Page 31 of A Landscape of Love

“Good afternoon, your grace. We were not expecting you so early as we’d no word from you, and you made no mention that Narcissa would be with you.”

“My plans are my own affair,” Beresford replied, not looking up from his desk. He was a large man, still in good condition thanks to his love of horses and hunting and his disgust of anything that smacked of self-indulgence. He neither ate nor drank to excess and despised those who did.

“But I have done nothing to prepare for her arrival, and Alex said I might not visit her either, is that necessary? It seems rather pointless. We are her family, after all.”

“And a family she appears to hold in as much contempt as you do,” her father replied.

He looked up then and Fidelia met his hard gaze. Once a look like that would have made her quail with fear, but no longer. The duke’s eyes narrowed, and he sat back in his chair, considering her.

“You’re looking well, Fidelia.”

“I feel well,” she acknowledged.

“What changed?” he demanded, avid curiosity behind the words, for Beresford wanted to know and control everything and everyone and he could not do that if he did not understand their motivation. “You were little more than a wraith when I left you.”

Fidelia held his gaze. “I’m tired of fighting an immovable object and making myself wretched over it. I will never forgive you for what you did, but I will not throw my life away because of your actions.”

It was the right answer. If she had told him she had accepted his decision, that she knew he had done right by her in taking her child away, he would have known she was lying. But to admit he had won… that he could believe.

His lip curled, a look of disdain in his cold blue eyes. “I’ve no need for your forgiveness. I acted to protect our family honour, something you forgot when you lifted your skirts for the first man to look in your direction. However, no one else knows you are nothing but a slut at heart. I believe I am in a position to arrange a respectable marriage for you despite the rumours of your ill health and your mental state, but you’re getting old, Fidelia, and there is no time to lose.”

No. No time to lose, Fidelia agreed, her heart pounding at the news his grace had not given up on the idea of marrying her off. His vile words slid over her, no longer having the power to hurt her, for she had heard them and far worse and now she knew her own worth. Almost losing her life had given her the perspective to reflect upon her own behaviour and that of her father. He was the one who ought to feel shame, not her. Mr De Beauvoir had helped to give her back that certainty. Fidelia was not the wicked and sinful creature the duke painted her as and he could no longer diminish her in her own mind.

“What are you proposing?” she asked, moving to the window and looking out. From here she could see figures in the distance. Mr De Beauvoir’s gardeners, hard at work. Was he there too? Though she strained her eyes, she could not make him out.

“That’s none of your affair, but you’ll need new gowns. You’d best order what you need. I want you looking your best, do you hear? You’re Beresford’s daughter, I’ll not have you shame me again. By God, I’ll make you pay if you do.”

“Yes, your grace. I shall see to it,” she replied serenely, uncaring of what he had in mind, for she had no intention of doing what he wished. Hoping to change the subject, she asked, “Have you seen the work going on in the gardens?”

The duke grunted and got to his feet, moving to the window. “No. Though it looks like they’re making a bloody mess.”

“The weather has been terrible, the men have worked under awful conditions, but I believe they are making good progress. Perhaps you should visit Mr De Beauvoir and inspect the work while the weather is so nice?” she added, sending a silent plea for forgiveness to Mr De Beauvoir for putting the idea in the duke’s head.

“Hmmm. I might, at that,” Beresford replied, glancing at the sky. “Yes, why not?”

Fidelia grasped her chance, fighting to appear entirely calm as her heart raced. “Might I stay and write a few letters? I can leave them for you to frank for me then. If you wish for me to be properly attired in time for whatever it is you have in mind, I ought to send for the latest fabric samples and designs.”

Her father scowled. He didn’t like anyone in his study when he wasn’t around. “Oh, if you must, I suppose,” he said grudgingly. “I’ll only be gone a half hour or so. I just want to see what that cocksure devil is up to down there.”

Fidelia nodded and sat down at his desk, wondering how on earth she would get into the locked drawers when inspiration hit. “Oh, your grace,” she said, as Beresford strode to the door. “Where might I find the sealing wax and—”

“In the drawers, girl! Where do you think?” he said irritably, looking at her as if she were a halfwit.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said, tugging at a drawer she knew full well was locked. She looked up at him in apparent surprise. “But it’s locked.”

Muttering under his breath, her father withdrew a small set of keys from his pocket and threw them on the desk. “There. Be sure to lock them again once you’re done, if you can manage that,” he added in disgust.

“Oh, I will be sure to do so,” Fidelia said, hiding the satisfied smirk that was bursting to form on her lips as she watched her father leave the room. She waited for the door to close behind him before letting out a little exclamation of joy. Fidelia clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, hardly able to believe she had managed it so easily. With trembling hands, she picked up the keys and promptly dropped them again she was so nervous.

“Hurry, hurry,” she told herself, terrified her father might change his mind and come back at any moment. Finally, she wrenched the drawer open and let out a breath of relief as she saw the rows and rows of small, leather-bound diaries. As fast as she could, she selected the one she wanted and thumbed through until she got to the weeks in question. Too terrified to read them there and then, she simply tore the pages out, replaced the diary and locked the desk. Stuffing the pages carefully into her bodice, Fidelia hastily wrote the letters she had told her father she would leave for him for verisimilitude and ran from the room feeling elated. Whether or not the diaries held the information she hoped for, she had struck the first blow in the battle for her independence and her son’s place beside her, and she was not about to look back.

Chapter 9

Sir,

I pray you will forgive me for the ugly scene and my father’s vile words. I write this in haste and hope that my maid will find a way to get it to you without discovery for I am to be banished from town, back to Hardacre Hall and I do not know when or if I shall ever speak to you again.

Please know that I do not share my father’s views despite what you must think of me. I am foolish and frivolous and terribly spoiled, but not so shallow as all that. Please believe me. I could not bear it if you thought so ill of me as that. I had no intention of causing you distress or embarrassment, though I am horribly aware I am guilty on both counts.