The Viscount's Runaway Wife

by Laura Martin

  Oliver had instantly disliked the man. He was opinionated, pompous and looked down on anyone and everyone. He had noble blood in his veins, he’d told Oliver, although hadn’t bothered to elaborate where this noble blood was from. As far as Oliver could tell he was a second son of a second son of a baron. Hardly a close relative to the King.

  ‘You can tell me,’ he said softly.

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘Anything. Sometimes it helps to share.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Lucy said, taking a large gulp of tea. He didn’t believe her, not one bit. Lucy had always been tight-lipped when it came to her family. Her mother had died six months after their wedding and Oliver had only met the woman once. She and Lucy didn’t seem particularly close, despite Lucy being the woman’s only child. Then there was her dislikeable father, of course, but Oliver had always felt there was something more to the De Pointe family, something Lucy worked very hard not to tell him. Hopefully today would be the day he unveiled a few more of Lucy’s family secrets.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later they were ascending the short flight of stairs to the front door of the house where Lucy had spent her unhappy childhood. Already she could feel the coil of dread deep in the pit of her stomach, but as Oliver stood back from the heavy iron door knocker he took her hand and squeezed. She found the gesture surprisingly reassuring.

  ‘We can leave whenever you wish,’ he whispered.

  She began to tell him that her wish had been never to come in the first place, but the words died in her throat when the door opened and she was confronted with the sight of Jamieson, her father’s ancient butler. Jamieson had been at least sixty when she was a child and must be closer to seventy now. His face was still dour and his expression unwelcoming as he looked Lucy and Oliver over.

  ‘Miss De Pointe,’ he said, not moving aside to let them in.

  ‘Lady Sedgewick,’ Oliver corrected, looming over the elderly butler.

  ‘I shall see if your father is home.’

  It would have been the accepted custom to invite them in to wait in the drawing room or even just stand in the hall while the butler made enquiries as to whether her father was at home to visitors, but instead Jamieson pushed the door closed and left them standing on the doorstep like unwanted tradesmen.

  ‘As welcoming as ever,’ Lucy muttered.

  Two minutes passed, and then three. Just as Lucy was about to insist they leave, the door opened again.

  ‘Your father will see you now,’ Jamieson said.

  They followed him inside to a darkened hallway and waited while he announced them before the butler stepped aside and allowed them into the drawing room.

  Lucy’s father lived in a modern house situated directly overlooking the sea. It had a white front, guarded by black-iron railings and beautiful round bay windows in the front rooms that gave uninterrupted views of the sea. This had always been Lucy’s favourite room when she’d been growing up, but now it had been taken over by her father’s oppressive presence.

  ‘Lucy,’ her father croaked from his position in his armchair by the window.

  She bowed her head in acknowledgement, but did not move to embrace him. Theirs wasn’t that sort of relationship.

  ‘You found her, then.’ This was addressed to Oliver, who inclined his head sharply but didn’t say anything.

  ‘How are you, Father?’

  ‘Awful. Left to rot here on my own. No one to take care of me.’

  Although he spoke the truth, Lucy found it hard to feel sympathy for him. Her mother had died just after her marriage to Oliver, and her brother two years before that. She was the only surviving close relative and her father had never had the temperament to make friends or endear people to him. Even the turnover of servants in the De Pointe household was high due to his demanding behaviour and poor view on working conditions. Only Jamieson, the surly butler, had ever stayed for any length of time and that was because his temperament was similar to her father’s.

  Lucy moved forward and perched on the edge of another armchair as it became apparent her father wasn’t going to invite them to sit.

  ‘Where did you find her?’ Again directed at Oliver.

  ‘Would you like to tell your father where you’ve been?’ Oliver asked her, standing behind the chair she’d chosen and resting a protective hand on her shoulder.

  ‘In London.’

  Her father’s lip curled in disgust. He’d never liked London, allowing her a Season when she’d turned eighteen at her mother’s insistence on the understanding that he would not be escorting them. Lucy didn’t think she could ever remember her father travelling to the capital in her entire life, but he certainly had a poor view of the city.

  ‘And what were you doing in London?’ The tone of his voice made it clear that he suspected she’d resorted to all manner of degrading acts to support herself while she’d been missing.

  ‘She helped to run a Foundation for women and children in the slums,’ Oliver said when no answer was forthcoming from her. ‘A very worthy cause.’

  Snorting, Mr De Pointe grasped the glass half-filled with honey-coloured liquid and took a big gulp, closing his eyes as he did so. Lucy had known her father was a habitual drinker from a very young age, often noticing the effects of the drink on his mood: from the grouchy man who stomped around the house until he succumbed to the first drink of the day, to the more genial, relaxed midday drinker, to the cruel and sometimes even violent man he turned into in the evenings. Although now it was not yet lunchtime and it appeared he’d already imbibed a fair amount of alcohol. Perhaps in his old age and loneliness the drinking was getting worse.

