Three Times a Bride

by Catherine Anderson

  Victoria nodded, her face still ravaged by tears.

  “Then I ask you now to be fair, child. Give him the chance to explain.”

  Slowly she drew back. “Papa, no! You—you would defend him? Against your own daughter?”

  He gestured vaguely. “No, of course not. But remember the night you were wed? I told you that he was not so cold as you believed. I was right, wasn’t I?”

  He detected a faint layer of bitterness in her tone. “Only yesterday I would have agreed wholeheartedly, Papa. Now I am not so sure. Indeed, I think he is cruel beyond words! He held me in his arms, knowing all the while that this woman named Heather awaited him in Lancashire! Perhaps she is his mistress. Or perhaps she is the one he meant to marry, for it was his intention that in time our marriage should be dissolved. He was only biding his time and awaiting the right moment.” Her eyes blazed as she announced, “Either way I-I do not care. I shall consider myself well rid of him!”

  The marquess cocked a shaggy brow. “You deceive no one, daughter, least of all yourself. You love him. You love him or none of this would matter.” He studied her for a moment. “And it may not be as it seems, Victoria. Have you even considered this?”

  “What need is there to—” she began, then stopped abruptly. Her eyes narrowed. “You confuse me, Papa. Why, I could almost believe that you know something you refuse to tell me—”

  “No.” He quelled her swiftly. “I know very little, except that I would never entrust my daughter to a man I thought to be a scoundrel.”

  “And you believe Miles is not a scoundrel?”

  “I do.”

  “Papa, you are a traitor!”

  The marquess winced. “No, daughter, I am not, and I can say no more, for it is not my place.” He sighed. “These doubts must be laid to rest, Victoria, and only Miles can do that. Go home. Go home and await your husband’s return.”

  “I don’t want to go to Miles,” she cried. “I don’t want to see him ever again. I-I am home and I want to stay here!”

  The glaze of tears in her eyes was almost his undoing. The marquess spoke softly, yet there was no doubting his conviction. “No, Victoria. This is no longer your home. You are the countess of Stonehurst and for now, your home is with your earl. Look to him for answers. But know this, child. If all is as you believe, I will do everything in my power to see this marriage ended, for I could not bear to see you unhappy. But first you must find out the truth—and that must come from your husband.”

  Her shoulders drooped. Her anger fled as suddenly as it had erupted. Papa was right. Deep inside, Victoria knew it. But that didn’t make it any easier to bear. Battling a feeling of helplessness, she kissed him good-bye and returned to Grosvenor Square. For the second time that day, a parade of servants traipsed through the house carrying an array of trunks and baggage.

  Sleep eluded her that night. But by the next morning a righteous resolve had fired her blood—as well as an unfaltering purpose.

  Papa had advised her to wait for Miles. Well, that was all well and good. But Victoria remained convinced that she fully understood why Miles had been so reluctant to speak of Lyndermere. Perhaps it was folly. Perhaps it was sheer foolishness…

  But she would see for herself this woman named Heather—the woman she’d come to consider her rival.

  She set out for Lyndermere the next day. By the following morning, she was rolling along the hills of Lancashire. It was a part of England she’d never before visited. Had her mood been more lively, she’d have exclaimed with delight over the brilliant green valleys and flower-strewn fields. Before long, the coach turned down a long lane bowered with dozens of gracefully arched trees. Soon the coach rolled to a halt before an E-shaped stone building.

  Her stomach knotted and tight, Victoria peered through the carriage window.

  Naturally the coach was emblazoned with the Stonehurst crest. Apparently it had already been spotted, for a dozen or more servants had filed out the front doors and down the wide stone steps. They stood in a scraggly line, beaming nonetheless.

  Those smiles froze when Victoria descended from the carriage. Daniel, the driver, quickly introduced her.

  “His Lordship’s wife, the new countess of Stonehurst. She and the earl were married last month.”

  This was news, indeed, judging from the openmouthed expressions. But the servants quickly surrounded her, bowing and bobbing curtsies, their manner all warm friendliness. To Victoria, there was just a blur of faces and names.

