Wedded for His Secret Child

by Helen Dickson

  Melissa stood beside Laurence at the altar, aware of nothing but his close proximity. Glancing up at his darkly handsome features, and with his tall, powerful frame attired in a superbly tailored midnight-blue coat that accentuated his lean elegance and flawless white cravat, she thought that on the whole he was a man any woman would be proud to have for her husband—or lover. She fought the memory that thought aroused. Sometimes she forgot the incredible things they had done but then, at the mere mention of his name, they would come rushing back.

  On this day, the most important day of a woman’s life, she thought that she had never felt so happy and content. With Laurence by her side she could not fail to continue to be so. Was it love she felt for him? Never having experienced anything of that nature in her life before she had met him, she had nothing to compare it with, so she thought she must be. It was the truth and she wanted to tell him that she loved him, but until he felt the same she would hold back. It was important to her that she was loved equally in return.

  A quietness of expectation fell. All eyes were focused on the bride and groom. Even the pastor beamed at Melissa, in spite of the fact that he had joined in with the voices of condemnation of her transgression when Violet was born out of wedlock. Time stood still as they were swept into the marriage ceremony, but it seemed only a moment before Laurence was sliding a gold band upon her finger. It was a solemn, joyless affair, but thankfully all went smoothly as the pastor intoned the words that would bind her to Laurence for ever, although there was an aura of strain and unreality about it. There were a few raised eyebrows from friends and neighbours who had only recently been made privy to her betrothal. Just a handful of her parents’ close friends attended, along with Eliza and Sir Antony Bentley.

  And the pastor pronounced them man and wife in the eyes of God. With a smile, he then informed them that it was customary for the groom to seal the marriage by kissing the bride.

  Laurence turned and looked down at his wife, his eyes gleaming with something that was so intense that Melissa stiffened when he drew her towards him. His fingers moved around the delicate bones of her jaw. Bending his head, he claimed her mouth in a gentle kiss that brought a smile to the lips of all those present. At last his grip slackened and she could breathe. The ceremony was over, signed and sealed and legally binding until death did them part.

  ‘Now it is time to baptise our daughter.’ Taking Melissa’s hand, he led her down the aisle to the font, where Daisy was holding a sleeping Violet. She did not open her eyes until the cleric poured water on her head, which she took exception to and began crying loudly. Taking her into his arms, with soothing words Laurence dabbed the water away.

  * * *

  Then the carriage was taking them back to High Meadows where the Baroness had laid on a small wedding breakfast. Alone with Melissa for the first time that day, from beneath hooded lids Laurence allowed his gaze to dwell on her. Melissa was his wife. He must not forget it, even though he knew nothing about her. It was his responsibility to care for her comfort and well-being. He remembered the vision he had seen walking down the aisle towards him bathed in sunlight, snatching his breath away, and he had been unprepared for the pride that had exploded throughout his entire body until he ached with it, for no bride had ever looked as lovely.

  When he had offered her his hand, she had lifted her own and placed it in his much larger one. He had felt the trembling of her fingers and saw the anxiety in her large amber eyes. Immensely relieved that she hadn’t decided to pull out of marrying him, he had given her hand a little squeeze in an attempt to reassure her. When they had sealed the vows that they had just made with a kiss, her lips had been pleasurably warm and had softened under his caress.

  ‘How does it feel to be my wife—Lady Maxwell?’

  As Melissa met his gaze, her mouth curved in a little smile. ‘If you must know, I don’t feel anything at the moment. It’s difficult to take it all in. I feel no different to how I did before I left home.’ She arched her brows in question. ‘Should I?’

  ‘I can think of plenty of females who would.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that, but I am not one of them. Titles are meaningless to me.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Of course not. After all, you had no idea of my identity when we first met. You are very beautiful, Melissa,’ he murmured, for so she was, and he watched as the colour flowed delightfully beneath her pale white skin and her eyes darkened with warmth.

  ‘So are you,’ she breathed.

  Laughing softly, he reached across and took her hand, raising it to his lips. ‘A lady is not supposed to say that to a gentleman.’

  ‘Not even when that gentleman is her husband?’

  ‘In which case, perhaps she can be excused. I thank you for the compliment.’

  * * *

  Back at High Meadows the guests partook of the wedding breakfast—savouries and delicate cakes washed down with champagne. Laurence wished for something stronger to drink, but repressed the urge just as he forced himself to receive the congratulations and polite good wishes of the guests he had not met before today.

  Antony glanced at Laurence and Melissa and raised his glass in a gesture of a toast. ‘To your future years together and wedded bliss.’ He grinned.

  Laurence cast him an ironic glance, but other than that, his features were perfectly composed. He always kept his emotions effortlessly under rigid control. At that moment, as he lifted his glass to his lips, he was feeling nothing stronger than a certain impatience to be away from the stilted conversation and tortuous celebrations among the handful of guests and the stifling atmosphere of High Meadows. He was impatient to leave for Beechwood House with Antony and Eliza where he was to spend the night without his bride. He was to return to High Meadows early the following morning, when he would leave for his house in London with his wife and daughter.

