He abruptly pressed the heels of his hands against his watering eyes, and I felt terrible for him. His brother had stolen away his first love and corrupted her to the point of no return, and now the rogue had got his second love pregnant! It was no wonder that he wanted nothing to do with the child.
I waited for my own feelings of doubt to surface. But instead, I felt nothing but elation: the child would truly be ours, Max’s and mine, and nothing could stop it now.
‘Would you be willing to sign a document to that effect?’ I asked Mr Hart, allowing myself to feel relief but also knowing that Max would want to secure his statement in a legal fashion.
‘Of course,’ he said, turning in his chair to look at me. ‘I will make an appointment with my lawyer as soon as I return to London.’ His eyes stayed steady on mine. ‘I hope you understand my position, Mrs Fitzroy,’ he said, as if beseeching forgiveness.
‘I understand completely, Mr Hart, and do not think less of you in the slightest,’ I replied, trying not to sound too gleeful but already composing a letter to Max in my head:Mr Hart has arrived and discovered Lucinda is to have his brother’s child. Everything is well, but he definitely wishes for us to raise it ...
Oh, Mr Hart’s visit had turned out to be most fortuitous!
Lucinda’s future happiness was now secured with a man who loved her despite her past dalliance, and so was my own with my husband and a child I did not have to give birth to. At that moment, I felt myself a very blessed womanindeed!
My feeling of elation lasted all day and did not abate even though we were served Brussels sprouts at dinner along with the roast beef (I poured a large dollop of gravy on mine!).
I had seen Lucinda briefly that morning to drop off a basket of food and was pleased to find her in good spirits. We talked about the events of yesterday and how she had told Mr Hart everything: from our stay in the castle up until now. Apparently, he had listened carefully and had not interrupted, even when what she was saying must have been painful for him. He was so different from Dorian in every way—good and kind—that it was difficult to believe they were brothers.
Lucinda spent the rest of the day ensconced with Mr Hart in lovers’ bliss, and we did not disturb them. After luncheon, I walked with Elizabeth to Mrs Busby’s cottage and stood in the doorway while she informed her that she could attend to Lucinda for the meantime, but that there was a ‘proper’ midwife coming from London. The woman was disappointed that she was being replaced but said she understood. She took me aside afterwards, when Elizabeth had walked ahead, and fervently thanked me for not saying anything about her fortune telling episode. I assured her thatmy lips were sealed on that account.
My letter to Max was penned in the afternoon, and the words flowed out of me in a joyous fashion. It was lovely to have some good news to give him. I wished I could be there, peeking over his shoulder, to share in his pleasure at reading my letter. I asked him to keep the good news about Mr Hart and Lucinda secret from Seraphina for the present as Lucinda said she would write and tell her. Seraphina would be relieved to hear that her daughter’s future was not ruined, but it was best that it came from Lucinda herself as it was her felicitous romance and not mine (and Seraphina may not believe me).
I was ready for bed (sans baby corset), brushing out my hair at the dressing table and feeling as happy and weightless as a spring lamb when there was a knock at my door.Jane, no doubt, I thought, getting up to answer it.She probably wants to borrow some ink or paper.Ever since the tea party debacle, Jane had been spending a significant amount of time at her writing desk, scribbling away. When I asked her what she was working on, she replied, ‘Something no one will like but me,’ which was very intriguing!
But it was not Jane at the door—it was Mr Hart. An icy draught blew in from the passageway, making me shudder and draw my shawl more tightly around my shoulders. Onegood thing about wearing layers of wool padding in winter: it kept me toasty warm.
‘Can I help you, Mr Hart?’ I asked, my toes curling as the cold draught snaked its way around my ankles.
‘Forgive me for the intrusion, Mrs Fitzroy. But I have received a letter, and it is too urgent to wait until the morning to show you. Will you let me enter?’
‘Gracious, all right,’ I said, stepping back from the door to let him pass by. With a furtive glance down each side of the passageway to ensure no one saw, he stepped into my room. I supposed it would not do to be seen by any of the servants. ‘First, he turned up for the mistresses’ tea party. Then he visited the cottage and stayed there all afternoon.Thenhe went into Mrs Fitzroy’s room, at night no less!’ Mr Hart would be a hot topic of conversation below stairs indeed if anyone was keeping tabs on him.
He refused to take a seat but handed me a letter with the seal broken. ‘I received this from Maurice yesterday morning as I was about to leave for Godmersham. In my eagerness to see Lucy, I tucked it into my valise and forgot all about it. I have only opened it now.’
Maurice! I had thought about Hartmoor’s kindly butler many times since he had helped me escape and hoped thatDorian had not been able to carry out his promise to make his life ‘difficult’. I had wanted to write to him to thank him again and to reiterate my offer of employment but did not want to interfere if he was happy where he was.
‘Oh! How is he? Is he still looking after your father?’
‘Maurice left my employ abruptly last year, saying that he was going to work for Dorian. I was very surprised, especially as he is devoted to my father, who, in case you are wondering, is back at Hartmoor with a full retinue of staff. But anyway, you should read Maurice’s letter.’
Mr Hart walked over to the window while I opened the flaps and scanned the neat flowing script.
33 Saffron Hill, London
7 February 1800
Master Harrington,
I am sorry to be the bearer of some bad news. Your brother has been knocked down by a carriage and is seriously injured. I fetched a doctor at the time, and he looked him over and administered some laudanum. But he told me privately he doesn’t expect Master Dorian to recover.
He has since contracted a fever and has been calling out for “Harry” in a delerium. He has also been mumbling “Felicity” in a distressed manner. I believe he knows he is dying and wishes to atone for his sins to you and to Mrs Fitzroy before he passes.
I don’t expect that Mrs Fitzroy could bear to see him after what he did to her at the castle, and she is all the way up in Derbyshire and probably will not make it here in time. But you are not far from us here in Saffron Hill, and blood is thicker than water, so I hope you can find it in your heart to grant a dying man’s bedside wishes.
Expecting you forthwith to the above address as soon as possible, sir.
Your faithful servant,
Maurice
