Wedded for His Secret Child

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Oh, dear! You didn’t know he had a son?’

  ‘His son?’ The revelation shocked her deeply. She wanted to ask her more, to know where this child was now, but, feeling it was important that Laurence told her himself, she shook her head. ‘No, Mrs Evans. I didn’t know.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Clearly feeling that she had betrayed a confidence, Mrs Evans’s expression became guarded. ‘Well—things have happened in such a rush lately—what with the wedding and everything. He will not have kept it from you intentionally—he isn’t like that. Lord Maxwell has had so much to contend with of late, but I am sure he will tell you all about Toby.’

  Mrs Evans’s answer was what Melissa would expect of a faithful servant. Her loyalty was evident and her defence of him intense. ‘And the first Lady Maxwell? It must have been hard for him losing his wife.’

  ‘It was a terrible time. He took her loss hard. He wasn’t the same afterwards. As soon as the funeral was over he took off for France—he has business over there, you see—and with the troubles breaking out in that country to knowing how it would affect him, it provided him with something else to focus his mind on.’

  Melissa stood for a moment, staring blindly at the painting of the child. Had Laurence’s grief over his wife’s death been so great that he hadn’t wanted to live without her? Where was Toby now? She desperately wanted to know the answers, but she would not ask Mrs Evans to supply them on so personal a subject.

  * * *

  Melissa entered the candlelit dining room off the hall. Laurence was standing by the sideboard, pouring red wine into two glasses. Melissa was struck by his stern profile outlined against the golden glow of the candles. She saw a kind of beauty in it, but quickly dismissed the thought. It was totally out of keeping with what she had just learned. He turned when she entered and moved towards her, his narrow gaze sweeping her with approval. She closed the door and leaned against it. Her insides had gone cold with dread. Laurence glanced towards her.

  ‘I hope you approve of your rooms. They...’ He faltered. The grim expression on her face made him wary. ‘Melissa? What is it?’

  ‘When were you going to tell me about Toby?’ she asked, trying not to think of the woman—his first wife—who had died not so very long ago, a woman who had borne him a child—a woman he must have loved and whom he still mourned. The thought was so immediate that she didn’t even want to think about it, but she knew she must. ‘Is it true that you have a son?’ She expected him to refute her question, but he didn’t. He stiffened, his jaw clenched so tightly the corded muscles stood out. He looked at her, his eyes turning to ice.

  ‘Yes, I do—I did.’

  No slap in the face could have hurt so much. Failing to understand just then what his words implied, a sudden weight fell on Melissa’s heart at what was happening. She was stunned, bewildered, and a thousand thoughts raced across her brain and crashed together in confusion. Slowly she walked towards her husband, so distracted by her own rampaging emotions that she never noticed the sudden hardening of his face as he looked at her, as if he were bracing himself to meet a firing squad.

  ‘I would have preferred you to tell me yourself instead of finding out from your housekeeper. You must have known you could not keep such an important matter from me. What were you thinking? Did you intend to hide him away from me?’

  ‘I have not hidden him away.’ Laurence’s voice flared with what could have been pain. For a man usually so mentally astute, Laurence was too stunned to move. He shrank from the pain he suddenly had to confront and the hostility he was encountering in his wife.

  Halting in front of him, she was trembling with anger, her hands clenched into fists by her sides. ‘You have a son, Laurence—a son! Why have you kept this from me? For what reason? Or did you simply forget to tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t forget,’ Laurence ground out, his face white with his own anger and emotions he was fighting to suppress. ‘I should have told you, but it’s a discussion I preferred not to have at present.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, determined to stand her ground. ‘You have a son and yet you did not think I had a right to know when you asked me to marry you? How old was he when he posed for the painting in the hall—the little boy I thought was you when you were a child?—the features so like our daughter’s. For heaven’s sake, Laurence. I don’t mind that you have a son—I welcome it, in fact—a brother for Violet is quite wonderful.’

