A Love Laid Bare (7 page)

Dazed, Frances stared up at him and tried to make
sense of his words. “Your mother,” she echoed numbly. He must know
Leticia would be anything but happy to have her daughter-in-law
reappear, not to mention with an unexpected grandchild in tow, and
of course, he did, the sarcastic tone of his words finally
penetrating.

“As you wish,” she managed. She pulled from his
grasp. “If you will send word as to the time, we will be ready. I
want to leave now.” Frances picked up her wrap and draped it around
her shoulders. She would agree to anything if it meant an end to
this interminable evening. Perhaps he heard her unspoken plea, for
the next thing she knew, her hat was on her head, and a firm hand
on her arm guided her from the room.

She stared at him in surprise, but his only response
was a curt “You look ready to drop.”

Nor had he anything to say during the drive to the
hotel, which suited her entirely. She did not want to talk, did not
want to think, and had to fight the urge to jump from the carriage
and run up to her suite. Instead, she walked calmly beside him as
if she welcomed his escort—as if he wanted to provide it! She gave
him the key when they reached her door and waited for him to unlock
it, all without so much as a glance at him.

“Good night. I will see you in the morning.”

He opened the door, but blocked her way until she
looked up at him. He smiled at her, another one of those grim,
satisfied smiles that made her heart jump in her breast. “Sweet
dreams, dear
wife
.” He brushed her cheek with one finger.
“Oh, and Frances? We
will
speak of the past, when
I
so choose.”

Frances was right
. Halcombe stepped into the
carriage for the short ride back to Summerton’s, his mind on the
summer following his marriage. He
had
spent long hours
outside, trying desperately to put the estate to rights after years
of neglect. Every leaking roof and fallow field had been another
reminder of his father’s costly obsession with collecting rare
maps. That, and his own failure to find the appallingly expensive
Legacy Folio of antique maps that had consumed the last of the
assets and put a mortgage on the estate; the first in the
centuries-long history of the Halcombe seat. The very thought of it
was abhorrent, and the instant the marriage settlements were at
hand, work had commenced and the debts were paid. It was all he’d
dreamed of those years in Europe, dodging armies and drawing maps
for his government.

Hell and damnation, he had
needed
to marry
well, and while Frances was not the wife he expected to choose, he
had been charmed by her innocence and intelligence. And she cared
for him. He was not wrong about that, and if he had had a few
qualms about taking advantage of her youth and lack of opportunity
to meet other men, why what other choice had she, hidden away in
the country as she was?

Besides, Frances’ father’s offer was too good to
refuse. The benefit to both of them was equal. He would not wallow
in guilt. He wished he had told Frances the truth from the
beginning, but Nesbitt had been insistent; she was not to be
told.

Halcombe was still deep in thought when the hired cab
came to a halt in front of Summerton’s town house. Roused by a
footman opening the door, he gave the man some coins to pay for the
cab and ran up the steps.

“Has Lord Summerton returned?” Halcombe asked,
handing the butler his hat and gloves.

“No, my lord. His lordship sent word he was delayed
and that if you cared to wait for him, there is an assortment of
refreshments available in his office anteroom.”

“Thank you,” Halcombe said. “No need to see me up. I
will serve myself.”

He poured himself a generous measure of brandy,
removed his coat, and settled into a comfortable chair, the bottle
on a table beside him, and stared into the flames while his
thoughts drifted to that fateful conversation with Nesbitt.

***

“You’ve done nicely with the sale of these books and
maps, Lord Halcombe, but I venture to say it isn’t enough to bring
you about.” Nesbitt gave him a keen look that challenged him to
deny it, but he was hardly in a position to do so, as much as it
might gall him to admit it. The earl had a feeling the canny man
seated behind the desk knew to a penny how much he was worth—and
owed. He waited, not sure where this was leading. Was the man going
to offer him a loan? The last thing he wanted was more debt.

“Frances is a considerable heiress.”

For all his suspicions that the quiet and unassuming
Nesbitt was more than he seemed, the flat statement shocked, and
Halcombe stiffened, still unsure of Nesbitt’s intent.