  ‘We should leave,’ Lucy said, not wanting Oliver to see her father become further incapacitated.

  ‘That’s right, run away again,’ her father taunted her. ‘You never did care for your responsibilities.’

  Feeling the anger boiling inside her, Lucy tried to suppress a response, knowing anything she said would just prolong their encounter and make things worse.

  ‘Always happy to abandon her family, that’s our Lucy.’

  ‘Me?’ she asked, unable to keep quiet. ‘You talk about abandoning family and it is me you accuse.’

  ‘Well, that’s what you did. First when you got married and left me on my own after your mother’s death and then when you abandoned your husband. It’s a miracle he’s taken you back, not knowing what filthy things you’ve been getting up to this past year.’

  ‘Please do not talk to my wife in that way,’ Oliver said, his voice flinty.

  ‘Well, I learnt from the best. Abandoning William when he needed you to be his advocate, his protector,’ Lucy said before she could stop herself.

  Her father snorted. ‘Him? You always were unnaturally fond of him.’

  ‘He was good and kind and sweet. A hundred times the man you were.’

  ‘He was nothing. I should have drowned him in the bath at birth.’

  Lucy felt her whole body stiffen and wondered if today would be the day she would actually strike her father. She’d been tempted over the years, mainly when he’d talked about her brother in such derogatory terms, but until now she’d always feared her father just a little. It was hard not to think of herself as a little girl and him as the unforgiving head of the family, but now, after spending so much time away, she saw him for what he really was: a weak, pitiful man.

  ‘You should have looked after him,’ Lucy said, feeling the anger drain from her body. ‘But you didn’t. That would have been too noble.’

  ‘God punished me with my children.’

  ‘I think you got off lightly,’ Lucy said, standing. ‘Goodbye, Father. I doubt we shall see each other again.’

  She didn’t wait for his reply, but took Oliver by the arm and marched him to the door, not waiting for Jamieson to let them out.


  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘I need to get away from here,’ Lucy said as she hurried down her father’s front steps, her whole body shaking.

  ‘Where would you like to go?’

  ‘Somewhere quiet, somewhere private. Will the carriage be ready?’

  ‘If we hire fresh horses.’

  ‘Please, Oliver.’

  He realised that although she’d asked many things of him in the weeks since their reunion, this was the first time she truly needed his help. Quickly he organised and paid to hire fresh horses and have them secured to the carriage and within half an hour they were on the road, weaving their way through the progressively quieter streets of Brighton and along the coast road. Lucy was deep in thought and for a while he left her to her own contemplations.

  She’d revealed probably more than she’d meant to with her outburst against her father. He knew now she had a brother she’d never mentioned, a brother with some sort of handicap. Certain this was part of the reason she had reacted so mistrustingly when she’d realised their son was going to face difficulties in life, Oliver was determined to ask more about this brother, but knew he had to give her time to calm down a little first.

  * * *

  After a brief stop for Lucy to give directions to the coachman, they slowed as they entered a small town.

  ‘Seaford,’ Lucy explained as they stopped at one end of the promenade.

  Not as upmarket or popular as Brighton, Seaford was just a small settlement, but the houses were smart and well-looked-after and the people seemed well-to-do. It had a long promenade that was above the natural beach and to one end the chalky cliffs rose away from the town.

  ‘How long until dark?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Three hours, maybe four.’

  ‘Plenty of time. I don’t mind if you want to stay here.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  She indicated a small path worn into the chalky cliff, close to the edge. There was no way he was allowing her to wander off up the clifftop unaccompanied. It might be dangerous, with falling chunks of cliff, and he didn’t want her going anywhere alone in the emotional state she was in.

  ‘I’ll join you.’

  They walked, climbing briskly, the wind whipping around their heads and slowing their progress, but providing a welcome cooling breeze on their faces. There were stunning views in every direction, but Oliver’s eyes kept being drawn out to sea, the water a deep grey with crests of white foam as the waves crashed as they broke. It was dramatic and beautiful at the same time.

  ‘Isn’t it magnificent?’ Lucy said as they reached the top.

  The view was more than magnificent. Rolling hills with white cliffs stretched off into the distance, and closer, down in the valley between this set of hills and the next, a snaking blue river emptied out into the sea. The sky was overcast, but the moody greys and deep purples just added to the atmosphere up on the clifftop.

  ‘Tell me about your brother,’ Oliver said as they slowed their pace, strolling now they had reached the top.

  ‘My brother?’

  ‘You’ve never mentioned him before.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t want to know the intricacies of my family history,’ Lucy said, the tension back in her voice.

  ‘I do, Lucy. Tell me about him.’

  She sighed and for a moment he wondered if she would march right back down the cliff without him. It would be in keeping with her character to avoid the conversation and easy for her to stride away from him across the grassy terrain.

  Instead she looked around her, found a patch of reasonably flat, dry grass and sat down, indicating for Oliver to sit beside her. She moved in a little closer, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders and gently Oliver placed an arm around her in an effort to keep her warm as the wind whipped around them.

