Page 41 of A Landscape of Love

With a sick sensation growing in his gut, he reread the letter, dismayed to discover no chink of light, no possibility that Fidelia was overwrought and reading too much into a situation she had misunderstood. Fidelia was no fool and there was no chance the duke had been anything but blunt in his explanation of what he expected of her. Unless Hart intervened, by the end of the month, Fidelia would be Lady Malmsey.

His guts, already in a knot, churned at the idea, a cold sensation of dread settling in his chest, squatting in the vicinity of his heart like a fat toad.

No.

No matter if it cost him the garden at Hardacre, no matter if he walked away from it thousands in debt and with his reputation in tatters, no matter the price, he could not leave Fidelia to such a fate. He would never forgive himself.

That didn’t mean he had to like it.

Hart walked to the window of his office. It looked out over the extensive grounds of his empire, over dozens of greenhouses, the fabulous orchid house, and miles of nursery beds. His business was going from strength to strength, and financially he could bear any loss incurred by walking away from Hardacre. The loss of his dream, however, his ambitions to cement his reputation so securely no one could ever take it from him, that was another thing. He had wanted to make the name his own, to have people speak it in years to come and remark that he was the one who had created such beautiful and innovative gardens. If nothing else, Hart was a realist, and never shied away from the truth, no matter how hard to swallow it might be, and if he did this, he must say goodbye to that dream. There would be a scandal, and none of the grand houses in the country would wish to be associated with him once that scandal broke.

His decision made, there was no reason to linger. Hart strode to the door and walked out. It was time he returned to Hardacre.

Fidelia sat in the window seat in her bedroom, staring out at landscape beyond the glass. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to allow herself to sink into melancholy, to believe there was no hope, no chance for escape and no glimmer of happiness to be found in the world, but she refused to give in. Every time despair threatened to overwhelm her, she remembered Hart, the deep tenor of his voice, the warmth and strength of his arms, and the soft touch of his lips upon hers. He had promised to see her and Ambrose safe and with everything they needed. Hart had given his word and Fidelia knew he was not a man who would ever renege on such a promise. She had believed promises before—foolish, flimsy things with no more substance than gossamer—but Hart’s promises were of a different variety, build on firm foundations of decency and honesty and as strong as oak. He would not let her down, despite the fears that had arisen from the letter he had sent to Alex, and which she had understood meant something entirely different from the words written on the page.

Why had her son not been at the foundling home? Had he been adopted? By whom? A loving family who treated him kindly or…? Terrible images paraded through her mind and Fidelia forced herself to stop. There was nothing to be gained by tormenting herself. She must be patient a little longer, then Hart would come for her and all would be well. It did not stop her from feeling sick to her stomach.

The door to her bedroom flew open and Fidelia leapt to her feet in alarm, gasping as Alex burst in. He closed the door and leaned heavily against it. His eyes were glittering too brightly, his chest heaving, and a thin trickle of blood ran from his lip.

“Alex!” Fidelia exclaimed, running to him.

The boy’s lips trembled, but he struggled manfully against tears, putting up his chin.

“I told him,” he said proudly, though his voice trembled.

“Told him what?” Fidelia asked in alarm, needing no explanation that ‘he’ referred to their father.

“That forcing you to marry that despicable brute of a man was pure wickedness and dishonourable too, and that I wouldn’t let him do it.”

“Oh, Alex,” Fidelia said in wonder, astonished and deeply touched that her little brother would stand up for her when he was so afraid of their father. “Oh, love. You brave, foolish boy.”

“He… He said…” Alex went on, and now she saw his face was white and he held himself stiffly, his fists clenched at his sides. “He said you were lucky any man wanted to marry you, Lia. He s-said you’re damaged goods, that you’ve got a bastard son, but… but that can’t be true, can it?”

The last words of enquiry were those of a child, asking for something they knew they could not have but wanted all the same and Fidelia’s heart broke.

Facing him with regret, wondering if she was to lose her brother now too, she met his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I’m afraid it’s true.”

Alex stared at her, shaking his head. “But it can’t be. Where is the child? If… If you had a son I would know, and…”

Fidelia moved forward, taking his hands in hers. “Father sent me away as soon as he realised and made me stay away until after the birth. He took my son from me the moment he was born, and then he sent me home and expected me to carry on as if nothing had happened,” Fidelia said, hating the duke for doing this to Alex, even as the confession lifted a little of the burden from her soul.

She saw the information sink in, saw Alex fitting the pieces of the puzzle into place, all the things he had not understood before now making sense to him.

“That’s why you were so unhappy. Because he broke your heart? Because you wanted your baby back?” he whispered.

Fidelia swallowed hard and nodded, wondering if she would see disgust in his eyes, if he would revile her and turn his back. She ought to have known better.

Alex threw his arms about her and clung on tight. “Oh, Lia, I’m so sorry. I… I wish you had told me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Fidelia felt a lump rise to her throat, tears burning her eyes. “I wanted to,” she admitted. “I wanted to tell you and Narcissa so badly, but Father said he would punish you both if I spoke a word about it, and I knew it would be awful. I couldn’t have you pay for my mistake, so I said nothing and… and I wasn’t certain what you would think of me, whether you could forgive me for what I’d done.”

Alex stared at her in reproachful astonishment. “Lia… How could you think that of me? You’re my best friend in the world, and you’ve always protected me from Father. How could you think I wouldn’t do the same for you in a heartbeat?”

“I’m s-sorry,” Fidelia said, and finally her composure cracked, and she burst into tears.

“There, there,” Alex said, taking his turn to comfort her now as he guided her to the bed and sat her down on the mattress. “It’s all right.”

“It isn’t the least bit all right,” Fidelia said, doing her utmost to calm herself. “You’re bleeding for one thing,” she added crossly, taking a clean handkerchief and applying it to the blood on his chin.