The Confessions of the Duke of Newlyn

by Bronwyn Scott

  His touch had been like a caress. She had felt a frisson of warmth glow inside her and she hadn’t wanted him to pull it away. She had embraced it. ‘Yes, about a mile away.’

  ‘Then I will ride there with you. No doubt you have had some difficult questions to answer. How did your parents react when they found out you were to bear an illegitimate child?’

  ‘My mother with anger—which was understandable. She was mostly concerned with what others would think. She didn’t want friends and neighbours to ridicule my situation. My father was upset. My mother wanted me to go away, to have the child and let some needy couple adopt her. I couldn’t do that. To give away my baby was anathema to me.’

  A silence stretched between them, filled with the intensity of the emotion that suddenly linked them.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ he said calmly after a short pause in which neither of them seemed to want to break the silence. ‘I’m relieved you remained strong and fought for her.’

  ‘I couldn’t do anything else. My mother is a formidable lady. It was a huge relief when I won the battle to keep Violet. But I couldn’t let her go. I wouldn’t hear of it. When my mother realised I was serious, she suggested that I went away and when I returned with a child tell everyone that I had married and my husband had died.’

  ‘I take it you didn’t want to do that either.’

  ‘No. I couldn’t spend my life living a lie. When I got over the initial shock of my condition, my duty was to the child. I decided to look to the future, to my new life with all the responsibility due to that child who would grow up without knowing her father—life was too short to squander on what ifs and wherefores. My day-to-day life would change, I knew that, and that I would be ostracised and shunned by friends and neighbours. But after much soul-searching I discarded any resentment and self-pity I felt about my situation. Now I spend as much time with my beautiful daughter as I possibly can.’

  Laurence gave her a look of admiration. ‘It appears to me that you are a capable young woman. I can only apologise for not being there to support you. When we parted that night, I had no idea who you were or where you lived. I truly believed you were a servant.’

  ‘I know. That was what I wanted you to think. It was my birthday—my eighteenth—and when my maid told me she was going to the Spring Gardens with her friends, I could not resist the temptation to go with her.’

  ‘I see. I did not know you.’

  ‘Nor I you—apart from your first name.’

  ‘And I yours.’ Retrieving his hat, he brushed it down and placed it on his head. ‘Let me help you on to your horse.’

  They rode slowly back the way Melissa had come. The house became visible through the trees lining the road. She knew he could not fail to register the overgrown gardens and the years of neglect showing on the house with its patched roof and peeling paintwork, which her father could not afford to repair due to mismanagement and their ancestors being forced to sell off land to settle debts accrued at the gaming tables. She saw the look on Laurence’s face and chose to ignore it. It was best that she knew his opinions of her home and her family, but she wished he had not made it quite so obvious.

  ‘This is your home?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. As you can already see, it has been somewhat neglected. My ancestors thought their own amusements were more important than keeping the house in order, but I would not wish to live anywhere else.’

  Having halted in front of the house, Laurence took Violet while she dismounted. ‘This unfortunate state of affairs was brought about by me. I’m not proud of myself for what I did to you at the Spring Gardens. Had I known who you were, that you were the daughter of a gentleman, I would have sought you out and apologised to your family—even though your father would have been within his rights to call me out. I fully intend to do what is right.’

  Melissa bristled at his words. ‘And if I had not been the daughter of a gentleman, but only a servant?’

  ‘My responsibility to the child would be the same regardless of the mother’s station in life,’ he said, handing Violet to her as a groom appeared to take her horse. ‘Obviously matters cannot be left like this. I will speak to your parents—’

  ‘Oh—are you coming in?’

  ‘Not now. I have to consider how best to proceed. I shall call on them tomorrow.’

  With no further word he looked again at a gurgling Violet before turning his horse and riding away. Melissa watched him go, wondering in what way he wished to proceed. Perhaps he would offer some kind of financial settlement for Violet’s future. If so, Melissa’s mother would certainly not object. The only other way she could think of that would put things right would be if he were to offer her marriage, but somehow she doubted he would do that.

  * * *

  As Laurence rode away from High Meadows, his encounter with Melissa Frobisher had given him much to think about. He could not equate the elegant young lady with the amazing amber eyes and wealth of dark hair with the frivolous girl he had dallied with in the pleasure gardens all those months ago. He felt a deep stirring of compassion mingled with admiration for the manner in which she had coped with her situation—a combination of emotions that was completely foreign to him. Hers was not a situation he would have inflicted on a gently bred lady of character—or any other female for that matter—and it pained him to contemplate the tribulations she must have gone through.

  He remembered her as being a young lady who had been so sure of herself. Dress her in fashionable clothes, coif her hair into ringlets and curls, and she would not have been out of place at Almack’s. He remembered her as being so direct it was easy to forget that she was so young. He supposed it came with being left to her own devices. He recalled how impressed he had been by her and how grateful he had been that she had been so unexpectedly capable of breaking down the barriers he had erected around himself since the death of his wife. And yet he caught himself up short, chiding himself for having misread the situation so entirely and for his callous disregard of her future when their short yet pleasurable liaison was over.

