A Match of Honour (The Hartleighs of Somersham Book 1) Page 7

  There was but one thing to do and he must swallow his pride and accept it, make the best of things.

  The house felt strangely empty as he opened the front door. There was no sign of any of the servants and he climbed the stairs to Susan’s bedchamber, ready to discuss the options with her, ready to agree to her suggestion.

  What he found was an empty bed in an empty chamber. He looked in all the other rooms and finally opened the clothes chest at the end of the bed. It was empty.

  A letter on the dresser, folded and sealed with wax, drew his attention and sent his spirits plummeting. He crossed the room and picked it up, tore it open and read the words with a sinking heart: My child is not an orphan!

  Christopher sank down onto the bed, the letter clutched between his fingers and an unexpected ache formed in his throat. She had gone, run away with a newborn baby to care for and it was all his fault. He could have been kinder; he could have considered the possibility of claiming the child as his own. As Susan said, the babe was a girl and could in no way affect the inheritance. He could have considered a full time nurse somewhere close by, but no. He had decided to spirit the babe away without her mother having any knowledge of where she was or how she was being treated.

  He was a man; how could he possibly know how that would feel? Thinking back to the day he discovered her secret, the day he impulsively decided the best route to avoid scandal was to marry her himself, he asked himself if he thought any farther ahead than that. He thought it would be easy to find an adoptive family, he thought she would appreciate his help, he thought she would accept it and not interfere in any plans he might make. What sort of fool was he?

  He told himself he was helping her, but now he realised he was only helping himself. He wanted nothing to smear the name of the Duchy of Somersham, for the sake of Georgina and Penelope, for the sake of Mason and their chances in society, but mostly he finally admitted, for his own sake.

  He crunched the letter up into his fist and tossed it onto the bed, then went to the cabinet to see if her jewels were still there. They had gone, so she must have a plan to sell them, but she had little else, only a few coins she had brought with her from her allowance. How would she survive with a baby? How would she find aid from anyone, a single woman with a child?

  To inspect the orphanage, he had been gone some three hours so that is how long it might be since she left; she could be anywhere by now. The servants were all gone, there was no one of whom he could enquire. His first stop must be the coach office, as she would have spent what little she had on a coach to somewhere. It was possible someone might remember her and tell him where she was going.

  The coach office was also the place where Christopher’s redirected correspondence had been sent, from an obscure hostelry in Scotland, so that no one would know where to find them. That was the plan but as he strode along the quiet street on his way there, the figure which hurried toward him made him stop and catch his breath. How the hell did he find his way here?

  “Lord, brother!” Mason called out as he drew close. “Have I had a merry go round trying to find you? Why did you say you were going to Scotland? I’ve been all over the bloody country looking for you.”

  He was the last person Christopher needed to deal with right now.

  “I did it so that you wouldn’t take it into your head to follow us,” Christopher replied. “I really must congratulate you on your perseverance. I wasn’t expecting you to go to these lengths.”

  “I would never have done so, had I not been charged with the task of finding you.”

  “Charged by who?”

  “The Duchess. His Grace, our dear Uncle Arthur, has passed away. Which makes you,” he swept off his hat and bowed theatrically, “Your Grace, the Duke of Somersham.”

  Christopher closed his eyes and sighed. This could not be happening, not now.

  “That is a tragedy,” he said. “I expect the Duchess is distraught. They were a loving couple.”

  “She is and she expects you and your wife to return at once. I cannot imagine why you made such a mystery of your whereabouts, knowing as you did how frail the Duke was. Anyway, she didn’t trust the post to get a letter to you in time, so I assured her I would find you and bring you home. I do not want to break my word.”

  Home? He couldn’t go home; he had to find Susan and the baby. He could leave Mason to find her, he supposed, but if he did that, he would have to tell him the whole story. Yet he couldn’t go home without her, could he? The late Duke was her father; the Duchess would want her there. What a mess.

  “I do not think I can return just yet, Mason,” he said.

  “What are you talking about? You are the Duke now; you must be there to preside over the funeral, although you might be too late for that. It has taken me weeks to find you. But you must be there to take over the estate. You cannot simply decide it is not convenient.”

  Christopher made no reply; there was no reply to make.

  “Where are you staying?” Mason asked.

  “I have rented a house, not far away.”

  “And that is where I will find Susan?”

  Christopher shook his head then turned and started back toward the house, Mason hurrying along beside him. He followed his brother into the empty house, having no idea how Christopher was silently praying that Susan had returned in his absence.

  Perhaps she was simply taking the air, showing the baby off to the neighbours as young mothers liked to do. Yes, that was it. He was wrong to try to keep her confined; he knew that now. She had taken the first opportunity to leave the house. But the words in her letter floated before his eyes and made a mockery of this slim hope. My child is not an orphan!

  CHAPTER SIX

  The New Duke

  “So where is the blushing bride?”

