Wedded for His Secret Child

by Helen Dickson

  She glared at him militantly, her face aflame with vivid indignation. ‘Really, Laurence, there is no need,’ she said with no hint of an apology for riding out alone. ‘I do ride rather well, you know. I have been riding Freckle ever since my father gave her to me and she hasn’t thrown me once.’

  Gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath, Laurence took her arm, halting her in her stride. ‘There’s always a first time.’

  ‘Then I will deal with it if such a thing does occur. You cannot expect me to become as your mother and your first wife have been, just because that is what you are accustomed to. We are man and wife, but that does not mean I shall do everything you tell me to do.’

  ‘You won’t?’

  ‘Indeed I will not. I am not accustomed to being arbitrarily ordered to do this and not do that.’

  ‘Then since Winchcombe is your home, don’t you think you should get used to it?’

  ‘No, Laurence, I will not. I have been brought up in a certain way and I cannot change overnight. In fact, I’m not sure I want to change at all. I like the way I am. I am your wife and will be your equal—not your chattel to be told what I can and cannot do.’

  She was tilting her head imperiously, daring him to argue, but it wasn’t in him to take up that particular point with her just now.

  ‘Where did you go? Did you see anyone?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sir Gerald Mortimer.’

  Laurence stared at her. The blood drained from his face, making the birthmark on the side of his face stand out starkly. ‘Where? Where did you encounter him?’

  She looked at him directly. ‘On the bridge that spans the stream.’

  Laurence’s face turned even whiter. ‘You met him there—where...’

  ‘Where the accident happened. Yes, Laurence, he told me.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘Visiting the place where Alice died.’

  Laurence looked at her for a long moment, then turned and began striding towards the house. She followed, having to take little running steps to keep up with him.

  ‘I didn’t arrange to meet him, Laurence, if that’s what you think. We met purely by chance.’

  ‘You are not to see him again, Melissa. Do you understand? I do not want you to have anything to do with him.’

  ‘I probably won’t be seeing him again since he is to close the house—as you well know.’

  ‘Not a moment too soon.’

  What she considered to be her husband’s unreasonable manner, and still affected by the deep sorrow caused by Alice’s death that continued to torture Sir Gerald, stirred Melissa’s anger. ‘I know what happened, Laurence, and I cannot understand why you are being like this. Apart from riding without a groom in attendance I cannot see that I have done anything to merit your displeasure.’

  ‘Can you not?’ he seethed, stopping once more to glare at her. ‘Devil take it, Melissa. You know nothing about it. It means nothing to you that the man you have decided to befriend was plotting to run off with my wife?’

  She winced at his savage tone, but she refused to retreat. ‘Your first wife, Laurence. And I am not befriending him, but I can see that he was as affected as you were when Alice died. He was devastated. He sincerely loved her—was in love with her when she married you. It broke his heart. Imagine how he must have felt—his terrible loss. And, since she was leaving you to go back to Sir Gerald that tells me she never did stop loving him.’

  Laurence had grown quite still. The angry eyes that settled on his wife were a glittering silver-grey. ‘My, my! What’s this—my wife turning philosopher? It would seem you’ve had quite a chat with our neighbour. He’s lost no time in filling your ears with his side of things. The man will not be satisfied until he’s turned you against me.’

  ‘Have some faith in me. He won’t do that—not ever. I’m only telling you what I have learned about your first wife. What are you trying to do, Laurence—destroy yourself? You weren’t responsible for the accident that killed Alice and Toby—no more than Sir Gerald was. She was the one at fault—the one who was running away.’

  Laurence’s face became hard and there was a ruthlessness visible in the set of his mouth. ‘For God’s sake, Melissa. They were lovers—lovers while she was married to me.’

  ‘I know. You told me.’

  ‘And do you not think I had cause to be angry about that—that I was being cuckolded by my closest neighbour?’

  Despair welled in Melissa’s heart at the fury she had unintentionally aroused in him. ‘Yes, you had every right to be angry—at your wife, at Sir Gerald, but not at yourself. Yes, you were often away and she had time on her hands. But that did not mean she had to resume an affair with the man she would more than likely have married had she not met you. It is because he loved her so deeply that he cannot bear to come down here, to Surrey, where he is reminded of her all the time.’

  ‘Your concern for the man is quite touching,’ he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  ‘I am not concerned, Laurence—not for him—although I do feel sorry for him. Alice treated him very badly. I am simply concerned about the way the tragedy has affected you.’

  ‘Do not take me for a fool, Melissa. You flout my orders by riding off alone when I specifically told you not to and you secretly meet a man who has done nothing but wish me ill since the day I married Alice. I was forced to weather Alice’s propensity for scandal, for seeking her pleasures outside the marriage bed, but I draw the line at allowing the situation to repeat itself with you.’

  Melissa’s anger surfaced at the injustice of his accusation. ‘I did not meet Sir Gerald secretly! How dare you imply it was an assignation! We met purely by chance.’

  ‘Then I suppose I shall have to believe you,’ he bit back, turning on his heel and striding towards the house again, already regretting that he had to depart for Plymouth in the next few days, leaving her alone and vulnerable to the likes of Gerald Mortimer. ‘I should hate to see any similarities to your predecessor.’

