by Laura Martin
‘Before I was born my father was married to Lady Portia Wesendale. She gave birth to my brother a few years into the marriage, but they struggled to have any more children. By all accounts it was not the happiest of unions, but they managed to get through the animosity between them by simply not seeing each other very much at all. Lady Portia became pregnant when my brother was fifteen. She died in childbirth and the baby only survived four days.’
Selina glanced over at the girls. Although she didn’t mind them knowing portions of her family history, she would rather they were not privy to her deepest secrets.
‘Pregnant even though they did not see each other much?’ Lord Westcroft asked.
‘Apparently so...’ Selina shrugged. ‘My mother was the daughter of my father’s housekeeper. She was thirty years younger than him, stunningly beautiful, and they fell in love.’ Selina blinked back the tears. She missed both her parents terribly, wished that they could have been here to guide her through the past few years of hardship. ‘The difference in their social status meant they would not be accepted by society, so Father abandoned London for good and they lived a happy life in Cambridge. A year later I was born.’
She was assailed by all the memories of her childhood. Her father lifting her up on his shoulders to explore the cloisters of the Cambridge colleges. Her mother strolling along the banks of the Cam, parasol protecting her porcelain-white skin. The whole family gathered in their cosy library, listening to her father read one of the classics.
‘I had a wonderful childhood. Without the pressures of his duties in London my father had a lot of time to give to me and he had a love of learning that meant he saw me well educated.’
‘And where was your half-brother in this new happy family?’
‘On the periphery,’ Selina said sadly. ‘My mother would never have excluded him, but he hated her with a passion. He hated that she’d replaced his mother in becoming the lady of the house, he hated that my father cared for her in the way he never had for William’s mother and he hated me. When he came home from university he would only spend a few days in Cambridge with us, then he would leave for Northrop Hall where my father had appointed a distant cousin to look after the estate. After university he stopped visiting at all. I barely knew him.’
‘I can understand a child carrying that much hatred,’ Matthew said, spinning his cup on the table, ‘but there was no reason to take it out on you.’
‘When my father died I knew my brother would inherit the title and the estate, but my father had always told me I would be well provided for.’ She blinked back the tears. ‘I believed him.’
‘What happened?’
‘William came with three solicitors and told me they had possession of Father’s will. As his heir he inherited everything. I was left with nothing.’
‘But you didn’t see it.’
She shook her head. At first she’d thought it was a deception, but William’s next revelation had pushed that suspicion away.
‘There’s more,’ she said, lifting her eyes to meet his. She’d never told anyone this next part, never spoken the words out loud.
‘William told me that my father and mother had never been married, that their union had been one of sin...’ she paused, taking a deep breath ‘...that I was illegitimate.’
Lord Westcroft frowned, ‘How do you know he wasn’t lying?’
‘My mother would always point out the church where she’d said they’d got married, a pretty little church in the village of Trumpington. I called my brother a liar and he escorted me to that church. He told me to question the vicar, who denied all knowledge of a marriage between my parents and placed the parish records in front of me to check for myself. There was no record of marriage between Viscount Northrop and Amelia Salinger.’
The cup clattered across the table as she let go of the handle, looking up to see Lord Westcroft’s reaction.
‘And that is why your father didn’t leave you anything?’
Selina shrugged. ‘He was a liar. He told my mother he loved her every day, but what sort of man puts a woman in that position? Makes her live as his mistress when all the world thinks they’re married? It wouldn’t have cost him anything to actually marry her, nothing but his pride.’
‘From how you describe him it sounds out of character.’
Selina bit her lip, ‘Perhaps I never really knew him. I thought he loved me, that he loved us, but that clearly wasn’t true. And I thought he was a good man, but he was just like every other gentleman—more worried about his title and family name than the people who loved him, whom he professed to love.’
She sniffed, determined not to cry again over her father. For two weeks after William had thrown her out of the house she’d been overcome with tears again and again, but now she’d moved on. Built a life for herself. It was a very different life from the one she’d planned, but it was a life all the same.
‘Do you see now why I had to change my life completely? I couldn’t rely on friends to take me in. They all thought I was the legitimate daughter of a viscount and I couldn’t bear to sully their reputation alongside my own.’
This time Lord Westcroft did reach out a hand, laying it on the table so his fingertips just touched hers. She looked up, saw the sympathy in his eyes and wished she could throw herself on to his chest and sob until all the pain had subsided.
She thought of the suitors, the young gentlemen in Cambridge, the men she knew would have faded away as soon as they knew she was not born in wedlock. They were all the same, gentlemen, all wanting connections and power and not caring who they hurt to get it.
Quickly she slid her hand away. That was why she needed to be careful. Lord Westcroft was attractive and charming when he wanted to be. Kind, too, and she knew the sympathy in his eyes was genuine, but he was still a gentleman like all the rest. Her body might thrum when he walked into the room, her lips yearn to be kissed by him, but her head needed to remember that nothing good could come out of it. He would never consider an illegitimate governess as a woman to be taken seriously and Selina refused to ever be a man’s mistress, no matter how attractive she found him.
