‘Don’t tempt me,’ he said and his face and voice were both distorted, made harsh with anger. He caught her just as she was about to turn away from him and pulled her back around, his hands clamped on her arms. ‘Come. Let us walk where it’s less public.’
‘As you wish,’ she said, and her own voice was suddenly sad and full of pain. ‘But if you hate me that much and you want to kill me, then I’d rather you did.’
Laurence looked at her and she could see that she had pierced his rage, touched a more tender nerve. Quietly, he said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t hate you. Quite the opposite, in fact. But you did hurt me when you rejected me.’
‘Don’t talk to me about hurting. I can be hurt, like I was hurt when my mother died. I can be hurt, learning all those terrible things about her, and I can be hurt trying to unravel what really happened, what was behind it. And then I could be hurt again, by you deceiving me, keeping from me the one thing I really needed to know. It was callous and amoral and it shocks me. How could you, Laurence, how could you? You of all people. You who were supposed to be my friend—almost my husband. I know I ruined that when I left you, and if you weren’t so angry with me you’d be able to understand—because—because—’ She stopped suddenly, unable to go on—to tell him that she loved him—her voice, dying, smothered by pain and tears.
Laurence’s face had quite changed—it was tender and shocked. He put out his hand and touched her face, traced the gentle curve of her cheek and, for a moment, just a moment, she thought he was going to take her in his arms, but she stood there, staring at him, hardly daring to hope, to think.
‘I’m sorry I hurt you. Will you listen to what I have to say?’
She nodded. He released her and she spun round to leave. He recaptured her arms. With a pained look in his eyes, he said, ‘Don’t walk away from me, Victoria.’
‘Can you blame me?’ she flared, trying, ineffectually, to twist free. ‘When I think of what you asked of me—the proposition you put to me—you—you despicable, loathsome wretch.’
Drawing her behind some well-positioned shrubbery, for which he was grateful at that moment, he then released her. ‘I have another proposition to put to you.’
‘Really? Well, I am not interested in any more of your propositions!’ she raged. ‘I am still hurting from the last one. You have insulted me once, I will not allow you to do so again.’
He winced at the reminder of his last offer, but he refused to be deterred. ‘Victoria, I am asking you to marry me, to be my wife.’
She stared at him with incredulity. ‘Your wife? You asked me to be your wife once before, as I recall. You’ve already used me like a—a whore. I am so ashamed. It was sordid.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Why? Because it’s the truth? Or are you suffering from an attack of guilt?’
‘Guilt?’ He gave a harsh, embittered laugh. ‘The only guilt I’ve felt where you were concerned was wanting you for myself the moment I set eyes on you. There was nothing sordid about what we did. We were lovers before that—from the moment your lips touched mine. Why won’t you listen, Victoria? Can’t you see I am telling the truth?’
Victoria blinked back the tears that threatened. ‘I don’t know and I no longer care. Stay away from me, Laurence. I’m going to America. It’s what I want.’
‘I don’t believe you—to be at someone else’s beck and call. Marry me, Victoria. Be my wife.’
‘Aren’t you afraid I might not turn up for the wedding again?’
‘I’m prepared to risk that.’ She was clearly angry and upset and they couldn’t very well begin again until the past was dealt with. ‘I know what happened—what made you run away. Diana told me that Clara paid you a visit when you were about to leave for the church. I was an idiot. When you didn’t arrive, all I could think of was myself. I should have realised it would have taken something drastic to make you turn your back on me.’
Victoria bit back a teary smile, lowering her eyes. ‘Yes, it did.’
‘Look at me,’ Laurence said, tipping her chin up, and this time her glorious eyes looked into his. ‘I have several reasons for wanting to marry you. When I close my eyes, all I ever see is your face. There is no place, no time without you. Where I am doesn’t matter when we’re apart. All I want is you. There are so many things I want to say to you.’
Happiness began to spread through Victoria until it was so intense she ached from it. ‘Please don’t say that if you don’t mean it. I don’t think I could bear it.’
‘From the very beginning I wanted to tell you there was no woman I had wanted to pursue, except one—you—and you were out of bounds. I did not often regard a woman as out of bounds and I knew why I felt it so strongly about you. I have, in my time with the most efficient ruthlessness, disturbed love affairs—come between friends. But I was not prepared to take you on. I spent long hours wrestling with the reasons why you were so special, why I wanted to be with you, and I was forced to admit it was because you roused feelings I had never felt for any other woman—not even Melissa. These newly awakened feelings did the impossible and made me careful, considerate and unselfish. But I could not pursue you, unless I had my brother’s blessing.’
‘And in the end you did.’
‘Yes.’
‘I cannot believe that we are related. You should have told me. It was cruel to let me find out the way I did. I was devastated.’
‘I know, and for what it’s worth I am sorry about that. Nathan didn’t want you told. He hadn’t counted on Clara.’
‘She couldn’t wait to tell me. Her visit at that time had the desired effect. I saw her just now—being driven in a striking red phaeton with a rather handsome gentleman.’