  ‘I am not in the habit of lying, Laurence,’ she fumed, running to keep up with him. ‘And I do not wish to hear the name of your first wife ever again. All I can say is that the more I hear of her, and the more I know of you, the more I pity her and find myself feeling extremely sorry for her, having been in the impossible situation of being married to you. I do not blame her for leaving you—in fact, I’m amazed she stayed with you so long. You are a monster, Laurence Maxwell, and I wish I’d never set eyes on you.’

  * * *

  Her angry words brought Laurence to an abrupt halt. He endured her outburst, his face an impassive mask. He saw how flushed with anger she was under the heavy mass of her hair and that her eyes were bright with bravely held, angry tears. She looked lovely and he knew he had only to make one single, very simple movement to stop her and take her in his arms, to wipe the anger and pain from her eyes, but her words, her rage, had driven him into a tyrannical mood and no power on earth could have made him yield to that desire.

  His eyes were merciless as he reached out and grasped her arms, bringing her to a standstill once more. She lifted her head and stared at him, haughtily, jutting out her chin, and Laurence felt the anger pounding in his temples for she looked wonderful, defiantly, astonishingly so.

  ‘Enough, Melissa. I think you have said quite enough.’

  ‘I am not Alice. I am nothing like her. I would never play you false. I swear it.’ She snatched her arm from his grasp and marched away from him, uncaring whether he followed or not.

  Laurence did believe her, but he could not dismiss her involvement or her eagerness to defend the man who had done everything in his power to destroy his first marriage. He was furious that Melissa had met with Gerald Mortimer, but he was determined not to fight with her as he had with Alice when she h
ad flaunted her affair quite shamelessly, taunting him with her lover like a weapon of revenge. He would not allow the nightmare to begin all over again.

  Ever since he had made her his wife Laurence had enjoyed their exchanges of different views that often flared between them, but she could not, of course, continue as she had before they were wed, when she had been left to run wild with no firm parental guidance all her life. It simply would not do—she was his wife and the mother of his child. While she had been straining against the reins which marriage, or at least marriage to a man such as himself, would impose on her, he had admired her spirit, the hot depths of indignation in her eyes at being told what to do. She had been like a small bird sitting on his shoulder for the past weeks and he had enjoyed her occasional peck at him, but he had to draw the line somewhere.

  Chapter Ten

  The argument continued over into the splendid dining room where they ate their evening meal. The atmosphere between them was strained, Laurence’s conversation curt, cool and distant.

  It was the first night since Melissa had gone to his bed after the ball in London that they slept alone. Her encounter with Gerald Mortimer and Laurence’s furious reaction to it cast a dark cloud over the following days. Melissa was incensed with her husband’s churlish behaviour and heartily tired of hearing about Alice. She also found her husband’s proprietary manner towards her unreasonable and immensely irritating.

  * * *

  Laurence thought about his wife constantly. She was quiet, withdrawn, polite and, when not with Violet, she was riding out with a groom in attendance. She made him feel that he was nothing to her and the irony of the situation, had it not been so wretched, might have made him smile ruefully.

  There was a time not so very long ago when he had been largely indifferent to her feelings. Now, as though to punish him for his indifference, he was the one who loved—with a love that had grown steadily—and was rejected. He remembered the night of the ball. Radiant she had been, and laughing, vivid in a way that had told him she was happy. She had a spirit to match his own and she had grown, phoenix-like, out of the naive young woman he had made love to in the Spring Gardens. She was sharp and clever, yet for all that, still as vulnerable as she had been then.

  But how exquisite she had been in the candle’s glow of their bedroom, her flesh a warm rosy glow, her firm breasts coral-tipped, her body eager and willing with sensuality, his own body loving her. Many were the times he’d wanted to go to her, knowing she was behind the closed door that connected their rooms, the image of her both powerful and tantalising. He had wanted desperately to reach out to her, but his own stupidity over Alice, and his pride, had held him back. In all the years and his experience with women there had been no one like Melissa and in all the weeks they had been married they had been mostly out of step with each other, so they had never come together at the right moment.

  * * *

  A letter from Eliza was delivered to the house. She wrote how she and Antony were to return to Hertfordshire two days hence and they would be calling on them at Winchcombe before they left. Since Laurence was to leave for Plymouth they also wanted to see him before he left. There was something of extreme importance Eliza had to impart and it was necessary that Laurence was present. The worrying part about it was that Gerald would be accompanying them and Melissa couldn’t help wondering how Laurence would react to this news.

  * * *

  They arrived mid-afternoon beneath a sky heavy with dark rain clouds. Antony and Eliza arrived in a carriage, but Gerald had opted to ride over since he might wish to leave in a hurry. Laurence wasn’t best pleased that Gerald had accompanied them, but it was too late to do anything but grin and bear it.

  Antony was noticeably quiet and, after greeting Melissa, he seated himself in a chair which stood apart from the others, as if knowing something unpleasant was about to occur and wanting to be no part of it.

  When Gerald entered the room in their wake, Laurence regarded him with a sardonic expression. The atmosphere between them could be cut with knife.

