by Susan Lodge
He pressed his face closer to the dying man. “I watched as you thrust a sword into my son’s heart. I cannot imagine what my boy’s thoughts were that day as he lay helpless, looking up into the eyes of the officer he had obeyed for the last month, the man he had thought had come to help him. Instead, his last vision was of your sword ending his life. I wanted the joy of killing you slowly. Damn your father! He protected you to the end and gave you a quick death. But you will rot in hell – you have to.”
Henry saw there was no remorse in his son’s eyes as Thomas Brown walked away. They registered something far different as Anthony turned toward him.
“Father, I never thought you had it in you.” He still had that smirk on his lips as he closed his eyes for the last time.
Henry’s eyes flooded with tears at the irony of it all. He had finally extracted a spark of respect from his son.
He had been sickened to learn of Anthony’s treachery and knew he had to destroy the monster he had created. He wouldn’t be able to prevent the Avebury name from being dragged to the depths of disgrace, but he was at least thankful he would not live long enough to witness it.
Hetty would be distanced from the scandal as she was not of Avebury blood – and she would take care of Amelia. Diana had already found a new protector and had left Avebury Hall. There was nothing left for him to do – nothing more he could do.
***
Hetty left Robert’s arms and turned to watch Henry Avebury approach. She held her breath as he stopped inches from her, his eyes solemn.
“I regret being so weak, Hetty. I have wasted a lifetime, defending a son I should have controlled and ignoring a daughter I should have cherished – even if I didn’t share your blood.” His eyes shifted to Robert. “Take care of her, Withington, she deserves to be happy.” He turned abruptly and left.
Every bone in Hetty’s body began to tremble. After all these years, he had finally said something that touched her heart. Here, on the day he had taken his son’s life, she felt an utter sadness for him. Part of her wanted to run after him and fold her arms around him to comfort him, just the way she had longed for his comfort all the years under his roof. She watched him until he was out of sight then turned back, distracted by the groan of pain behind her.
Robert hunched over and started to totter forward. She noticed the ugly red stain seeping down his right arm and across his waistcoat, and rushed forward to steady him. Anthony’s shot had not missed after all.
Robert’s weight sagged against her, and Handy sprang forward to help.
“I’m all right, Hetty, it’s only a flesh wound. Just staunch the bleeding, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Wouldn’t mind! Why was he so calm? She tugged at his neckcloth to apply to the wound.
“Why did you have to fight him? Of all the stupid, heroic⏤”
“Hetty, I will be fine,” he rasped in a tone that suggested otherwise.
“You’d better be!” Her voice was gruff with suppressed emotion. “Because I have decided to marry you. Don’t you dare leave me now.”
“At last,” Robert murmured.
Hetty held his head in trembling fingers as his eyes locked onto hers.
“Are you hurt, Hetty? Did Avebury touch you?”
She knew he didn’t mean the bruise on her face. Gently stroking his cheek, she shook her head and saw the barest smile of relief touch his lips as his green eyes closed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hetty frowned in concentration as she added a few more drops of liquid to the glass.
“Drink this.”
She gave her patient a stern look and held out the potion. She had to be very brave, because nursing her future husband back to health was turning out be a difficult task. He was sitting up in bed glaring at her, the bruising around his face making him look a bit like a villain.
“Hetty, if you put one more potion under my nose I swear I will find the strength to leave this bed and bind you to the chair over there. Then I would be able to look at your charming face without having to endure your attempts at playing physician.”
Hetty scowled.
“You really are the most difficult patient. Given your profession, l would have expected a little more understanding and gratitude. Now, I insist you take this!” She shoved the glass toward his mouth.
He threw back the covers and started to leave his bed. Hetty fled.
***
Robert winced as he settled back against the pillows, then smiled at Hetty’s hasty exit. Being confined to bed was an unfamiliar experience to him since he had always been blessed with good health. He was certainly learning a lesson and vowed to show a little more tolerance toward his patients in the future.
He pulled out the journal that Hetty had found in the library and presented him with two days ago. She had left him to read it in private, and he was glad she had. The journal was by no means complete – several days were blank – but his father had kept enough of a record for him to piece together the period which Robert had tried so long to forget. He read it with an open mind, and was now sure his father had not taken his own life.
He still didn’t know what had happened to make his father gamble so recklessly with the Withington fortune, but he was sure he had not gone to the river to drown himself. The late Earl of Chedbury had set off that fateful day to Salisbury, intent on calling on two of his business associates with a plan to raise funds, but he had not shared this information with anyone.
His body had been recovered from the river only an hour after he had left Longwood, so he would not have had enough time to reach his intended destination. There were no clues as to what had happened. It could have been a robber; it could have been a quarrel. It could have been anything – but it wasn’t a suicide. He didn’t run away, he didn’t desert them. Earlier entries had shown what he had thought of his sons and his wife. They were the words of a man who loved his family.
