Page 48 of A Landscape of Love

“You weren’t too shabby yourself,” he replied, his lips quirking. “You looked like Boudicca, wielding that damned whip and speaking to him like that.”

“‘Who do you think you are, Edward Longshanks?’” Alex piped up, in a fair imitation of his sister.

Hart snorted and shook his head. “For the love of God, get in the carriage,” he said with a sigh. “I think we’ve caused enough of a stir for one night.”

Fidelia did as he asked, Alex following her inside. Hart climbed up next and closed the door and finally the carriage moved away. The light from the carriage lamp was not bright, but it was enough to see Hart’s face was bruised and bloody.

“Oh, Hart,” Fidelia said, producing a clean handkerchief and applying it to a cut on his cheek.

“Don’t fuss,” he grumbled, pushing her hand away. “I’m fine.”

Fidelia sighed and sat back, knowing he would not allow her to look after him, not with Alex looking on with interest. “It’s bad though, isn’t it?” she asked, knowing he would understand she did not mean his injuries, which appeared to be superficial.

He nodded. “By morning, half the county will know you’ve run off with me.”

“But Alex is with us,” Fidelia protested.

Hart raised his eyebrows at her, and Fidelia swallowed. It wouldn’t make any difference. “Well, I fully expected to be ruined, so it makes no odds,” she said, trying to sound cheerful and matter of fact.

Hart said nothing, and she knew then what he was thinking. He would sacrifice himself and all his hopes and dreams to keep her safe. He didn’t want a wife, but he’d marry her because he was decent to his marrow and believed it was the right thing to do.

“No,” she said, shaking her head and glaring at him. “No, Hart. I won’t have you give up everything for me. I’ve caused you enough trouble. Oh, and your garden, you’ve already lost so much, and I’m so sorry,” she added, her voice trembling now as the enormity of what had transpired came home to her.

Hart was silent, but there was a look in his eyes that suggested she would have a battle on her hands.

“What?” Alex asked, glancing between them. “What is happening?”

“Nothing for the moment, but we’ve a way to go. You’d best get some rest,” Hart said, before turning his attention to the darkened countryside outside the window.

Fidelia stared at him, wishing she had the slightest idea of what he was thinking. The dim light cast his face into shadow, showing the firm line of his jaw and that rather uncompromising nose. Lord, but he was handsome, and oh, how she adored him. The longing to move beside him and demand he take her in his arms made her chest feel tight, her skin aching with the desire for him to put his hands on her. Though it only made matters worse, she gazed upon his heavily muscled shoulders and broad chest encased in the clothes of a working man and wondered what it might be like to build a life with him. For a moment she allowed herself the dangerous fantasy of a home with her son and with Hartley De Beauvoir as her husband, as father to her child. What a father he would be, too. She could tell that from how he’d treated Alex, and simply by the inherent decency and kindness that shone from him.

Hart turned, catching her eye. He frowned. “What?” he demanded, uncomfortable under the weight of what she knew must be a look of besotted adoration.

“Nothing,” she said with a wistful sigh. “Those seeds I’ve tended so carefully will all die now, though. I hope that’s not an omen.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, with something that sounded very much like fond exasperation in his voice. “There will be plenty more opportunities to try your hand at growing things, I promise you.”

Fidelia refused to allow herself to contemplate the temptation of what those words implied and turned her attention to the window. Staring out for a long moment, she steeled herself to ask the question she had not been brave enough to demand before. Not that she’d had the opportunity, either.

“Where is my son?” she asked, not looking at him for fear of what she might see in his eyes.

There was a brief hesitation before he answered. “I don’t know.”

Fidelia nodded, fighting the swell of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.

“I see.”

“I don’t know yet, Fidelia. I have information that ought to lead us to him.”

She turned to look at him, her heart leaping. She knew Hart well enough to know he would not give her false hope. He would believe it was best to face the truth head on. He was that kind of man. So, he really believed there was still a chance.

He returned a gentle smile. “It seems the night your father took Ambrose to the foundling home, a young woman who did not work there met him on the doorstep. According to the man your father made the rendezvous with, she was a lady, and a beautiful one too.”

“A lady?” Fidelia repeated in astonishment. “But who? And… why?”

Hart shrugged. “That I can’t tell you, not yet. But the night was freezing, snow falling heavily. The woman was obliged to take lodgings nearby, but no one would house a single woman with a newborn baby in her arms.”

“Oh,” Fidelia said, unable to smother the sound of misery that escaped her.