A Match of Honour (The Hartleighs of Somersham Book 1) Page 3

  Outside the cottage, leaning against the stone wall beside the window, was a handsome, dark haired figure wearing a top hat and a warm, fur lined coat over his black jacket.

  As he listened intently to every word spoken by Polly and his cousin, his expression changed from a frown of curiosity to a glower of sheer horror. His emotions churned into a terrifying mix he could barely conceal and he was only thankful to be alone here, where no one could see the naked fury on his rapidly reddening face.

  Anger swelled, anger he did not suffer often but when he did it was like an all consuming monster within him. He had followed Susan to talk, to learn of her feelings about this proposed marriage. He expected her to laugh about it, as he had himself, before she, too, refused to comply. But now it seemed nothing was as he expected.

  His fingers bunched into fists and he tried hard to control his rising fury. Had she been here, had she told him to his face, he would likely have slapped her, he was so disgusted. And her actions had deprived him of the decision; there was only one thing now for him to do.

  It was the sound of her tears, her uncontrollable sobbing coming from inside which drowned his anger. He had always been fond of Susan and hearing her so distressed was pulling at his heartstrings. He felt the same empathy with her as he had for that poor dog and he wanted to rescue her, just as he had wanted to rescue the dog. Only this time, there was no one else to blame, no one else on whom he could ease his fury.

  Poor girl; she must be frantic with worry. And it was possible she was not responsible, that she had been assaulted. If that were the case, he would hunt down the culprit and make him pay, and he did not intend it to be by any lawful means.

  But he would not ask, not yet. They had more important problems to settle before he delved into the truth of this.

  When he heard her leaving her seat and moving toward the door, he hurried to hide among the trees and watch her emerge from the little dwelling.

  ***

  Susan felt the chill as she left the cottage and walked as quickly as she could through the trees. There it was again, the sound of rustling in the dead leaves. Most of the trees were bare now, so where was the rustling coming from? It was as though someone were walking close to the branches, treading on the frozen grass.

  She turned back, her eyes wide and frightened, and that was when she saw him, close behind. He leaned against a thick tree trunk, his arms folded and looking very much like all the Hartleigh men.

  He was well named for their grandfather, despite the Duchess’s objection. He looked more like the portrait of the late Duke, Lord Christopher Hartleigh, every day, even down to the dancing black eyes and playful smile.

  “Christopher,” she said fearfully.

  His eyes moved to the clay bottle in her hand and she hid it beneath her cloak as she took a step back, but another tree stopped her and he reached her in seconds, snatched the bottle out of her hand and held it high above his head.

  She reached out to snatch it back, but clutched nothing but air.

  “I think this would be safer with me,” he said and kept it out of her reach.

  “Give that back,” she cried. “You have no right! You have no idea what you are doing.”

  “Oh, I think I do,” he said. “I followed you here. I have spent a very entertaining half hour.”

  Her eyes wide with horror, her thoughts were racing. He followed her here. He must have been listening outside Polly’s little cottage, must have heard every word. She felt her face burning, almost as if she had been sitting before a roaring fire. The shame of his knowing was so great, it very nearly stopped her heart.

  She turned away, not wanting to face him, but then she felt his fingers on her chin as he turned her head back to face him. His expression told her nothing of his mood, of his opinion of what he had heard, of the current situation. She wished she could read his mind.

  Now she would have to talk him out of revealing her secret to her father, whose health was not strong enough to take it. Now she would have to find some way to make him keep it to himself.

  “Please, you must tell no one. My father is ill; he will never stand the strain. Please, Christopher. I will not comply with this ridiculous marriage proposal. You can walk away, find a more suitable maid.”

  “Find a maid at all,” he said sarcastically. “Since you have relinquished that distinction.”

  She felt her lip quiver and cursed herself for allowing her misery to show.

  “Insult me if you must, treat me with contempt. I deserve everything you have to throw at me, but please tell no one.” He made no reply, left her still wondering what was going on in his mind, whether he would comply with her wishes. Would he wait until the Duke died, till he inherited the title before throwing her out and disowning her? The waiting was torment.

  “Why did you follow me?” She said at last, more to break the silence between them than because she wanted to know.

  There was a note of panic in her tone now, her thoughts churning.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “I wanted to discuss this marriage proposal, discover your thoughts on the matter. Your behaviour was curious, so I decided to find out where you were going. It is just as well that I did.”

  “You were listening. You had no right.”

  “I disagree. We are to be married. That gives me every right.”

  She stared in silence for a moment. This was not what she was expecting, even before he knew the truth, she would never have expected him to agree. But perhaps he was teasing her. Yes, that must be it; he was not serious.

  She drew a deep breath to summon the courage to meet his mockery with her own.

  “So you have decided to comply with my father’s wishes?” She demanded. “Despite what you have just heard?”

  “Rather because of what I just heard,” he replied.

  “I do not understand.”

  He raised an eyebrow, a familiar gesture she had seen many times on the face of both her own father and his. His mouth twisted thoughtfully, as though he was considering the best way to reply.

