Lord Freddie's First Love

by Patricia Bray

  That night, when Anne went to tuck Ian into bed, she found him in an unusually pensive mood. Unlike most nights, he did not protest when told it was time for bed, but instead obediently climbed right in. Smoothing back the hair from his face, she felt his forehead, but it did not seem warm. Perhaps he was simply tired.

  “Mama, will you tell me a story?”

  “One story,” she said, seating herself on the bed beside him. She could not help but think how small and fragile he looked in that big bed.

  She cast her mind about and then began. “A long time ago in a land called Greece—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “I want to hear about my mother. My real mother.”

  “Very well,” she said, wondering what had prompted him to ask for this story. It had been months since he had asked about his mother. Still, if it would make him happy…“From the day she was born, your mother Sarah was the most beautiful girl the county had ever seen. She was graceful and well mannered, and her father called her his little princess.”

  “Because she had golden hair,” Ian interjected.

  “That’s right. And when she grew up, she married and moved far across the sea to Canada. She was very lonely there, especially after her husband left to fight in the wars. So she made a mistake, and found another man to take his place. Then he left. She was sad, but then she discovered she was to have you.”

  “And she wouldn’t be lonely anymore,” Ian added, impatient with Anne’s slow telling of the tale.

  “Yes, but after you were born she was very sick. So she gave you to me. She knew I would love you just as if you were my own true child,” she said, giving him a fierce hug.

  “My mama is in heaven with the angels?”

  “Yes,” Anne said, hoping that it was true.

  “But what about my father?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps he is dead and could not come for you.” The words were bitter on her tongue. It was the answer she had always given him, but now it was a lie. What would Ian think if he knew that his father was alive and that moreover he had met him this very day? Would he be thrilled to meet the man he had so long imagined? Or would he be hurt and angry that it had taken so long for his father to find him?

  Someday Ian would learn the truth. If not from her, then surely from some other. What would he think of her then? Would he thank her for protecting him? Or resent her for robbing him of the years he could have spent getting to know his father?

  “Mama, will Lord Frederick be my new father?”

  “Where on earth did you get that idea?”

  “I heard Cook talking. She said Freddie wants to make an honest woman of you. That means getting married,” he explained earnestly. “If you marry Lord Frederick, does that make him my father?”

  “I have not agreed to marry anyone,” Anne said.

  “But you should marry him,” Ian said. “He knows all sorts of things. And he never makes me feel like a nuisance.”

  If only matters were as simple as they seemed to a six-year-old mind.

  “Well, I am glad you like him,” Anne said. “But it is too soon to be talking marriage. And you, young man, have to get to sleep. You had a busy day today.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Ian said.

  Anne kissed him good night and left the room, knowing that Ian would be asleep in minutes. How she envied his untroubled conscience. For herself, she had much to consider, and she doubted very much that sleep would come.

  Fourteen

  The next days were difficult for Anne. Captain Montgomery called on her twice, urging her to reconsider her decision. At last he left, to return to his duties in Portsmouth. But she knew that he had not given up the idea of raising Ian as his own. He was merely giving her time to reflect.

  Harder still to bear was the separation from Freddie. She longed to and yet dreaded to see him again. A part of her wanted his advice, wanted the chance to share the burden of this decision with him. But another part urged her to keep her silence. How could she trust his judgment when she could not trust her own? If Freddie sided with Captain Montgomery, would it be because he truly believed a father had a right to his son? Or would his advice be based on the knowledge that by sending Ian away, she would be removing the taint of scandal from her and his own family?

  She could not trust him. She did not trust herself. She loved Ian as much as if he were truly her own son. And yet, when Captain Montgomery had offered to adopt him, for one moment she had been tempted, knowing that relinquishing Ian would free her to marry Freddie. It was a selfish impulse, banished as quickly as the thought occurred. And though she knew it was irrational, she blamed Freddie for her current dilemma. If he had not proposed, she would never have been tempted by Captain Montgomery’s offer.

  Her thoughts ran round and round in circles. At one moment she knew that the wisest course was to return to Canada, where she and Ian could resume their lives as if nothing had occurred. She would give up a chance for marriage to Freddie, but she would also distance herself from Captain Montgomery.

  Yet as soon as she fixed her mind on that course of action, she found herself wondering what it would be like to be the captain, to know you had a son and that you could not acknowledge him. Did she have the moral right to keep Ian from his father? And what was best for Ian? That he grow up never knowing his father? Was it better to be a bastard of unknown origin? Or would it be easier for him if he was acknowledged by his father?

  Natural children were not unheard of in society. There were even a few ladies who accepted the tangible evidence of their husband’s indiscretions into their households, raising those children along with his legitimate offspring. And while they never achieved equal status with legitimate offspring, they were often far better off than they would have been elsewhere. Of course, Ian’s situation would be even better. With no possibility of legitimate offspring, Captain Montgomery would be free to declare Ian his heir.