‘Sir John Gibson. He’s from the north—Newcastle, to be precise—and a widower. He’s also a business acquaintance of mine. I introduced him to Clara at the Pendleton ball. Since then the two of them have become inseparable.’
‘Long may it continue. Hopefully they will become enamoured of each other and Clara will move to Newcastle.’
‘That may well happen. She isn’t getting any younger and she’s afraid of being left on the shelf. And I know for a fact that Sir John is looking for a wife and mother for his three children.’
‘I shudder to think what kind of stepmother she would make. I feel heartily sorry for the children. I find it rather odd that your brother and Diana are staying at Pulteney’s when you have a house in London.’
‘As a rule they do stay at my house, but when Clara said she would accompany them, aware of her persistence to ensnare me, they considered it prudent to stay at the hotel.’
‘I see.’ And Victoria did see. The first time she had seen them together on the moor she’d sensed Laurence wasn’t attracted to Clara Ellingham in the romantic sense. ‘Before she died, my mother said there was something important she had to tell me. I think she wanted to tell me about Nathan.’
‘Perhaps you’re right. Nathan was the product of my father’s dalliance with your mother. She couldn’t keep him on her own and, knowing how much my mother yearned for another child, she arranged for her and my father to have him, to raise him at Stonegrave Hall. To your mother it made sense of it all—my father having his son—whom he had wanted desperately—and taking care of him. When she handed him over the day of his birth, that was the last time she saw him.’
‘Was—was my mother recompensed in any way?’
‘There was no deal made—no money changed hands if that’s what you mean. But the understanding was that she would always be taken care of.’
‘I think if she had told me, I might have found it easier to cope with. Discovering there was someone else she loved, that she had loved before my father, was difficult to accept, but to find out that they had had a baby was devastating for me. I imagine the child you lose is always the
most important. It made me realise she must love him and that was why she never really loved me.’
‘Victoria, you are being absurd. Of course she loved you.’
‘No, she didn’t,’ said Victoria flatly. ‘She tolerated me, that’s the nearest she came to love. I had love, from my father. I can tell the difference.’
‘Nathan meant nothing to her—he was either at the Hall or away at school and then university. There was no contact between them in the whole of their lives.’
‘But I think she would have liked there to have been. It—it would have brought him—your father—back as well. If she’d loved him as much as she said she did, she must have thought about him all the time.’
‘Maybe she did,’ he said, taking her hand and drawing her close. ‘We will never know. I have told you that your mother and I were as close as two people could be, coming from different classes and backgrounds, and she worked for my mother. When I needed a friend—which I did from time to time since I was never close to either of my parents—she tried to be that friend. My isolation was complete when Nathan arrived and Betty left the Hall.’
‘Was your father hard on you?’
‘I have thin experience of the affection that is meant to exist between father and son. He demanded a great deal from me, being the only son and next in line to inherit. When I was twelve years old he insisted I learn all there was to learn about running the estate.’
‘But you were only a boy.’
‘I was old for my age. By the time he died when I was eighteen, I had already been running things for two years.’
Victoria put her arms about his waist and rested her head on his chest. On the day she should have married him, she had foolishly thought she knew what a broken heart was like. How wrong she had been, for it was only now that it was breaking, breaking for the man she loved, who as a boy had been treated with indifference by his parents, having to watch them dote on his brother while he had been made to realise his responsibilities. She knew it had been hard to reveal himself, but she understood. Like no one else, she understood. ‘We have much in common, you and I.’
‘We have?’
‘We both felt unloved by our parents—at least that’s how my mother felt about me. But I always loved her. Very much.’
‘I know.’
She stood back and looked into his face. ‘How old were you when Nathan was born?’
‘I was six years old when the long-awaited second son was born. I had no idea how he’d come into the world then. I watched as my parents doted on him—I was no less smitten—Nathan was an adorable child and hard to resist. But I learned not to count on my parents’ affection and let the hurt and disappointment wash over me like the river that pours through Ashcomb to the sea. As a youth I was aware of all I had missed, but, done with pining for my parents’ affection, I learned to use my emotions to fuel my ambitions.’
‘And you were successful. Were you resentful of Nathan?’
‘Not in the least. He was my brother and I loved him as a brother. I learned how to fend off sadness and quell despair by staying busy, hoping this life lesson, learned the hard way, would carry me through.’
‘When did you find out he was not your mother’s child?’
‘When I was fifteen. Nathan was nine. Giving birth to me had been difficult, leaving my mother incapable of having more children. Apparently she was devastated. When your mother became with child, they went to Bath for an extended stay. When they returned Nathan had been born and it was assumed by friends and neighbours he was my mother’s son. But servants aren’t stupid. It was no secret what was going on between Betty and my father and that he hadn’t shared my mother’s bed since I was born. It generated much talk in the servants’ hall and Father thought the truth should come from him before we heard it from someone else.’
‘Truth and honesty are always the best way, Laurence. I wish someone had told me the truth. It might have shaped my life in a different way, but it would have been kinder to tell me about Nathan.’
