by Laura Martin
‘And you don’t want that?’
‘Yes, no... I don’t know.’
‘Lucy dearest, you need to work out what you want. No wonder your husband is on edge all the time. You tell him you want to be independent, a life of your own, and then you get upset when he suggests time apart. You need to start admitting to yourself how you truly feel about this marriage.’
Mary had never held back on her opinion, it was one of the things Lucy loved best about her dearest friend, but right now she didn’t know what to say to her.
‘I’m scared,’ she admitted.
‘About the baby?’
‘Not just the baby. I’m scared about losing myself.’
‘You think if you fight to be Lord Sedgewick’s wife, you’ll have to give up the other parts of you?’
Lucy nodded.
‘Our characters and needs are always evolving, dear. Next year you will be a different person to who you are today. The key is to be satisfied with the decisions you make today and not worry too much about the future.’
‘It probably is out of my hands anyway,’ Lucy said. She remembered Oliver’s face when he’d seen the bag on the bed beside her. The trust between them had been fragile before that; now it was shattered into a million pieces. She doubted any decisions about her future were hers to make.
* * *
Lucy slept fitfully, missing her husband’s presence next to her and almost falling out of the narrow single bed in her room at the Foundation, so used to the larger four-poster she shared at Sedgewick House with Oliver.
The morning dawned, dull and grey, and still Lucy was plagued with regret and anger. She half-hoped Oliver would come crashing through her door, demanding she return home, much like he had when he’d first found her months ago as she was walking to St Giles from Russell Square. Of course the door remained firmly shut and there was no pounding of feet on the stairs. This couldn’t be that easy.
Rising, Lucy washed her face with the cold water from the night before and dressed quickly. She was unsure what to do with herself. Too distracted to take up her normal activities, too proud to find a coach straight back to Sussex. She wouldn’t beg her husband not to send her away. Even though it felt like a dagger through her heart every time, she wondered if she’d ruined things between them for good. She had been so focused on this pregnancy, so worried about what might happen if they had another child, she hadn’t allowed herself time to realise how happy she’d been. Her relationship with Oliver was more than she’d ever hoped for—he cared for her deeply, probably had loved her before she’d ruined everything. And she was beginning to wonder if she might love him.
It would explain why everything was so painful now. Why she felt like her heart was breaking every time she pictured her husband’s face.
After spending fifteen minutes pacing round her small room, she flung open her door and marched into the corridor, determined to find some task to keep her busy.
Downstairs in the courtyard there was a commotion and she could hear the children chattering excitedly. Most were on their way to their morning lessons, but had obviously got waylaid by something novel happening in the open space. For a moment hope soared in Lucy’s heart and she half-expected to see Oliver’s tall, lean form striding across the cobbles towards her. In that instant she was ready to promise him the world, to promise him that she would give up everything but being his wife and the mother to his child. Then fear gripped her and she slowed.
Of course it wasn’t her husband. Instead of Oliver was a man dressed in black, holding on to his reins with an air of detachment as the children gathered round his horse, some bolder than others, reaching out to touch the placid animal. The side gate was open, the double panels of wood thrown back to allow the messenger to enter, and Lucy couldn’t remember the last time there had been a horse admitted to the courtyard. No wonder the children seemed frantic with excitement.
‘Lady Sedgewick,’ the messenger called, catching Lucy’s eye. ‘I have a message for Lady Sedgewick.’
‘I am Lady Sedgewick.’
The man reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a small envelope, closed with a waxen seal that Lucy immediately recognised as the Sedgewick coat of arms. It was a letter from Oliver. Her heart sinking, she realised he wasn’t coming himself to see her, instead he’d sent a messenger with a letter.
‘Thank you.’
After giving the messenger a coin for his troubles, although no doubt he’d already been paid handsomely by Oliver to ride through the night, Lucy shooed the children on their way and watched as the man remounted his horse and led him out of the side-gated entrance. Only when he had disappeared completely and she’d secured the gate again did she turn on her heel and quickly hurry back up the stairs.
Once in her bedroom, the door firmly locked so there would be no interruptions, Lucy turned the letter over a few times in her hands. The outside was addressed formally to ‘Lady Sedgewick’ and Lucy wondered if the contents of the letter itself would be so formal.
With shaking hands she broke the seal and opened the thick, folded paper.
Dear Lucy,
I do not expect anything of you, but for the sake of our unborn child I will be awaiting you a week today at Sedgewick House.
Please do not disappoint me.
Yours,
Oliver
Tears flooded her eyes and spilled out over her cheeks. She’d done this, by breaking his trust. Oliver loved her, she was sure of it. She could see it in the way he looked at her, from everything he did for her, and now she’d turned that love into something cold and unfeeling.
The tears lasted for well over ten minutes and it was only by conscious effort that she managed to stop her shoulders from heaving and the salty water spilling down her cheeks. Right now she needed to decide what she wanted and then she needed to act.