  ‘William was four years younger than me, the much-anticipated first son after a disappointing daughter as their firstborn.’

  Mr De Pointe might not have had a grand estate or title, but he was like many men—obsessed with the idea of passing on the family name and any inheritance through a son. They became caught up in the need to sire a boy, often dismissing their firstborn girls as nothing more than a nuisance. Oliver could imagine the scenario, an absent father to his daughter, but a seemingly proud father of his son.

  ‘My mother had a straightforward birth with me, so she was not concerned about her second pregnancy. She had her sister there for support, but no one thought there was any need to call a doctor.’ Lucy paused. ‘I don’t know if I remember her screams, or if I imagined them at a later date, when I knew the story, but she laboured for close to twelve hours.’

  Although he’d come across many ailments and injuries during his time in the army, childbirth was one thing men of fighting age were not afflicted with and so Oliver didn’t know much about it. Twelve hours didn’t seem unusually long, but he couldn’t tell for sure.

  ‘It became apparent that my brother was stuck about eleven hours in. My mother began bleeding heavily and that was when the doctor was called. He told my father the chances of either of them surviving were pretty poor, but with some manoeuvring he was able to deliver my brother.’

  ‘And your mother survived.’

  ‘Yes. She bled, a lot by her account, and was laid up for days, but eventually she recovered with no obvious long-term effects.’ Childbirth was one of the most dangerous times of a woman’s life and Oliver knew many families who had lost wives and mothers at the culmination of a pregnancy.

  ‘And your brother?’

  ‘The doctor declared it a miracle that he survived and at first my father was the image of a proud parent, doting on his first son.’

  From the tone of her voice he could tell the story was about to turn sour.

  ‘Did something happen?’

  She shook her head. ‘William grew and as he grew it became apparent he wasn’t like other children his age. His limbs were stiff and contracted, and he did not develop as he should. By the age of five he could not speak more than a few words and he could not really walk.’

  Oliver took her hand as he saw the tears in her eyes.

  ‘My father became obsessed with what other people would think of the family and arranged for him to be looked after by a farmer’s family just outside Brighton. He didn’t want an imbecile living under his roof.’ She spat out the word imbecile and Oliver knew immediately it would have been her father’s favourite derogatory term for her brother.

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘She could never stand up to my father. By this point she had realised she was unable to bear any more children, so her focus turned to me. She told me she thought my prospects of a good marriage would be harmed by William. People might think some sort of disease ran in our family.’

  Oliver frowned, understanding now why she had been so reluctant to trust him when their own son had been born with problems of his own.

  ‘It doesn’t,’ she said quickly. ‘What David was born with and how William was are two completely different things. The doctors said William took too long to be born. He half-suffocated inside my mother, that was why he developed problems.’

  ‘What happened to your brother? Did the family mistreat him?’

  Lucy shook her head, smiling fondly for a moment. ‘No, the Smiths were kind. William loved being part of their family—they would carry a bed outside for him so he could watch them all on the farm. Those were the best years of his life.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Mr Smith died and without him Mrs Smith couldn’t continue to look after William. It was too physical a job for her alone. William was moved to another family who did not care for him in the same way.’

  ‘They neglected him?’

  ‘Worse, they hurt him. I never knew how badly because my father forbade me from vis
iting. I only managed to sneak out to see him a couple of times. But he became withdrawn, unhappy.’

  Oliver could see the tension in Lucy’s shoulders as she remembered that difficult period in her life and wished he could do something to wash it away.

  ‘William lost whatever mobility he’d had and was completely bed-bound. It was a miracle a chest infection didn’t claim him sooner. He died when he was thirteen.’

  So two years or so before he and Lucy had married, by Oliver’s calculation.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

  ‘My father paid for a basic funeral, but forbade us to attend. I didn’t even see my own brother buried.’

  ‘You haven’t spoken of your brother before.’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘I find it painful to remember. I suppose it is guilt that I feel, that I didn’t do more, that I didn’t stand up to my father.’

  The circumstances around her brother’s banishment from the family home went a long way to explaining why she had been so mistrustful when their son had been born with a similar condition. She’d seen her nightmare played out before, with her father as the villain and her brother as the victim.

  ‘Lucy, you do know I would never abandon a child, no matter how they were born?’ he asked softly. He found her answer mattered to him and felt the piercing pain through his heart as she looked at him searchingly.

  ‘Who knows how they will react?’ she said softly. ‘If you’d asked my father before William was born what he would do, would he have admitted to not tolerating within his household anyone less than what society deems physically normal?’

  ‘We may not have been married long, or reunited for a long time, but surely you can tell a little about a person’s character even from a short acquaintance?’

  Regarding him with wide brown eyes, she sighed. ‘I know you are a better man than my father.’

  ‘I would never abandon a child,’ he said firmly. ‘I need you to understand that and believe it.’

  ‘Even if they were completely unable to do anything for themselves?’