The Disgraced Marchioness

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘No, Eleanor. You must not take any of the blame here for my irresponsibility towards you. My shoulders are broad enough to take the weight, as they should.’

  She stood then, pulling him to stand with her. She did not let go of his hands, as if they were her only link with the reality of the moment.

  ‘What now?’ she asked, unable to see the future.

  ‘You should look at these.’ He released her hands, reluctantly, to take the slim bundle of letters from his inner pocket and handed them to her. With one accord, they moved to sit on the day bed in the window embrasure.

  ‘What on earth…?’ She turned the pages over, much as he had done earlier that afternoon. She needed no telling what they were.

  ‘Can I guess where these came from?’

  ‘I think you might.’

  ‘My mother. I did wonder…but never really believed that she would do something so deceitful and wounding. Something that would hurt me so. She would, of course, if she believed it to be in my own best interests.’

  ‘Yes. She did, with the willing conspiracy of your maid who thought you needed to be protected from my unprincipled schemes to snatch you from the country.’

  ‘How did they come into your possession?’

  ‘Your mother gave them to me. A fit of guilt. I think she felt that I had earned the truth after my efforts on your behalf. And because I had not seduced you and jeopardised your reputation when you were under my roof, under my protection.’ He watched the immediate flush of colour in Eleanor’s cheeks. ‘She wanted to sever any connection between us, to see you comfortably established in England where she could take enjoyment from your success and your children. America was too far away for her to contemplate.’

  ‘Oh, Hal. So much pain.’ Eleanor pressed the letters between her palms.

  The urge to draw her close in his arms was strong, but he could not. Not until the air between them was cleared. Not until he had fully understood the depth of her pain.

  ‘Tell me about it, Nell. Tell me what happened when I left you.’

  ‘You can guess, I am sure. You knew Thomas so well.’ A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘I came to Faringdon House. I had heard no word of you for days, weeks almost. And I knew by then that I carried your child. I was desperately unhappy…’

  ‘I am so sorry, Nell. How supremely selfish I was, how arrogant, to take advantage of you as I did. I had the experience to know better when you did not.’

  She shook her head but continued, the memories of those difficult days flooding back. He saw the lines of strain, the tightening of the muscles in her jaw, and knew that she would not tell him the full story of her sense of betrayal. ‘I plucked up the courage to call at Faringdon House. What was I going to ask when I got there? I have no idea. But the butler would have been able to tell me where you were.’ She brushed away a stray tear. ‘I was not thinking very logically, you understand. When I arrived Thomas was there, in the entrance hall. He invited me in, sat me down in the library, and told me that you had sailed for America. Had been gone for some days. I cried. He dried my tears and…and before I realised, I found that I was telling him everything. I was so afraid. I didn’t know where to turn. I did not dare tell Mama… And Thomas was so…approachable.’

  ‘I know it. So Thomas offered you marriage.’

  ‘Yes. He cared for me and did all he could to make me comfortable—for my sake and for yours. We had not heard from you—and he did not want scandal to touch either of us, or the child.’

  ‘He would. Nell—I am so sorry that I accused you of wanting him before me—for his consequence only.’

  ‘Oh, no. Thomas was so kind, so generous. He had no obligation to rescue me from my own stupidity.’ Her innocent comment, unintentional in its power, made him flush, a twist of a knife in his heart. ‘I told him everything. It was such a relief. I had no idea that he would… I refused his offer at first, but he persisted. And then I felt that I had no choice…I had the child to consider.’

  ‘Can I ask one thing?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Were you happy together?’

  ‘Yes. He was the most caring of men. We were the best of friends.’

  ‘I think you married the best of the Faringdons!’

  ‘He loved Tom, you know. For himself as well as because he was yours.’ In the resulting silence she stretched out her hand and touched Henry’s cheek, sensing his heartache. ‘He left something for you.’

  She rose to her feet, moved to the drawer and extracted the letter, handing it to Hal. She stood before him as he read the inscription.

  ‘Do you know its contents?’

  ‘No. It is for you, if I deemed it necessary.’

  He broke the seal and smoothed open the single sheet. It was very brief and typical of his brother.

  Hal—

  If Nell has given this to you, there must be a good reason for it. The child is yours. You have only to look at him to see it. He is a delight and I have looked to him as to my own. As I know you would do if our situation were reversed. Nell had been everything I could desire in a wife. It was your loss but I cannot regret it.

  Ask her about the boy’s name.

  Thomas

  Hal looked up to where Eleanor still waited, eyes sparkling with unshed tears and compassion, his own narrowed in anguish.

  ‘Tell me about the child’s name,’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Henry Thomas, of course.’

  ‘Of course. I should have known that he would think of that.’

  He laid the letter carefully on the seat and stood. He did not touch her now.

  ‘You said that you loved me. Would you accept my own avowal of love in return? Despite all I have said and done, deliberately or otherwise. Despite the hurt I have caused you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her eyes were wide and clear, allowing him to read every thought.

  ‘You make it sound so easy.’

  ‘I think it is—if we can put aside the past and trust each other.’

  ‘Ah, Nell. I don’t deserve such love. And the future for us is not a simple matter at all…’

  ‘I didn’t think you would ever love me again.’

