by Laura Martin
‘Come,’ Oliver said, his voice gruff. ‘I’m taking you home.’
‘This is my home.’
He looked around him, frowning as he took in the bedraggled children, skinny and dirty, running through the courtyard. Lucy could still see all the desperation and dirt and disease—she didn’t think any number of years spent in the slums would make her immune to it—but now she could also see the people underneath.
‘A whole year, Lucy, with not a single word. You owe me this much.’
She opened her mouth to protest but saw the steely determination on his face.
‘Come.’ He took her by the arm, his fingers gentle but firm, and began to lead her back the way they’d come.
‘There’s a shortcut to St James’s Square,’ she said as they walked. She’d often avoided that part of London, always knowing there was a chance Oliver could be in residence at Sedgewick House, but she knew all the routes through St Giles after spending so long living here and knew which ones would take them most directly to the residential square.
Laughing, he shook his head. ‘I don’t know what other criminals you’ve got lurking around corners ready to rescue you. We’re getting straight out of here.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ Lucy mumbled.
‘It’s the most deprived area in London.’
She couldn’t deny the truth in his words. She’d said as much to the governors of the women’s and children’s Foundation she helped at during one of their biannual funding meetings. Here, in St Giles, the destitute mixed with criminals and prostitutes and, most heartbreaking of all, the shoeless children who ran wild through the streets, willing to do anything for a hot meal or a few coins.
‘I can walk by myself,’ she said, wriggling free of the restraining hand on her arm.
‘I don’t trust you,’ Oliver barked. That was fair, she supposed. They hadn’t known each other well during their short marriage and her behaviour over the last year hadn’t endeared her to her husband.
They marched rather than walked, Lucy having to take two steps to every one of Oliver’s long strides, and within two minutes they were leaving the narrow, shadowed streets of St Giles and emerging back on to the main thoroughfare.
Hailing a hackney carriage, Oliver almost stepped out into the path of the horses, but dutifully the coachman pulled to a stop just in front of them.
‘St James’s Square, number twelve,’ Oliver instructed, before bundling her inside and following quickly.
‘I...’ Lucy began to speak, but Oliver held up an authoritative hand.
‘I’ve waited over a year to hear why you abducted our son and disappeared without a word. We are not going to have this conversation in a carriage.’
‘I just...’
‘I said no. Whatever it is can wait for twenty minutes.’
Disgruntled, Lucy settled herself back against the padded bench, turning her body away from her husband and looking out the window instead. Ten months she’d lived as Oliver’s wife, although for almost nine of those months he had been away at war. She barely knew the man, but that didn’t mean she had to tolerate such rudeness.
As they weaved through the streets Lucy recognised most of the landmarks. She’d lived in London for the past year and although she didn’t have much reason to set foot in the more elite areas, she had passed through on occasion. She fidgeted as she watched the carriage round the corner into St James’s Square, knowing the next few hours were going to be difficult and really she only had herself to blame.
‘Come,’ Oliver ordered as the carriage stopped in front of a white-painted town house. It was immaculately kept and for a house in the middle of the city huge in size. They could house twenty mothers and children comfortably in the space, maybe more, but instead it was the domain of a single man and a few servants. It seemed such a waste.
The door was opened promptly by a smartly dressed young man with a scar running from eyebrow to chin.
‘I trust you had a pleasant afternoon, my lord,’ the young butler said, sparing a look for Lucy, but valiantly trying to hide his curiosity.
‘Yes, thank you, Parker. We will be in my study. I don’t want to be disturbed.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
And with that Oliver had whisked her into his study, closed the door and clicked the lock. Lucy swallowed, eyeing the windows which were all firmly closed. She shouldn’t be afraid—for all his faults, her husband was a noble man; he wouldn’t hurt her. At least she was reasonably sure he wouldn’t.
‘Sit,’ he instructed, motioning towards two comfortable leather armchairs positioned in front of the unlit fire.
She complied immediately. For all her strong-willed dislike of being told what to do, she recognised now they were completely in her husband’s domain. For the next few hours at least she would have to remember he was in charge here.
Watching nervously as Oliver stalked about the room, selecting two glasses and pouring two generous measures of whisky, Lucy was surprised when he set one in front of her. Never in their short marriage had he invited her to join him for a drink, but she supposed then they were occupying more traditional roles of gentleman and his wife. Now it was clear he had no idea how to regard her.
‘Talk,’ he commanded eventually, settling back into his chair.
Chapter Two
She looked nervous, Oliver thought with grim satisfaction. Drumming her fingers on the fine crystal glass he’d just placed in her hand and shifting her weight in the armchair every few seconds. In truth, Lady Sedgewick looked as though she wanted to be anywhere but here with him.
‘What do you want me to say?’ she asked, raising her dark eyes to meet his.
He felt a surge of irritation, but tried to conceal it. He’d been raised to be civil even in the most trying of circumstances. And reuniting with his estranged wife could certainly be described as trying.