  So, what was to be done now? His life at this point in time was fraught with problems—he had no time for marriage and affairs of the heart. A man who loved too well was vulnerable—something he had learned to his cost. Certainly in the past he had yielded to the desires of the flesh as much as the next man, but he had never doted on any of them—except one, a beautiful, callous woman called Alice, a woman he had made his wife, a woman who had deceived him with another, leaving him and taking their son with her, only for it to end in tragedy. Now, almost three years on, he was confronted with a serious dilemma.

  When he had encountered and made love to Melissa Frobisher, how could he have known she was something other than a servant? He’d fallen into the oldest trap in the world, made weak by his own maleness, and the trap unwittingly set by this woman’s own female body which hadn’t even known what it was about. He had done so much harm to her who, at the time, in her innocence, had likely confused sexuality with infatuation or even love in her mind. But whatever the facts of the matter he must, for the sake of the child they had heedlessly made, put it right. However awkward that might be, he must pay the price of his passion. Already he was taking steps with regard to his child.

  When he had taken Violet in his arms, he was rewarded with a smile that lit up the darkest corner of his heart. She had looked into his face with interest, as if she, too, was affected by the poignancy of the moment of their meeting. The new life he held seemed like a miracle after all he had suffered after losing his son. The memory of the pain he’d felt when he had been told of Toby’s death, the harrowing, crucifying agony, had lessened a little with time, but it had not gone away. It never would.

  He’d wanted to find something there to give him pause, to remind him why he’d vowed on the death of his son never to father a child again, because should he lose another, the pain of it would be
impossible to bear. But he had found nothing except the trusting eyes of a child, his child, a child he could not, would not deny. He had stepped over an invisible line and wouldn’t be able to step back again. He could only move forward. On discovering that Violet was his daughter, hope had flared within him, a great shining hope...

  Dear Lord, was he mad letting his thoughts wander as they were doing, when all his senses, every warning bell, every instinct for self-preservation that his human body possessed told him to back away, not to be tempted a second time? But Violet was his daughter and he would not. Could not.

  * * *

  It was the next afternoon and Melissa was outside with Violet, awaiting the arrival of their visitor. Holding her daughter close, as she walked in the garden she gazed at the old house with great affection. Unlike so many large houses, High Meadow had not withstood the passage of time well. Melissa’s great-grandfather had built the house to impress, with no thought of restraint, but from the day the builders had moved out the house had begun a long and steady decline.

  Melissa’s once prosperous ancestors had been part of a merchant class, but after a series of poor investments there was little money left to inherit. But there was something eternal in the mellowing walls and gardens overgrown with creepers and vines. It was set in a deer park, serene and untouched, though a large portion of the land and farms High Meadows depended on for its income had long since been sold, along with much of the house contents. The income from the few remaining tenants was meagre and Melissa’s mother worked tirelessly trying to make ends meet.

  Melissa missed her brothers terribly. Robert had married a hard-headed businessman’s daughter from the north of England. She was no great catch, but from her mother’s point of view and their own impoverishment, she was not a disaster. Henry, two years Robert’s senior, was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. She thought often of the time when they had been children, when they had run up and down the wide staircase and slid down the wooden banister, the sound of their voices, the playful squabbling and boisterous laughter, filling the house.

  That was all gone now and the spacious rooms felt empty and bereft. She knew her parents missed her siblings, especially her mother, who had doted on her handsome sons, often at the expense of Melissa, who had often felt rejected in favour of her brothers. When Robert and Henry had left home to seek their independence, her comfort had come from her father’s beloved horses, who loved her for who she was.

  Her mother was always concerned with doing the right thing and with protocol and rules for this and that, insisting that they should be followed religiously. She certainly made up for her father’s easy-going manner. Very little disturbed him unless it concerned his horses. This often infuriated her mother, who wasn’t a cruel woman, just bitterly disappointed that she was buried alive in the rustic Hertfordshire countryside instead of being part of the London scene.

  Melissa was watching with interest as a dead beech tree which had been felled by two woodmen was in the process of being sawn into logs that would be taken round to the stables and stored. Violet was having great fun trying to scramble over one, gurgling with glee as she managed to perch on top. The two men laughed at her antics, clearly taken with the child.

  ‘Ah, keeping an eye on Violet, I see.’

  Melissa spun round to find herself confronted by Laurence. He had dismounted from his horse and was holding the reins loosely in his hand. She hadn’t seen him arrive and his sudden appearance put her on the alert. ‘I always do.’

  Unfortunately Violet chose that moment to tumble off the log. Laurence made an exclamation and started forward, but at the sound of his voice Violet picked herself up and grinned, all thoughts of her tumble forgotten as she crawled towards the man who had made such a big impression on her the day before. With a gesture that tugged at Melissa’s heart and astonished the two woodcutters, Laurence dropped the reins and swung the child up into his arms, hugging her close and kissing her rosy cheek.

  ‘I trust you have informed your parents of my visit—and the connection I have to Violet?’ he asked, looking at her over the top of Violet’s head.

