Mrs Sommersby's Second Chance

by Laurie Benson

  The Duchess, or Lizzy as her family referred to her, raised her chin. ‘Well, I might not have had the patience to practise the harpsichord to play it proficiently, but at least I have a pleasant singing voice.’

  Lady Charlotte looked at her sister Juliet. Their exchanged expressions were enough to have the Duchess raise her chin.

  ‘I do. Simon has remarked upon how lovely it is.’

  ‘Simon is in love with you. His opinion does not signify,’ Lady Juliet said with a wave of her hand.

  ‘My daughters are accomplished in both singing and playing piano,’ Mrs Collingswood said to no one in particular, which made Harriet redden and her sister look down at her lap.

  ‘I, for one, would love to hear them,’ Greeley chimed in from his seat beside Harriet. ‘My parents had arranged for me to have lessons on our pianoforte so I would be more than happy to accompany them should they choose to sing.’ His eyes were on Harriet. ‘Or any of you ladies,’ he said, breaking his gaze and looking around the table.

  ‘And what of you, Mr Lane?’ Mrs Collingswood said across the table. ‘Do you possess any musical talents we should be aware of?’

  ‘I can sing,’ he admitted, although he wasn’t sure why he had even bothered to say it.

  ‘Really? How lovely,’ she responded. ‘Is your skill learned or did you discover it on your own?’

  He could lie. It would be so easy to do, but that was not the kind of man he was.

  ‘I had a music teacher.’ All the children in the Foundling Hospital had music lessons. It was part of the curriculum.

  ‘What a wonderful thing for your parents to do for you and how lucky for them that they could enjoy your talents.’ She scooped her spoon slowly into her syllabub. ‘Tell us about your parents, Mr Lane. I don’t believe I have heard anything about your family. Harriet has informed me you are from London. Is that where you were raised, or do they have a place in the country?’ She took the spoonful of the sweet dessert in her mouth.

  All side conversations stopped at the very forward probing of Mrs Collingswood. Harriet sent him an apologetic look while turning red with a deep flush. Once more he was faced with lying about his past or telling the truth. He had never lied about who he was before. He might have avoided talking about it, but he would never lie about who he was when asked directly.

  This would change everything. He felt it in his bones.

  ‘I was raised in London, not in the country. As for my parents and my family, there isn’t anything I could really say. You see, I was raised in the Foundling Hospital there. I have no knowledge of my parents.’

  Mrs Collingswood’s mouth and hand went slack and she almost dropped the spoon that she was holding. Her eyes darted to Clara, who he had yet to look at. He didn’t even want to see her out of the corner of his eye. Everyone who was in his line of vision was staring at him. It was obvious that his response was not what any of them expected.

  ‘Why don’t we go up to the drawing room now?’ Clara said, ending dinner rather abruptly. Her voice was even, but he knew her well enough now that he could hear the suppressed strain in it. ‘The harpsichord is in there and you can all decide what it is you would like to perform tonight.’

  Juliet was the first one to her feet, followed by the rest of the guests around the table. As if someone else had possessed him, he took a drink of his claret and stood as well. Clara walked behind his chair on her way to the door as was customary for the hostess to lead them out of the room. He was the last one to leave and he looked back at the portrait of her husband and scanned the room that he was certain he would never see again. As he stepped into the parlour, Lady Charlotte, who was walking in front of him, turned and gave him a slight sympathetic smile.

  This was how things would end between them. This was how she would remember him. He was the bastard who had sat at her table and pretended to be a gentleman to her and her guests.

  The day that he had believed couldn’t get any worse suddenly did and he didn’t think he was in the mind frame to deal with the consequences. The crushing disappointment that he had felt at not being able to buy the hotel was nothing compared to the pain inside his chest right now. There was no sense in staying and being ignored. It had happened to him before. He had spent nights at small gatherings like this off to the side, feeling like an outsider in a room full of people.

  Lady Charlotte was almost at the top of the stairs when, while standing at the bottom, he decided to leave. He turned away from the wooden banister and began to walk to the front door. He didn’t even care if he left his hat and walking stick behind. He could afford new ones.

  As he stepped outside, a cool breeze hit his face. The moon, high in the night sky, was casting blue light on to the grassy lawn before him. It would be a long walk home and he knew he needed the physical exertion if he had any chance of falling asleep tonight. Tomorrow he would make final notes to leave for Mr Sanderson. Then he would pack his things for his return to London. He didn’t need to spend more time in Bath than was necessary.

  He turned to his left to walk down the pavement along the Crescent, when the door to Clara’s house suddenly opened and she hurried outside.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, running up to him.

  ‘I thought I would save us both the awkwardness of my saying goodbye, especially in a house full of your guests.’

  ‘But you told us you could sing.’

  ‘It’s best if I go.’

  ‘But I don’t want you to. I want you to stay.’

  How he wished she meant that. A thought flashed through his mind that he wished she wanted that for ever.

  ‘There is no need to do this out of politeness, Clara. You know what I am now. I don’t belong in there.’