  Gerald bowed over Melissa’s hand. ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Lady Maxwell.’

  ‘Thank you for seeing us,’ Eliza said, sitting on an elegant green and cream sofa. ‘We’re returning to Hertfordshire tomorrow so it will be a while before we’re down this way for some time. We’ll let you know when we’re next in London. I hope you didn’t mind us inviting ourselves, but we really couldn’t leave without seeing you.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ Melissa said, studying Eliza closely and sensing that what she had to say to them was of a serious nature. ‘Etiquette has its place, but friends should be able to visit one another whenever they wish. Don’t you agree, Laurence?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Laurence replied tightly. Doing his best to put as much distance between him and Gerald as he could, he took up a stance near the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantlepiece.

  ‘How are you settling in at Winchcombe, Melissa?’ Eliza asked. ‘I expect you found it daunting at first.’

  ‘I have to confess I did, but I like it very well. It’s a lovely old house.’

  Two maids entered, bearing refreshments. Melissa occupied herself with pouring the tea and handing out the delicate cakes. Gerald raised his cup to her politely. ‘Thank you. Here’s to you, Lady Maxwell’, and to Laurence he said, ‘I salute you, Laurence. Your wife is quite charming. You always did have good taste in women.’

  The silver-grey eyes considered Gerald without any hint of expression, then with slow deliberation he placed his cup down, raising his eyes. Had it not been for the coldness in them, his reply might have passed for a flippant remark. ‘I’m glad you admire my taste as such. But then, you always did.’

  Eliza was quick to step in, like a bone between two dogs whose hackles are raised, her tone one of controlled reproach. ‘Please stop it, you two. Do you have to be at daggers drawn all the time? This enmity between the two of you affects all of us. You are not only neighbours, you used to be such close friends.’

  ‘The best,’ Gerald drawled. ‘And since my good neighbour is clearly displeased by my presence here today, Lady Maxwell, I shall put you in the picture. There was a time when Laurence and I spent a great deal of our time together. We were as close as friends could be. We were the same age. We went to school together, socialised together...’ he looked at Laurence and grinned ‘...in fact, we seem to have done most things together, don’t we, Laurence?’

  ‘And then Alice came along,’ Antony retorted, casting a look of exasperation at his best friend and brother-in-law. ‘And we all know what happened after that.’

  Understanding the antagonism between the two men, Melissa looked at Eliza. ‘You mentioned in your letter that there was something of importance you had to tell us, Eliza.’

  Eliza put her cup and saucer down and sat up straight, a determined gleam in her eyes. ‘Yes. First of all I would like to say that I am heartily tired of the discord between Gerald and Laurence—the cause being Alice. I have held my tongue on this matter for far too long and I think the time has come for me to speak out. I ask myself time and again how two people can behave like children when they used to be as close as brothers. I know how much Alice hurt you both and it gives me no pleasure having to discuss that particular lady—after all, she was a very close friend of mine for a long time, but there is something I think the two of you should know and I wanted to tell you both together.’

  Melissa was unable to determine what she saw in Laurence’s face—chagrin or irritation, or both—but she saw the muscles in his cheeks flex and she watched him impatiently shove his hands into his pockets. She got up, picking up the tray of tea things and carrying it to the sideboard, glad to have something to do.

  ‘If you have something to say, Eliza, please say it,’ Antony said, eager to be away from the hostile atmosphere that prevailed in the room.

  ‘Yes,’ Gerald
seconded, getting to his feet and walking across the room, clearly agitated about what his sister was about to disclose. ‘I think you better had, Eliza, although why you have waited until now to get whatever it is off your chest baffles me.’

  ‘I’ve thought long and hard about telling you. I truly thought Alice had caused enough heartache for the two of you without adding more, but I’ve changed my mind. Having expected to marry her himself, Gerald went away when Alice married Laurence. He came back after Toby was born. You were away for long periods, Laurence. Alice was bored—she was always bored when she was away from the social scene in London.’

  ‘I know that.’ Laurence shot a glowering look at his rival. ‘Winchcombe never appealed to her. She was always at her happiest when she was in London.’

  Eliza shook her head, sighing. ‘We all know what she was like—extravagant, selfish, spoiled by her adoring parents. She was always confident of her own power over other people—always used to getting her own way with a snap of her fingers. As soon as Gerald met her he became her slave. They resumed their friendship—the closeness they’d had before...’ She faltered, biting her lip before turning her attention to Laurence. ‘She began to hate you, Laurence. I’m sorry to be blunt, but that’s what whatever drew her into marrying you became. Sometimes love makes people ruthless in a way that hatred doesn’t—which was why she decided to leave you. You see, she realised she still loved Gerald too much to lose him and you were in the way.’

  Laurence turned from her in an attempt to bring his thoughts into order, before looking at her again, his face hard and uncompromising. The resulting knowledge of the depth of Alice’s hatred for him was deeply hurtful. Yet the moment it presented itself Laurence knew he couldn’t rest until he had told them the whole of it. ‘It would seem she hated me so much that she was prepared to take my son from me. She took my son, Eliza. She took my son and he died as a result of her stupidity and selfishness.’