressed her face against his chest.
“Ah,” he said as he kissed the top of her head. His chest tightened. She had suffered so long with this terrible knowledge.
* * *
Cornelia drew a deep breath and, at Preston’s gentle urging, began the story known only by her parents and her friend Freddie.
“My mother’s family lived in Toulon when the city fell back into the hands of the Republican armies. My mother’s home was attacked by a band of savage Republican soldiers.” Her heart squeezed and she couldn’t halt the tears. “The soldiers brutally raped my grandmother, my mother’s sister, and my mother—who was but seventeen. My mother was the last woman they assaulted. She hit her attacker with a bottle of wine and escaped into the woods. Behind her, she heard bullets and screams.”
Cornelia swallowed. “At that time, my father commanded the HMS Stalwart, one of the three ships assigned to rescue refugees. My mother was among those lodged in the hold. He probably would never have met her had he not found her that evening, weeping on the deck, leaning over the rail so precariously that he feared she would topple into the sea.
“He’d avoided the leg-shackle of matrimony for thirty-two years, but, according to him, he fell in love at first sight, and took her home to his family in Sussex, to care for her until he could obtain leave to woo and marry her. The marriage almost didn’t happen when the pregnancy was discovered. My mother is very stubborn.” Cornelia gave a small laugh. “She staunchly refused to drag Father down into her ‘personal misfortune,’ as she called it. But my father promised to love her child as his own, that it would be his own, as far as anyone else knew, and that the babe would be named after him.”
She shrugged. “Neither ever planned on telling me about my parentage, but one day while searching for a miniature of myself as a child, I discovered my mother’s journal. And every day since, I wished I had not.” Cornelia looked up into Preston’s eyes. “But Pandora’s box, once opened, cannot be closed again.”
Chapter Eleven
The Foundling Hospital
Brunswick Square, London
Two weeks later
Thunder cracked in the instant before the coachman opened the coach door. “What beastly weather,” Cornelia muttered to her maid.
Rain pelted the opening. Cornelia placed her hand in the coachman’s and ducked under the umbrella he held as she stepped from the carriage. He passed her the umbrella. She waited until her maid descended, then they dashed for the hospital door. Drops of rain stung Cornelia’s face as she fought to hold onto the umbrella. Her maid gripped the sides of her hood with both hands to protect from the weather.
Ordinarily, the housekeeper arrived immediately to admit them, but this time Cornelia’s knocks went unanswered for what seemed an interminable length of time. Rain drenched them as they huddled beneath the too-small umbrella.
“Mrs. Heath!” Cornelia shouted. “Can you open the door, please? It’s Miss Hard—er—Mrs. Warrington. We are drowning out here.”
Hasty footsteps sounded and soon the door opened. They hurried inside. The red-faced housekeeper reached for their wet wraps and paraphernalia. “I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. Good gracious, how wet you both are. You must dry yourselves right away before you come down with a chill.”
She led them into the drawing room, which was occupied by a very wet-looking young woman who sat next to the roaring fire cradling a babe in a dry, gray blanket.
“Miss Smith arrived just before you,” explained the housekeeper. “She was drenched to the bone, and I had just brought a blanket for the babe when I heard you call.”
Cornelia hurried to the young woman’s side. “Oh, the poor thing.” Thankfully, the mother had removed the babe’s wet clothing and wrapped it securely in the warm blanket. “I am Mrs. Warrington,” she said, and turned to Norton only to see her being escorted out by the housekeeper.
“She’s getting me some dry clothes,” said Norton. “I am soaked to the skin.”
“By all means.” Cornelia returned her attention to the young woman. “You are in need of a dry frock as well, Miss Smith. Why don’t you go along, too? I shall be delighted to hold the babe for you.”
Mrs. Smith hesitated. “Well, I suppose it won’t hurt nothin’. Iffen it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Is the babe a boy or girl?” Cornelia asked as she took the small bundle into her arms.
Miss Smith smiled as she rose. “Her name is Eliza, after my ma.” She gave the baby a last look, then hurried from the room.
“Eliza Smith.” Cornelia smiled into the child’s bright blue eyes. “What a sweet darling you are.” The babe smiled. Cornelia’s heart melted. What she wouldn’t give to have a baby of her own. A little girl with dark hair and eyes like hers, and a little light-haired, gray-eyed boy like Preston. Or a mixture of the two. She wouldn’t be particular about any of that. Any child of Preston’s would be a gift from heaven.
They had returned to London three days ago, reassured that Joanna was recovering and their presence, no longer needed. Cornelia’s eyes teared when she recalled Preston’s forbearance in granting her time to reflect on her marriage options. She still marveled over his calm, matter-of-fact reaction to the story of her detestable conception. Not only had he not been disgusted, but he had held her close and comforted her until long after darkness had fallen and the dinner hour had passed.
The journey home had been in many ways a re-creation of their honeymoon; although, this time, her maid accompanied them. Preston was once again the attentive beau, his amusing antics coa
xing smiles from her until she was able to laugh and enjoy the pleasure of time spent with the man she loved.
Because she did love him. Who could not love a man like Preston? The irresponsible pleasure-seeker she’d thought she was marrying had turned out to be the most loyal, considerate, and tender man she had ever met. She should be thanking her lucky stars it had been him she had turned to with her foolish proposition and not some unscrupulous rogue. Marriage, she had learned, was not an institution to be trifled with. And marriage to a stranger…well, she could have found herself tied to a monster with very little power to do anything about it. Instead, she had come upon Preston—or, at least, Sir Stirling James—The Matchmaker of Inverness—had located Preston.
The babe in her arms squirmed and began to fuss. Cornelia gently rocked her, showering her with soothing utterances and melodies. At first, little Eliza was pacified, but before long, her little face turned red and she began to wail. She wasn’t wet—the blanket was as dry as ever—and Cornelia didn’t think she could be cold, not with the fire so near.
“She’s hungry.” Miss Smith entered, wearing the plain gray, white-aproned attire worn by the hospital staff. “I’ll feed ‘er now, before I leave.”
“Leave?” Cornelia bit her lip. Of course. Miss Smith had come to leave her babe at the Foundling Home.
Miss Smith swallowed hard. “Can ye help me with the dress?”
“Oh, of course.” Cornelia handed her the squalling babe and the two of them managed to unhook the bodice so that she could put the babe to her breast.
“Oh dear, not here!” Mrs. Heath breezed into the room, followed by Norton, similarly garbed in staff attire. “Not in front of Mrs. Warrington. Why, anyone could come in and see…”
Cornelia planted her feet in a wide stance in front of the nursing mother. “No, you must not disturb them, Mrs. Heath. After all, this is an institution for children, and this child is hungry. The room is warm, and they are both comfortable. We will simply close the door for now.”