Page 28 of A Landscape of Love

Fidelia gazed down at the empty plate, a hollow feeling opening up inside her despite the crumpets she’d eaten.

The door banged, a gust of cold air swirling in before it closed again, and she recognised the soft cursing as belonging to Mr De Beauvoir.

Fidelia got to her feet, clutching the blanket around herself.

“I spoke to your brother. He’s sending your maid in the carriage. Just remember to limp and keep off your feet for a day or two,” he said, setting his muddy boots down on a piece of newspaper left out for the purpose.

How practical he was.

“I will,” she said, too embarrassed to hold his gaze but noticing he was sopping wet. “You should go and get some dry clothes on. I’m terribly sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you, Mr De Beauvoir. You may rest assured I will not trouble you again.”

He paused in the act of hanging up his coat to send her a curious glance, his eyes narrowed. Fidelia looked away and turned back to the fire.

“What’s this?” he demanded, and she felt his presence close behind her, could smell the cold air and rain emanating from him. “Why so meek? You were ready enough to cross swords with me before I left. What’s happened?”

“Nothing. Only I troubled to consider my behaviour, my… my real reasons for coming here. I only wonder that you didn’t throw me out at once. You ought to have done, you know. Your kindness will get you into trouble one of these days.”

“How’s that?”

She gave a soft laugh, staring at the fire. “Some foolish woman might mistake your kindness for something else, despite being told very clearly that you did not want her, that you had no interest in her past doing your duty as a good man.”

There was a silence that made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

“Fidelia,” he said, his voice gentle. Fidelia. Not my lady, not Lady Fidelia.

She turned then, gazing up at him, but though his expression was filled with tenderness, there was resolution in his eyes.

“I told you plain, I shall never marry. I’m married to my work. I’m up at dawn and work all hours, and every day. I’ve never wished for a wife and children, for that kind of life, but… but you are the first woman who ever made me question that, even for a moment.” He reached out and touched an icy finger to her cheek, stroking it softly. “Any man with an ounce of sense would be proud to court you, to be the one to give you and your son the home you deserve. You deserve to be happy, you deserve everything wonderful in life, but I cannot give you the life you want. You are far beyond my touch, love, and you’d regret lowering yourself if I was fool enough to let you do it.”

Fidelia swallowed hard, her eyes burning. He’s only being kind, she told herself, letting her down gently. Yet she wished he had just told her he didn’t want her. The possibility that those words were true, that there were feelings on his side too, only made his rejection harder to bear. But bear it, she would. She’d already made a fool of herself over a bad man who had used her and set her aside, she would not cause trouble for a good man who had rejected her for the right reasons. So she nodded, gathering every ounce of resolution and forcing the words out, relieved that she could speak at all.

“I understand, and I thank you for your kindness to me. I-I shall never forget it.”

He nodded and turned to the window. “I think that’s the carriage. You’d best go into the bedroom and lay down. Don’t forget your ankle is twisted. I’ll wait outside the front door so there’s no impropriety.” He said this last with a wry smile and then hesitated before reaching for her hand. His cold fingers wrapped around hers and squeezed. “You’re stronger than you realise, Fidelia. Don’t lose heart now.”

And then he walked away.

Chapter 8

Dear Lady Fidelia,

It has become the best part of my day to come downstairs and find another letter from you. I am praying you feel the same way about my too frequent correspondence, but it is so lovely to find a friend in whom I am in such complete accord.

You are quite right, of course, Keats is far superior to Byron, whom I always found rather arrogant and little too pleased with himself. Though I suppose he had every right to be, as his work is clever indeed.

You have outdone me with Austen, however; I have only read Pride and Prejudice twice to date. Your enthusiasm has given me the desire to revisit it, though, and so I shall.

You will not believe this, but you are not my only correspondent at present, for I am in regular communication with a cat. No, don’t give me up as a lost cause and throw this letter into the fire, I beg you. Indeed, the letters are signed from The Hon’ble Cat Mau, and are directed to the same. Truly! Yes, but of course, I know the actual author of this piece of ridiculousness. Did you ever meet Mr Leo Hunt? He is an amiable lunatic and seems to find great amusement in driving me to distraction. It is his latest torment for me, but I confess I find it dreadfully amusing and I am enjoying writing my replies far too much. I really ought not, for encouraging Mr Hunt in his peculiarities is not advisable, but it is such a dreary time of year, and the letters make me smile. I ought to point out that I have known Mr Hunt since I was in leading strings, and he is practically a brother to me so there is nothing the least bit irregular in our absurd correspondence.

How goes the garden? Have you visited again to see the progress? I confess I had hoped for information regarding our mutual friend. How is Mr De Beauvoir fairing? Do send me news.

With kind regards and amities,

―Excerpt of a letter from the Hon’ble Miss Violetta Spencer (cousin and adopted daughter to The Right Hon’ble Kitty and Luke Baxter, Countess and Earl of Trevick) to The Lady Fidelia Ponsonby.

1st March 1850, Hardacre Hall Estate, Hardacre, Derbyshire.

Fidelia laughed at Violetta’s confession that she was writing to a cat. Absurd indeed, Fidelia thought with amusement, and a good deal of effort for a fellow to go to simply to tease. She wondered idly if Mr Hunt was in love with Violetta, and if Violetta had the least idea. Fidelia hoped her suspicions were correct and that her friend would not live her days as an old maid. One of them should get a happy ever after, and as it did not appear it would be her, Violetta should have her time in the sun.