  ‘Yes. It was—difficult,’ she told him, which was true. Her mother had been struck dumb and her father had gaped at her in absolute astonishment before bombarding her with questions until her head ached. ‘They are expecting you.’

  ‘Indeed! Lead the way.’ Handing Violet to her, he instructed one of the woodcutters to look after his horse. ‘The sooner I make their acquaintance and get this situation under control the better.’

  Without a word he strode towards the house ahead of her, his long legs eating up the ground with considerable speed. Melissa followed at a slower pace, her nerves a jangled mass of discordant vibrations. She was reluctant to face what awaited her inside when Laurence had introduced himself to her parents as their daughter’s seducer, father of Violet, and told them whatever it was he intended to do.

  It was no fault of his that he hadn’t been aware of Violet’s birth. Had she known his full identity and where he lived, she would have notified him, but this had not been the case. However, now he did know it was to his credit that he wanted to rectify matters, but, she couldn’t help wondering, where did she fit into his order of things?

  The door was opened by the white-haired Bradley, an old retainer whose duties were butler, her father’s valet, carriage driver, general servant and anything else when there was a job to be done.

  Melissa strode in ahead of Laurence. ‘Are my parents in the drawing room, Bradley?’

  ‘They are, Miss Melissa,’ Bradley confirmed, glancing curiously at her companion. ‘Shall I announce you?’

  ‘Good heavens, no. They know to expect a visitor. I’ll announce myself and...’

  She turned and lifted a questioning eyebrow.

  ‘Lord Laurence Maxwell, the Earl of Winchcombe,’ he obliged with a twinkle in his eye, as if to humour her.

  Melissa raised her eyebrows even further. ‘My word!’ she breathed. ‘An Earl! Now, that will impress my mother. Please come with me. The sooner we get this over with the better—although you must prepare yourself for my mother’s temper. Papa is a gentle soul, but Mother is a different matter entirely. Woe betide anyone who gets on the wrong side of her. Is that not so, Bradley?’

  ‘If you say so, Miss Melissa,’ he replied, prepared to agree to anything she said.

  Laurence’s face hardened. ‘Lead the way—and thank you for the warning.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. It’s best that you are forewarned.’

  Melissa marched towards the drawing room and without ceremony opened the door. She existed in a state of jarring tension as she fought to appear calm, clinging to her composure as best she could as the dreaded moment when she would have to introduce Laurence to her parents came closer. Her father, small, stout and always rumpled looking, was reading a paper in his favourite chair by the fire, his feet propped up on the brass fender, while her mother sat drinking tea. On seeing Melissa followed by a tall gentleman, she took a sip from her teacup and set it down, dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin and then rose to greet the visitor with a smile. The Baroness was a formidable middle-aged woman, slender to the point of being thin, with sculpted cheekbones and as regal a nose as one would ever see.

  ‘Why, Melissa. I was beginning to wonder where you could have got to.’ Her eyes went beyond her to the gentleman with interest. ‘Our visitor has arrived, I see. Aren’t you going to introduce us to the gentleman, my dear?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, juggling Violet in her arms, who was straining her neck to see the man who appeared to have made such an impact on her. She looked at Laurence, who looked completely relaxed, yet there was an undeniable aura of forcefulness about him, of power. ‘This is Laurence Maxwell—Violet’s father.’ She turned to Laurence. ‘I would like to introduce my parents.’

  The silence that fell was complete. Dispelling
the prolonged silence, Laurence stepped forward with a respectful bow of his head.

  ‘I am Lord Laurence Alexander Maxwell, the Earl of Winchcombe. My home is Winchcombe Hall in Surrey. I realise my appearance will come as something of a shock to you both, but you must believe me when I say that, had I known of your daughter’s situation, I would have come before now. I would understand your reluctance to admit me into your home. I am a stranger to you and have done nothing that entitles me to an acknowledgement from you. I came upon your daughter by chance while out riding yesterday.’

  Remembering his manners, with a stony expression on his face the Baron stepped forward, unsure how to greet this visitor—a titled gentleman who had ruined his beloved daughter—but he considered it necessary to be amiable if the man was to offer reparation. He executed a stiff bow.

  ‘Baron Charles Frobisher at your service.’ He looked at the illustrious visitor closely. ‘Is it correct what Melissa has told us—that you are Violet’s father?’

  ‘Apparently that is the case.’

  ‘Well,’ the Baroness said, not quite sure how to receive the man who had seduced her daughter—a handsome one at that and an earl to boot—but she managed to hold on to her composure. She held her head high as she considered him coolly. ‘I cannot deny that it was indeed a surprise when Melissa told us she had met you and that you intended to call on us. Naturally my husband and I are interested to hear your reason for coming here now. When I recall your less than gentlemanly treatment of Melissa on your previous encounter, you must forgive me if I appear somewhat bemused by your presence. When gentlemen find their indiscretions have landed them in hot water, they usually take to the hills rather than face up to their responsibilities.’

  Hearing the sharp, patronising voice, Laurence was already regretting having come to her, yet he was impressed by this woman who had managed to keep her wits and composure despite the circumstances. Any other woman would have either gone to pieces or flown at him in anger for the ruination of her daughter.