  “When my father put the suggestion to me, I was amused. Firstly, by the idea of it, as it is not what any of us were raised to, to be told who to wed. My instinct was to resist, since I could see your mother’s awareness of her own importance was behind it, and when I followed you, I was decided. I could not marry someone who had been like a sister to me, but I wanted to tell you in a civil manner, just in case I was wrong and your own wishes were not the same.”

  “You need not worry, Christopher. I will refuse.”

  He shook his head.

  “Knowing your dirty little secret decided me,” he went on.

  “And now you know the truth about me,” she answered. “Now you know I am no maid. I am a harlot, who gave herself to a man she hardly knew. Why do you have to interfere?”

  “You need me; I cannot allow this to be known, to disgrace the Hartleigh name.”

  He held the bottle in his hand and tossed it in the air, then he pulled at the stopper and tipped the contents out onto the frosty ground.

  “No!”

  Susan leapt forward and reached out, trying to grab the container while some of the potion remained. He held it away from her, up high, but still she reached for it, even knowing there was nothing left to argue about.

  She leaned against his chest as she tried to reach the little clay container, then she stopped suddenly and stamped her foot in anger to think that her one chance was gone. She would have to ask Polly for more of the potion, before it was too late.

  “Why did you do that?” She demanded.

  She felt his arm slip around her and pull her close, kiss her forehead and press her head against his chest.

  “I do not want you to take it,” he said. “I have heard of women taking potions like this and losing their life as a result. Is that a risk you are willing to take?”

  “No. But I had not heard of such a thing and I am not sure I believe you.”

/>   “Polly would not deliberately give you something lethal, but these things happen.”

  “Then what am I to do? Before I was told by my father that I was going to marry you, I had plans to escape, perhaps stay with David in London and see if he could find me somewhere safe, a Lutheran convent perhaps. I am running out of time.”

  Christopher frowned at her, moved away and held her at arm’s length to see her face.

  “What do you mean,” he said. “Your father told you?”

  “He sent for me this morning, told me I was to marry you. Did you not know?”

  He shook his head.

  “Of course not. My father gave me the choice and it was that which I wanted to discuss with you. Now the choice has been taken out of both our hands. I will not allow you to kill yourself in a feeble attempt to turn back time and become a virgin again. You will marry me, quickly, before your condition shows.”

  “And then what? I am weeks gone, Christopher. They will know it is not yours.”

  “Why? We could have been having a clandestine affair all this time.” He paused and sighed heavily. “However, I don’t particularly want to be known as a seducer.”

  “You are talking about raising another man’s child. I cannot ask you to do that.”

  “No, you cannot. Neither is that what I am suggesting. But we will be married and we will go away, go on tour somewhere until the child is born. At least, that is what everyone will believe. It is the usual thing for a newly married couple to tour the country or Europe.” He paused, his expression grave. “But you cannot keep it; you must realise that.”

  She opened her mouth to object, then realised she had nothing to say, no argument to make. She thought about her choices, kill the child while it lay in the womb or burden David with the problem, go to a convent to wait out the pregnancy under the condemnation of the sisters. Surely this scheme was a better one.

  But she was puzzled that he had not asked about the father, not asked how she got into this state in the first place. She could see how angry he was when she emerged from the cottage, despite how quickly that anger had died, and she knew what he would do if he knew the identity of the man who had done this to her. And if she allowed that to happen, he might not know his own strength and he could end up in gaol or worse. She would never allow that to happen, not when she could keep quiet and prevent it.

  Christopher placed his fingers gently on her lips to silence her. He had acted on impulse, as was his way, and realised he had committed himself to caring for her and ensuring the safety of her child. It was too late now to think about it, to give her back the potion and hope for the best.

  Now he must make plans, plans for them both.

  ***

  They walked about the beautiful acres of Somersham Abbey for another hour, neither speaking, nor touching, and while they walked, Christopher’s thoughts were racing. He knew he had done the right thing, indeed the only thing that would salvage the honour and reputation of the Hartleigh name, but he had not set out to find Susan with that intention.

  He had come to find her so that they could talk, discuss their parents’ suggestion and perhaps find an acceptable way to refuse. Neither wanted to distress the Duke in his present state of health, that was of the utmost importance, but nor did they want to be tied to each other for life. Christopher had always imagined marrying for love and he supposed his cousin had wanted the same.

  Now everything had changed and it took but a few minutes for him to decide that, no matter what happened, no matter what air headed schemes she had in mind, Susan could not do this by herself. And her alternative was not something he would sanction. He had to do this for the sake of the family name and the Duke’s health. What mystified him was why his anger with her was so brief, had already completely faded away.

  He should be horrified, disgusted even, but all he felt now was a need to protect her. How very odd.

  Now the sun was moving across the sky, it was growing colder and he needed to get Susan back to the house without that awful woollen cloak, before she got frostbite.

  “We must return your cloak to the peasant from whom you borrowed it,” he said at last. “Did you leave your own at her dwelling?”