‘Come, girls,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Let us go down to the beach.’
Without looking back, she ushered the children out of the door and started to march them briskly down the street. As they crossed the road she felt Lord Westcroft’s presence behind her and it took all of her self-control not to turn to him, not to take his arm and welcome him in.
Chapter Eleven
Matthew stood, watching Miss Salinger crouching down at the seashore. She had carefully picked a place just out of reach of the crashing waves, but every so often would look up and check she wasn’t about to be swept out to sea.
The sky above them was filled with heavy dark clouds which looked about to burst and the relentless Yorkshire wind was whipping up sand all around them. All in all it wasn’t really the perfect day to spend on the beach, but Priscilla and Theodosia didn’t seem to notice.
Miss Salinger and Priscilla were intently searching the shore for seashells, collecting them up for some project back home, and Theodosia was running up and down the beach, each time getting a little closer to the waves, waiting for them to crash and break near her boots before dashing away shrieking with excitement.
‘Can I show you a game?’ Matthew strode over to Theodosia. She looked up at him with her eyes shining. ‘It’s a game I used to play with your father when we were boys.’
‘How do you play?’
‘It is a game of nerve. You both stand on the shoreline and wait for the next big wave. The winner is the person who holds their nerve longest before jumping out of the way, still without getting wet, of course. Shall we try it?’
Theodosia nodded, hitching up her skirt and holding it round her knees. With her free hand she reached out for his and Matthew felt a pocket of w
armth as he took her fingers in his own.
‘Look, there’s a big one,’ Theodosia said excitedly as she looked over her shoulder. The wave came crashing closer and his little niece jumped forward, squealing with exhilaration. ‘You win that one,’ she said, jigging up and down on the spot. ‘Let’s play again.’
‘I warn you I’m very good at this game.’
‘Did you always used to beat Papa?’
‘Always.’ He felt a spark of happiness as he remembered the days spent on the beach at Whitby, the carefree hours running in the wet sand and splashing in the shallows.
They stood with their backs to the sea again, looking over their shoulders at the waves coming in, waiting for the next big one.
‘Look. There.’ Theodosia pointed at a wave bigger than the rest as she hopped up and down.
They both watched it approach, Matthew able to feel the little girl’s excited energy through the way her fingers wriggled in his own. At the very last moment he jumped forward, pulling Theodosia with him to stop her getting soaked.
‘You win,’ he said grinning at her. ‘I lost my nerve.’
‘Again. Again.’
‘Theodosia Hampton,’ Miss Salinger called, walking closer, ‘I hope you’re not going to get too wet, otherwise we’ll have to go straight home.’
‘I’m jumping out of the way of the waves,’ Theodosia said. ‘Don’t worry, miss, I’m too quick to get wet.’
As Miss Salinger turned her attention to him Matthew felt the air being sucked out of his lungs. She looked beautiful with her hair whipped by the wind, her cheeks rosy from the fresh air and her eyes shining.
Steady, he told himself. She’d revealed a lot of herself when they’d been talking over their steaming cups of coffee, but one thing had been very clear—her reluctance to trust anyone again and certainly not someone of his social rank.
She shouldn’t trust him, sensible woman. All his thoughts of her were decidedly ungentlemanly. Even now as she crossed the sand with a frown on her face he couldn’t stop himself from imagining tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her into the surf with him.
‘I don’t want Theodosia to catch a cold,’ she said, a note of accusation to her voice.
‘You play instead, then,’ he offered, holding out his free hand to her.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Theodosia said, clapping her hands. ‘And I shall be the judge.’
‘I’m not going to play,’ Miss Salinger said firmly.
‘Are you afraid of a little water?’
‘I’m loath to be wet and uncomfortable all afternoon.’
‘Then all you have to do is beat me. Unless you don’t think you’re capable.’
‘I’m not falling for that,’ she said, standing in her governess stance, feet planted slightly apart, hands on her hips.
‘If you won’t play, then I will,’ Theodosia said, grinning up at her governess. ‘And then I might fall in the sea and catch a chill and it would be all your fault.’
‘You will not,’ Miss Salinger said, taking a step towards them. ‘Come away from the sea right this instant or we will go straight home.’
Theodosia pouted, but it was a credit to the governess’s discipline that the young girl slipped her hand out of his and dragged her feet a little further from the shoreline.
‘I think we should make it into a wager,’ Matthew said, his eyes locking on to Miss Salinger’s.
‘There is no point in proposing a wager because I’m not going to do it.’
‘If I win, you let me seek out your brother and satisfy myself this whole business with your father’s will was above board.’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘No. Most definitely not.’
‘Let me put it another way, then,’ he said, holding out his hand to her. ‘If you win, then I forget all about it. If I win, or if you refuse to play, then I ride straight down south, find your brother and question him.’