  Laurence’s face twisted and darkened. ‘He posed for the painting when he was three years old—just six months before he died.’ Pushing a hand, which trembled through his thick hair, he took a step back, his face quite blank now. He felt that he was on dangerous ground. He’d kept everyone at arm’s length for so long that he dreaded letting down his guard now. Strangely, since meeting Melissa again and making her his wife, another part of him was calling time on the endless solitude.

  His words stunned Melissa. Embarrassed and ashamed for speaking with such bluntness and insensitivity, she drew a fortifying breath. Pain clouded his eyes. ‘I’m so very sorry, Laurence. Please forgive my harsh words. I did not know.’

  ‘My son died in a tragic accident—it was so totally unnecessary.’

  Melissa had no notion of the same uncontrollable fury he had felt at the time boiling up inside him now just thinking about it, of how the discovery of his wife and son’s deaths had sent a wave of emotion crashing over him, flooding his mind with a turbulent mixture of guilt, frustration, loss and love—guilt because he had not been there to protect his son. She looked at his handsome face with its stern, sensual mouth and hard jaw, but what she saw was a man tormented by the loss of his wife and son. Her heart ached for him. A lump of poignant tenderness clogged her throat and she moved to stand before him.

  ‘You must tell me about him, Laurence.’ Her mouth went dry and her heart began to beat in heavy, terrifying dread as she sensed that he was about to withdraw from her. ‘I cannot imagine how you felt, but if anything should happen to Violet I would never recover from it. I know you are a very private person, but I am your wife. If you cannot open up to me, even if it is just a little, then it bodes ill for the future.’

  He turned and looked at her. His face was expressionless. His eyes were empty, a glacial silver-grey remoteness that told her nothing of what he felt. ‘You are right. You should know about Toby—but not now. Now is not the time.’

  ‘And Alice?’

  His face hardened. ‘Not now.’

  ‘Of course. I understand that losing both your wife and your child have left deep scars,’ as yet unhealed, she thought sadly. It was an emotional burden he clearly still found difficult to bear. ‘I can see my questions have revived painful memories for you and I regret my curiosity.’

  ‘You are right, they have. However, because you are likely to find out sooner or later, I would prefer to tell you the circumstances of their demise myself rather than you hear of it from the servants—as you will eventually. Alice and Toby died together in a carriage accident. Now I would be grateful if you could leave it at that. My late wife is not your concern, so please quell your curiosity. You are newly wed and there are other things to focus your mind on.’

  Melissa was shocked into silence. This was not what she had expected to hear. It was indeed a tragedy. She could hear the anger in his tone, but behind that she detected an abject sadness. She felt that Violet’s very presence was bringing back painful memories for him, but on reflection she realised how her being in his life might also help him. ‘Laurence, I am sorry.’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault.’

  Nevertheless, Melissa felt regret at being the source of his pain and that she had intruded into his memories and his home. He paused and looked at her, his loss still evident in his eyes. ‘When you are ready to talk about it, I am a good listener.’

  Turning from him then, she moved away. ‘I see a table
has been set for dinner. I think we should eat. I confess to feeling quite famished.’ Her throat ached and her eyes burned, but she would not cry. She held herself steady as she walked across the room, resisting the urge to go back to him. But she could not. He had married her for Violet’s sake and for no other reason. She must not allow herself to forget that. She was Lady Maxwell now. If Laurence still loved and mourned his first wife to the exclusion of all others, then she must accept it, but the scars of the wounds he had suffered were still raw. What she felt for him went deeper than compassion.

  He was a troubled man and his quiet, anguished suffering aroused her protective instincts. She wanted to help him, to soothe and comfort him. But most of all she wanted to love him—and for him to love her. The attraction that had drawn them together in the Spring Gardens, the desire, was still there. She could feel it and she knew it was reciprocated. Hopefully, given time, that desire would draw them closer.