  The arrival of Boswell with the morning post was a welcome distraction from her thoughts. He placed the letters on the desk in the sitting room and then retreated a pace.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “Cook wishes to know if there will be any guests for tea today.”

  Anne grimaced. Freddie had sent over a footman with a message, inviting her to go riding. She had sent back a curt no, not willing to face him. Not now.

  “Not today,” she said firmly.

  “Very good,” Boswell said. His expression was impassive but he could not hide the flicker of speculation in his eyes. She knew that he, along with the rest of the staff, was puzzled by the recent turn of events. No doubt they knew that Freddie had offered marriage and that she had refused to give him an answer. From their point of view, her actions must seem incredibly foolish. Yet she felt no need to enlighten them.

  As Boswell left the room, she turned her attention to the stack of letters he had left behind.

  The first was from her solicitor Mr. Creighton. Obedient to the instructions she had given him weeks ago, he now wrote to say that he had found a tenant interested in renting the property, beginning in October. If she was still of a mind to return to Canada, although he advised against it, then she should inform him and he would finalize the arrangements for the lease. He ended the letter by reporting that he had completed the valuation of her father’s estate and that the papers establishing the trust for Ian would be ready to sign within the fortnight.

  It was another reminder that her time was running out. It was already late August. If she wished to leave England, they would have to sail within the month, to avoid the autumn storms. She set the letter aside. She could give Mr. Creighton no answer until she had determined the course of her own future.

  Anne turned next to a letter addressed in an unfamiliar hand. She unfolded it, and discovered that it was from Mrs. Montgomery, the captain’s wife. Mrs. Montgomery wrote that she had always longed for children and had been devastated when the doctors had told her it was not to be. Learning of Ian’s
existence was the answer to her prayers. She had forgiven her husband for his youthful indiscretion, and could think of nothing more fitting than that she and her husband raise Ian. Understanding Anne’s natural caution, she suggested that Anne and Ian should come on a visit to Portsmouth. She was certain that once Anne was better acquainted with them, she would be able to make the right decision.

  Anne stuffed the letter in the pocket of her gown. Then, without pausing to don a bonnet, she went out into the August sunshine. She strode quickly across the grounds, not with any particular direction in mind, just knowing that she needed to keep moving. If she was moving she did not have to think. Eventually her steps slowed as she found herself approaching the oak tree that stood near the stream. Images flashed through her mind. Freddie smiling as he teased her into fits of the giggles. Freddie with Ian, teaching him to skip pebbles across the stream. Freddie sitting on the ground beside her, suddenly serious, as he spoke of how much he had missed her.

  Strange that her feet had led her to this, of all spots. Feeling the sun beat down on her head, she took shelter under the tree. Then, seating herself on the grass, she withdrew the letter and read it again.

  She tried to think about Mrs. Montgomery’s offer. But instead her mind turned to the last time Freddie had joined them for an afternoon. After playing a frantic game of tag with Ian, he had returned to her and thrown himself full length on the grass in apparent exhaustion. She had teased him, saying that she sometimes had difficulty remembering whether it was Ian or Freddie who was the six-year-old boy. Freddie had replied that it was simply because he had not forgotten what it was to be six. And then his mood had turned solemn. “What that boy needs is a father,” he had said. “Every boy needs a man to guide him.” She had known that he was speaking from experience. Freddie’s own father had died when he was a mere boy of seven, and in some ways Freddie had never recovered from that loss.

  A boy needs a father. She repeated the words to herself, and in that instant she realized she had decided she would accept Mrs. Montgomery’s invitation. She would give herself the chance to become acquainted with the Montgomerys before she decided what role they would play in Ian’s life.

  Freddie was stunned.

  Anne had left him. She had gone, without telling him where. All he had was a note from her, saying that she had left to attend to an urgent matter. She did not say where she was going or why. And she had instructed her servants not to deliver the note until the day after her departure.

  Clearly she did not want him to follow her. And questioning her servants had proven fruitless. All they could tell him was that the groom had driven Anne to Watertown. From there she had presumably taken the stage.

  His hand reached up, smoothed the breast pocket which held her note. All he had to cling to were her closing lines. She had promised to speak with him upon her return. And she had signed the note, “Yours, affectionately, Anne.”

  It did not take a genius to realize that her sudden trip was somehow linked to the naval captain who had visited her. But what would cause her to leave? What secret was there between them, a secret she could not reveal to her oldest and dearest friend?

  She had confirmed that the mysterious captain was Ian’s father. But that revelation alone would not account for her sudden coldness toward him or her leaving without a word. In his mind he heard a voice telling him that Anne’s behavior was that of a guilty woman, one who knew that her secret was about to be exposed. With her lover’s return, Anne could no longer pretend that Ian was Sarah’s illegitimate child.

  Even her own father had believed the boy to be Anne’s. And now her disappearance, coming hard on the heels of the captain’s visit, was proof enough of her guilt. Only a fool would still believe in Anne’s innocence.