‘Why do you even care?’
‘I don’t like injustice. Or the strong taking advantage of the weak.’
‘I’m not weak.’
He looked her up and down. ‘No, you’re not. But when faced with a viscount and his solicitors you don’t stand much chance alone.’
‘I knew I should never have told you the truth.’
Matthew wriggled his fingers, gesturing for her to step forward. With a sigh she complied, placing her hand in his.
‘When I win, you promise to forget all about it?’ she said, the frown back on her face.
‘On my oath.’ As he spoke he crossed his fingers behind his back as he had done as a child whenever promising something his father had asked of him.
‘Tell me the rules.’
‘We stand hand in hand,’ he said, giving her hand a squeeze just to remind her they were already entwined. ‘Then we wait for one of the big waves. Whoever moves first is the loser, whoever stays for longer is the winner, unless they get wet.’
‘I have to warn you I like to win,’ Miss Salinger said.
‘So do I.’ He leaned in closer, ‘You may want to hold your skirts up a fraction, just so they don’t get wet.’
‘I couldn’t.’
‘There’s no one else here.’
‘You’re here.’
‘I promise not to look.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Sensible woman. All the same, the sea is a little cold at this time of year.’
She looked him in the eye as she gathered a handful of her skirt in her free hand, inching it up from the ground to reveal her boots underneath. Matthew swallowed, knowing she was testing him, but unable to resist the urge to look down.
‘Nice boots,’ he murmured.
‘You promised not to look.’
‘We all knew that wasn’t a promise I was going to keep.’ He straightened up, gripped her hand a little tighter, and began to walk backwards towards the shoreline. ‘Are you ready, judge?’ He looked at Theodosia, waiting for her response.
‘Ready.’
‘Best of three?’
Miss Salinger nodded, her eyes fixed intently on the approaching waves.
They waited, watching as the smaller waves broke until a little way out a large wave began to build.
‘Feel free to jump now,’ he murmured.
‘I’m fine here. But you jump if you want to.’
The wave crashed, the water sped towards them and at the very last moment they both jumped forward.
‘You jumped first, Miss Salinger,’ Theodosia called. ‘My uncle wins the first game.’
He smiled at her, laughing as her frown deepened.
‘Shall we go again?’ she asked, pulling him back towards the waves.
Again they waited, watching the smaller waves lap the shore a foot away, waiting for something bigger.
‘Don’t get those pretty boots wet,’ he murmured into her ear as a larger wave began to build out at sea.
She didn’t reply, her focus completely on the water rushing towards them. He rose on to his toes, ready to spring, waiting until the very last moment before jumping forward. Even before he landed he knew Miss Salinger had won that round.
‘Miss Salinger won,’ Theodosia declared. ‘Whoever wins the next one is the overall winner.’
She slipped her hand into his again, pulling him back to the shoreline, and he felt a momentary warmth flow through him. It had been a very long time since anyone had held his hand. Of course there had been women, in India and before that during his time in the navy. Beautiful women, the bored wives of indifferent officers, even once a cool and haughty Indian princess, all of them passionate encounters, filled with heady desire, but not once in all his adult years had he been close enough to anyone to hold their hand.
Beside him Miss Salinger leaped forward. Matthew reacted too l
ate, too lost in the sadness of the realisation that his closest contact these past few years was a governess who had made it perfectly clear what she thought of men of his social class. The water sloshed over his boots, darkening the leather, but thankfully not seeping inside.
‘Miss Salinger is the winner,’ Theodosia called, running to the governess and throwing her arms around her.
‘I told you I like to win,’ she murmured as Theodosia danced off to join her sister.
‘You did. I congratulate you on your victory.’
‘You remember your promise.’
‘I remember. I won’t go seeking out your brother. At least not until I have your permission to do so.’
She sucked in a breath, her chin dipping down a fraction.
‘That wasn’t what we agreed.’
He took her hand in his own again, knowing it was a bold act to do so outside the constraints of the game, that anyone could walk past and see them, draw the wrong conclusions. Matthew didn’t care. There was something so right about holding her hand in his own.
‘I will not go and confront your brother,’ he said as he looked her in the eye, ‘but we will talk further on the matter.’
‘You have no right—’ Miss Salinger said.
‘I know,’ he interrupted her. ‘I just can’t seem to help myself.’
With a glance to check the girls were occupied he leaned forward, running his fingers of his free hand down the length of her cheek. The skin was cool and soft and he wondered how the rest of her would feel under his fingertips. Before he could think through all the reasons this was a terrible idea, he kissed her, tasting the sweetness under the tang of the salt from the sea. Her lips were soft and warm and inviting and after a moment he felt her pulling towards him, drawing him in. He wanted to gather her to him, to pull her body tight against his, but he knew this kiss could only be fleeting. Still, his body reacted with the full force of desire surging through him and the primal part of him wanted to lay her down on the sand and explore every inch of her.