  * * *

  Dinner was a strained affair. Melissa managed to maintain an outward show of calm, despite the tumult raging inside her. A cold thrill ran through her as she ate, an awful sense of shock invading her entire being, although why she should feel this way puzzled her, for she had never really given much thought as to what had become of Laurence’s former wife. She took a sip of wine, hoping the meal would be over quickly so she could escape.

  ‘You said you were hungry,’ he said. ‘I hope you enjoy the dinner.’

  ‘I shall endeavour to do so,’ she replied, spreading a napkin on her knees.

  ‘As long as you don’t upset Cook by not eating. Mrs Russell is very efficient—and, being a woman, she is extremely temperamental and takes it as a personal criticism if anyone refuses to eat.’

  ‘What! Even you?’ Her eyes sparked with humour.

  ‘Even me.’ He smiled in response.

  The food was delicious, excellently cooked, but Melissa’s appetite appeared to have left her. Laurence talked amiably about what to expect when they reached Winchcombe in Surrey and describing the surrounding countryside, giving Melissa a brief insight into the people who lived and worked around the village of Winchcombe. When they had finished Laurence suggested they sit by the fire before retiring. As much as Melissa would have preferred to escape to her room, she complied. His mind had been preoccupied since she had asked him about his son and she would like to clear the air between them before they retired. Drawing a long, shaky breath, she clasped her hands together in her lap and met her husband’s cool, assessing stare, determined to try to ease the tension that existed between them.

  ‘Things do not have to be difficult, Laurence. There is no need for there to be discord between us,’ she said quietly, cautiously. Encouraged by his lack of argument, she continued. ‘I realise how inconvenient marrying me is for you—as it is for me marrying you—but surely nothing that has happened should make us treat each other badly.’

  Laurence relaxed into the chair across from her, meeting her gaze, unable to resist the soft appeal in those huge eyes of hers. He sighed, his expression becoming more relaxed as he capitulated a little. ‘No, of course not. And you are right. We must strive to make the best of things.’

  Melissa had to suppress the urge to utter a deep sigh of relief. ‘Are we to stay long in London?’

  ‘Two or three weeks—maybe a month,’ he answered. ‘In the meantime it is important that you are fitted with a new wardrobe. You will be advised which fashionable shops to visit and all the best dressmakers, who will measure and fit you.’

  ‘That is extremely generous of you.’

  ‘Generosity doesn’t come into it. As the lady of Winchcombe Hall it is important that you dress accordingly. Antony and Eliza are travelling to town today—she may have told you of their plans. As she is always at the forefront of fashion Eliza has kindly offered to take your wardrobe in hand.’

  ‘She did mention it when we met—as soon as can be, in fact. Do they have a house in town?’

  Laurence’s face tensed and he avoided her eyes. ‘No. They will be staying with Eliza’s brother.’

  ‘I see. Does he resemble Eliza?’

  He frowned. ‘There is a likeness.’

  Melissa was surprised by the harshness of his reply. She watched the subtle change to his face, the way a shadow seemed to pass across it. The way the lines in the corners of his eyes deepened, despite how he tried so very hard to control his features. ‘Why—what is it, Laurence? Do you not see eye to eye with Eliza’s brother?’

  ‘I do not,’ he answered abruptly. ‘He is a man who has nothing to recommend him in either character or manner and I do not want you to go anywhere near him. Eliza is a different matter. She is a woman of consequence—she shamelessly adores forcing society to bend to her will, as well as her husband.’

  Melissa decided not to pursue the issue of Eliza’s brother, but Laurence’s aversion to the man stirred her curiosity and she couldn’t wait to find out more.

  ‘Antony is quite besotted with his wife,’ Laurence went on, ‘and always has been. I feel I must tell you that Eliza was Alice’s close friend.’

  ‘Oh—then I can only hope that she won’t resent me—although she was very kind when we met at Beechwood House.’

  ‘You’ve made a conquest. Eliza likes you—she made a point of telling me so. Where you are concerned I do not think it will do any harm for her to help you with your wardrobe.’

