Only a Hero Will Do

by Susan Lodge

  “As I recall, it wasn’t a love match.”

  Robert didn’t mean the words to be quite so cold, but Denby frowned and his voice hardened.

  “They loved each other, Withington, make no mistake. The match might have been hampered at first by her feelings for you, but after you left she settled down. And when Grayston asked for her hand, she was more than happy to accept. Face it, man, you were penniless, and you had some growing up to do. Rose did well from her marriage. Being a viscount’s wife suited her.”

  “Did it indeed?” Robert replied, the bitterness in his voice only thinly disguised. “I asked her to wait. I intended to return when I had secured a living. Our families were close. Everyone knew Rose and I were meant for each other.”

  “I did not force her to marry Grayston. She did have strong feelings for you, but you had nothing to offer. You were so angry with your father’s gambling, so grieved by his death.”

  “His suicide,” Robert corrected softly.

  “I’m still not at peace with that fact and neither are you. That is what still angers you the most, isn’t it? Not his death, but the thought that he abandoned his family. One thing I do know is that your father wasn’t a coward. Your mother certainly never believed he had taken his life.”

  Robert’s head flew up. “How can you be sure? She never said.”

  He shrugged. “She loved him so much, perhaps she didn’t want to believe it. But after you and your brother returned to sea, she seemed to fade – perhaps she just wanted to be with him.”

  Robert’s heart flooded with guilt. Had he let his parents down? Had he not done enough to understand what had happened?

  He stared out of the window, trying to get his thoughts in order. If he had a daughter, would he behave any differently than Denby? He could not bring himself to hate Phillip Denby as he wanted.

  The two men sat in silence for a few moments. Finally Denby spoke, his voice returning to its businesslike tone.

  “Things are different now, Withington. I hear you have trebled your uncle’s inheritance – and now you hold the title?”

  “I am still a physician to the Fleet. My duties lie there as long as this war continues.”

  Denby looked surprised. “Surely you can dispense with that now. You are a man of means, and Longwood will need you at the helm – that is where you belong. What you need is a wife.”

  Robert frowned. He knew as soon as the ton had wind of his reincarnation into the world of the titled, he would be sought after and expected to spend tedious seasons in London. It wasn’t as if he didn’t visit London regularly, but he preferred to spend his time at the Institute, indulging in the latest scientific theories, not parading around society balls and White’s club.

  “Where is Rose residing at present?” he asked.

  “She is in London with relatives, but I am meeting her there and escorting her back to Wiltshire. She is coming home for a while. They were not blessed with children, so Grayston’s nephew will become the new viscount. Rose wants to give him a few months to settle in before she returns, if she decides that is what she wants to do. Actually, we will be back in Portsmouth next week. I have some business to attend to before we travel back home together. Perhaps we could call on you? I am sure Rose would welcome the opportunity to see you.”

  Robert’s pulse raced at the prospect. “Please, come for dinner. I would be delighted to entertain you both.” He would have laughed if his heart had not lurched so violently. If only Denby had been so keen on their meetings all those years ago.

  After Denby had gone, he sat for a long time, mulling over their conversation.

  So, Rose had not been forced to marry Grayston. Was that really how it had been? Why then hadn’t she refused the offer and waited for him?

  And what of his father – what had he been thinking the hours before he took his own life? Robert recalled the miserable events surrounding the suicide, bringing back memories of the father who had shaped and guided him, the man who had loved his family unreservedly.

  Then he thought of his mother – sweet, gentle, and brave. The tears surprised him as they flowed down his cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried.

  ***

  Two weeks after the revelation that she wasn’t an Avebury, Hetty had still failed to find any clues of her real heritage. She lay on her bed and stared up at the ceiling, idly following the progress of a spider. The sun filtered across the room, soothing her.

  Anthony’s proposal yesterday had taken her by surprise, and she had not given him an answer. He had said that he had fallen in love with her, that it made sense to marry – together they would make a home here at Avebury Hall. She knew her father’s health was failing. He had become frailer over the last month, and if she married Anthony, she would eventually become mistress of Avebury Hall. Diana would be livid. That alone should tempt her to accept.

  She mentally listed the reasons to marry him. Anthony was handsome, he was kind to her, and her reputation was still in tatters since the Stark episode in the rose arbour, so she had little chance of a marriage elsewhere. The alternative was to stay at Avebury Hall unwed, where Diana would be mistress and she would be forced to live on Avebury charity. She shivered at the thought.

  Anthony had kissed her yesterday, a light kiss on the cheek sealing his proposal. It had been pleasant enough, and it wasn’t altogether like a brother kissing her, as she thought it might. But at the back of her mind lingered the boy from her childhood. Could he really have changed into this handsome, thoughtful protector? Since he had returned, her days were filled with not exactly happiness like the last blissful days with the doctor, but certainly with pleasure.

  Doctor Withington had never kissed her, but they had shared intimate moments. He had practically nursed her back from the dead. Then, there was that day he had embraced her. When she shut her eyes, she could still feel the touch of his arms and the warm honey feelings they released inside her. She wished he had kissed her – it would have been something to remember him by.

