Page 49 of A Landscape of Love

“Someone did, though,” he said quickly. “An old lady who lived next to the inn took pity on them and let them stay until the snow melted. She did not know where they went next, but she said she saw the lady in the street on the morning she left, speaking with a gentleman. It seems she went with him.”

“What gentleman, where did she go?” Fidelia demanded, her head spinning.

“Do you trust me, Fidelia?” he asked her, his voice low, his indigo eyes intent upon her.

She let out a little breath of laughter, staring at him helplessly. “With my life, and that of my brother, and my child. Of course I trust you, my dearest Hart.”

Something flickered in his eyes, but the carriage was too dark, and she could not read his expression. He reached over and took her hand, though, squeezing it gently as he spoke. “Then trust me when I tell you I shall find your son. I give you my word I’ll bring him home to you, Fidelia, but I can tell you no more at present. Can you be satisfied with that?”

“No,” she said in frustration before relenting and giving a reluctant sigh. “But I shall hold my tongue, for I believe in you, and I believe you would scour the earth to return my son to me if it were necessary.”

“Good girl,” he said approvingly, his voice warm.

If anyone else had said such words to her, she would have reared up with indignation. But Hart did not mean it in terms of condescension, it was only that he viewed her as an innocent in a world of wickedness. Considering everything she’d done and what that world would soon think of her, that touched her deeply.

“Now get some rest.”

“Yes, Hartley,” she said, wondering if he had the slightest idea of how desperately she loved him.

Chapter 14

Ash,

You’ll not get an ounce of sympathy or the benefit of my much-needed advice until you confess all.

WHO IS SHE???

Don’t play the innocent, my darling twin. I know you better than I know myself.

Spill the beans, you great oaf, and maybe then I’ll see what I can do.

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

11th March 1850, Isleworth, London.

Hart looked out of the carriage window as the early morning light painted the sky over London in shades from peach through to soft pink and shocking magenta. The streets here were familiar to him, and yet they seemed changed since the last time he’d been here. Everything seemed different, but he could not put his finger on what had changed or why. As he glanced at the beautiful, if dishevelled young woman asleep opposite him, an odd sensation rose in his chest and his heart gave an uneven thud. The desire to protect her, to keep her with him always so he knew she was safe, was so overpowering it took him by surprise.

When Alex had told him Lord Malmsey frightened her, that she might be in danger, it had made him sick with terror and now… now Hart’s emotions were all on end, something fierce and possessive rising inside him every time he looked at her. He wanted her more than he cared to admit, even to himself, but he had known desire before, and it was more than that. The powerful need to make her his tangled up with other feelings that had his guts all in a knot. That Malmsey had the power to take her away, could force her to marry him, for he had her father’s consent, made Hart want to do violence, preferably to Lord Malmsey. But these new and too powerful emotions were disturbing, and he was not at all certain he liked feeling so… so… whatever it was. Tearing his gaze from Fidelia, he returned his attention to the passing scenery and smothered a yawn that made his jaw crack. Hart rubbed irritably at the stubble on his chin. Lord, he needed a wash and a shave and something to eat.

It had been an interminable journey. Though they’d had the good fortune to catch the train to town by the skin of their teeth, it had been a second-class carriage and Hart had hated the indignity of it on Fidelia’s behalf. Though he had often spoken scathingly of the upper classes, there was no denying Fidelia was a lady and ought to be treated as such. He glanced at her now, sleeping with her head on her brother’s shoulder and his heart did another odd little thud behind his ribs. Beautiful. Something like pain settled in his chest as he gazed at her. She was pale, her heavy blonde hair escaping its pins and her lovely face shadowed with exhaustion. Yet she had uttered not one word of complaint for the entire journey. Nor had she asked where he was taking her. She said she trusted him, not only with her own life but that of her brother and her son. Suddenly he was responsible for the three of them and the enormity of that sat on his shoulders with a weight that threatened to sink him.

“Where are we going, sir?” Alex asked, and Hart looked back at the boy to see him staring blearily out of the window, having just woken up.

“Here,” Hart said as the carriage finally rolled to a stop.

He had previously intended to take her to Gillmont, but that had been when she had faced the future alone. He was not about to let her do that now, so this seemed the obvious solution for the present.

Alex looked surprised, and Hart wondered what the lad saw coming from a place like Hardacre Hall. To Hart’s eye, the three storey, handsome red brick townhouse was a place that would always make his heart lift. It was a sanctuary from a world that had been terrifying to a small boy of six. Life behind the painted green door of the house on Church Street had opened his eyes to another life, one filled with love and laughter and safety, where he was tucked into a warm bed at night with stories and kisses, and never with an empty belly.

“Fidelia, love, wake up now,” he said, reaching for her hand. She sighed, her slender fingers closing around his. It was devilish hard not to raise them to his lips, to kiss each one and make promises he hadn’t a hope of keeping.

Her eyes opened and Hart felt the oddest sensation behind his ribs as those crystalline blue eyes settled upon his, filled with warmth and admiration. Gratitude, he reminded himself sternly. She was grateful to him for what he’d done for her, that was all. There was no point in getting excited about it, no matter if she fancied it was more than that. She had been through so much these past years, it was no wonder she thought herself in love with the first fellow who offered her a little kindness. She’d realise the difference soon enough. Once she had her son back.

Hart reached for her bonnet and settled it in place, tying the ribbons under her chin as she did not yet seem awake enough to manage it herself.

“Where are we?” she asked, blinking hazily at him.

For a moment Hart fought the desire to lean in and press a kiss to that lush mouth, to give her words that it would be more than foolish to speak, but he was no fool. Hart never spoke without thinking, if he spoke at all, and this seemed an excellent moment to hold his tongue before he went making a twit of himself.