  * * *

  They had to make an early start if they were to make London before nightfall. Melissa bade a tearful farewell to the servants she had known all her life. It was particularly hard say goodbye to her parents, but they promised to visit Winchcombe as soon as it was convenient for them to do so.

  By the time they were in the coach, Melissa was wondering if it was all a dream. Accompanied by Daisy and a fretful Violet, who didn’t care for being so confined, they travelled to London in Laurence’s large travelling coach. Thankfully, with the rocking of the coach, the child eventually fell asleep. Laurence occupied himself with some papers he had brought with him and absorbed himself in them most of the time.

  Seated across from him, when she wasn’t looking at the passing scenery Melissa found her gaze settling on him. Not for the first time she wondered what lay in store for her in London and her curiosity about his first wife grew. He seemed reluctant to talk about her and Melissa didn’t want to pry. They didn’t know each other very well and she felt there were limits to how much one should know about another person’s life quite so soon. In the future when they knew each other a little better, there would be opportunities for him to tell her.

  Seeing Daisy’s eyes were beginning to close, Melissa took the sleeping Violet and settled her on her lap, telling Daisy to have a nap. The maid took no persuading and within seconds had joined Violet in sleep. Laurence set aside his papers and looked across at her.

  ‘It must be hard for you leaving your parents. Is this the first time you have been without them?’

  ‘Yes. I shall miss them, I know—and they are going to miss me and in particular Violet. You will have seen how they adore her.’

  ‘Who could not? She is exquisite. You have brothers—two, I seem to recall you telling me.’

  ‘Yes. Henry, who is the eldest, is a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. He loves the life and has no intention of leaving the sea.’

  ‘He is the son and heir?’

  ‘Yes, but ever since he was a boy he’s been in possession of a spirit of adve
nture. He was always lively and full of mischief and I loved him dearly. He always wanted to go to sea. I cried for weeks when he left. I missed him so much. Involving himself in the running of High Meadows and country matters held no interest for him. The war with France gives us constant worry that something might happen to him.’

  ‘I can fully understand that. The war also affects merchantmen. I have it on good authority British merchant vessels and their cargos have been taken by privateers, which is a constant worry for me since I have vessels trading European goods with the West Indies.’

  Melissa’s opened wide in astonishment. ‘Goodness! You have ships of your own?’

  He laughed in the face of her surprise. ‘It’s what I do and it often takes me away for long periods. Tell me about your other brother?’

  ‘Oh, Robert is quite different. He was more studious and serious than Henry. He is married to Charlotte and for the present is living in the north of England with her family. Her father does not enjoy the best of health and with Charlotte being the last of his offspring living close to the family home, he has become somewhat dependent on Robert. It’s unusual, I know, but Henry has relinquished his claim as Father’s heir. Robert will inherit High Meadows when the time comes. He loves it more than Henry. He’s keen to return to put some order into it.’

  ‘And you? Did you go to school?’

  ‘Oh, no, nothing like that. I had a governess.’

  ‘And what was she like—about a hundred, a tyrant who rarely spoke of anything other than the rudiments of education?’

  ‘Good heavens, no.’ Melissa laughed, a sound which was cool and crystal clear to Laurence. ‘She was nothing like that. Miss Stanhope was a strict disciplinarian, but there was nothing to dislike about her. I have much to be grateful for, where she is concerned. I missed her dreadfully when she left—and she was nowhere near a hundred.’

  ‘I was jesting,’ Laurence said, his eyes twinkling, strangely unwilling to let her stop talking about her past. ‘And your parents? You told me they are going to miss you and I can understand why.’

  ‘Yes—especially Papa.’

  ‘You are close to him, I could see that—and very much like him.’

  ‘Papa has a penchant for anything with four legs. His passion for prime horseflesh is well known. In that we are alike.’

  ‘Your mother doesn’t share his passion?’

  ‘No, she doesn’t ride and rarely goes to the stables. She’s susceptible to bites and stings and any creepy crawlies cast her way—which is her excuse. Do you keep horses at your London house?’

  ‘You’ll be happy to hear that I do—carriage horses—and I do take the opportunity to ride out in the park when I can. I’m sure there will be a mount there to your liking.’

  ‘I imagine there will be. Do you come to London often?’

  ‘Yes. Why do you ask?

  ‘No reason—only—with Winchcombe as your family home in Surrey, does the time you spend in London justify you keeping a house there as well? There are hotels you could stay in.’

  He smiled. ‘What you say is true, but first of all most of my business is taken care of in the city and there is something to be said about maintaining one’s investments—property prices are always rising and houses in Grosvenor Street are always popular. Another reason is because I can afford it and I don’t like hotels.’ This was true. Tough decisions and being ruthless in business and long-term investments had made him a wealthy man. He had taken a hit with the war in France, where he had warehouses in the south of the country, but he had foreseen the troubles and got out in time. ‘I also have to take my seat in the House of Lords occasionally—more so with Europe in a state of turmoil.’

  ‘Indeed. But you are not a politician in the professional sense?’

  ‘No. It is simply that all peers of the realm have been trained to regard it as our right and duty to participate in governing the country. We enter Parliament as we do university and gentlemen’s clubs.’