  ***

  Hetty stood patiently as she was helped into the strawberry-coloured sheath of silk and then gasped at her reflection. Madame Barone slowly circled her with a handful of pins and a delighted smile.

  “Madam, it is truly your colour.” She looked over Hetty’s shoulder and adjusted the neckline.

  The dress was bold and enchanting, with no frills or flounces. It had looked unexciting when the woman had brought it out, but each elegant drape of the material caressed the curves and hollows of Hetty’s body to perfection. Its beauty was in its simplicity. Hetty twirled slowly, her thoughts turning to Doctor Withington and wishing he could see her looking so fine. Her eyes filled with tears.

  What would his reaction be? The gown would surely prompt one of those rare heart-warming smiles. She faltered. Or would he frown? She tugged up the bodice. She felt a little exposed, even though she knew the outrageous neckline was all the fashion.

  “It is truly an emotional experience this gown, is it not?” Madam Barone said, misinterpreting Hetty’s behaviour.

  Hetty nodded, pulling herself together as the woman beamed at her.

  “Perhaps the gentleman who accompanied you would like to see?” Before Hetty could argue, the woman led her toward the door.

  Anthony jumped up from his chair in the antechamber as they entered. He grinned and clapped his hands slowly.

  “I think there is no doubt that particular gown has to be yours, Hetty.”

  “Can we afford it?”

  “Call it a wedding present, my darling.”

  Hetty frowned. She hadn’t said no to Anthony’s proposal, but she hadn’t said yes, either.

  The modiste let out a theatrical sigh. “You will make a wonderful couple, if I may say so.”

  Anthony beamed at the woman. “Indeed, Madame Barone. I completely agree.”

  Hetty pondered her future on the carriage journey home. The new gown was neatly packaged on the seat opposite, as if t
he decision of her marriage had been taken out of her hands. Anthony leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, and she welcomed the silence.

  She couldn’t find any sensible reason why she shouldn’t marry him. She didn’t think she loved him, but he made her laugh and was kind and considerate. And he had saved her from Stark.

  But the person she had in her heart was a far different man – dark and serious, with the ability to make her senses sing. If she had never met Doctor Withington, would she think she was in love with Anthony?

  Perhaps this was a different kind of love, a practical sort of love. She should think herself lucky, but the whole thing did not feel quite right.

  ***

  Hetty reached for her robe, giving up the idea of sleep. She had retired early but had spent three hours staring out the window thinking about Robert. She wondered if he and Rose were together again. The thought made her restless and irritable.

  With a huge sigh, she slipped on the robe and crept down to the kitchen in search of comfort. She heated some milk, pilfered some of cook’s renowned shortbread, and settled at the table. After munching her way through four biscuits, she was still not sleepy, so she slipped out the back door and followed the path down to the lake. Exercise always made her feel better.

  A gentle breeze caught her hair, and a half moon flickered through the occasional cloud. Reaching the end of the lavender garden, she started to turn back when she heard voices. Puzzled, she peered ahead at the summerhouse, which lay beyond the walled garden. She slipped into the shadows and skirted the boundary until she reached the gate.

  A light flickered inside the wooden building and another sound pierced the silence. She heard a low, feminine giggle. Hetty stopped. It could be two of the servants. She faltered. Then again, perhaps she should check.

  She wanted to know; this was too intriguing to ignore. As she approached the open window, she heard another low giggle and then a voice – a familiar voice. Hetty stopped dead. It was Diana.

  Good Lord! She couldn’t possibly spy on her stepmother and father. She felt queasy at the very thought.

  Turning to go, she heard another voice that stopped her again, but it wasn’t the voice of Henry Avebury. Hetty’s lip curled in disgust. Diana was betraying her husband? That didn’t surprise her, but recognising the smooth male tones of the person she was betraying him with left Hetty breathless.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hetty’s trembling fingers curled around the ledge of the window as she peered into the summerhouse. Flickering candlelight silhouetted the two figures within.

  She could not make out their expressions, but the manner in which Anthony leisurely pulled on his boots and Diana secured her long, dark locks back into order made her blood run cold. She slipped back out of sight.

  Anthony and Diana together.

  She couldn’t quite believe what she had just seen. She listened carefully as their voices floated over her head.

  “You are unlike your father in so many ways, Anthony.”

  “Indeed, I am. My father never had a hope of keeping you satisfied, despite showering you with every whim you desired. Let’s hope my fake sister will provide me with the funds to follow his example.”

  Hetty put a fist to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

  “She hasn’t agreed to marry you yet.”

  “She will. I have spent weeks cultivating her approval. I am her champion, having saved her from a marriage to that fop, Stark. Besides, she has no other options – she is already ruined.”

  “Do you really want to be tied to that little fool?”

  “No, but it is a tiresome necessity if we want to benefit from her inheritance.”

  Hetty sat like a statue, gazing over the gardens, her back braced against the summerhouse wall.

  She was reminded of the teenage boy who mutilated her dolls. He had not changed at all; he still despised her. She felt sick with fear and betrayal.

