Page 50 of A Landscape of Love

“My parents’ house,” he said shortly, climbing out of the carriage and reaching back to take her hand.

He saw the appalled look on her face and sighed.

“It’s all right,” he assured her.

“How can it be all right?” she demanded, shrinking back against the seat. “They’ll be furious with me. Oh, Hart, take us away from here at once before we create an even bigger scandal than we have. What were you thinking?”

“Get out of the carriage, Fidelia.” Hart sighed. “I’m too tired to argue with you.”

“Well, that’s tough, because I’m not going inside that door under any…eek! Oh, put me down, you big oaf! Oh, what will people say now, you dreadful—”

“Morning, Mother,” Hart said as the door opened, and his mother looked out to discover what the commotion was on her front step.

“Good morning, darling boy,” his mother said, apparently unfazed by the lady slung over his shoulder as he carried her inside. “I take it this is Lady Fidelia? And it seems you have been in a fight, too. How fascinating.”

Hart hesitated for a moment, gazing down at the diminutive figure of his mother, who was staring at him with a look of amused resignation.

“How the devil…?” he began with a growl, only to shake his head. “Never mind. Yes, it is, and her brother Lord Alex.”

Fidelia’s voice was a little muffled but nonetheless incensed. “Hartley De Beauvoir, if you don’t put me down this instant…”

His mother closed the door once Alex was inside. She turned to look at them as Hart set Fidelia gently on her feet. Upright once more, Fidelia smacked his chest in frustration, glaring at him, before turning to face his mother. Cheeks flushed with mortification, she put up her chin all the same.

“Mrs De Beauvoir,” she began, her voice quavering a little. “I promise you if I’d had the slightest idea this was where your son was taking us, I should never have allowed him to do so.”

“I suppose it’s a good job he didn’t tell you, then,” his mother said frankly, for which Hart could have kissed her. “Now, if you’ve all stopped being very foolish, you’d best come into the breakfast parlour. I needn’t ask if you are hungry, Hart. You always are and, if you’re in as much trouble as I suspect, you’ll need your strength. Come along, all of you.”

Hart gestured for Fidelia to precede him, gaining a look of pure fury as she swept past him.

“Don’t worry, she always takes a pet when she’s embarrassed,” Alex said confidentially. “It doesn’t last.”

Hart accepted this piece of advice with equanimity and followed Alex into the breakfast parlour, pausing as his father’s sharp eyes looked up from the plate of eggs and bacon he’d been enjoying and settled upon him.

“Hartley,” he said, his tone impossible to read. “You look dreadful, and it seems we have guests,” he added dryly as he got to his feet.

“I couldn’t warn you,” Hart replied, feeling a little defensive. “It was all a bit last minute.”

“Elopements usually are,” his mother said wryly, giving him a sharp look that made Hart’s cheeks feel hot, rather to his mortification.

“Oh, it’s not an elopement,” Fidelia said quickly. “We’re not… that is… I’m not… I mean to say—”

“Fidelia, for heaven’s sake, sit down so everyone else can,” Hart suggested.

Fidelia shot him a look that suggested retribution in the near future but did as he instructed.

“Hartley, how likely is it that the Duke of Beresford will break my door down at some point over the next few days?” his father asked mildly as he returned his attention to his breakfast.

Hart cleared his throat, but Alex got in before he could speak.

“Not very likely, Mr De Beauvoir,” he said politely. “Our father will probably wash his hands of us. He cannot abide scandal to attach to the family name, you see, and what with the fight at the inn last night, with Malmsey shouting his head off and my brother brandishing a sword, and—”

Hart groaned inwardly as his father’s head came up, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh, a sword fight?” his mother said, looking positively gleeful. “Goodness, it does sound like you’ve had an exciting time.”

“I don’t like exciting times,” his father replied grimly. “I don’t like scandal sheets and print shop caricatures, either. I won’t be subjected to any of those things, will I, Hartley?”

“Er…” Hart began, rubbing the back of his neck.