‘I want to know everything,’ he said calmly. ‘What happened with the birth of our son? Why you left. Why you stayed away. What you’ve been doing all this time.’
Sighing, Lucy took a gulp of whisky, unable to hide her discomfort as the amber liquid burned her throat.
‘I’m sure you’ve worked most of the details out by now,’ she said softly.
‘But I want to hear it from you.’
Of course he’d imagined a thousand scenarios in the year he’d been searching for her. An inappropriate lover, a nervous breakdown and, in his more desperate moments, even more unlikely stories involving French spies and a need to serve her country. Despite all his searching, all the time and effort he’d put into finding her the last year, he still didn’t know the truth behind why she’d disappeared.
‘I got scared,’ she said simply. Nothing so extravagant as French spies, then.
‘Scared?’
There was a long pause before Lucy continued. As he waited for her to speak, Oliver realised his wife had changed immeasurably in the time she’d been absent. Not that he could pretend he knew her very well when they’d been married. Twice they’d met before they’d said their vows, two awkward meetings where neither had revealed much. And then he’d only lived with Lucy for a month after their wedding before being called back to the Peninsula. All the same, she’d certainly matured in the time they’d spent apart. Gone was the shy, meek debutante and in her place was a poised and almost worldly young woman. It appeared his wife had matured in her absence, in more ways than one.
‘We barely knew one another,’ Lucy said eventually. That he couldn’t deny.
‘True.’
‘I loved David,’ she said quietly. ‘I loved him from the first time I felt him kick inside me, maybe even before that. I spent hours dreaming of what he would be like, what he would enjoy and who he would resemble. When he was born...’ She trailed off.
Oliver had spoken to the doctor who’d been present a
t his son’s birth. Apparently it had been a difficult labour and for a while it had seemed like their son would not come, but eventually, after many hours, Lucy had given birth.
‘He was so beautiful—’ her voice was barely more than a whisper ‘—so perfect in every single way.’
That wasn’t how the doctor had put it. ‘Characteristic facial features’ had been mentioned a number of times and ‘a likelihood of mental difficulties’.
‘The doctor commiserated with me when he looked David over, told me that there was no reason I couldn’t have a healthy child next time.’ There was bitterness in her voice as she recalled the words.
Lucy glanced up at him and he could see she was on the verge of tears again, but no matter how difficult this was for her he had to know what had happened next.
‘I lay there with our son resting on my breast, cuddled in all warm and safe once the doctor had gone, and I started to realise that he wouldn’t be the only one judging our son, finding him wanting.’
‘You can’t mean...’ Oliver said, his eyes widening.
‘I didn’t know you,’ Lucy said quietly, unable to meet his eye. ‘I knew what most men do with their offspring when they don’t view them as completely healthy—they send them off to be raised by another family, sometimes even deny their existence.’
‘So you left, before even finding out what my reaction might be.’
‘I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk you taking my son away from me.’
‘Our son,’ Oliver murmured. ‘He was my son, as well.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It was cruel of me, I know that. I knew that at the time, but I had to protect him.’
‘You didn’t have to protect him from me.’
She regarded him calmly, searching his face as if trying to see if there was truth in his words. Oliver felt a surge of anger. She shouldn’t be judging him. He’d done nothing wrong. He hadn’t run off with their son without any explanation.
He stood, needing to put some space between them, and busied himself adjusting the clock on the mantelpiece. The seconds ticked past in silence as Oliver struggled to regain control of himself. Outwardly nothing in his expression or stance changed, but inwardly he had felt a tight coil of frustration and anger ready to explode. Now, breathing deeply, he forced himself to remain calm. Nothing would be gained from showing his estranged wife how much she had hurt him, how much her betrayal still affected every aspect of his life.
‘Then what happened?’ he asked, returning to his seat, motioning for Lucy to continue.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes,’ he barked sharply. ‘It matters to me. What happened next?’
‘I had a little money so I made my way to London. I knew I couldn’t seek refuge with anyone I knew. I had to go where no one knew me.’
She was making it sound as though she’d been running from a monster, when in truth he didn’t think he’d ever raised his voice towards her or spoken a single word in anger.
‘I ended up in St Giles.’ Lucy grimaced. ‘The first few days were not easy, but then Mary found me. She helps to run a home for women and children and she took us in.’
‘David was still alive?’ It sounded strange to be saying his son’s name after so long of not even knowing what Lucy had called their child. The words almost caught in his throat, but he managed to force them out, gripping the back of his chair for physical support as he said them.
Lucy nodded, pressing her lips together. ‘He seemed healthy enough the first couple of weeks, thriving and growing, but then he deteriorated quickly.’ Her voice quivered, but she managed to go on. ‘I’m told it is quite common in those born with similar conditions to our son to have problems with their hearts and chests. David became unwell and although we saw doctors, they could do nothing. He died when he was three weeks old.’
He watched as she suppressed a sob, swallowing a couple of times and taking a deep breath to compose herself.