“You could do worse, my lord. She comes of good
stock. Her mother was the daughter of an earl. Her family never
forgave her for marrying a lowly baron’s son, but Anne had no
regrets and we had a happy marriage.”

For a moment Halcombe doubted his hearing, but one
look at Nesbitt’s expression told him the man was serious.

“She could do better,” he said shortly. “She needs
the chance to try her wings, meet other young people. Not plunge
into marriage with the first man she meets.” It pained him to admit
that it had crossed his mind, but however fair and charming, she
was so damn young, and not only in the eight years separating them
in age. A wealth of experience out in the world lay between them as
well.

“It does you credit, my lord, but the time for that
is past. I’ve been selfish, keeping her with me, not taking her
into society. Now it is too late.” Nesbitt paused, laid his hands
flat on his desk, and leaned forward. “I’m dying, Halcombe. It’s a
matter of months and I want my daughter settled before I go.”

“Frances doesn’t know?”

Nesbitt shook his head, suddenly appearing as ill as
he claimed. “That I am ill? Yes. That I am not going to get better?
No, although she may suspect. Frances is no fool, but in this she
wants to pretend otherwise.” He raised a hand before Halcombe had a
chance to reply. “Consider it. That’s all I ask. I think I can
trust you to care for her and make her happy.”

***

Neither of which you did very well.
The
admission left a bitter taste in Halcombe’s mouth and he refilled
his glass.

“Your evening went badly, I take it.”

Roused from his memories by the sound of Colin’s
voice, Halcombe looked up as his host strolled into the room. The
viscount held up the bottle and lifted a brow.

“From the level on that bottle, I’d say you were well
on your way,” he said with a grin. “You’ll have a head on you in
the morning if you keep this up, my lad. Perhaps I should remove
the temptation and drink the rest myself.”

The earl raised his glass and shrugged. “It’s your
brandy.” He studied the spirit in his hand as if it held some
long-sought answer, then his mouth twisted. “Although I’d rather a
bout with a sore head and sour stomach than face today again.”

Summerton stirred up the fire, dropped into the chair
opposite, and cocked his head. “You have made some plans, then, if
you are thinking about tomorrow. Did Lady Halcombe explain what she
has been doing in Portugal—and how she got there? I must admit to
an unseemly curiosity.” Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Sea
travel being so chancy these days.”

“Lady Halcombe is quite sparing with explanations,”
Halcombe said bitterly. “I know nothing more now than I learned
this morning. I brought up the fact of her pregnancy and we ended
up quarreling over my failure to attend her father’s funeral.” He
banged his fist on the table.

“Dammit, Colin. She suspected she was with child,
never said a word about it, and
I’m
the one in the wrong?
Blast it! I was in London dealing with that mess of Montford’s. I
did not even
know
about her father until I got back to the
Manor.”

“She did not know you were called away suddenly?”

“She should have. I left a note, telling her I had to
leave for London immediately.” He looked at Summerton and frowned.
“You know full well how quickly it blew up. Frances was out
walking, I was in a hurry, and she was bidden to attend her father
that afternoon.”
Perhaps she never saw the note
.
Just
like you never received any messages about Nesbitt’s illness and
death.

“Frances sent several messages about her father but
no one sent them on to me. It was not until I returned that I heard
the news.” His voice grew grim. “My mother saw fit to hold them. By
the time I got to Clifftop, Frances had gone missing.”

His fury when he found out his mother had brazenly
intercepted all of Frances’ letters, and refused to allow his
servants to “bother him in London” was so engulfing even the memory
of it was disturbing.

“Leticia actually took Frances’ letters? Even for
your mother, it seems over-zealous,” Summerton said with such
astonishment it was almost humourous.

“My mother did not approve of Frances, was opposed to
the marriage from the first and never missed a chance to do her a
disservice.” Halcombe’s voice was rough with remembered anger.

“I’m surprised you allowed it. I imagine Frances was
no match for Leticia. She was such a quiet thing.”

Halcombe lifted a shoulder. “Frances never complained
and I was otherwise too occupied to pay much attention.” Something
in his voice warned his companion that he had no intention of
discussing the matter further, and the subject turned to a more
immediate problem.