  ‘I determine who belongs in my home. Now come back inside with me.’

  Was she going to make him explain it all to her? Did he have to tell her and see the look in her eyes when he did? When he didn’t move, she placed her hands on her hips and raised her chin, looking like a warrior preparing for battle.

  ‘You will leave then, before you and I have had a chance to talk about any of this or say our goodbyes...since it appears you are determined to go. I never took you for a man who walked away when life becomes difficult, but it appears I was wrong. If that truly is the type of man you are, then I do believe it is best that you leave. However, I have proper manners and will wish you Godspeed and not simply disappear.’

  Her words made his blood run cold. He was not a man who walked away from his problems. He never was and never would be. As she spun around and stormed back to the house, his opportunity to let her know that was slipping away.

  ‘I am not running away,’ he insisted, catching up to her before she reached her door.

  She stopped in her tracks and turned to him, vexation shone in her eyes. ‘Then prove that to be true and talk to me.’

  ‘You have guests. This is not a conversation fit for anyone else’s ears but your own. I owe the Col-lingswoods no explanation of my origins.’

  ‘Then talk to me,’ she said, poking herself in the chest so hard it had to have hurt. ‘Go in that house and talk to me. There are many places we can have a private discussion.’

  If it didn’t bother her that she was being negligent to her guests and hosting a bastard, then it damned well wasn’t going to bother him. ‘Fine. After you.’ He tossed his hand towards her door and followed her inside.

  The sound of voices travelled down the staircase, but she took him by the hand and practically dragged him into the parlour where they had started the evening. He watched her first close the door that led to the dining room, ensuring that any servants that were in there cleaning up did not have the opportunity to see or hear them. And then she marched past him and closed the door they had just walked through. The fact she was leaning against it and had not offered him a seat was telling him
what she thought of having him in her house. He would make this brief.

  ‘There is nothing for us to discuss,’ he said, planting his feet firmly on the ground, not about to allow her to make him feel small for what he was.

  ‘I beg to differ and I will stand in front of this door until we are finished so there is no possibility of you leaving.’

  That was why she was standing there?

  ‘I will not leave, but when I finish telling you all of it, you may wish you had let me go the first time.’

  ‘Whatever it is that you need to tell me, I will listen. It is better that we have a clear understanding of each other than be cowards and slip away into the night without a word.’

  Her words pierced his pride, but he could not deny she was right in what she said.

  ‘I was trying to avoid creating a spectacle in front of your guests, a number of whom I am sure are grateful I left.’

  ‘Do not concern yourself with my guests. That is my responsibility and I couldn’t give a fig what any of them think right now. I thought we had come to mean something to each other. I thought we were friends. And then you leave like that without a word?’

  ‘Clara, you’re the granddaughter of a baron. Your husband was the brother of an earl. I grew up in a Foundling Hospital. Do you know what that makes me? Do you know what that means? I am not just an orphan whose parents have died. I am a bastard—a by-blow of some man who couldn’t be bothered to marry my mother. Or was married already when he took her. The only children who are taken in by the Foundling Hospital are bastards. Don’t you see? I don’t even know on what day I was born or what my real name is—if I was even given one. I am not William Lane. It’s the name the Hospital gave me when they took me in. For all I know, my mother didn’t even give me a name. For all I know, she never bothered because she couldn’t wait to give me away. So, you see, every day my name is a constant reminder that I was discarded and unwanted in the event I ever forget.’

  She walked up to him and took his hand into her two delicate ones. The gesture held him in place when in truth he wished he was the type of man to run.

  ‘Is that why you didn’t want me to call you William?’

  ‘There is no reason I should have two false names. One is a sufficient enough reminder.’

  In her eyes, instead of pity, he saw compassion. Which one was worse he couldn’t say, because right now instead of running he wanted to stay with her for ever. And that very thought scared the hell out of him.

  When she reached up and slowly ran her fingers through his hair in a comforting gesture, he had to look away. But she guided his jaw gently so he was facing her once more.

  ‘The circumstances of your birth do not change anything. They do not change what kind of man I think you are or the feelings I have for you. I am truly sorry that that horrid woman put you in a position at my dining table where you felt obligated to confess it like that in a room full of strangers. I am sorry that you had to endure a pain all these years that was none of your making.’

  The tips of her warm fingers caressed his brow and without thinking he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and wishing that this moment of complete acceptance wouldn’t end. He was not a man who saw a point to physical affection. It probably was because he hadn’t had any since he was a small boy, living in the countryside. But right now, with her touch, he felt some of the wounds to his soul begin to heal.

  Raising herself up on her toes, Clara touched her lips to his and he opened to her kiss. The kiss was slow and thoughtful, filled with something he couldn’t name, but didn’t feel like passion. And with each nibble to his lips and slide of her tongue against his, his world started to be pieced back together. Nothing mattered any more except for this moment and the woman in his arms. He broke the kiss to trail his lips along her jaw, down her neck, to the base of her throat, where he swirled his tongue against her soft, fragrant skin while his hand moved over her ribcage and settled on her left breast.