  There were now sounds of movement, as if they were preparing to leave. Hetty forced her limbs into action and retraced her steps back to the house.

  She needed to think about the callous words she had just overheard.

  ***

  Rose and her father sat in Robert’s drawing room on the settee opposite him as coffee was served.

  The meal had gone smoothly. Annie and Handy had not let him down, even though it had been an ordeal for the pair as he rarely entertained such prestigious guests in his town house. Handy had managed to swear only once, and Annie had prepared an excellent meal. He must reward them, he thought, as he signalled for his cup to be refilled.

  Rose was every bit the vision he remembered: pale golden hair, fine-boned features, and exquisitely-shaped grey eyes. She had the same graceful femininity that he had fallen in love with, although she was a little more rounded and a lot more regal. Her father was right; being a viscount’s wife suited her. He had always felt protective of her in the past, but now, as she sat there assessing her surroundings, it was he who felt vulnerable.

  “Goodness, Robert! How can you operate with such a small staff?” She stared with alarm as Handy glared at her before closing the door behind him.

  Robert smiled. “The man saved my life during an attack off Malta. He took the blade meant for me, and unfortunately, I had to reward him by taking off his arm. He has not the refinements for service, but his heart and loyalty are unquestionable.”

  Rose coloured slightly, and Robert wondered if it was at the mention of loyalty.

  Sir Phillip Denby rose and asked to be excused for a few minutes. Rose broke the awkward silence after her father had left.

  “I understand you have done well, Robert, and you will be returning to Longwood. It seems so long since we were back there…” Her words faltered.

  “Together,” he prompted. His voice was quiet and toneless.

  For years, he had waited and dreamed of a time when they would both be free to follow their hearts. But things had changed. When he had thought her marriage was loveless, he had blamed himself for it. Now she was here, his beautiful Rose, but it was as if she had rewritten the script. She had willingly married Grayston. She had been given the choice, and she hadn’t chosen to wait for him.

  “I still have all your letters, Rose. Even the one that broke my heart when you told me of your forced marriage to a viscount.”

  Her hands covered her face for a few moments before she finally met his gaze.

  “That was not quite true about the forced marriage. I just wanted to spare you the pain of a rejection. I did not want you to think badly of me.”

  “I didn’t think badly of you, Rose, but I did feel responsible for the unhappiness I thought you suffered.”

  “Oh, Robert, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I truly was heartbroken when you went back to sea after the death of your parents.”

  He watched her, not knowing what to say. There was something in her eyes that prevented him venting his feelings further.

  “You were happy in your marriage, then,” he finally said. “I am glad.”

  Rose nodded and lowered her eyes. “We had some good years to begin with. He was ill for a long time, so his death was not unexpected. I was as prepared as one could be when the time came.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments until Rose spoke again.

  “Robert, I know I have no right to ask this of you, but so many things have happened in the years we have been parted.” She twisted her hands together nervously. “Well, the truth is, I need you⏤”

  Her voice broke off as her father returned and the conversation shifted back to the refurbishment of Longwood. There were no further opportunities for private conversation.

  After they left, Robert sat in his armchair, nursing a brandy bottle until the early hours.

  All those years believing in Rose’s love for him. It had all so quickly been replaced by another man. He was angry, sad. But under the pain, there was a strange sense of release, like a festering wound that had been punct
ured.

  He could no longer blame Rose for not waiting. He had been a fool to think she would never be attracted to anyone else after he left Longwood. For years, no one had come close to replacing Rose in his heart – not until a few weeks ago, when an endearing copper-headed hoyden had entered his life. And he had let her go.

  He wondered what Rose had been about to tell him. She needed him to…what? Did she mean there was a future for them, after all?

  The brandy blurred his brain, and for once he was glad of the distraction.

  ***

  Hetty had spent a sleepless night thinking about Anthony and Diana’s cruel words. Emerging from her room angry and confused, she sought out her Aunt Amelia, who was taking her morning chocolate in the green drawing room.

  This was Amelia’s exclusive domain before breakfast. Her aunt had been strangely quiet about Hetty’s courtship with Anthony. There had been no discouragement, yet Hetty had noticed that Aunt Amelia had become rather withdrawn since her nephew’s return.

  Hetty entered and settled on a chair close to the older woman.

  “I need to speak to you, Aunt, about my real father.” Amelia avoided her eyes, but her hands tensed around the handle of her cup. “Who was he?”

  Aunt Amelia closed her eyes briefly, then leaned over and touched Hetty’s cheek. It was a rare moment of physical contact.

  “I am sorry, Hetty. As I have told you before, I really do not know.” She took a couple of sips of her chocolate. “Your mother was told of his death about the time you were born. But he must have known she was carrying his child because he had already made provisions for you. Maybe it was kept secret to protect his family. Your grandmother covered up the indiscretion by finding your mother a husband.”

  “I was the result of an indiscretion?” Hetty asked.

  “No, Hetty. You were the child of a love match. It was reckless, but you were the result, so I cannot condemn their actions. Your mother loved your real father very much, that I do know. She was a good wife to my brother, but they were never in love.”