  ‘It all seems very grand to me. And what do you debate in the House of Lords?’

  ‘The issues at this time are many and varied—and of an extremely serious nature. But I am not required to spend all my time in the House of Lords—which is a relief since I am heavily committed to my business affairs.’

  Chapter Four

  It was a relief to all when they arrived in London in the late afternoon. Violet had woken from her sleep and was quite perky. Laurence looked at Melissa, knowing how anxious she was about entering the house and meeting the staff.

  ‘Try not to worry,’ he said softly. ‘Try to relax. Though you might find your life here in London and later at Winchcombe different to your own life in Hertfordshire, remember that the people I employ are friendly and understanding. You will like them, I promise you.’

  Melissa smiled at him nervously. When she stepped from the temporary haven of the coach, she would be stepping into a new world—which was evident when she entered the house. Like every other residence in Grosvenor Street, Laurence’s town house was an imposing building. The door was opened by a footman and they walked into a high, spacious hall with an elegant staircase rising to the upper floors and a black and white marble floor. Melissa could not restrain an exclamation of approval, which brought a smile to Laurence’s lips.

  ‘My goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘What a beautiful house.’

  Laurence grinned. ‘I’m glad you think so.’

  Her arrival with Violet was expected. With great excitement servants were hovering in the hallway and leaning over the balustrade on the upper floor, hoping to catch a glimpse of their new mistress and the master’s child—although how he came to have a daughter at almost a year old and everyone none the wiser was a mystery. They knew very little about their master’s private life since the tragic death of his first wife. None of them realised that his new wife was quite unaware that her daughter was to take up residence in the nursery which had been occupied by the master’s first offspring, Master Toby.

  A tall, handsome woman in a plain black dress came to the fore, smiling broadly. ‘I am Mrs Evans, the housekeeper. Welcome to your new home, my lady,’ she said with a gracious smile. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey?’

  ‘Yes—thank you,’ answered Melissa, her nervousness beginning to disappear.

  ‘Perhaps your maid would like to take your daughter to the nursery. I have taken the liberty of appointing a nursery maid to look after her. Her name is Tansy. I am sure you will approve.’

  Taking Violet from her mistress, Daisy carried the bright-eyed gurgling child—who was delighted by all the attention she was receiving—up the stairs to the nursery, leaving Laurence to introduce his wife to the staff.

  Melissa tried to make a mental note of all their names, which, being so many, was no easy matter. They eyed her with a great deal of interest and with all the curiosity a stranger produced—especially when the stranger was their new mistress.

  ‘Now come along,’ Laurence said, taking her arm. ‘Let me show you to your rooms.’

  They went up the curving staircase to the landing where they had adjoining suites. Laurence disappeared into his own to prepare for dinner, leaving Melissa alone with a young maid called Sophie. Daisy was to continue as her own personal maid, but she was settling Violet into the nursery. With a wry smile on her lips, her eyes made a sharp assessment of the gown Sophie had quickly unpacked from her trunk and for the first time since entering the house felt a sharp twinge of disappointment. How she wished she had more fashionable attire to do justice to her new position.

  * * *

  When she was ready, Mrs Evans came to take her to the dining room, where her husband was waiting.

  ‘It’s a beautiful house, Mrs Evans,’ she said, pausing to take a closer look at the paintings adorning the walls as they descended the stairs.

  Reaching the bottom, she paused to look
a little longer at the painting of a young woman in a beautiful scarlet gown, who seemed to be looking out of the painting straight at her. Her heart flipped over, for she knew immediately the identity of the subject. The perfect features, the deep blue eyes shadowed with dark lashes, which seemed to be laughing at the artist with obvious pleasure. It was painted by the hand of a master to catch all the vital beauty of the sitter. It was Alice, the woman Laurence had loved and lost. How plain and uninteresting Melissa thought she was in comparison—the woman who had been forced on Laurence through a sense of duty. Poor Laurence. What an unfortunate bargain he had made in order to secure his daughter.

  ‘That was the master’s first wife,’ Mrs Evans explained.

  ‘She was very beautiful, Mrs Evans.’

  ‘Yes, she was. It was a tragedy what happened to her.’

  ‘And who do we have here?’ Melissa asked. For some reason which she could not explain, she had no wish to hear about her predecessor’s attributes just then. Plenty of time for that later. She shifted her attention to the painting of a young boy which had been given pride of place. He was holding a puppy in his arms. Seeing a likeness to Violet in the small face, she said, ‘I see Violet looks very like her father when he was a boy—if this is my husband.’

  ‘Oh, no, my lady. This is Master Toby. Such a sweet boy.’

  ‘Oh—a relative?’

  ‘The master’s son.’

  Melissa drew a sharp breath and sent a shocked look at the housekeeper. For a moment a deathly hush fell upon the hall. The word son caught Melissa’s blurred attention. Her heart contracted. She stared with dazed shock at the painting, trying not to let Mrs Evans see how affected she was by this. But Mrs Evans was looking at her intently, as though to assess the effect of the bombshell she had unintentionally just dropped on her.