  ‘I have never stopped loving you.’

  As one, they moved together, drawn by invisible bonds. Placing her hands, palms flat, against his chest, Eleanor marvelled at the strength of Hal’s heartbeat, a heightened pulse that echoed her own. When she smiled at him, he accepted the final loving benediction from her and framed her face in his hands, pushing back the tendrils of hair that he had loosed, caressing her temples and fine cheek bones with gentle thumbs.

  ‘You are so beautiful. Your face would torment me in dreams, the violet depths of your eyes would enclose me. I would wake, longing to wind my fingers into your hair, holding you so that I could not possibly lose you again. How could any man not love you?’

  ‘It only matters that you do.’

  ‘I do. I do.’ For a long moment he rested his forehead against hers, to savour her closeness. Then, sure of his ground, he slid his hands down the graceful column of her throat to her shoulders, to clasp and pull her close, to allow his lips to touch hers. Gently, tenderly, as if she might resist such intimacy. but her lips were warm, soft and responsive under his. And he knew that they would open and welcome his invasion with little enticement from him.

  He pulled back a little on hearing a soft murmur in her throat, but could not mistake the flush of pleasure in her cheeks, the glow in her eyes.

  ‘Kiss me, Hal,’ she whispered. ‘Show me that you love me.’

  ‘If you will kiss me, my lovely Nell. And show me that I am forgiven.’

  She stepped into his arms, raising hers to lock behind his head, drawing him close. ‘I love you.’ She murmured the words against his lips. It was the flame to light the fire, the candle to singe the moth, and he needed no further invitation to show her with his body where words seemed so inadequate. He dragged her close, even closer, angling his head
to fit his mouth more perfectly with hers and her lips opened to allow him to stroke and caress, claim her breath, swallow her shivers of delight. It was as if they had never been parted, never separated by the terrible rift of time and space and malicious intervention. Her body moulded to his, breast to breast, thigh to thigh, a fusing of flesh as their minds joined in demand and counter-demand. As he had dreamed, Hal wound one hand into her luxuriant curls and held her in his power—aware of nothing but her essential appeal to his senses, her total surrender. Eleanor felt his power and gloried in it, in his firm muscled flesh, in the hard length of his body.

  When he finally released her, they stood, shaken by the emotion that thundered through their blood, their breathing laboured and uneven. Her eyes were blurred, swamped with love, lips soft and parted. He could not take his gaze from her.

  ‘I love you, Eleanor.’

  ‘And I, you.’

  When Eleanor smiled up at him, her eyes shining with such joy and hope, Hal battled against his doubts and fears to draw her close again, unable to resist the overwhelming allure of the beautiful woman in his arms. He would kiss and hold her, convince her of his love for her, if only for a little time. She must not be left in any doubt, when he finally left her, that she meant more to him than life itself.

  Eventually he put her from him, when the anguish in his heart grew too great to push aside.

  ‘Nell. You are my beloved—my heart and soul.’ His words were all that she had ever wished to hear, but the lines of his face were taut and stark. The intense grey depths of his eyes, cold and bleak, did not speak of love but fear.

  ‘What is it, Hal?’ She touched his face, the crisp outline of his lips, fingers trembling with the lingering aftermath of passion and with equal fear of the unknown.

  ‘I said that nothing was simple between us.’

  ‘I remember. But you love me. And you know that I love you.’ She frowned a little as she tried to envisage the problem.

  ‘Yes. And yes.’

  ‘Tell me then. That I may understand.’

  He held her again, resting his cheek against her soft hair. Arms enfolding strongly around her, his fingers spread wide to press her close. As if their proximity would take away the pain which he knew he must inflict.

  ‘I cannot publicly acknowledge Tom as my son.’ The statement was blunt, the tone flat, without inflection, not open to disagreement. ‘I must not, whatever the temptation.’

  ‘Why not? If—’

  He withdrew a little from her, placed his fingers gently over her lips, desperately aware of the hurt in her eyes, but unable to prevent it, not if decency and principle had any meaning for him. Nor, God help him, the weight of the law.

  ‘Think about it, Nell. Once, in despair, you told me that if Baxendale’s claim was upheld before the law, they would brand you a whore and your child a bastard. I remember your choice of such brutal words and so should you.’

  ‘Yes. Oh…’ Enlightenment came to her, distressing in its clarity, a bright sword edge in her heart.

  ‘If I acknowledge Tom as my son, will it not do the same as you feared? It will destroy your reputation as surely as any action on Baxendale’s part, if I acknowledge that your son is mine, conceived out of wedlock. And it will make my brother a cuckold. It will proclaim to the world that you were my mistress and that my son was foisted on my brother, with or without his knowledge. Can you not imagine the consequences of such an admission from my lips? It is too terrible to be contemplated.’

  ‘Hal!’

  ‘I cannot do it, Nell—to Thomas or to you. I have too much honour to bring disgrace to you and to my family name.’

  ‘You would put honour before love?’ She might ask the question, but she already knew the answer, as strongly and assuredly as she knew Hal.

