Page 56 of A Landscape of Love

Chapter 16

Such scenes shocked customers at the usually quiet pub in the village of Hardacre, as never had they seen such excitement in their sleepy environs. This reporter can confirm conclusively that Lady Fidelia Ponsonby not only jilted her fiancée, Lord Malmsey, but ran away with the gardener!

A source at the hall confirms their passionate love affair began shortly after Mr Hartley De Beauvoir arrived at the hall.

“Not that I blame her,” said the maid, who has worked at the hall for several years. “For a finer, lustier looking fellow you never did see.”

The couple eloped after a violent altercation, during which Mr De Beauvoir ruthlessly knocked down Lord Malmsey before attacking her brother, Lord Richmond, as he tried to save his sister from her folly. Richmond, having lost his head with despair at his sister’s scandalous elopement, attacked Mr De Beauvoir with a broadsword, only to be routed by the lady herself. Lady Fidelia struck her brother with a whip, distracting him for long enough for her lover to deliver the blow that felled him and allowed the two to escape into the night.

―Excerpt of an article in the Morning Post’s society column.

11th March 1850, Isleworth, London.

Hart hurried down the stairs and out into the fresh air, sucking in a deep breath in a vain attempt to cool the fire in his blood. Some hope. He’d known from the start Fidelia was dangerous, that she tempted him into desiring things he knew better than to want from such a high-bred lady. Too late now.

She’d agreed to marry him. The realisation was still sinking in that Lady Fidelia Ponsonby, daughter of the Duke of Beresford, was marrying him, of all men, too ridiculous to believe. Not only was he a workhouse bastard, but he was in trade, a situation terrible enough to estrange her from society for the rest of her days. He wondered if she had really thought it through, but then what choice did she have? The idea of Fidelia trying to live alone with an illegitimate child made him so terrified he broke out in a cold sweat. She would be insulted at every turn by men who would consider her fair game, and he did not know how she would fend for herself, cooking and cleaning, when she had never done such manual work in her life. She would try, though, he thought, an odd sensation of pride bursting through him. Fidelia would fight and she would try, for if she had something to fight for, she was a woman to be reckoned with.

Hart grinned to himself as he recalled the vision of her using the whip to strike her brother, speaking to him with such utter contempt. She had been as proud as a queen and completely in control of herself. God, but she was wonderful and he… he adored her.

The admission was so alarming it made him stop in the middle of the street. A fellow cursed, muttering crossly as he almost ploughed into the back of Hart, but he was too shocked to even notice. His mother had been right, as she too often was. God help him, but he’d fallen in love with Lady Fidelia. He wasn’t marrying her because he had to, because it was the honourable thing to do, or because she needed him. He was marrying her because he couldn’t bear the idea of her being anywhere else but at his side. The thought of a man like Lord Malmsey taking her as his wife made Hart so thoroughly nauseated, he thought he might puke right there in the street.

“Christ,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair and taking a deep, steadying breath.

He waited for the sensation of terror to assail him, for the feelings of frustration and anger at having been so bloody stupid as to have given his heart away without even knowing it. Rather to his surprise, he felt nothing of the sort. Instead, there was a peaceful sense of inevitability, of hope and anticipation for the future that he’d never known before.

All his life Hart had striven to better himself, to build an empire, to make a name for himself that proved he was worthy of having taken it as his own when it was not his by blood. Suddenly that powerful drive to succeed eased a little, merging with a new and equally powerful need to build a life with Fidelia and her son, to see her happy and to give her everything she could dream of.

Hart let out a shaky breath and forced himself to walk on, finding his steps growing faster as he strode to the church. The bloody vicar would marry them today no matter what, for he couldn’t risk losing Fidelia, not for any price.

They were married that afternoon, after Hart had given the church a generous donation and endured the vicar’s scandalised muttering upon discovering who he was marrying.

His parents and Lord Alex were in attendance, and the service was mercifully short. The sun shone as Hart escorted his wife from the church and, despite knowing there were many challenges ahead, he felt unexpectedly and foolishly pleased with himself. In fact, he could not keep the smile from his lips as his mother threw a handful of rice over them, most of it hitting him in the face.

“Congratulations! Oh, I’m so happy for you both,” Minerva said, hugging Fidelia before reaching up on her toes to plant a big kiss on Hart’s cheek.

“Thanks, Ma,” Hart said, glancing down at Fidelia, who was looking a little dazed.

“Thank you, Mrs De Beauvoir,” she said, gathering herself as she turned to his mother. “You’ve been kinder than I had any right to expect from you.”

“Oh, pish,” his mother said crossly. “What nonsense, and do call me Minerva, my dear, or Mama if you prefer. Whatever you feel most comfortable with.”

“Thank you, Minerva,” Fidelia said, appearing touched by the invitation, if not yet at ease enough to call her Mama.

“And Alex is coming to stay with us until you’re settled,” she added firmly, taking the boy’s arm.

“Oh, but…” Fidelia began anxiously, only to have Hart’s mother wave her protests aside.

“Newly married persons need privacy and their own space, which will be challenge enough in those poky rooms Hart keeps at his place of work. You will hurry and arrange that house, won’t you, dear?” she demanded, giving him a stern look.

“I said so, didn’t I?” Hart said reproachfully, suddenly feeling queasy at the realisation that Fidelia would have to live in his rooms for the next few weeks. Good God, Lady Fidelia Ponsonby, living over the shop. The scandal sheets would crucify them.

“Besides, we are looking forward to having Alex stay with us,” his mother went on, blithely unaware of Hart’s sudden sensation of approaching doom. “Aren’t we, Inigo?” she added, prodding her husband, who had been studying a brightly coloured lichen on a tombstone with interest.

“Oh, certainly,” he said, recalling himself to the conversation. He actually looked as if he meant it, too. “Alex wants me to show him my laboratory,” he added, which explained a lot.

“You’ll be all right?” Fidelia asked her brother anxiously.

Alex laughed and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Of course I will. I’m looking forward to it. Good heavens, Lia, where would you rather be, at Hardacre with his grace or with Mr and Mrs De Beauvoir, being fed too much and talking about all manner of things, from science to architecture? I know my answer if you don’t!”