  ‘She—did tell me that she is aware of the circumstances that brought us together.’

  ‘Yes—and I have to say she was surprised and felt she had to question your suitability as my wife.’

  ‘Really? She gave no indication of that when we met.’

  ‘Then you must have won her over.’

  Melissa fixed him with a steady gaze. ‘I’d like to think so. No doubt I shall get to know her better—and you, Laurence. I still know so little about you.’

  ‘I imagine Eliza will give you a rundown of my character. While I am in London I have a great deal of business to attend to so I shall not be able to give you my full attention. You will be glad of Eliza’s company. She will accompany you wherever you want to go. News of our marriage will have reached London by now, so I have no doubt you will encounter curious strangers who will watch your every move.’

  ‘Indeed I shall—no doubt looking for something to gossip about,’ Melissa retorted tartly.

  Laurence’s heart turned over when he saw the wounded look in her glorious eyes. ‘Worry not, Melissa. Content yourself with the fact that you will not have to face them alone. I will be by your side when we attend our first society event. At other times you will be with Eliza.’

  ‘I can do little else. Will you tell me more about what to expect when we reach Winchcombe? What have you told your servants?’ she asked, fully prepared to be met with abject disapproval and hostility when she came face to face with them. ‘Do they know about Violet?’

  ‘Of course. It is hardly the kind of thing that can be concealed. I sent instructions ahead to have rooms prepared for you and the nursery for Violet.’

  ‘I imagine they were shocked,’ Melissa murmured, feeling quite wretched.

  ‘I imagine there were some raised eyebrows—which is to be expected. But their relief over me marrying again and having a new mistress at Winchcombe will outweigh the shock and any objections they will feel on learning I have married the mother of my illegitimate daughter. If it makes you feel any easier, no one knows of the circumstances that brought us together, which are known only to your family, Antony and Eliza and ourselves. I would like to keep it that way. I am sure you will agree that it is a matter that needs delicate handling.’

  ‘Of course. I understand,’ she said quietly. ‘At least I shall know what to expect and I must thank you for sparing further damage being done to my already lacerated reputation. Were the sordid details of our meeting to be made known then my hu
miliation would be complete.’

  ‘My housekeeper has been telling me for some time that it is high time I looked for another wife.’

  ‘Then I can only hope they approve of me—although I must warn you that my skills at managing a large household—especially one as large as I imagine Winchcombe to be—are sadly lacking. I have never applied myself to any task of such magnitude. My mother did try to train me in the duties she said would be expected of me when I married, but I was too busy helping Papa in the stables.’ Then again, Melissa thought, Laurence might not wish for her to take responsibility for his home. He had married her to become close to Violet. But she was proved wrong by his next words.

  ‘You will soon learn to oversee the household and to be a gracious hostess for our guests. Mrs Robins, the housekeeper at Winchcombe, will help you. You will soon fit into your role—as I will fit into mine as your husband.’

  ‘I hope I will have plenty of opportunity to ride out. Papa is going to arrange to have Freckle sent on for me.’

  ‘There will be time enough for that. You will soon be dashing about the Surrey countryside as you did at High Meadows. But please don’t underestimate your position. You are mistress of Winchcombe Hall. The servants will look to you as they did to my mother—and later, Alice—on all matters to do with the household.’

  ‘I will do my best, but your mother and your...your first wife did things their way. I have been raised in a certain way and I ask for your patience. I will not change from who I am or what I am. I like the way I am, but I promise you that I will try my utmost to familiarise myself with the household. But, I ask you not to compare me with your first wife or your mother, Laurence.’

  ‘I will not do that. Winchcombe was my mother’s life—as was my father. They had a good marriage.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. She would not have behaved as I have done—and got herself with...’ She fell silent, biting her lip, holding back the words that were hurtful to her to say, but Laurence had already heard them even though they had not been spoken.