A Match of Honour (The Hartleighs of Somersham Book 1) Page 4

  But at least her parents were happy. They had what they wanted, but Susan knew that were it not for her terrible situation, neither she nor Christopher would ever have agreed to this marriage.

  That day, when they returned from their walk, they entered the withdrawing room holding hands, to convince the Duke and Duchess of their change of heart.

  “Susan and I have discussed the matter,” Christopher said at once. “We have decided you are right. A marriage between us will be a good match for us both.”

  “Christopher?” The Duke said. “My brother said you were adamant in your refusal and Susan wasn’t compliant, either. Why have you changed your minds?”

  Susan glanced quickly at Christopher, wondering how he would find an answer.

  “Many reasons, Uncle. Suffice it to say, we are happy with the match, as long as it takes place as soon as possible.”

  “Why the rush?”

  “We think it best,” he answered.

  The Duke nodded knowingly, obviously thinking their decision was about him and his failing health. That suited them.

  It was only a week later that the Duke made his slow way down the aisle to the altar, his sturdy bamboo canes supporting his weight, to where his nephew and heir waited to receive his daughter as his bride.

  Everything was as he had wanted and for that, the Duke was thankful. He was astonished when the couple agreed to the marriage, especially Christopher. He didn’t think he would. From what the Duke’s brother had told him, his son had found the whole idea somewhat amusing, had even told him there was no chance of his ever marrying Susan. But he had returned from his ride later that day, Lady Susan at his side, and declared his willingness to comply with the Duke’s wishes.

  It meant that the title and estate would stay in the bloodline of the Duchess and not pass solely to the son of a woman she had always considered not worthy of being a part of the Hartleigh family. If she had a way to deprive Christopher of the title, she would certainly have taken it.

  Jane was just plain Jane Wilmot, before George fell in love with her. She had come to the Abbey to teach the children of the house to play the pianoforte. Of course, they could already play, but not well enough for the Duchess. Her daughters had to be more accomplished than any others and all three had increased their abilities with the help and guidance of Mistress Jane Wilmot.

  When her husband’s brother announced his intention of marrying her, the Duchess did everything within her power to stand in their way, but she had failed. She did not have the support of her husband in her efforts, as he could see that Jane was a well brought up young lady and more importantly, he could see that she loved his brother. He refused to interfere, which refusal had caused a huge rift between him and his wife until the Duchess finally realised it was a battle she would never win.

  Her failure to give birth to a son and heir meant that her husband’s brother would be the next in line to the title and after him, his son, who was also the son of the piano teacher. George had, however, declared his unwillingness to take the title and asked that his brother pass over him and name his son as his heir. The Duchess was content with that arrangement as she could never have condoned seeing Jane addressed as ‘Her Grace’. At least she would never have to suffer that particular humiliation, even if she did have to settle for accepting her son in that position.

  The marriage between that son and their eldest daughter was the Duchess’s one hope of keeping the duchy in her own bloodline. She also hadn’t expected the couple to agree but while she could threaten Susan, she had no such power over Christopher.

  Now she was delighted to see her husband making his slow way toward the altar, his daughter clutching his arm, ready to keep the title where it belonged, even if some part of it was due to the piano teacher.

  Susan looked nervous, but that was to be expected. The Duchess had tried, the night before, to explain to her the intimate act of consummation in which she would be obliged to take part, but was shocked to hear her daughter’s reply.

  Her Grace found the subject embarrassing and had spent all day contemplating the best way to explain things, without naming body parts she would rather not name, and had finally plucked up the courage to visit Susan’s bedchamber before she fell asleep. She had no wish for her daughter to experience the horror she had known herself on her wedding night.

  She felt her cheeks burning as she sat on Susan’s bed and began to speak.

  “Susan,” she began, “I do not wish to frighten you, but you must be told before your marriage what to expect.” The words tumbled out rapidly, before she lost the nerve to speak them. “There is something you need to know about the physical side of marriage,” she went on, her eyes firmly fixed on her own hands.

  “It’s no mystery, Mother,” Susan answered before Her Grace could get any farther.

  She blushed to her neck to hear such a declaration. How on earth could Susan know? It was a subject kept away from young maidens at all costs and she wondered if perhaps one of her married friends had enlightened her before her mother was ready. Or one of the servants. She intended to learn the truth, but perhaps she didn’t really know, only thought she did. The Duchess had to be sure.

  “I do not think you can know, Susan,” she said. “Where would you have found out, after all?”

  Now it was Susan’s turn to blush, but she thought quickly.

  “I overheard the servants talking,” she said. “I am aware that gentlemen are built differently for a reason.”

  Her Grace didn’t know whether to be pleased to have escaped the need to explain herself, or to be horrified that she no longer needed to.

  But for now she was just pleased with the outcome as she watched the small gathering which consisted of the family, Penelope and Georgina, Christopher’s young brother, Mason, George, Lord Hartleigh and his wife, who the Duchess still thought of as the piano teacher, and herself and her husband, the Duke and Duchess of Somersham.