  “I’m delighted to meet all of you,” she said crisply. She seized on the one name she could recall, that of the house keeper. “Mrs. Addison, I would very much like to meet someone I believe is in residence here, someone named Heather. Could you please direct me to her?”

  “Of course, ma’am. If you’ll just follow me.” Victoria was right behind her as the house keeper trekked up a grand staircase and turned to the right.

  She stopped at the first door and tapped lightly upon it. “Miss Heather? Someone to see you,” she called. She stepped back toward Victoria, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You’ll have to forgive her, my lady. I’m afraid she’s very disappointed that it wasn’t His Lordship in the coach.”

  Victoria’s spine had gone stiff. I should imagine, she thought blackly. When the house keeper withdrew, she reached for the door. Pushing it open, she braced herself. No doubt Heather was a beauty, for she couldn’t imagine Miles with anything less.

  Boldly she stepped within the room.

  The room’s sole occupant was perched on a window seat across the room. Indeed, she was a beauty, with hair like the darkest night tumbling down her back. And those huge, thick-lashed eyes…somewhere between blue and purple, like the flower for which she was named.

  But in that mind-splitting instant, Victoria also received the shock of her life…

  Heather was just a child.

  Nine

  Shame coursed through her, for she had harbored such venomous thoughts! Fast on the heels of that was a relief which left her weak in the knees, yet a dozen questions flooded her mind. Who was this child? And why had Miles never mentioned her?

  Gathering herself in hand, Victoria ventured a smile. “Hello, Heather,” she said softly. “May I come in?”

  The child hesitated, then nodded. As Victoria moved forward, something caught in her chest, for only now did she glimpse the unshed tears in the little girl’s eyes.

  She stopped several feet away, not wanting to upset the child any more than she was already. “Heather”—she tipped her head to the side—“is it all right if I call you Heather?”

  Again that silent nod.

  Carefully she felt her way. “Well, Heather, I understand you were expecting the earl. It was you who sent the note to London, wasn’t it?”

  The girl seemed to hesitate, then nodded. “Actually, I-I asked Mrs. Addison to write it for me. Her writing is so much better than mine.”

  “And I arrived instead of the earl,” she said with a nod. “Well, Heather, I’m very sorry I disappointed you.”

  The girl dashed a hand across her cheek. “It’s all right. It’s just that I—I thought you were Papa.”

  Papa.

  Victoria’s mind reeled. So Heather was Miles’s daughter? This was news, indeed. He’d never been married, or had he? Or was the child illegitimate? Yet none of that seemed to really matter in that moment, for Heather sounded so woeful that Victoria knew a sudden urge to gather her close against her breast and turn those tears to laughter.

  “Well, Heather, your papa would be here if he could. But I’m afraid he’s gone to Cornwall, where a storm damaged one of his estates there. But I am certain that as soon as he is able, he’ll return here to Lyndermere.”

  “Soon, do you think?”

  She sounded so hopeful that Victoria very nearly laughed. Yet she knew that to do so might well be a mistake. “Very soon, I daresay. And I daresay you don’t have the foggiest notion who I am.”

  For the first time
the merest glimmer of a smile tugged at the girl’s rosebud mouth. “To be perfectly honest, my lady, I don’t.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Victoria held her breath and moved closer. She eased down to her knees so that her eyes were on the same level as the little girl’s. “Heather, your papa and I were married in London last month. I am Victoria, his wife.” She spoke very gently, hoping she wasn’t making a terrible mess of this. “I have the feeling I’m going to like Lyndermere very much, Heather. And I should like to stay on here because I’d very much like for you and I to get to know each other.”

  Heather gazed at her unsmilingly. “Are you quite certain you wish to?”

  Victoria found the question quite baffling. “Of course I am.”

  “But why? Why would you wish to?”

  “Because I suspect we’re going to be spending a great deal of time together.”

  “Lady Sutherland didn’t want to be with me. She wanted to send me away.”