Then there was the final entry:
I will not rest until I have put right the terrible plight I have placed my family in. They will suffer for my stupidity in the short term, but I am determined to restore the Withington honour.
Robert now knew why he was really there restoring Longwood. He was doing it for his father. He had just not been aware of it.
The resentment he had felt for the last ten years finally eased.
***
Hetty would not give up her nursing duties, no matter how bad-tempered her patient had become. She nonchalantly skirted Robert’s bedchamber the next day, tidying and straightening everything she touched.
“I have a valet for that, Hetty.”
Robert’s voice had taken on the tone of a tortured man. She smiled pleasantly, determined not be deterred, and moved to the side table to measure out a new potion.
“Put it down,” Robert commanded. “I assure you I do not need that. I am quite on the mend. In fact, tomorrow I will get up.”
She walked over to the bed, planted her hands on her hips, and studied him.
“Well, I suppose the wound has almost healed, and perhaps now we can hope for an improvement in your foul temper.” She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember the scathing words he had administered to her when he had first attended to her at Avebury Hall. “Oh, yes. Please refrain from fighting duels in the future. It is a ridiculous pursuit for a man of your years.”
His hand whipped out and secured her wrist.
“Take care, Hetty. You will soon be agreeing to love and obey me despite my foul temper, and I intend to see that you do.”
But he had such a wicked smile that she allowed him to draw her close to his side. She did have the grace to cast a guilty look toward the open door, even though she suspected Aunt Amelia had given up all hope of propriety since Hetty had insisted on looking after Robert herself.
“Robert, be careful. You should not exert yourself.”
He snaked a hand around her elbow and coaxed her even closer. Hetty resisted for a second or two, then decided he
appeared to have made a significant recovery and she really didn’t think it necessary to stop him, especially now that his fingers caressed her neck so deliciously.
Hetty’s nursing technique failed her as firm lips engaged hers in a lingering kiss. When her patient finally released her, his eyes were filled with humour.
“Hetty Avebury – I am indeed looking forward to our wedding.”
Hetty‘s smile turned a little anxious. “Not Avebury, Robert. My true family name is still a mystery. Are you sure you don’t mind not knowing?”
He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her.
“Hetty whatever-your-name-is – I love you.”
Epilogue
Five Months Later
Lady Hetty Withington looked forlornly at the garment on her lap, wondering if she could possibly offer the infant’s shawl she embroidered to the housekeeper as a dishcloth. She was practising the finer arts of needlecraft and failing badly. The accounts for Longwood sat by her and she gratefully opened them to examine, after laying the offending shawl aside.
Aunt Amelia frowned at it. “Really, Hetty, that’s abominable stitching.”
“Yes, it is. Thank heavens, you’re doing the important pieces,” Hetty replied. She looked in awe at the tiny garment on which her aunt had embroidered the Withington coat of arms.
Everything had worked out splendidly. She had Robert, she had a home, and she had a new life stirring inside her.
Henry Avebury had died a week after that awful duel, and she regretted she hadn’t gone after him that day to offer him words of comfort. He had been weak in his dealings with Anthony and Diana, but she had lived under his roof for twenty-two years and for most of them she had been content. And in the end, he had saved her life and Robert’s.
Her wedding four months ago had been small and discreet, which befitted the circumstances, but it had still been the happiest day of her life. She would always remember the expression in Robert’s eyes as he took his vows. They promised her everything, and so far she had not been disappointed.
Today was her birthday, and that evening they were to host an informal dinner party. Thin streams of water trickled down the windowpanes now that the thaw had settled in. Outside, the blanket of snow that had covered the countryside for the last week had disintegrated into scattered white patches.
Hetty watched Aunt Amelia’s frown turn to a smile as Robert entered the room. He looked pleased with himself, and Hetty grinned as he picked up her discarded embroidery, stared at it, and then tactfully replaced it before peering at her.
“Hetty, you should go upstairs and rest before dinner.”
“Really, Robert, I feel fine. The last thing I want to do on my birthday is rest.”
“Nevertheless, you must. I will escort you.” He scooped her up in his arms, and she was about to protest when he whispered in her ear, “I have something to share with you.”
Suddenly, it seemed a splendid idea.
***
Robert propped his wife against the sea of satin cushions on their bed then settled beside her.
“I have a present for you, Hetty.”
He took out a small velvet parcel secured with ribbon and handed it to her. She looked at it curiously. She hadn’t been expecting another gift as Robert had already presented her with a sapphire necklace and, even more exciting, a microscope.
She unfolded the soft square of material and let out a squeal of delight as she recognised her locket. It had been repaired at last. Hetty inspected the new clasp and chain then held it reverently in the palm of her hand, stroking her finger over the shining metal.
“Look inside,” he prompted.