Mary was right—she needed to work out what she wanted from her life. For so long she had been someone’s daughter, someone’s wife. It was only the past year she’d felt free. But was that really a good enough reason to throw away the love of a good man? A man she thought perhaps she might love in return.
Then there was their unborn child to think of. She was pregnant now; there was no going back. In a few months she would be a mother again and Oliver a father. Either they could reconcile with the idea of having a child, no matter what difficulties they might face, or they could try to deny it was happening, but a baby would arrive all the same.
Shaking her head, she fought back another bout of tears. It wasn’t just about the pregnancy—there was their marriage to consider. Her husband, the man who had refused to let her go even after a year of searching, was a good man. She knew that, just as she knew she couldn’t lose him, not now. Not now she was realising the depth of her feelings for Oliver.
He made her smile every time she thought of him and deep inside there was a warm glow when she pictured their future together. After all her protestations, all her awkwardness, she wanted to be Lady Sedgewick, wife of Lord Sedgewick, in every way possible. She loved him and she had never once told him, had always been intent on pushing him away.
‘I can’t do this without you,’ she said, running her fingers over the dried ink of the note. Despite her doubts and her insecurities, she realised she didn’t want to do any of this without Oliver, not the pregnancy or parenthood, or indeed the rest of her life.
‘Will you forgive me?’ she murmured, picturing Oliver sitting at his desk penning the note.
Despite Mary’s assurances that Oliver would eventually forgive her for abandoning him again, Lucy was afraid he might not. Love was wonderful, but it couldn’t paste over such a terrible breakdown of trust. She knew, deep down, that Oliver had still not forgiven her for running away a year ago and she wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to. If he couldn’t, their relationship could never flourish and they would b
e doomed to spend their lives apart. Lucy knew this, but she was determined to do everything she could to reconcile—even if it meant spending the next ten years proving she was worthy of his trust again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘You’re going to give her another chance?’ Redmoor asked, looking at Oliver with incredulity in his eyes over his glass of whisky. They were sitting in comfortable armchairs by a roaring fire, with a bevy of staff to see to their every need. Oliver wasn’t a frequent attendee at Boodle’s, where he was a member, but on an evening like tonight he appreciated the fine alcohol and friendly company.
He shook his head. ‘I just want to talk to her about the future of our child.’
He’d ridden up to London the day before to ready for his meeting with his wife. Ever since her departure he’d been in a black mood, swinging between incredulity that she would even think about fleeing again and concern about her safety. Of course he’d made discreet enquiries and made sure she was ensconced safely back at the Foundation with the indomitable Mary looking after her, but he was still worried she might decide to disappear completely again, take off into the night leaving no trace.
‘Not just about the child,’ Redmoor said. ‘You need to secure your own future, too.’
‘There isn’t much to discuss,’ Oliver said with a shrug. ‘We will lead separate lives. Our only connection will be our child.’
‘And that will make you happy?’ Redmoor asked.
Oliver sighed. He couldn’t really imagine being happy ever again. Right now his mood was black and his optimism at an all-time low. Of course he wanted a normal marriage—in fact, he wanted more than that. He wanted a union where he and his wife completely trusted one another, were open and honest and had no fear of betrayal.
No, he wanted even more than that. He loved Lucy; he’d loved her for a long time. Despite not wanting to admit it before, he knew he’d started to fall in love with his wife soon after their marriage, and that love had never diminished. Even now, even when he was so despairing of the future, he still loved her deeply. He wished they could be together, wished for nothing more than the woman he loved to be back in his arms planning their future together, but right now he couldn’t see how that could ever happen.
‘What happened?’ Redmoor asked softly.
Oliver ran a hand through his hair. He’d been over it so many times in his own mind and still couldn’t separate the facts from his own fears and worries.
‘I found her with a packed bag, after she told me she was expecting.’
‘She meant to run away again?’
‘She says not, but the evidence disagrees with her.’
‘And did you want her to stay?’
Opening his mouth to answer, Oliver paused and considered for a moment longer. He was afraid, he realised, and it was not a familiar sensation. Ever since Lucy had told him they were expecting another child he had begun to worry whether they would survive. The grief of losing one child was hard enough to bear; he wasn’t sure what he would do if they lost another.
Added to that were the feelings of betrayal. Once again Lucy had disregarded how it would affect him and set to flee. How could he ever trust her, not knowing if she would be there when he woke up every morning?
‘I love her,’ he admitted for the first time aloud. ‘But that’s not enough.’
‘It’s a good foundation,’ Redmoor said.
‘A good foundation would be trust.’
‘There can’t be any trust between you until you forgive her. Completely and utterly with no reservations. You need a fresh start, if you ever want this to work.’
Redmoor rose and patted Oliver on the shoulder, leaving him to his glass of whisky and his thoughts.