  Christopher knew he would have to answer his brother’s question, but how much he should tell him was another matter altogether. He grabbed his leather travelling bag from beneath the bed and started packing his belongings in a desultory manner, while his mind busied itself with ideas of what to tell Mason, how much to tell Mason, what lies and what truths to tell Mason.

  With every garment he stuffed into the bag, he was conscious of his brother’s eyes on him and could sense his curiosity, his eagerness to know what had happened to his cousin.

  At last he snapped the bag shut, sat down on the bed and looked up at Mason gravely.

  “What I have to tell you must remain between us,” he said. “Do I have your word?”

  Mason nodded, his frown showing his concern.

  “She’s not…in an interesting condition, is she?” Mason suggested with a half smile.

  Not any more. Mason had jumped on that as a reason why his cousin might not wish to be seen, but in truth he knew little about the subject.

  “Susan has gone,” Christopher said. “She has left me.”

  “What? Why? You have only been married a few months. What the hell did you do to her?”

  What indeed?

  “I did nothing to her, Mason.”

  “Are you sure?” Mason said sceptically. “I know what a temper you have.”

  Christopher stiffened, offended by the very suggestion. Surely Mason knew him better than that, didn’t he?

  “How dare you?” He replied, his voice rising. “Yes, I have a temper, but I would never use it on a woman. How dare you even think it?”

  Mason blushed, his glance dropped to his feet.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “It was a thoughtless remark. But I cannot understand why a young bride would cause such a scandal so soon after her wedding.”

  Scandal? If only he knew of the real scandal.

  “You know how this marriage came about, Mason. Her father and mother insisted that she marry me and I know it was done to keep the title and estates in the Duchess’s bloodline. She wanted to be sure of that and this was the only way. They threatened to cut her off if she didn’t obey their wishes.”

  “None of that e
xplains why you agreed,” Mason said. “They had no influence on you. Or did the Duke perhaps threaten you with something similar? He might have withheld the money and a lot of the property, if not the title.”

  Christopher was thoughtful for a moment. These questions were getting harder to answer without exposing Susan to the condemnation of the whole family as well as society.

  “I agreed because Father asked me to,” Christopher finally replied. “He was concerned about his brother’s health, as was I. The Duke wanted to settle things while he still had time. I always got on well with Susan and I had no one else in mind.”

  How easily the lies slipped from his tongue!

  Mason looked sceptical, but made no further comment on the subject. He picked up his own bag and then his brother’s.

  “Come,” he said. “We will have to return to Somersham, settle our uncle’s affairs and try to think of some plausible reason why Susan is not with us.”

  ***

  Susan tucked the baby inside her coat and hoped she wouldn’t choose the wrong moment to make her presence known. She had wrapped a long scarf around the child and tied the bundle to herself, so that beneath the coat she looked heavily pregnant. She had also found a piece of black lace in the bottom of the clothes chest, left behind by a previous tenant, and had covered her face with it. Hopefully, no one would be able to describe her if Christopher should ask, and she looked like a grieving widow, left alone to give birth.

  Summer had arrived and she knew she looked conspicuous in the heavy, winter coat, but she had little choice. If Christopher asked questions at the coach office, he would be enquiring about a young woman with a baby, not a young woman heavily pregnant.

  She hadn’t given her escape much thought, but she had gathered up all her jewels and all the coins she had found in the bureau. Why they were there, she had no idea; perhaps Christopher had left them for some reason but they were hers now and she scooped them up and stuffed them into her purse along with the money already there from her allowance.

  She had given little thought to a plan, and she would be sorry not to be found if her father’s health grew worse, but her daughter was more important than anything or anyone.

  When Christopher suggested this solution, Susan could have had no idea of how it felt to be a mother. Before that she was just a problem to be solved, but once she had held that little miracle in her arms, realised that she had been formed and made inside her own body, that she had emerged from that body, a fully formed tiny human being, she knew she would never be able to part with her.

  The fact that the baby was a girl was Susan’s only hope and she thanked God for it. A girl was no threat to the title, no threat to the estates and she thought she could persuade Christopher to accept her because of that. But no, he had to be pompous and arrogant and judgemental and insist on finding her a home, like some puppy dog from an unexpected litter. Susan was contemplating how she could discover who he would choose, but hearing him ask the maid for an orphanage, she knew what he had planned.

  It was true he might have intended to find a suitable family, but finding that to be more difficult than he had anticipated, he had no compunction in sending Susan’s helpless babe to one of those horrible places where the children were half starved, abused and worked half to death. And if they ever did find homes from such a place, they were homes who wanted nothing more than an unpaid servant.

  Her little Alexandra was not going to one of those god forsaken institutions, no matter what Christopher had to say about it, no matter what scandal it might cause. Once the coach started on its journey, she was able to retrieve the babe from her hiding place and wrap her in her mother’s arms. Thankfully there were no other passengers from the tiny village on the Welsh border, where Christopher had tried to steal away the most precious thing in Susan’s life.

  Now she arrived in London, at the beautifully laid out gardens, stone buildings and quiet squares of Lincoln’s Inn, where three flights of stairs brought her to a narrow wooden door, behind which lay her one hope of safety.

