Page 30 of A Landscape of Love

Unbidden, Lady Fidelia’s face drifted into his mind. That wasn’t unusual. Thoughts of her returned to him often during the day and he had become adept at swatting them away like aggravating gnats, pushing them down into some dark corner in the back of his mind, where they wouldn’t trouble him. Just like the gnats, they only returned moments later with greater enthusiasm, bothering him constantly, worrying at the edges of his mind. The dreams were worse. Far too vivid, they woke him in the early hours of the morning, his body taut with desire, yearning for something he had no business wanting. By morning he was half-mad with the desire to seek Fidelia out, just to be in her company again.

“Christ,” he said, almost scalding himself as he poured boiling water into the teapot. “Bollocks!” he added for good measure, nearly dropping the kettle into the hearth as the truth occurred to him.

He missed her.

Bloody nonsense, he told himself roundly. It wasn’t like he’d seen her every day before that night, or as if knew her well, or…

Yet he’d got used to looking out for her, to her popping up when he didn’t expect it and making a blasted nuisance of herself. He wanted to know how the seeds were doing, if she had followed the instructions he’d left her in the potting shed, if she was managing or if her spirits were low. He wanted to know if there were any more paintings, if she had liked the flowers he had sent her. A thank you note had arrived, scrupulously polite, but giving him none of the excited chatter he might have expected about which she had liked best, of what she would paint first, and he had seen none of the results of her work. He wondered too, if she had noticed, the last night she had come to the cottage, that the tiger lily she had painted for him was propped on his bedside table.

Hart groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Pillock,” he muttered, tugging at his hair. What the devil was he supposed to do now?

Well, he knew the answer to that well enough.

Go back to work, keep your head down, and stay far, far away from Lady Fidelia.

Fidelia’s parlour door flew open, and Alex came in, closing it behind him.

“You heard?” he said.

Fidelia nodded, knowing he’d already had a run in with their father, his jaw was set, his complexion stark white and he looked utterly miserable. Yes, his grace was home.

“Narcissa is with him.”

“What?” Fidelia exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “Oh, and he never said a word about her coming. I haven’t had her room prepared or done anything for her, the poor girl. How is she? Why hasn’t she come to see me? It’s been such an age since I last saw her. Has she changed much… Oh, I must go and—”

“You can’t see her,” Alex said flatly. “She’s in disgrace and shut in her room.”

Fidelia stared at him. “You’re not serious?”

“You think I’d joke about it?” Alex said in disgust.

Fidelia swallowed, hardly daring to ask. Please, please, please God, don’t let Narcissa be in the same trouble as me. “What did she do?”

Alex shook his head. “He gave me no clue, only dire threats of what would happen should I try to speak with her.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Our own sister!” Fidelia said, stalking up and down. “He has no right to treat us this way.”

“Tell him that, why don’t you?” Alex said sourly.

Fidelia considered this. It occurred to her that something had changed over the past months. She was no longer afraid of her father. Oh, she was afraid of his power over her, of the things he could do if she disobeyed him, but that was something else. Previously, her lack of terror had been simply indifference, for she had been sunk so deep in melancholy that she cared not a whit what he said or did. Now, she simply did not care for him at all, for his opinion of her, for whether he felt pride or shame or anything at all. Any feelings she might once have harboured, perhaps out of duty rather than affection, were dead and gone. She had a child now, and the idea of treating that child as their father treated them filled her with contempt for the man. He was no man, in fact. For all his grand title, he was simply a bully.

Fidelia sat down again, considering. Narcissa was her sister, and she loved her, and if she could help her, she would, but she was an adult, albeit a young one. Ambrose was a child, and he came first. Now was her chance to get her hands on those diaries, and she wasn’t about to waste it.

“Where is his grace?” she demanded, feeling strangely calm.

“In his study, where else?” Alex replied, his expression gloomy.

Fidelia nodded and went to him, kissing his cheek. “Ring for tea, love. Cook made scones this morning and you know a cream tea always perks you up.”

Alex returned a crooked smile. “All right, sis. You’ll have some too?”

Fidelia hesitated. “Yes, but if I’m not back in time, you eat them for me. I know you can manage it,” she added, winking at him and hurrying away before he could ask where she was going.

Fidelia went first to her room and tidied her hair, straightening her gown and ensuring she was as neat as a pin. Whilst she did not care for her father’s opinion, she would give him no reason to look at her with contempt. Satisfied she was ready to face him, Fidelia went down the stairs and knocked at the study door.

“Come.”

Fidelia opened the door upon hearing the curt command and walked in.