‘I knew you were entitled to know all this when I proposed marriage the first time, but forgive me, Victoria, I could not tell you without Nathan’s permission. And now,’ he said, turning from her so he didn’t have to look into her accusing eyes, ‘if you really feel you cannot be my wife and would prefer to make your life in America, then I will not pursue you any longer. All I ask is that if...if there is a child after what we did, you let me do my duty in that, at least.’
She stared at his broad back, tears pricking her eyes. ‘You have just made me a proposition, Laurence—although I think the position of housekeeper might be more appropriate. I had my doubts about being Lady of Stonegrave Hall the first time. I’m hardly cut out to give house parties and entertain dignitaries and try to look down my nose at everyone else and convince them I am far better than they are. I might have difficulty with that.’
Laurence stiffened and did not speak for a long moment. Then he drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He turned around. ‘You can learn. Although you might have to learn to treat the servants with all your diplomatic kindness, smoothing over any feathers ruffled by the irate lord, who is known to be impatient and not always thoughtful of the feelings of those who work for him.’
‘Not to mention difficult to satisfy,’ she said quietly, a puckish smile twitching her lips. ‘Oh dear, I really do think I might be better cut out to be the housekeeper after all.’
‘The position of housekeeper is already taken. However, I do have a vacancy for a wife. But I have several things to ask of you before you consider accepting that position.’
‘And what are they?’
‘That you give me children—boys and girls in whatever combination you prefer. I will be grateful for any child you may give me. I would like the girls to have your beauty and the boys your courage. I ask that you love them unconditionally and, when you’re not lavishing attention on your husband, you lavish on them all the attention and care that was lacking in our own parents.’
Happiness began to spread through Victoria until it was so intense she ached from it. ‘Is that all?’
‘Not quite.’ Cupping her face in his hands, he tilted it to his. ‘I want you to be called Rockford,’ he said with a tender smile, ‘so there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that you belong to me. From the day we speak our vows I want us to be together always. I want to share your bed every night and make love to you until dawn and for you to wake in my arms. I love you, Victoria, and I want to hear you say you love me.’
Her heart almost bursting with love and a soft tear coursing down her cheek, Victoria turned her face, kissed the palm of his hand and smiled. ‘I do love you, Laurence. So very much.’
Her words filled Laurence with love and pride and he melted beneath the radiant heat of that smile. ‘Thank you. From this day on there will be honesty and truth between us always—no more recriminations, no denials or pretence.’
So saying, he bent his head and placed his mouth on hers, parting her lips with his. She crushed herself against him, answering his passion with the same wild, exquisitely provocative ardour that had haunted his dreams since the night of the ball. He dragged his mouth from hers.
‘Let us go and find Mrs Fenwick and ask for you to be excused. I want to show you my house,’ he said in a thickened voice he hardly recognised. He really meant to show her his bedchamber.
She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant, and she led him from behind the shrubs and in the direction of an expectant Mrs Fenwick and Amelia.
* * *
Mr and Mrs Levinson were disappointed when Victoria told them she could not accept the position as governess to their children, but they wished her well on her forthcoming marriage and said not to worry. The young lady who had been their second choice would be pleased to accept the position.
Nathan came to s
ee her. It had taken almost twenty years, but the first, tentative steps towards something approaching friendship had been taken.
They exchanged many things, putting together things they had been told and had found out for themselves, pieces of fact, half-formed stories—and then they stared at each other in amazement that they should have come so close in so short a time, and they both smiled, and relaxed, sitting back on the sofa together and talking, talking about their mother, who was less of a stranger to Nathan now as they proffered reasons, theories, explanation as to why and how she had behaved as she did, and they felt the first tender, cautious roots of friendship beginning to form between them. At the end of it, Victoria understood at least something of what Nathan had endured and felt the seeds of sympathy for him, since he was the one who had grown up not knowing his birth mother.
* * *
Four weeks later, Laurence and Victoria were married at Laurence’s house in a private ceremony with no more than thirty guests. Situated in the heart of Mayfair, it was a splendid house. From the basement to the attics, every room had fine furniture and an air of comfort.
The drawing room was aglow with sunlight and perfumed with lavish urns of orchids and white lilies. Wearing a simple cream silk-and-lace gown, Victoria was so happy her heart almost took flight as a proud Nathan walked her down the makeshift aisle on the Aubusson carpet strewn with rose petals. Amelia, beautiful, smiling and serene, her only bridesmaid, walked behind her.
Victoria was acutely aware of what would be passing through Laurence’s mind and her heart ached with remorse at what she had put him through the first time. Sensing the moment when she entered the drawing room, he whirled around so violently he almost knocked the prayer book out of the vicar’s hand. To save his pride, Victoria summoned up a bright smile and walked to his side.
His eyes blazed with relief. Sensing the absolute rightness of what was about to happen, when they said their vows, there was a reverence in him he had not felt before, a sense of quiet joy, as he slipped the gold band on Victoria’s finger.
The Master of Stonegrave Hall Page 23