  ***

  Christopher went straight to the Duchess on his arrival at Somersham Abbey. He felt he ought to take her hands, at least, as a familial gesture of condolence, but his dislike of this aunt made it difficult to do.

  “Your Grace,” he said, briefly touching her fingers with his own. “Forgive me, please, for not arriving sooner. It was thoughtless to change our travel plans without informing the family.”

  “It certainly was,” she answered stiffly. “Thankfully, your father was able to preside over the funeral.”

  “It has already taken place?”

  “Of course it has! Did you think I would allow him to rot away in this heat whilst waiting to see if you could be located?”

  Christopher made no reply. There was little to say to that and the Duchess was obviously furious with him. She had been furious with him almost his entire life, certainly since it became apparent that he would one day take the title and estate, but this time she was justified. He bowed his head once more.

  “Once again, forgive me. No doubt you have documents for me to inspect, papers for me to sign.”

  Veronica, now the Dowager Duchess, stretched her neck and peered over his shoulder at the doorway; she frowned.

  “Where is my daughter?” She demanded.

  “I regret, Aunt, that Susan is unable to attend. She…”

  He got no farther.

  “What do you mean, she is unable to attend?” The Duchess shouted. “Her father is dead! How can she not attend? It is bad enough she has missed his funeral, but to not come at all when I need her, when her sisters need her…I cannot believe this!”

  “If you will allow me to finish, Aunt, I will explain,” Christopher replied, trying to summon the courage to tell more lies. “Susan is unwell. She is confined to bed.”

  “Confined to bed? Explain, please.”

  Christopher swallowed to give himself courage. A sickness or something else? Which would be more likely to keep her away?

  “She is in a London hospital, suffering from suspected typhoid fever.”

  The Duchess’s face drained of colour and she sank down into a nearby chair.

  “Typhoid?” She sounded incredulous and Christopher could almost predict what her next words would be. “Our sort of people do not get typhoid!” She cried. “Just what sort of conditions have you forced her to live in, that she would get a pauper’s disease?”

  “I doubt the disease thought it best to avoid the upper classes.”

  “Please, keep your sarcasm to yourself,” she said. “Are you sure?”

  “No, Aunt, I am not sure. The doctors aren’t sure either, but they have her in isolation, and I am not permitted to see her. That is why I must hurry and get back to her, lest there is any change.”

  “Of course, and I shall come with you.”

  “No. I cannot allow that.”

  “You? You cannot allow? She is my daughter!”

  “And she is my wife. She would not want you to risk contamination and her sisters need you here. Please, for the sake of her peace of mind, stay here. I promise I will send word as soon as I know for certain how she fares.”

  “Which hospital is she in?” The Duchess asked. “I can write to her at least.”

  Christopher made no reply at first. He was afraid of what she might do, but he had no real excuse to withhold such information. He could only hope she would abide by his wishes.

  “Guy’s,” he said at last.

  The Duchess made no reply, but Christopher was sure she was not convinced.

  He spent the night in his old chamber in his father’s house, across the park from Somersham Abbey. The following day was spent going over his uncle’s papers, meeting with his lawyer to determine the proper disposition of his property according to his Will.

  All the time he worked, his nerves were on edge. He was afraid to speak without careful prior thought lest he give himself away and he could already feel
that the Duchess had her suspicions.

  As he read the necessary documents, he found he was not absorbing the words at all, that they were meaningless to him, as though they were written in a foreign language, just like when he tried to read whilst Susan gave birth in an upstairs chamber.

  He wasted a lot of time having to start again, to force his concentration to the matter at hand. He did not want to be here; he wanted to be searching for Susan, before it was too late.

  He wasn’t really sure what that meant, but he was convinced that he was working to some sort of deadline, that if he did not find her soon, he never would. Just where the feeling had come from, he had no idea. All he knew was that the need to start the search for Susan was overwhelming.

  But he was surprised to realise it was not the fear of scandal which motivated him, which spurred him to hurry with his business and find his wife; it was the very real fear of what might be happening to her.

  That night he woke with a start, drenched in perspiration and with his heart hammering, not sure if he had cried out in reality or only in his nightmare. He had dreamed of Susan, dressed in rags with a crying babe clutched in her arms as she begged on the streets of London.

  Whether confined to his dream or not, his own cry woke him and he swung his legs out of the bed. It was still dark, but he dressed anyway and went downstairs. A maid was busy in the kitchen, lighting the range for the day, and he made his way down the spiral staircase, making her jump.

  “Molly, is it?” He said. “Can you find me something to eat, please. I don’t care what.”

  She curtsied.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she said and hurried to do his bidding.

  Your Grace. It was the first time anyone had called him that, except Mason’s mock greeting when he first found him. The title didn’t suit him and he had no time to accustom himself to it now. If he had thought about it at all, he had always expected to be nearer his father’s age before he was entitled to be called that. He thought himself too young to wear the title, to command the sort of authority that went with it.