A fresh start; Oliver shook his head. Impossible. He knew what Redmoor meant—if he did want their relationship to thrive he had to let go of the residual resentment and feelings of betrayal that had developed when Lucy had left a year ago. Nothing good could be built on a foundation of mistrust. But given her recent attempt to run away he didn’t know if he could ever truly trust her.
* * *
He hadn’t slept, not a single wink, a mixture of worry about how the day would go and early morning insomnia from one too many fortifying whiskies at the club the night before. The result was a pounding head and a dry mouth, along with a foul temper to start the day off with.
He hadn’t specified a time when he’d sent the note to Lucy, but didn’t try to pretend he would be able to do anything else until he had confronted her. Instead he prowled around the house, snapping at anyone who got in his way, waiting for Lucy to show up, convinced she had fled London already. Nine o’clock came and went, then ten. He’d resolved to give her until midday and then, if she still hadn’t shown her face, he would take a trip to St Giles and escort her home. If she was still there, of course.
Just before eleven, there was a knock at the door. Oliver knew it was she as he was pacing up and down the hallway at the time and saw the dark blonde of her hair through the glass panel. Resisting the urge to go and throw open the door and pull her into his arms, he stepped into his study and took a seat, waiting for Parker to show her in. He steeled his face into an unreadable expression and forced himself to relax back into the chair. It wouldn’t do for Lucy to see how tense and miserable he was from the very beginning.
‘Lady Sedgewick, my lord,’ Parker said two minutes later as he opened the door.
It was rude not to get up and it went against every deeply ingrained instinct, but he forced himself to remain seated. Lucy was left hovering, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
‘Sit,’ he instructed.
She did, without protest, despite it being a direct order.
‘We have things to discuss.’
‘Oliver...’ Lucy said, his name coming out in a big gush.
He held up his hand, stopping whatever words would come next. Suddenly he didn’t want to hear any apologies, he just wanted to sort out exactly what was to happen between them and then send her on her way. He knew if he faltered in the slightest he would crack. He could barely look at her without wanting to pull her into his arms and declare his love for her, but he needed to protect himself, his heart, from further heartbreak.
‘We need to decide what will happen to our child.’
‘What about us?’ Lucy asked quietly.
‘You’ve made it perfectly clear what you think of our relationship. I have no desire to trap you any longer in a marriage you do not wish to be in.’ He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the dagger of pain that shot through his heart at his next words. ‘I shall apply to Parliament to grant the divorce you’re so eager for, with certain conditions, of course. I’m sure you know it will be the talk of London, but that seems a minor issue compared to everything else.’
He looked down, unable to keep up the pretence any longer. If he looked into her eyes again he would crack, break down and show her just how much she’d hurt him. He wondered if she knew that he loved her, that he would do anything for her if only he thought she would not flee and break his heart again.
‘No,’ she gasped, springing out of her chair and rushing over to him.
Again he held up a hand, halting her progress.
‘I was wrong to try to force feelings that were never there. I understand now that you do not wish to remain married to me—you do not wish to be my wife. I will release you from that obligation.’
Divorce would involve a lot of scandal and no doubt mar the early life of their son or daughter, but he would not continue to force a relationship with someone who clearly did not want to stay. It would also involve a lot of money and a private act of Parliament. Oliver wasn’t sure, but he thought you had to prove adultery before they would grant the divorce, but as heartbreaking as it was he was willing to pay some desperate chap to pretend he’d had a relationship with Luc
y.
For him, he couldn’t care less about the scandal. Divorcing Lucy would break him, his heart would never recover, but if it was what she wanted, he was willing to destroy himself to give her that.
‘Stop,’ Lucy said, finally finding her voice. ‘Just stop this.’
He looked up to see the tears streaming down her cheeks and his first instinct was to reach out and try to comfort her. His arms were already outstretched before he caught himself, but Lucy didn’t miss the gesture.
Ignoring his shaking head and stiff posture, she advanced towards him, only stopping when she was close enough to lean forward and kiss him softly on the lips. At first Oliver resisted, almost pushing her away, but Lucy was relentless, inviting him in with her warm lips until he felt something give in deep inside him.
‘Stop this,’ Lucy repeated as she pulled away. ‘Let me talk.’
‘I can’t listen...’ he said, stopping when he heard the choke in his voice.
‘I’ve hurt you, badly and that is unforgivable,’ Lucy said, perching on the arm of the chair so her body was pressed up against his. ‘But this...’ she motioned to his stiff posture and dark expression ‘...isn’t helping either of us.’
A voice inside his head screamed at him to keep pushing her away, that only further heartbreak could come of allowing her to explain, but eventually he quietened it and a small flicker of hope won through. He nodded for her to continue.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, looking into his eyes. ‘I’m sorry for so much.’
He’d never expected her to apologise quite so sincerely, but still a part of him remained suspicious. She’d apologised for running away after David was born, but that didn’t stop her from ever running away again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for destroying your trust. I know it will be difficult for you to ever forgive me for what I did a year ago, but I want you to know I am truly sorry.’