  For the first time in his life, he felt as if he was exactly where he belonged.

  He kissed his way back to her lips, knowing that they needed to end this—knowing that she needed to return to her guests. When their lips met once more, she deepened the kiss for several more moments before moving her head back and touching her forehead to his.

  ‘I’d like you to stay.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave.’

  She ran her hands over his shoulders and settled them on his chest. Without a doubt, she would be able to feel the rapid beating of his heart.

  ‘I will not allow anyone to treat you unkindly in my home. I would just as soon ask them to leave—no matter who it is.’

  ‘I do not need you to champion me, Clara. I am a grown man and have years of experience dealing with people and their prejudices.’

  ‘But I want you to know I will not place you in a position where you have to do that here.’

  He cupped her jaw and kissed her one last time before they left the parlour and made their way to her drawing room. She was telling him that she accepted him enough to have him in her home, yet their stations in life were so very different. If he thought he could forget that fact, he was reminded of it in vivid detail when he entered the drawing room with her a few minutes later and the entire room stared at him. Mr Collingswood’s dark bushy brows drew together and his wife raised her nose.

  ‘We did not realise how late it was, Mrs Sommersby,’ the man said. ‘I believe that it is time that we headed home.’

  ‘Thank you for this evening,’ his wife added, gathering up her daughters.

  Lane walked to the window overlooking the moonlit lawn and could see them bid their farewells to everyone else in the room except for him in the reflection in the glass. Harriet had looked his way a number of times, but was ushered out of the room by her parents. The Collingswoods could go to hell for all he cared—however, the cut still stung and he hated himself for that.

  He waited to see who was next to leave the room.

  ‘I had to get married.’

  A woman’s voice broke the silence and he turned to find Lady Charlotte looking directly at him. ‘It’s true. While I love my husband with all of my soul now, we had to wed.’

  He didn’t understand why she had decided to reveal that to the room, half of which was her family and probably knew that already—until Lady Juliet spoke up.

  ‘When I was seventeen I tried to convince a gentleman to run away to Gretna Green with me to elope. I hadn’t cared that it would have created a scandal.’

  They were sharing their scandals with him. Showing him that they were not perfect either. He didn’t know what to say. He had never experienced anything like this before.

  The Dowager tilted her head with assessing eyes. ‘My grandson, the Duke, married an American...an American. And it is one of my favourite matches. Birth does not truly define who a person is, Mr Lane. Do not let anyone make you believe any differently.’

  The Duchess of Skeffington pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Oh, fine, I had to pretend to be married to my husband for three days before he asked me to marry him.’ She looked up and met him in the eye. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘I don’t have anything scandalous to share, but if I did I would gladly share it now,’ Greeley said to him.

  ‘I think you’ll have scandals soon enough,’ the Dowager replied to him.

  Clara hadn’t said a word, but stood there watching her family with a hand on her heart, appearing as touched as he was. When her gaze left Mr Greeley and settled on Lane, there was such affection for him in her eyes. ‘I have a secret, too. After Robert died I needed an investment that would make me financially stable. I didn’t want to be dependent on my relatives or become a lady’s companion. So, I took all the money I was left with and purchased a hotel. It is what has allowed me to live this comfortable life here in Bath.’

/>   ‘What?’ the Duchess cried in disbelief. ‘You’re an innkeeper?’

  Lady Juliet turned to her sister. ‘Why are you so surprised? Surely you knew.’

  ‘No. I did not know. You knew?’ Her agitation had not subsided.

  ‘Well, yes, I thought you both knew.’

  They both turned to Lady Charlotte, who shook her head. ‘I was not aware of this.’

  ‘This is why I never told you. This and the fact that your uncle while he was alive refused to buy one saying it was far beneath our station in life to do so. That if it was known it would affect Juliet’s ability to launch well in Society even with a sister who was a duchess. He feared we would lose the friendships of prominent families we knew and the men he went to university with. And he knew your father would have forbidden it. I have kept it quiet to protect you all from any shame it might have caused.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re an innkeeper,’ the Duchess said again.

  The women were talking so quickly it was almost hard to keep track of what they were saying. But the fact that she owned a hotel was stuck front and centre in his mind.

  ‘I’m not an innkeeper, Lizzy. I own The Fountain Head Hotel here in Bath and have someone manage it for me.’

  If his brain exploded right now he would not have been surprised. Certainly he hadn’t heard her correctly? ‘You own The Fountain Head?’

  She turned away from her niece, who had gone from standing up to sitting down on the sofa, to face him. ‘Yes. Are you all right? You look as if you could use a brandy.’

  ‘It’s as if I don’t even know you,’ the Duchess said in a faint whisper, reclining back. ‘You’ve been leading this other life.’

  ‘Lizzy, she owns a hotel, not a brothel.’ Lady Charlotte went and stood over her sister.

  The Duchess looked up at her. ‘I realise that, but this is a completely new side of her that I wasn’t even aware of. I’ve spent a significant amount of time in this house. How could I not be aware of this?’