  She nodded. He watched her carefully, wondering how she felt but not sure if he had the right to ask. Now they were on a romantic footing, they should really not be alone in the woods like this, but that was bizarre. They had played together in these woods and other isolated places since they were children; things shouldn’t have changed so much because of their current situation.

  “We will exchange them then return to the house,” he said. “First of all, we will visit His Grace and tell him the news. He will be pleased; it might even give him something of a respite from his illness.”

  “All right,” she said. “That will probably be best.”

  Christopher could not help noticing how her voice quivered, how her lips turned down, how tears brimmed on the edge of her eyelids. He stopped walking and caught her hand.

  “You are unhappy with the arrangement?” He asked.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You wish to marry the child’s father? I was hoping it was an assault and you were not to blame.”

  She laughed mockingly, then blushed again.

  “I am sorry to disappoint you, Christopher. No, I cannot marry him.”

  “Do you have a better solution? I am open to suggestions, but neither of the ones you had in mind were really suitable, were they?”

  “No,” she answered. “But I was thinking how hard it will be. I am grateful, Christopher. Please don’t think otherwise, but I didn’t plan to marry out of gratitude.”

  “I didn’t plan to marry out of pity and to preserve the family honour,” he answered. “But I see no other option. I won’t have our reputation ruined by a scandal of this magnitude. You don’t seem to understand that it isn’t just you who is condemned by your actions. What of your sisters? What of Penelope and Georgina? Who is going to want to involve themselves with them if this is known? What of my own brother?”

  She caught back a sob, turned away to hide her crimson cheeks.

  “You are right, of course.”

  “Well, then. We must put a happy face on our agreement and pretend to be ecstatic. If we do not marry, I will also be affected, won’t I? Even as Duke of Somersham I will be hard pushed to find a happy union with this hanging over my head.”

  “That’s what I mean,” she muttered. “I hoped for a man who would love me, who I could love. You will learn to resent me, I know you will. What will happen when you meet someone you can fall in love with? Will you forsake the opportunity because you are tied to a wife you wed out of pity and duty?”

  “I will likely have to,” he answered. “But I won’t resent you. I promise. This is my own idea, not something you have asked of me. Why should I blame you for that?”

  “But you are being forced into it to avoid the scandal.”

  He made no reply for a few moments. He desperately wanted to soothe her fears, make her feel better, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it.

  “I might feel differently had I fallen in love already, if perhaps I had my heart set on another lady.” He paused, searched for words which would not insult her. “But I am fond of you; I like you at least. How do you feel about me? I mean, were it not for your own predicament, would you be amenable to the Duke’s suggestion? Think about it. I’m not too ugly, am I?”

  That made her laugh as nothing else had for weeks. Christopher was one of the handsomest men she had ever laid eyes on. He was tall, well built, with glossy black hair and black eyes to match. And he had a wonderful smile which had women’s eyes following him wherever he went.

  “I suppose it wouldn’t be the end of the world,” she answered.

  “Well then. I suggest we make the most of it. We have ever been friends, haven’t we?”

  “You would not have agreed, though, would you? I’ll wager you came to find me to tell me
that. Am I right?”

  “You are, yes. I will not lie to you, Susan. I thought it was a ridiculous idea. But just think; at least we know each other well. There will be no surprises. We know what to expect.”

  “You must be so angry with me,” she said.

  “Now that’s a strange thing,” he answered and he slipped his arm around her shoulders. He had done that many times during their respective lifetimes, but now it seemed too familiar. “I should be angry, I know that, but I’m not. I was, when I overheard you talking to Polly. I was furious, actually, but now I am only thankful I have a solution to offer. I am fond of you, Susan, and I think you are fond of me. Perhaps that fondness can grow into something more over time. I am prepared to find out.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Marriage

  The service was held in the little village church, rather than the chapel inside Somersham Abbey, and was conducted by the Bishop of Somersham as befitted noble weddings. Christopher decided they did not have time to wait for the banns to be read and he paid out for a special licence from the Archbishop of Canterbury. He had no real idea of how far into her pregnancy was his bride to be and was desperately afraid her condition might reveal itself.

  Susan wanted the chapel, but Christopher persuaded her that they would be expected to marry in the village church, where everyone could see. He wanted no gossip, nothing out of place to cause rumours. And if the father of Susan’s child should be one of the locals, to marry in private would only confirm any suspicion the man might have. The last thing they wanted was some local coming forward and claiming the babe as his own.

  “I do not want everyone staring at me, Christopher,” she argued. “I will feel conspicuous enough.”

  “You are marrying the heir to the duchy,” Christopher replied. “We cannot do this in private, as though you have something to hide.”

  “I do have something to hide!”

  Her voice rose and those treacherous tears filled her eyes again, those tears she had fought to keep under control since the day she realised what she had done. Or what had been done to her; she wasn’t sure. Christopher’s unexpected kindness had only made her feel worse. Now she had guilt to pile on top of shame, guilt that she was ruining his life as well as hers.