Page 66 of A Landscape of Love

Larkin nodded. “She practically runs the place.”

“Right,” Hart said, turning back to Fidelia. “Well, love? Are you up to going for a visit?”

Fidelia glared at him, the hint of steel he had always known she possessed glinting in her eyes. “Of course I’m up to it. I was only shocked for a moment, that’s all. I never dreamed she would do such a brave and wonderful thing. You do not know the relief I feel, knowing he has been loved and cared for all this time. I have been so terribly afraid for him.”

Hart smiled at her and squeezed her hand, helping her up. He adjusted her bonnet, which had gone askew when she’d fainted. “Let’s go then, love.”

The journey to Hampstead Heath was a quiet one. Fidelia kept wringing her hands, hardly able to sit still, such was her agitation. That was understandable, but Hart did not quite understand Larkin’s pensive expression. He stared out of the window in moody silence, clearly brooding, but Hart was uncertain about what. It had obviously come as a shock to him that Elmira’s son was not hers, but if she had done as they now believed, her silence was understandable. That her brother had let her do it, though… that Hart could hardly credit. He could not wait to get his hands on the bastard.

Hart could not help but worry about what would happen when they got to Gillmont. The idea that Fidelia might be hurt by what came next made him wild with the desire to make everything right for her, but there were some things he could not fix. Miss Hastings had sacrificed her name, her hopes of marriage and a good life, for the sake of her nephew. Would she welcome the child’s mother into her life now or not?

Despite his growing apprehension, Hart looked on with approval as they passed through the trees that hid the house from the road, quiet as it was, and Gillmont appeared. The women who lived here tried to make themselves as self-sufficient as they could and there was a splendid kitchen garden, expertly tended. The gardens around the huge brick house were also lovely, and he recognised many varieties of plants and trees that he had donated himself to make the place beautiful, a peaceful refuge from the world. All the women here had stories to tell, and all deserved the tranquillity of Gillmont after the trials they had endured.

The carriage drew to a halt and Larkin jumped down. “Morning, George,” he said to the slim figure that appeared out the front door of the house. “Is Elmira in?”

“Out back, she was hanging the washing out. Is anything amiss?”

Larkin didn’t answer but hurried past George and around the side of the house. George watched him go before turning to Hart with a curious expression.

“George,” Hart said with a nod, not about to explain. “If you’ll excuse us.”

George nodded, frowning as they hurried away after Larkin.

Hart took his wife’s hand, and she clung to him as if her life depended on the connection. He could only imagine her feelings in this moment.

They turned the corner and found Larkin standing at the edge of lawn, watching. Hart halted beside him, about to ask what he was doing, when he heard a childish shriek of laughter. Half a dozen washing lines were strung across the lawn, all full of sheets and towels billowing in the breeze. A small boy ran between the wash, weaving in and out of the sheets and giggling madly as a woman pursued him.

“I’m going to get you,” she called. “I’m going to eat you up!”

“No!” he screamed, laughing hysterically and running as fast as his little legs would take him, darting in and out of the washing as the young woman made a show of just missing him when she could have caught him with ease.

Hart heard Fidelia’s breath catch. He turned to her, sliding an arm around her waist for support. Her hand had gone to her heart, pressing there as if to keep it from pounding out of her chest. Hart could feel the tremors running through her as she saw her son for the first time.

“I will gobble you up,” the woman insisted as the boy gave a squeal and she caught him, taking him to the floor and pulling up his shirt so she could blow a raspberry against his chubby belly. The boy shrieked and wriggled gleefully as the woman laughed. “Got you!” she said in delight as the boy scrambled to his feet and threw his arms about her neck.

“I’ve got you!” he said back to her.

The woman’s face softened, such love filling her expression that Hart felt his chest grow tight.

“Yes, you do,” the woman said softly, kissing his cheek and hugging him tightly to her.

Then she looked up and saw the three of them standing there, and her smile faltered.

“Good morning, Mr Weston,” she said, staring at Larkin. “And Mr De Beauvoir, how do you do?”

She got to her feet, lifting the boy into her arms as she did so, and then she saw Fidelia, and the way she was staring at the child. The woman’s complexion turned stark white, her jaw tightening. She turned an accusing gaze upon Larkin. “What did you do?” she demanded, her voice choked.

“Nothing!” Larkin exclaimed. “Perhaps I might ask the same question.”

Before any of them could react, she turned and ran into the house.

“Elmira!” Larkin ran after her.

Hart turned back to Fidelia, whose face was a mask. She seemed outwardly calm—too calm, perhaps—but he could still feel the way she trembled. “Come, love. We’d best follow.”

She nodded and went with him into the house.

“Joanie! Joanie!”