Page 46 of A Landscape of Love

“I should think I am,” Alex said hotly. “Father will skin me alive for my part in this and I’d not stay for a million pounds. If… If that’s all right with you?” he added, regarding Hart with an anxious expression.

“It is,” Hart agreed. He wanted them both away from those vile men, though he doubted if he’d be able to keep Alex with them for long when the duke discovered his defection.

“Oh, but Alex,” Fidelia began, horrified that her brother should be cast adrift too. He did not know what he was doing, what he was giving up by allying himself with her. She must warn him. “Alex, you must go back, you don’t understand—”

“Hush, love,” Hart said firmly. “We’ll talk about this later.”

With little choice but to do as he asked, Fidelia allowed him to throw her up into the saddle before taking his place behind her, and they were on their way.

Chapter 13

Dearest Viv,

I’m staying at Goshen Court for a while. Thought I ought to let you know. I need a bit of peace and quiet, though upon discovering Leo here, I rather doubt I shall get any.

I wonder if you know how I envy you your happiness, my dearest sister. I am tired. Tired of being the fellow the ladies love to flirt with and take to their beds, but never being quite good enough for anything else. I’m tired of seeing the look of horror in the eyes of those doting mamas or protective fathers, when they realise their little darlings might view me as a potential mate. It’s not as though I’m in any rush to get married, for I’m not, only it is uncomfortable to realise that my choices may be limited if ever I decide to take the plunge.

I certainly don’t wish to marry someone who is only looking for a title, though they’d be mad to marry me for the viscountcy. Our father looks as hale and hearty as a man half his age and I thank God that I won’t be inheriting any time soon. Of course, his complete and utter disregard for the ton does me no more favours than my own behaviour. And yes, I know you warned me that my brawling would get me a reputation and so it has. Well done you for being right as usual.

How did you know August was the one for you? What was it about him that made you certain you had a future together? I find I am no longer able to trust my own judgement. Choosing the correct waistcoat is one thing, trying to decide if a woman has the potential to be one’s wife, quite another. I’m out of my depth, Viv, and drowning by slow degrees.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Hon’ble Ashton Anson to his twin sister Mrs Vivien Lane–Fox. (children of The Right Hon’ble Silas and Aashini Anson, the Viscount and Viscountess Cavendish)

10th March 1850, Hardacre Hall, Hardacre, Derbyshire.

The village of Hardacre was a quiet one and Fidelia and her brother’s arrival with Hart caused more than a little speculation. Fidelia realised then what Hart had known at once. There would be no keeping him out of the scandal. Everyone would know who had helped her run away from her home.

Still, Hart acted as though there was nothing out of the ordinary as he arranged for the hire of a carriage, and Fidelia could only feel glad that Alex was there to lend her countenance, as selfish as that was. She could not help but worry for her brother, wondering what on earth would become of Alex if their father disinherited him for playing a part in ruining his plans.

She had begun to hope they might get away without incident when shouts outside the coaching inn where Hart was paying for their travel made her heart skip. Fidelia immediately recognised the sharp, angry tones as those of Richmond, her elder brother. Alex recognised the enraged voice too and sidled closer to Hart. She didn’t blame him. Richmond had always been a bully and had not improved with age, nor from the toll of a lifestyle that indulged all his vices to the full.

Fidelia gasped as he strode into the inn, shouting the odds as usual and pushing people out of the way as if he were some ancient feudal lord and they were nothing but chattel. He looked far older than his five and thirty years, dissipation showing on his rather bloated face. He’d been a fine figure of a man once, tall and muscular and as athletic as their father, but indulgence had turned much of that muscle to fat and his florid face was now red with fury.

“Fidelia, you little fool. How dare you make such a scene?”

“The only person making a scene here is you, Richmond,” Fidelia replied, with as much calm as she could muster, horribly aware of the patrons of the inn turning their way with interest.

“Malmsey!” Richmond called. “Your errant fiancée is in here.”

“Oh, lord,” Alex muttered, exchanging a glance with Fidelia. “That’s torn it.”

Richmond crossed the room, glowering at her and Alex. “You’ll regret making a fool of Malmsey,” he muttered angrily, reaching for Fidelia’s arm. Before his fingers could close around her wrist, his arm was yanked aside with such force, Richmond staggered. He righted himself and turned on Hart, who had interposed himself between them and their older brother.

“Who the bloody hell are you? Get out of my way.”

“No,” Hart replied, folding his arms.

Richmond was not used to being told no, and his expression was momentarily one of such incredulity that Fidelia almost laughed. The impulse for hilarity was short-lived, though, as Richmond’s face became murderous, and he took a step closer to Hart.

“That woman is my sister, sir, and if you don’t get out of the bloody way, I’ll make you regret it.”

“Go on, then,” Hart said calmly, not moving an inch.

Fidelia could not have said exactly what happened next, except that one moment Richmond was throwing a punch at Hart and the next he was sprawled on the floor clutching at his nose while blood steadily from between his fingers.

“Oh, I say, what a corker!” Alex said, much diverted by this show of pugilistic talent. “Well done, sir!”

“Thank you,” Hart said wryly, ushering them both past the prone figure of Richmond and out into the yard where the carriage was waiting. He had just given Fidelia his hand to help her up the steps when Alex gave a yelp of pain.