  ‘You do not know what you ask.’ Suddenly releasing her, he walked away so that she might not see the dilemma which tore him apart. ‘I cannot risk your social and very public degradation. It is too much to ask.’

  ‘Then let us come with you to New York.’ Her mind sought furiously, feverishly, for some alternative to the living death that he proposed. ‘No one will know. If you do not wish to marry me, I can accept that, but we could be together.’

  ‘No. You must not say such a thing.’ He regretted his harsh tones and gentled his voice, explaining the obvious but with little assurance that she would accept his reasoning. ‘I have nothing to offer you, Nell. A new company that might fail as easily as succeed, with all my financial resources tied up in it. I have some responsibilities to my partner. I live in rented rooms. Law and order is still sketchy. And life is nothing if not dangerous and full of risks. Even the voyage has its dangers.’ He walked back to her, to stand beside her again, sensing her resistance. ‘It is not the life I would give you, darling Nell.’

  ‘So we stay here—Tom and I—and you return to New York.’ Her heart was cold. Her voice was cold.

  ‘Yes. Your life is safe here. Tom will grow and learn, inherit the title and, when he reaches his majority, he will take on the Faringdon estates. Nick will be an excellent trustee, of course. You will live in style and comfort as befits your rank—and an untarnished reputation. That is what I would want for you.’

  ‘You offered me marriage once—at the Red Lion in Whitchurch,’ Eleanor reminded him, fighting against the wave of despair that threatened to engulf her. ‘When I had nothing but a ruined name and an illegitimate child.’

  ‘I know. I was wrong to do so—but allowed my heart to rule. You had nothing to lose then, Nell. Now you have everything to lose.’

  ‘I would give up everything—’

  ‘Nell.’ He tilted her face up to his with gentle fingers. ‘Listen to me, Nell. It is not simply a matter of my own wishes. We cannot marry, can never do so.’ The words were forced from him. ‘The church condemns it. You are my brother’s widow. And unless there are grounds for an annulment of your marriage to Thomas, on the grounds of non-consummation…?’

  She shook her head as she took his meaning. ‘No. There are no grounds for annulment.’ Bright colour flared in her cheeks. ‘Thomas and I were truly man and wife. He…he came to my bed…’

  ‘That is as it should be, my dearest one.’ He stroked her cheek, the lightest of touches. ‘Of course Thomas would want you. What man of flesh and blood could not?’ Hal’s smile was infinitely understanding. ‘But it means that we cannot marry. My love. My life.’

  ‘Would anyone have to know? If I came with you to New York—’

  ‘Eleanor, listen to me.’ His voice was gentle, but the words were cold and would brook no dissent. They lodged in Nell’s chest with an unbearable weight. ‘Yes, I could marry you. We could hide the true facts, find a minister who would carry out the ceremony. But what then would life be for us? For you? Flinching at every shadow, wary of every stranger who might know of our past and from either malice or outrage drag our affairs before the law. Our marriage could be declared illegal by anyone who discovered the truth and found a reason to stand in public and declare it void. Do you wish to live the rest of your life in fear that we shall be discovered? With all the resulting horrors of public speculation and condemnation? I will not tie you into a relationship that could bring you such shame and humiliation. Or even, quite simply, cause you to regret that you had ever chosen to walk that path with me.’

  ‘I do not want to live the rest of my life without you.’ She knew that she had lost the battle, but still could not let it go. ‘I could never regret it.’

  ‘I will not do it. I will not risk the possibility of more scandal attached to your name—or the children that we would have together.’

  Henry took her hand, to link Eleanor’s fingers with his own, as if it might force her to accept the weight of his argument. But she did not, would not. Not even in the face of such a final and irreversible judgement. The tender symbolism held no meaning for her.

  ‘So my loss will be Rosalind’s gain.’ Eleanor could not disguise the bitte
rness. Indeed, she did not even try. Hal drew in a sharp breath at the lethal weapon that she had chosen to use against him in her distress. She had chosen well.

  ‘Don’t ever think that.’ He lifted their joined hands to his lips. ‘You should understand about Rosalind. We have an understanding. She gave me companionship, friendship, a human touch when I was alone and needed it. She is under no illusions. I never lied to her about my feelings for her, nor she to me. She knew that my heart was already given.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You have nothing to fear from Rosalind. But I cannot take you with me.’

  ‘Hal…’ How could she persuade him? She feared that his will would withstand any argument of hers. ‘I would live with you in a gutter, with or without the blessing of the church, if I loved you enough.’

  ‘And you do, of course.’ He smiled, not doubting her for a moment.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I will not ask it of you. It is too big a sacrifice for any man of principle to ask the woman he loves.’ The smile vanished, leaving his face severe. ‘It is enough to know that you love me. It has to be enough.’

  She could not push him further. The set of his mouth and the sharpness of his cheekbones, where skin was tightly stretched, warned her that it would do no good. Her heart was banded with iron, unyielding and painful, her breathing difficult. Would it be like this for ever? Was there nothing she could salvage for them both from this morass of loss and despair? Perhaps…

  ‘Will you do one thing?’ She curled her fingers more tightly around his, willing him to look at her.

  He did so and could refuse her nothing. ‘If it is in my power.’