“What do you plan to tell your mother? Whatever it is
will be all over town in a day,” Summerton cautioned.

“A good question,” Halcombe said. “Not the whole
truth, but something as near to it as is possible.” He grimaced.
“I’ve no wish to appear the deserted husband. I told my mother
earlier that Frances was by some miracle rescued by some French
fishermen. Half drowned and unconscious from a blow to her head,
she lost her memory and was marooned in France, with no way to
contact me once she regained her senses. Ultimately she was able to
convince the fishermen they would be well paid if they took her to
Portugal to her aunt. She fell ill there, was long in recovering,
but as soon as possible she returned to England. Why, it’s the
stuff of heroines! It should be more than enough for most
people.”

Summerton’s roar of laughter brought a reluctant grin
to Halcombe’s face.

“I admit it’s a bit far-fetched,” he admitted
somewhat sheepishly.

“It is as good as any of those novels the ladies
enjoy so much. You should try your hand at writing, my friend.”
Summerton leaned over to fill Halcombe’s glass, a smile still
playing on his lips. “It will do as well as anything, I imagine.
You might mention pregnant and penniless, to garner even more
sympathy,” he said with a sly glance.

Halcombe glared at him and threw up a hand in
annoyance. “Very amusing. And I the faithful husband who never gave
up hope, I suppose.” He drank the last of his brandy and rose. “It
helps that we are going to Sussex tomorrow. We can avoid the worst
of the gossip.”

Summerton stood also and reached out to lay a hand on
Halcombe’s shoulder. “If there is anything I can do, let me know,”
he said. “I’ll drop a few details here and there—with the utmost
confidentiality, of course—and back up the tale. Send word if you
have any information for me on the matter we discussed last
night.”

“Of course.” Richard’s mouth turned down in a crooked
smile. “Thank you, Colin. I appreciate your support.” He started
toward the door.

“It will all work out. Give it time.”

“Of course,” Halcombe repeated, not believing it.
Only a miracle could change this situation to the good—and he was
mighty short of miracles these days.

“You are going to visit the dowager Halcombe before
you leave for Sussex?” Aunt Livvy sounded so incredulous that
Frances smiled in spite of her own apprehension over what was
certain to be an unpleasant encounter.

“Even Leticia does not deserve such a slight as to
not personally meet her grandchild,” Frances said, “and of course,
see her wayward daughter-in-law for herself.” She took a few
mouthfuls of coffee. “I am not looking forward to it, but I am no
longer an easily-intimidated green girl. There are more worrisome
things ahead than the dowager.” She sipped at her beverage,
half-listening to Nancy and Flora in the adjoining room, and
wondered if Halcombe understood Flora’s nurse was to accompany
them.

“My dear child, that is beyond question,” Olivia said
tartly, “but I admit I have serious misgivings about this
reconciliation. Halcombe does not strike me as the most tractable
of men.”

That produced a genuine laugh from Frances. “I don’t
think ‘tractable’ is a word known to my husband,” she said with a
grin. “He is, however, a fair man, and one who wants a family.
Unless I conveniently cock up my toes, he is stuck with me.”

“Heaven forfend! Don’t even imagine such a thing,”
Olivia admonished with a frown and shake of her finger. She picked
up her cup and eyed Frances over the rim. Her voice dropped. “You
mean to allow intimacies, I take it?”

Frances raised her brows. “If he so chooses. I’d like
more children and that is the sole way to achieve them, after
all.”

“So I’ve heard,” Olivia said, looking amused. “I
almost wish I was going with you, but I do feel you are better left
alone to work things out. You must write to me often and tell me
how you go on. I will be no more than a day’s journey away and
don’t plan to go back to Portugal until fall.”

“I will be fine.
We
will be fine, Flora and I.
You are to come to us in September, as we agreed.” Frances set
aside her cup and leaned forward to take her Aunt’s hand. “I’ve
treated Richard badly, staying away all this time. I need to at
least try to make things right. If we can work out some kind of
amicable relationship, why, it’s no different than many
marriages.”