  The voice in his head sounded very much like that of his mother. He ignored it, putting all his faith in Anne. He trusted her word. She had told him the truth about Ian, and if she had written that she would return, then he would trust that she would do so.

  And in part he blamed himself. He never should have left Anne that day, with things so unsettled between them. He should have stayed and fought for himself. Convinced Anne to share her troubles. No matter what they were, anything would be better than this uncertainty. He vowed that when Anne returned he would not let her go until he convinced her to marry him. He would plead his case with gentle logic and sweet kisses.

  And if that did not work, perhaps he could convince her that she had compromised him and must marry him to save his honor. The ghost of a smile touched his lips. Now there was an argument she could not refuse.

  “It is about time you started smiling,” his mother said. “You have been moping about the house like gloom personified. This melancholy is ill becoming in you. I don’t know what your guests must be thinking.”

  Freddie turned and saw his mother standing in the doorway of his dressing room. Was there no peace to be had these days? His dressing room and bedroom were the only places he could be certain that he would not be pursued by his guests. But, of course, the Dowager Lady Frederick had no qualms about intruding on her son’s privacy.

  “They are Priscilla’s guests, not mine. For my part, I will be glad to see their backs when they leave.”

  “You should not say such a thing.”

  He sighed. “Most of the guests are a tolerable sort, and they serve to keep Priscilla amused. It is merely Miss Sommersby and her parents that I object to.”

  His mother came into the room and shut the door behind her. “Miss Sommersby is a perfectly unexceptionable young woman.”

  “So she is,” he agreed. “And she would be pleasant company, did she not fancy herself as the next Viscountess Frederick. I have tried to make my position plain to her”—his gaze locked on to his mother’s—“but it seems someone has been encouraging her ambitions.”

  “It was not all that long ago that you thought she would make an excellent viscountess. After all you proposed to her.”

  So. She had known about the marriage offer. He had suspected as much, but this was the first time she had admitted it.

  “Miss Sommersby did me the greatest of services by refusing my offer. I will be forever in her debt,” he said.

  “Nonsense. That is just your pride speaking. Miss Sommersby will make you an excellent wife. She has breeding, fortune and pleasing manners. She is modest and well behaved, and young enough that you can mold her character.”

  He repressed a shudder. It sounded as if he were picking a horse, not a partner to spend the rest of his life with.

  “Since she is such a paragon, I am certain she will not lack for other suitors. As for me, I have already chosen the woman I intend to marry.”

  His mother blanched. “Tell me it is not that dreadful Webster chit.”

  “I have asked Anne Webster to be my wife. She has not yet agreed, but in time she will.”

  His mother sank down on the chair in front of the dressing table. “Do not do this. Think of your family. Think of your sister Priscilla. Who will want to marry into a family touched by such scandal?” Her voice trembled with anger. “Seven generations of Fredericks have lived their lives in honor, only to be brought down by this shame.”

  She was exaggerating, of course, but he felt a stab of guilt, for he could see that his mother was truly distraught. “I hardly think it will come to that. But if there is a scandal, we will live it down. In time it will all be forgotten.”

  He knelt down on one knee beside her chair. And though she rarely permitted him to touch her, this once he placed his right hand on her shoulder. “Mother, marrying Anne will make me the happiest of men. For once, I am choosing happiness over duty. Can you not find it in your heart to wish us well?”

  She picked up his hand and removed it from her shoulder. “Never,” she said with fierce determination. “I will never accept this travesty.”

  Her rejection stung. He had tried to consider her feelings, but it was clear she had no consideration for his. “I
mean to have Anne as my wife, and I will not let you come between us. If you can not reconcile yourself to this match, then I am certain you will be far happier residing elsewhere.”

  His mother stood up, shaking her skirts as if to shake off the contamination of his presence. “You will do what you must. And I will do what I must.” And with that she left the room.

  He stared at her retreating form. His mother’s disapproval would cast a heavy shadow on his marriage. Particularly if she took it into her head to make public her dislike of Anne. He could only hope that she would see reason. After all, if she estranged herself from him permanently, she would never know his children. And while she had grandchildren in plenty, only Freddie’s son would be the next Viscount Frederick.

  His lips curved up in a smile, as he pictured how it would feel to have his own children. He could not imagine any more happiness than starting his own family with Anne, with Ian as the older brother to the other youngsters. He already knew that Anne would make a good mother, and he hoped fervently that he would make a good father as well. Even if his mother and every member of society refused to accept them, so be it. As long as he had Anne, he needed no one else.

  Fifteen

  Anne paused on the sidewalk, checking the letter in her hand. The direction was clearly written. Number sixteen, New King’s Street, Portsmouth. When she and Ian had arrived in Portsmouth last night, she had debated over sending word to the Montgomerys, but then had decided that she would simply call in person. A hired carriage had taken her to New King’s Street. Number sixteen proved to be one of a row of new town houses built out of the gray stone that was native to the area. It was a very respectable address. Far more than an ordinary naval officer could afford. Captain Montgomery or his wife must be well connected indeed. The thought did not bring her comfort.