  Victoria’s smile froze. “Lady Sutherland?”

  “Yes. Papa was going to marry her—oh, a long time ago!”

  Lady Sutherland…So this was the woman he’d told her of, the woman he’d intended to marry.

  “Oh, but surely you must be mistaken, Heather.” Victoria strived for a light tone. “Lady Sutherland couldn’t possibly have wanted to send you away.”

  “She did, my lady. She did. She hated me.” Heather’s tone was notably fierce.

  Such strong words…from one so young. Gazing across into that somber little face, Victoria was struck by the fleeting sensation that Heather was old beyond her years. But before she could say a word, Heather’s gaze slid away. Her voice very small, she added, “I heard Lady Sutherland with Papa one day. She called me a cripple.”

  “A cripple. Good heavens, why on earth—”

  And in that moment Victoria discovered precisely why. Heather slid from the window seat and started across the room.

  This bright and beautiful, charming little girl…walked with a limp.

  Halfway to the door, she stopped and turned. She stood silently—waiting, Victoria knew, for her reaction. The child’s expression was half-defeated, half-defiant.

  Something caught in Victoria’s chest, something that hurt as surely as Heather had hurt in that moment. But she didn’t allow herself to pity Heather; she suspected Heather would never accept pity. And so she didn’t flinch from those wide-set violet eyes. Instead she swallowed her anger at Lady Sutherland…and swallowed her heartache.

  She held out her hand. “Heather, please come here.”

  The little girl returned to stand before her.

  “Heather, I want you to understand something. Normally I do not presume to judge someone I do not know—and I confess I do not know Lady Sutherland. But ’tis my opinion that Lady Sutherland was quite addle-brained—and should have been taken out and whipped for daring to say such a thing!”

  It was Heather’s turn to blink. “That’s what Papa told me,” she said slowly.

  “Good for him. Heather, Lady Sutherland had no right to judge you so harshly, especially without knowing you.” Victoria’s regard was steady, her tone firm. “Heather, I will not make that mistake, for I am nothing like Lady Sutherland. It doesn’t bother me in the least that you have a limp. I shouldn’t care if the entire world should limp! And now, I would ask something of you, Heather.”

  “Yes, my lady?”

  Was it her imagination—or was Heather standing a bit taller? Yes, she most definitely was!

  “Please, do me the honor of not lumping me in with the likes of Lady Sutherland!” A faint twinkle in her eye, Victoria smoothed the muslin shoulder of Heather’s gown. “Do you think you can do that for me, love?”

  Heather’s head bobbed up and down.

  Victoria wanted very much to reach out and hug the little girl close, but she sensed it was too soon.

  “Now,” she said crisply, “on to the business of getting to know one another. I suddenly find I’m quite thirsty. Why don’t we go downstairs and have a spot of tea and biscuits in the salon, just you and I?”

  For an instant Heather seemed uncertain. Then she leaned forward. “Can we ask Mrs. Addison to use the best silver?” she asked in a whisper.

  “An excellent idea, Heather. I’m glad you thought of it!”

  Heather’s face had begun to glow. “Papa says Cook makes the best plum cake in all of England, and I know she baked some just this morning. Do you think we could have plum cake, too?”

  Victoria rose to her feet. “Do you know, I’m really quite famished! Plum cake sounds quite the thing. Why, we’ll have a tea party!”

  Heather’s eyes had grown huge. “A tea party?” she breathed. “Like a grand lady in London?”

  “Like the two grand ladies of Lyndermere Park,” Victoria chuckled. Holding her breath, she held out her hand.

  When Heather took it with no hesitation whatsoever, Victoria felt her heart turn over.

  “It was quite odd, my lord. A messenger arrived from Lyndermere Park with a letter for you. He said it was quite important, so I gave it to my lady. Then my lady packed her bags and left for her father’s, only to return that very evening! Then not two days later she set out for Lyndermere. It was really quite odd,” Nelson repeated.

  Miles had set a breakneck pace back to London in the pouring rain. He was exhausted, drenched, and ached from head to toe. All that had sustained him was the certainty of a warm, loving welcome from Victoria.