‘Where is he buried?’ Oliver asked bluntly.
Looking up at him with wide eyes, Lucy shook her head before answering.
‘He did get a proper burial?’ Oliver interrupted, his heart sinking at the thought of his only child being consigned to a pauper’s grave.
‘I used the last of my money. He’s buried in the churchyard of St Giles in the Fields.’
He nodded grimly. Not a peaceful resting place for an innocent young boy, among the plague victims and the executed criminals, but at least he’d had a proper burial.
‘You’ll take me there this week.’
A spark of indignation flared in his wife’s eyes, but he watched as quickly she quashed it and nodded. ‘As you wish.’
Visiting his son’s grave would be difficult, but he owed it to the child he’d never held in his arms to at least see where he was buried.
Smoothing her skirts down, Lucy stood, placing her almost-full glass on the small table beside her.
‘I should be getting back,’ she said, inclining her head and taking a step towards the door.
For a long moment Oliver was too stunned to do or say anything. He’d barely begun questioning her, barely scratched the surface of what had become of his wife over the past year. All she’d revealed was the bare bones of the story of how and why she’d fled after the birth of their son. He needed to know so much more.
‘Sit down,’ he said, catching her arm as she edged past him.
For the first time since he’d cornered her in St Giles, her eyes came up to meet his and Oliver felt a painful flash of memory. He’d barely known Lucy on their wedding day, but when she’d walked down the aisle of the church and turned to face him in front of the altar, he’d felt a hopeful stirring deep inside him. He’d wondered if perhaps their marriage could be about more than convenience, more than producing the heir he so desperately needed and having a wife at home to look after the estate. Quickly he suppressed the memory, setting his mouth into a hard line.
‘You’re my wife, Lucy. I’m not going to let you just walk out of my life again.’
There was panic in her eyes, the same feral expression as an animal that knows it is cornered.
‘You can’t just keep me here,’ she said softly, as if she knew it wasn’t true.
‘Twenty minutes,’ Oliver said brusquely. ‘That’s how long you’ve been in my house. Over a year I’ve been searching for you.’
‘What if I promise not to disappear again?’ she said quietly. ‘I can give you my address.’
‘I don’t trust you, Lucy.’
She chewed her lip and Oliver wondered if she had something or someone she wanted to get back for or if she just couldn’t bear to be in his company any longer. The idea that she might have a lover was like a dagger to his heart and quickly he had to push the thought away before it did any more damage to his emotions.
Before he could stop himself, he spoke. ‘Come,’ he said brusquely, ‘let me show you to your room. We can continue our discussion at dinner.’
Although they had been married for ten months before Lucy had fled, she hadn’t before been to Sedgewick House in London. His main residence was Sedgewick Place, a sprawling country estate in Sussex, and that had been where they’d married and spent the time together before he’d been recalled back to the army. Since she was pregnant by the time he’d left, she had decided to spend the Season in the country rather than travelling up to London, only to have to return to Sussex for her confinement.
With a guiding hand resting in the small of her back, he felt Lucy stiffen, but she allowed him to show her the way out of the room and up the stairs.
‘Your bedroom,’ Oliver said, opening the door. He watched her face carefully, noting the widening of her eyes as she realised it was the bedroom of the lady of the house, complete with connecting door to his own room. ‘Take some time to get settled in. Dinner is at e
ight.’
Stepping out, he left her alone, keen to put some distance between them. The revelations of the afternoon had given him a lot to think about. Oliver wasn’t the sort of man who made any decisions quickly and he would appreciate having a few hours to himself before he resumed questioning Lucy. One thing was for certain—he wasn’t going to let her slip out of his life again and if that meant keeping a close watch on her these next few days, then that was what he’d do.
* * *
Sinking down on to the bed, Lucy glanced around the room. It was rather oppressively decorated with dark furniture and busy flowery wallpaper. Quite the change from her room back in St Giles. She had no doubt Oliver’s late mother had chosen the decor for the bedroom; it was not a room made for comfort and her mother-in-law had not been one for relaxing.
Quickly she stood, refusing to let the despair she could feel creeping in overtake her. There would be a way out, all she had to do was find it. She sympathised with Oliver, felt dreadful about how she had treated him and understood his desire to know everything that had happened since she’d run away, but she just couldn’t stay here. She was needed at the Foundation; people were relying on her—she couldn’t just disappear. With a shudder, she wondered what her husband’s long-term plan was—surely he couldn’t mean for her to stay with him indefinitely. Their lives had changed too much for that to work. Plenty of couples led completely separate lives. There really was no need for them to become entangled once again.
With a glance at the window she shook her head. There was no reason to consider acrobatics when she could easily just walk out the front door. She hadn’t heard Oliver turn the key in the lock; she wasn’t his prisoner here. All she needed to do was open the door, stroll down the hallway, descend the stairs and slip out the front door. She’d send him a note, of course, perhaps arrange a meeting in a more neutral environment to resolve their remaining issues.