She opened it carefully. The familiar portrait of her mother smiled back at her, but on the opposite side she found a new addition – the portrait of a man. Her insides tumbled with emotion and she gave a small gasp of delight. She knew instantly who he was. He had blue eyes, hair the colour of fire, and a very slight tilt to the end of his nose. She studied him silently. He wasn’t smiling, but he had humour in his eyes. Hetty’s vision blurred as the two small miniatures stared back at her, their images blending together inside her heart.
“I was surely the product of a loving relationship, if not a conventional one. Who was he, Robert? What was my father’s name?”
Robert settled back and stole an arm around her shoulder. “Charles Biderton, a very wealthy man who made his fortune through the shipping trade.”
“How on earth did you trace him?”
“I managed to find out the name of the artist who painted the miniature of your mother. He unfortunately had passed away, but his son still had his sketches and records. Next, I located the person who commissioned the portrait, and found out he had done so on Biderton’s behalf. He had worked as your father’s secretary. From him, I discovered the name of your father’s solicitor.”
He paused and gave Hetty a smug smile. “I have found that, when you want information, using a title helps immensely. From the solicitor, I was able to confirm that Biderton was responsible for having the documents drawn up that stipulated the conditions of your inheritance. As you know, the papers that were held by the Aveburys’ solicitors never named your benefactor. Your father had covered his tracks well.”
Hetty fixed him with an incredulous stare. “You did all this without my knowledge?”
“I wanted to gauge the reaction of the Biderton family before I told you. I did not want you getting hurt.”
“His family!” A wave of panic engulfed her.
Robert gave her a reassuring smile. “I also wanted to give you a special birthday present.” He pointed to the miniature of her father. “I was able to obtain this from his family.”
“So I have family on my father’s side.” Hetty’s voice was now cautious. “Do they reside nearby?”
“A few miles outside Oxford, Hetty. It is not more than a day’s journey. I also have something else for you.” He reached into his pocket. “This is a letter from Biderton’s daughter – his other daughter,” he added softly.
Hetty’s eyes widened. “A respectable one, you mean. This is amazing – a sister.” Her smile turned into a frown. “What does she think of me?”
“Read it.” He tapped the letter.
She took a deep breath and studied the neat hand.
Dear Lady Withington,
I have been given to understand that I am your elder half-sister. My family did not know of your existence until last month when your husband contacted us after discovering you were the daughter of Charles Biderton, our dear late father. The news has come as an enormous shock to me, as I always assumed I was his only child. My own mother died when I was two years old, so my father would have been a widower for several years before he met your mother.
My father amassed his wealth through the shipping trade, but he also worked for the government. I am proud to say he gave his life in service to his country.
I have been able to find out a few things about his circumstances around the time you were born. I believe the reason for not giving you his name was to protect you and your mother. I remember I had been sent to live with my aunt in Scotland a few weeks before the date of your birth because my father had to leave England rather swiftly. He was engaged in a government operation that involved absolute secrecy. Any connection to your mother would have endangered both your lives. He could not claim you as his. I suspect all he could do was ensure that once you were born your future life would be free of financial worries.
By the time my father was able to return to England, your mother’s marriage had been arranged. I understand she had been told he had died the week before you were born. This was not true. He returned, badly wounded, a few days later and must have thought it best to leave you in the security of your new family. He died of his injuries shortly afterwards. I have much to tell you about him, but would like to do so in person. I look forward to meeting you very soon…
Hetty finished the rest of the letter and then re
-read it, scrutinising every word. So many doors were opening to her past; her head reeled with questions. Her father sounded intriguing and incredibly brave.
She glanced back at the two faces in her locket, and an enormous wave of emotion hit her. How sad that her parents were denied a life together. She felt sure they would have had a blissful marriage had they been given the chance. Her parents had fallen in love – that was not a crime. She had to admit their actions had been scandalous, resulting in a child outside of marriage. Nevertheless, she was a firm advocate of love and a firm opponent of arranged marriages and poor matches. She shivered, remembering how close she had come to becoming Stark’s wife.
She turned to her husband, and then smiled at the anxious look in his green eyes.
“Robert, thank you. I can’t tell you what this means. There have been so many answers to so many endings lately.” She tenderly cradled her abdomen. "And a beginning.”
Robert’s hand reached out and covered hers. “Indeed there has. I cannot quite believe how much my life has changed over the last few months. Here I am back at Longwood with a wife and a child to take care of.” He let out a contented sigh. “Do you think we can settle down to a normal family life now?”
“Yes, absolutely.” She paused. “What would you actually class as normal?”
“In your case, I really do not know, but I am looking forward immensely to finding out. I think.”
Hetty felt a million miles away from normality.
“My father made his fortune from the shipping trade – he must have been a very clever man, even if he wasn’t of noble birth.”
“Indeed, he was. Are you disappointed he is not from the aristocracy?” Robert teased.