  But now an awful tightness gripped his heart. “Where is this letter?” he demanded.

  Nelson coughed. “I believe my lady took it with her.”

  “Damn!” Miles tore up the stairs, but Nelson was right. There was no letter in either his bedroom or Victoria’s.

  He stood in the middle of the floor, his mind racing. He could only guess at the contents of the letter, but he had the terrible feeling Victoria had found out about Heather. God, but he should have told her the truth long ago!

  For now the truth might very well mean his downfall.

  He set out for Lyndermere within the hour.

  For the most part, Victoria spent the next few days quietly, coming to know Heather…but it was also a time of deep reflection.

  She came to realize that she was no longer the desperate young woman who sought to avoid marriage at all cost; for in truth, marriage had changed her. Or perhaps more precisely, love had changed her.

  It was odd, how she had come to want all she had dismissed with such disdain, all that she’d been so convinced was not important…

  And it was here at Lyndermere Park that Victoria made a great discovery indeed.

  She didn’t want to spend her life alone, as she had proclaimed to Papa—and Sophie. She wanted a home—a home such as this!—that echoed with the sounds of laughter and love and life. She wanted children to cherish and nurture and protect…

  And she wanted it with Miles.

  She had thought he cared. She’d even thought he loved her just a little…She was furious with him. She felt betrayed—and so very confused as well! But it pained her unbearably knowing that Miles had chosen not to tell her of Heather’s existence. It was as if he had some—some secret part of him that he would keep forever hidden from her.

  Why? Why hadn’t he told her? It was a question that caused her no end of torment. Miles loved Heather deeply; the way Heather spoke of him—and his behavior toward the child—left Victoria in no doubt that it was so. At first she’d thought Heather was his by-blow. But she’d learned from Mrs. Addison that Heather was Miles’s ward; how and why it came to be, Victoria had yet to learn. Yet few men would have taken in another’s child, and in Victoria’s estimation, it was an act of tremendous generosity. So it was that she couldn’t imagine that Miles was ashamed of Heather because of her limp; it was not in his character to be so petty.

  Victoria was left with just one conclusion. He hadn’t wanted her to know about Heather.

  Did he trust her so
little? Did he think she wouldn’t care about this sweet, young child who waited so anxiously for her papa to come home?

  It hurt to realize he thought so little of her—that he chose to share so little with her. But Victoria stifled her hurt and hid her troubled state of mind whenever Heather was near.

  On this particular day, Victoria sat with Heather in the drawing room, one arm around the child’s narrow shoulders. Heather’s dark head was nestled against her shoulder, her expression quiet and tranquil, her eyes ever alert. The pose was reflective of all the pair had shared these past days. For both it was a time of discovery. At eight years of age, Heather was an extremely thoughtful, intelligent child. She also had quite a talent for watercolors. But she also possessed a maturity—and sensitivity—far beyond her tender years.

  For Heather, it was a time of learning as well—learning to trust someone other than her papa—the way she trusted her dear Papa.

  Though she was quite capable of doing so herself, she loved it when Victoria read to her. And she listened raptly when Victoria told her stories.

  “Tell me the story about the scandalous bride,” Heather pleaded on this particular evening.

  Victoria smothered a grin. The story about the scandalous bride was one which Heather never tired of hearing—one which Victoria was altogether familiar with…and for good reason.

  “There once was a young woman whose father was a marquess. Like all fathers, the marquess was anxious for his daughter to make a suitable marriage. The young lady, however, had a mind of her own, you see, and had no wish to marry the boorish and foppish young men who offered for her. If she were to marry, she wanted to marry a man she could love, and who loved her in return. But after several Seasons in London, she’d begun to give up hope that such a man existed.

  “But by now the marquess had grown ever so impatient with his daughter. The young lady knew this, but she’d decided it was better to live her life alone than to marry a man she didn’t love. And so she concocted an outrageous scheme, a scheme she thought would put her beyond the pale.”