  The bride looked beautiful, despite her nervousness. She wore a dress of cream muslin with tiny pink rosebuds embroidered onto the skirt and sleeves with a matching bonnet. It was a dress she already had, as there was no time to have a new one made, but it hadn’t been worn before today. Her dark hair shone in the candlelight and matched Christopher’s. It was easy to predict that the offspring of this pair would also have dark hair and lovely dark eyes.

  They made a fine couple, to be sure. Both were extremely good looking people, Susan with her smooth skin and evenly sculpted features, Christopher with his handsome face and his broad chest and shoulders. Indeed, standing here beside Susan, he was taller than the Duchess had ever realised; his bride only reach to the middle of his chest. He cut a fine figure in his wedding suit and his smile as he took her arm was kind and gentle.

  Recalling the fuss a few years ago about the villager he had attacked, the Duchess prayed that this show of benevolence was not simply a display for the sake of the small congregation. She had never really trusted him after that, although everyone else seemed to understand his actions.

  All she could do now was to pray they had done the right thing by persuading the couple into this marriage.

  There was a small feast at Somersham Abbey, then the couple left for the first stage of their wedding tour. They had declared their intention of touring the country, all the way into Scotland, which would be cold at this time of year. They would not return in time for Christmas.

  The Duchess tried to talk them out of the plan.

  “I am not happy about you going so far away, Christopher,” she told him, dropping her voice to a whisper. “You know the Duke is very unwell. What will happen if he dies before you return?”

  Christopher was thoughtful. He knew the danger of that was very real and had he the choice, he would certainly not be going anywhere. But he had to take Susan far away from the family, far away from Somersham, before her condition showed and her secret was revealed. He could only pray that his uncle would last until after the birth, w
henever that might be. It was not something they had discussed, but it needed to be discussed. Unless she had been carrying on with this man for many weeks, she surely had to know when the child was conceived.

  Their first stop was at an inn some thirty miles away from Somersham. They spoke little during that first phase of their journey, neither knowing what to say, but they were both exhausted and in need of rest before going on to the little house Christopher had rented on the Welsh side of the border. He hoped the roads would stay clear and there would be no early snow.

  Christopher’s mind was busy trying to decide the best way to broach the subject that had been gnawing away at him, when to expect the child to be born.

  “Your parents were disappointed that we will not be home for Christmas,” Christopher said as they closed the door to the lavish suite of rooms within the inn. “Nothing to be done about it though. You will be well on your way by then and they must never know.”

  His dark eyes moved over her figure, already swelling a little in the week since he had discovered her buying her potion from Polly. He thought it a good thing the fashion for ladies was for the high waist; it made it very much easier to hide her condition than the tight waisted gowns of the last decade. None of the wedding guests seemed in the least suspicious.

  “We will need to engage midwives and extra servants for the birth,” he said. “When is that likely to be?”

  She stared at him in silence, frowning, as though trying to decide how to answer.

  “I am not sure.”

  “Not sure? What do you mean you are not sure?” He demanded. “I assumed you would know the exact date of conception. I assumed it was just once.” He paused, frowning angrily. “Was that not the case?”

  “Yes, it was just once. What do you take me for?”

  “I have not yet decided.” He stared at her where she stood on the other side of the bed and swallowed in an effort to control his rising temper. This was not how he had anticipated the conversation would go. “I heard you tell Polly it was a summer madness.”

  She nodded, turned her face away.

  “It was in August. The child should be born in the spring.”

  “Good. At least we have time to get settled and decide the best way to handle things.”

  Silence followed his words; there seemed to be nothing else to say.

  The bed was enormous, beautifully carved oak with satin curtains and wonderfully inviting feather mattresses.

  Susan stared at it, remembering her mother’s clumsy attempts to explain the nature of men and marriage. But she was with child. Christopher would surely not want to consummate the marriage. It was considered dangerous and she thought he would find it distasteful, considering the child she carried was not his.

  She wanted to raise the subject, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so.

  “You haven’t asked,” she said as she sat on the bed and removed her bonnet.

  He crossed the room to sit beside her, turned to look at her.

  “Asked what?”

  “You know what, Christopher. Please don’t make things any more difficult than they have to be.”

  “Well, at least I won’t have to worry about shocking my bride,” he said with a playful grin which she did not appreciate.

  “That is really not funny,” she said.

  “I think it is. You know, over the years when I have thought about marriage, I have wondered how it would be, whether I would be fortunate enough to wed a bride who understood things.”

  She ran her hands over her slightly bulging stomach.

  “Don’t you want to know how I got this way?” She asked.

  “I know how. Surely there is but one way.”

  Her lips formed a downward turn. She wanted to cry, but held fast to her tears.

  “Don’t tease me, please.”

