Page 4 of A Landscape of Love

“I beg your pardon,” she said, the emotionless tenor of the words making Hart’s instincts prickle.

He clenched his fists, wishing he could demand the duke treat her with more care. Could the man not see she was suffering from melancholia? Hart glanced at her brother, relieved to see that he too was watching his sister with concern. At least there was someone who worried for her. Lady Fidelia obediently lowered her gaze from the window to the cold toast on her plate. He saw now that she was not as young as he’d thought, perhaps in her middle twenties, though she still seemed little more than a girl to his eye.

“See Mr De Beauvoir out, if you can manage that much,” Beresford added, his tone scathing.

“Your grace,” Fidelia murmured, and got to her feet.

Feeling rather sick at the appalling insight into their family life, Hart assumed that meant he’d been dismissed and followed her out with relief. Despite himself, Hart’s gaze could not help but linger on her slender frame, on the sway of her hips as she moved so gracefully, like long grass swaying in a breeze. They walked in silence, which Hart appreciated. He could not bear inconsequential chatter and rarely spoke unless he had anything to say. Gossip and chitchat were not to his taste; probably why he preferred plants to most people. This silence, however, was oppressive. It made his nerves leap with the need to break it. Perhaps if he could speak with her, he might reassure himself that she was not the tragedy waiting to happen that he feared she was.

They were almost at the door when he asked, “Would you prefer orchids, or a palm house, my lady?”

Fidelia gave him a wide-eyed look of startled surprise. “I really don’t care,” she said, and then turned away, leaving him to make his own way out.

Chapter 2

Mama,

What can you tell me about Lady Fidelia Ponsonby? I see her often around the gardens here, drifting about like a sad little ghost. She doesn’t speak to anyone, she seems afraid to do so, but there is such an aura of sorrow that clings to her I cannot help but fear for her. Has there been some tragedy? Every day she walks to the lake and stares down into the water and I am horribly afraid of what is going on in her mind.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Hartley De Beauvoir to his mother, Mrs Minerva De Beauvoir.

14th January

Dearest Hartley,

Regarding Lady Fidelia, I will tell you what I gleaned from Matilda. She had several seasons, but despite being quite lovely and having a generous dowry, she didn’t really take. She was very shy and unprepared for the ton. The duke guarded his girls very close, and they had little society before they came out so it must have been a shock to them.

I don’t doubt she had offers enough, though. Matilda wondered if there was some scandal surrounding her, but the duke squashed it if there was. I think it was rumoured she was to marry the Earl of Whishen, which I hope never comes to pass. He’s a decent enough fellow, but hugely fat and old enough to be her father. Matilda suspected she had a tendre for Lord Elsmere, rather a loose screw, though he has a good deal of address, but not a penny to his name. Her father would never have countenanced it.

After that, she disappeared from society due to ill health. I am sorry to hear your description of her, for according to Matilda, she was a sweet girl, which is remarkable considering her father. I believe her sister is out now, quite a different kettle of fish, by all accounts.

Hart, have a care. I know you feel sorry for the girl, but she is the daughter of a duke. Whilst I would never advise you not to help anyone in distress, guard yourself there, my dearest son. Any friendship between you could lead to no good.

―Excerpt of a letter to Mr Hartley De Beauvoir from his mother, Mrs Minerva De Beauvoir.

2nd February 1850, Hardacre Hall, Hardacre, Derbyshire.

“Mr De Beauvoir, sir?”

Hart turned at the respectful voice, rather surprised to see the duke’s youngest son, Lord Rufus-Alexander Ponsonby. According to Harris, who seemed to be the fount of all knowledge concerning the family, the boy preferred to be called Lord Alex.

“My lord?” Hart said, gesturing for his men to carry on without him.

Alex’s fair cheeks, already pink from the cold, darkened. “I h-hope I’m not bothering you. At least… I know I am bothering you, for you’re busy, but—”

He was clutching a roll of paper, the kind used for drawing up plans.

“You have something to show me?” Hart guessed, interrupting the stream of nervous chatter.

Lord Alex nodded with relief. “Yes. That is, I don’t expect they’re of any use, but… but I was thinking about the glass house.”

Hart looked at the proffered plans, and then at the diffident expression in the boy’s eyes. He seemed prepared to be told to get lost, though he’d probably spent all day screwing up the courage to come here.

“I’m in the middle of something right now,” Hart said gently, hurrying on as the boy’s face fell. “But if you would care to come to the cottage—at five, say—I could take a look then.”

“Oh!” he said, so comically pleased by the invitation Hart had to smile.

“I might even manage a cup of tea and some biscuits,” he offered.