Page 64 of A Landscape of Love

Larkin was gazing at her in astonishment, and Fidelia blushed, looking back at Hart, who carried on the story.

“It was a terrible night. The girl sought refuge and was taken in by an old lady. It was Mrs Mitchell, Larkin. She saw you talking to the girl the next morning and swore blind that she went with you.”

Larkin got to his feet in a rush, moving to stand by the window. He stared out, though Hart thought he didn’t see what was outside.

“It was you,” Hart pressed.

“Yes,” Larkin replied, his voice quiet. “Yes, it was, but… but I don’t understand. It’s your child?”

Fidelia nodded. “He was hours old. I didn’t get more than a cursory glance at him before he was snatched from my arms. I will never forgive my father for what he did, but now I am free of him, and I want my son back.”

“I don’t understand,” Larkin repeated, looking as hurt as he was bewildered. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

Hart got to his feet and moved to stand beside Larkin, placing a hand on his shoulder. “My wife wants her boy, Larkin. Losing him nearly broke her. The past years have been hard for her to endure, and I gave her my word I would see him returned to her.”

“Oh, God,” Larkin said. He looked ill, his complexion turned ashen.

Fidelia got to her feet, moving to Hart with fear in her eyes. “What is it? What’s the trouble? Who is this woman? Has she still got my son? What has she done with him?”

“Please, don’t upset yourself, my lady,” Larkin said, though his voice was heavy. “I cannot understand precisely what has happened, but if the boy is truly yours, he is well and happy. Indeed, he is the most cherished and adored boy in the world, that much I can promise you.”

“Then he really is alive, and l-loved?” Fidelia pressed, her voice becoming choked.

“Yes,” Larkin said. “Adored more like, I should say.”

“And the woman who took him?” she demanded, her eyes glittering with excitement. “You must tell me, who is she?”

Larkin exchanged a glance with Hart, who nodded. “Her name is Elmira Hastings.”

“H-Hastings,” Fidelia murmured, and Hart just had time to catch her as she tumbled into a dead faint.

Chapter 18

Dearest Violetta,

Another day has dawned as days are wont to do. For once, the sun is shining, spring is in the air and the birds are singing. I’m hoping for a nice juicy robin for my elevenses if you want the truth, but I know you will scold me for eating birds and so I cannot allow myself the pleasure.

I wonder what it would take to make you look upon me with approval. If I never caught another pretty little bird, perhaps? If I stopped making a tangle of your embroidery silks and left no dead mice to make you squeal. Would you return my regard then, I wonder?

Yours, ever,

―Excerpt of a letter to the Hon’ble Miss Violetta Spencer (cousin and adopted daughter to The Right Hon’ble Kitty and Luke Baxter, Countess and Earl of Trevick) from The Hon’ble Cat, Mau – Never sent.

12th March 1850, Goshen Court, Monmouthshire.

Leo glanced up at the large cat sitting on the corner of his desk. His great yellow eyes regarded him with something that looked very much like contempt.

“Don’t sneer, Mau,” Leo said irritably. “What the devil else am I to do? Don’t answer that,” he added quickly.

“You’ve lost your mind,” came a sad voice from the doorway of the library. “I knew it would happen, eventually. Not that there was much of it to begin with.”

“Ha-bloody-ha,” Leo remarked, glaring at Ashton, who lounged ornamentally against the doorframe, looking far too suave for his own good. “I’ll have you know Mau is a fine conversationalist and has a good deal more sense that you do.”

Ashton snorted and pushed himself upright, prowling into the room with a look that usually spelled trouble for anyone who spoke to him in a way he decided he didn’t like. Aware of this, and despite appearances to the contrary, Leo was not quite as reckless as most people believed. He had a healthy regard for Ashton’s lethal right hook and was in no hurry to spar with him. Caution was required.

“On that point, we are in accord,” Ash said darkly.

Leo sighed and put down his pen. “All right. I’ll bite. What’s the trouble?”