Page 13 of A Landscape of Love

“I know you’re angry. It’s maddening when you can’t begin something at once,” Hart offered, knowing how that felt at least.

Tears sparkled in her eyes now, and Hart felt bad for her. She had rallied herself at last and hit an immediate wall.

“What about the father?”

She started at the bold question. “I beg your pardon?”

Hart glanced over his shoulder and stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Would the child’s father know anything?”

“No. He wanted nothing to do with his son once he realised he could not force my father into allowing our marriage,” she said, and with such certainty he did not doubt her. “Besides, I believe he is no longer in England.” She blushed scarlet, avoiding his gaze.

“Right. He’s no use, then. What about servants, your father’s steward, or his valet? I know some men tell their valets everything.”

She shook her head. “No. I cannot believe he would tell anyone about this. It’s family pride and lineage. That’s too serious to put in the hands of a servant. Besides, you forget the fact that my father is not well liked, and he knows it. No, this is one thing he would have dealt with personally, for there was no other way.”

Hart nodded. “Then you need to investigate the possibility of a spare key. With the housekeeper, perhaps?”

Another shake of her head, and Lady Fidelia’s shoulders drooped. “No. He wouldn’t trust it to anyone. He’s not a trusting man, you see. I shall just have to wait until he comes home,” she said with a despondent sigh. “Oh, I shall run mad. How will I endure it?”

“By keeping yourself busy,” Hart said firmly.

“You expect me to sit and embroider a doily?” she asked, her tone scathing.

“No.”

“Then what?” She folded her arms, a challenging glint in her eye he could not ignore.

Hart clenched his jaw. Damn the woman, was he to be responsible for her every minute of the day?

“Fine,” he said, looking around to ensure the men were well occupied and not watching them. “Come with me.”

Hart strode off, not modifying his long strides or slowing down. If she wanted to come, she could damn well keep up.

Fidelia cursed under her breath, what little there was of it, as she hurried to keep up with Mr De Beauvoir. He was leading her down a path she’d never taken before, and she hoped that wasn’t a metaphor. In the days after her father had discovered she was pregnant, she had endured a great deal of judgment and been called all the disgusting names he could think of for a woman who gave away her virtue willingly. Though the duke had never struck her as being religious, outside of showing his face at church at the relevant times, he’d read her several religious homilies about women who had strayed from the path of righteousness and got their just rewards. None of them were pleasant.

As Hart led her around to what she presumed must be the kitchen gardens and glasshouses, Fidelia had to suppress a bubble of laughter. Ridiculous to find it funny, her once more straying from the path a lady should take, plus the way he was stalking off, and she was trotting along to keep up, but it was so long since she’d found anything amusing that it tickled her immensely. He led her down another path, this one overgrown, clearly having fallen out of use, and by the time he stopped, glowering, outside of a small potting shed, she was snorting with laughter, unable to do so properly because she could not breathe.

Fidelia clutched at her waist, the corset far too tight as she gasped, tears streaming from her eyes.

“What’s funny?” he demanded suspiciously, setting her off into whoops.

“N-Nothing,” she gasped, wishing she could undo the blasted corset. “Only, you were leading me up the garden path and…”

She spluttered a bit more. Mr De Beauvoir only scowled at her.

“I will never understand women,” he muttered, shaking his head as opened the door to the shed.

“Are you not married, then?” she asked, knowing it was rude of her to pose such intimate questions, but she had been dying to know ever since the possibility had occurred to her.

He must be in his late thirties and was a fine, imposing figure of a man. Thoughts of his broad shoulders and naked muscular chest kept intruding upon her, making her blush whenever she remembered her temerity in reaching out and touching him. The brief sensation of warmth and hard muscle beneath her fingertips had been quite delicious and far too quickly over.

“No,” he said shortly. “And I’ve not the least intention of doing so.”

“Whyever not?” she demanded, following him into the shed before she could think better of it.

“I can see how you got yourself into difficulties,” he said, ignoring her question and looking exasperated as he turned in the small space to find her standing close behind him.

Fidelia blushed. “I thought I was supposed to come with you.”