  He felt again that rush of sympathy that he had felt outside Polly’s little dwelling when he heard her heartbreaking sobs. She was right, he shouldn’t tease her. That was unkind. He pulled her into his arms, kissed her forehead affectionately and she leaned against him, wondering what she had done to deserve such tenderness.

  “Susan,” he said, “when you are ready, I hope you will trust me enough to tell me. Until then, I consider it to be none of my business.”

  “You are my husband.”

  “I am, yes, but there can be no completion of the marriage until after the birth. Is that what you were concerned about?”

  She nodded, tears of gratitude springing to her eyes.

  He glanced at the windows to see the fading light, the moonlight just emerging from the clouds, and he kissed her again.

  “Come,” he said. “We will sleep. Tomorrow we will continue to Wales where I have rented a small house. We are Mr and Mrs Lewis and we will stay there until the birth. While we wait, we will look about for a suitable family to adopt the child.”

  “Oh, but…” But what? She had no idea what she was about to object to, nothing to say in challenge, but the cold way he stated these facts made her want to protest.

  “I am sorry, Susan,” he said softly. “Really, I am. But I see no other way. Do you?”

  “I suppose not.” She suddenly realised the meaning of his words. “Wales?” She said. “You told our family we were travelling to Scotland.”

  “I know; I lied.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to be sure nobody could find us. It is unlikely anyone would try to surprise us with a visit, being as it is our wedding tour, but just in case. Mason might think it a great lark to turn up where we are staying.” He looked amused, perhaps recalling some of his brother’s antics in the past. “If he should try such a scheme, he will be looking for us many hundreds of miles in the wrong direction.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought of it,” she said.

  “Of course not. You have far more important things to think about, but it is the sort of thing he might do. Can you imagine if he sprang himself on us, in a month or two? He would not keep his mouth shut, I can assure you of that. He wouldn’t know how to keep a secret if his life depended on it.”

  “I am grateful,” she said, and she meant it.

  She felt such a swell of gratitude for this cousin. She had known him all her life and never suspected him of such compassion.

  “Come then,” Christopher said as he got to his feet. “We shall disrobe and get some sleep. Do you need help to remove your dress?”

  She shook her head then stood up and unfastened her gown, slipped it from her body and let it fall to the floor. She glanced at Christopher and was relieved to see he had moved away to undress himself behind the screen and wasn’t watching. He did not turn back until she had slipped beneath the covers.

  ***

  It was a small village on the Welsh border where their journey finally came to an end, a dismal looking village, the mist coming down over the mountains which could be seen in the distance. The buildings were all grey and dark with slate roofs and there was a slate roofed chapel at the very end of the street. In the distance, some two hundred yards away, was the head gear of a mine, which now stood silent. There were but a dozen small houses, joined together in two rows opposite each other and each one belonging to the mine workers. There was not a single piece of grass or a tree in sight. Indeed, it looked to Susan as though someone had taken the whole scene and painted it grey. She shivered.

  Further along the street, standing alone, was a small, two storey house where lived the supervisor of the mine and his wife. The couple stood at the door and watched as Christopher alighted from the carriage and turned to hold out his hand to his wife.

  “Mr Lewis,” the man said. “Mrs Lewis. You are welcome.”

  “I’ve got a stew cooking for your supper,” said the woman. “And there’s ale and some milk, like you asked in your note.”

  Susan looked about at the dreary scenery, the slate roofs, the mountains shrouded in mist, the headgear of the mine just a few hundred yards away.
It was a depressing sight and she wanted to climb back into the carriage and go home to Somersham. Christopher must have sensed what she was feeling, because he took her hand then and led her inside.

  She noticed that the woman was eyeing her with a little smile on her face. She was looking at her swollen womb; perhaps Christopher had told them of her condition, as it wasn’t that obvious yet. Or perhaps it was and she was fooling herself.

  Having shown them where everything was, the couple left them to enjoy their meal. The place was very tiny, much smaller than Christopher had implied. There was but one room with a wood burning stove beside which was the table and chairs, and a small scullery leading off. There were no servants.

  They ate in silence as both were very hungry, but as Susan’s eyes wandered about the rough walls and the tiny windows, she knew she had to speak, make her thoughts known.

  “I do not like this place, Christopher,” she said. “When you said it was small, I thought you meant in comparison to the Abbey. I cannot stay here until the birth.”

  He heard her mother’s snobbery in every word and a wicked little voice inside his head guided his next comments.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I found this couple just before the wedding. I didn’t want you to be upset, thinking about it during the service, so I didn’t tell you.”

  “That couple? The people who live here, who have given up this place to us?”

  “Yes. They are good people who have been unable to conceive themselves. I thought it would be better for you if you were to get to know them.”

  She shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “My child might be a bastard with an unknown father, but its grandfather is a Duke! My child is not going to be raised by a mining family.”

  “Ah, I see you are not so very different from your mother after all.”

  “Do you blame me? You have given up your life to marry me, to prevent a scandal. Can you really be content that my child will be raised by miners?”