Wedded for His Secret Child
Autorzy
Helen Dickson
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18,7K
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12
Chapter One
Violet was not yet one year old when Melissa rode out one fine day in spring. She rode astride, with her daughter in front of her, her favourite hound bounding along beside her.
Violet had the natural healthiness of an infant. Despite the passing of time Melissa remembered the man who’d sired her as if their brief encounter had been yesterday. She saw his likeness every time she looked at her daughter. The moment she had cradled her baby in her arms she knew nothing in her life would be the same again.
She was amazed by the outpouring of maternal love she felt for the tiny human being. A protective love, the kind of which she had never known, had engulfed her. With each passing day this new presence in her life left a trail of comfort as though coated in soothing balm. She insisted on doing everything for her—even feeding her, much to her mother’s horror. She had wanted to employ a nursing woman to take over the task. Melissa had even insisted that the crib be brought from the nursery and placed in her room, beside her bed.
Violet soon became the centre of attention both inside and outside the house, fussed over and adored by everyone. Everyone felt the need to touch her dark, glossy curls and proclaim they had never seen a happier child.
Melissa’s mother, who, despite her initial reservations about her daughter keeping the child, had fallen in love with her. She was horrified that Melissa insisted on taking her out in this improper fashion, telling her that Violet should be in the nursery in her cot, not bouncing about atop a horse, but Melissa would have it no other way. Nestling in a sling fastened around Melissa’s waist, the infant was secure and in no danger.
Warmed by her cloak and with her dark hair loose about her shoulders, she rode along happily. Here was a damp, earthy smell on the air and on either side of the narrow lane the bare hedgerows provided shelter for rabbits in their burrows. Beyond the hedgerows the empty fields were ploughed, each ready for planting. She couldn’t wait for spring to arrive when everything would burst into life. So deep was she in her thoughts that it was a shock when a galloping horse and rider appeared suddenly round a bend. Fortunately they didn’t hit her, but in the rider’s attempt not to, his mount swerved and reared up, throwing the rider from the saddle where he landed in an ungainly heap on the ground. Melissa held on to the reins and pulled her frightened horse to one side. For several heart-stopping moments she was occupied soothing its terror and holding on to Violet. It was the man’s voice and the barking from her dog that jerked her from her ministrations.
‘In God’s name, get this damned dog off me.’
Seeing the wild tangle of dog and man, Melissa slid to the ground, still clutching Violet. The dog, of indeterminate pedigree, big, floppy and excitable, was barking ecstatically. There was mayhem as she tried to restrain the dog, who seemed intent on licking the poor man to death.
‘Do you usually take up the whole road?’ the man reproached harshly, trying to push the dog away, but the dog was having none of it. ‘How the devil I managed to avoid you I’ll never know. Didn’t you hear me coming or are you deaf?’
‘I’m sorry—’
‘Sorry! Is that all you can say when you’ve just frightened my horse to death?’
‘It was not my fault. I was riding well in.’ Melissa was indignant that this infuriating stranger thought he was in the right. ‘You were riding much too fast. This lane has many twists and turns and is often used—and there is certainly nothing wrong with my ears.’
‘Then you should ride with more care,’ he barked, while the dog continued to pant in his ear, ‘especially when in charge of an infant. To have her bouncing about in front of you like that is both dangerous and irresponsible. And here, take your damned dog. He’s totally out of control.’
‘No, he isn’t—and his name is Bracken. He’s simply pleased to see you. He usually comes with me when I am riding.’
‘Why? Do you feel you need protection? I suppose I have to be thankful I haven’t been mauled to death. Is he fierce?’
Managing to hold on to a wriggling Violet, who was straining her neck to see what all the fuss was about, Melissa merely nodded. Let him think what he liked, even though Bracken was more likely to greet a newcomer with lots of tail wagging and affectionate slobbery licking. She watched the man—a gentleman by the cut of his clothes—get to his feet and seize the reins of his trembling horse before brushing his clothes down and running his hand distractedly through his thick black hair. His tall hat had fallen off and lay upside down on the ground.
‘I trust you are not hurt from your tumble,’ Melissa said.
‘I’ve suffered worse,’ he grumbled.
‘I’m glad to hear it. Now if you are quite sure you are all right, I’ll be on my way.’
That was the moment the man raised his head and looked at her for the first time. On meeting those glacial silver-grey eyes recognition jolted through Melissa like a lightning force, rendering her speechless. There was a vibrant life and an intensity in those piercing eyes that no one could deny. They were beautiful, she decided, and they made her shiver slightly at their intensity. Her breath caught in her throat. He had a knowledgeable face, a face that had seen life. It was strong and slashed with swooping black eyebrows. His mouth was firm and hard, but it had a lift at each corner which spoke of sensuality. There was an aggressive virility about him, an uncompromising authority. His chin was thrusting and inclined to arrogance.
He was astonishingly handsome, as handsome as she remembered. It was as if the Lord had decided that his face was too perfect and placed a smudge—a small birthmark close to his right ear—like the dab of purple paint from an artist’s brush. Her heart was pounding in her ears and there was a short, humming silence as the man took a closer look at her face. His brow furrowed as his eyes narrowed searchingly and then widened with disbelief.
‘Melissa! Good Lord! What the hell...?’
Melissa’s arms tightened around her daughter and she stepped back, having no idea what to say or how to react now she was face to face with the man who had occupied her waking thoughts for the past twenty months. She realised at once that nothing had changed. Her feelings were just the same and her whole body yearned towards him. Her face flaming at the meanderings of her mind and what had occurred between them in the Spring Gardens in London, she shook her head free of the memory of their coupling, focusing her eyes on him.
He stepped closer, taking firm hold of the reins when she was about to turn away. Sweeping her with a bold gaze, those incredible eyes that were so like her daughter’s delved into hers before narrowing as remembrance began to dawn on him. He raised a single, questioning eyebrow. ‘When we parted I never thought I would see you again. It was in the Spring Gardens when I’d just got back from France—perhaps twenty months ago. We—’
‘Please don’t go on,’ Melissa was quick to retort, stirred by a sudden tumult of emotions and having no wish to hear what she had done on that beautiful night put into words. She was conscious of an unwilling excitement. In fact, much to her annoyance, she was very much aware of everything about him—the long, strong lines of his body, his face strong and handsome—and she saw faint lines of weariness on his face which aroused her curiosity. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
Her embarrassment—the soft flush that sprang to her cheeks and the way she lowered her eyes—brought a crooked smile to Laurence’s lips and a knowing glint to his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing you if that’s what you are afraid of. But I do remember everything about that night—and it may surprise you to know that after we parted I tried to find you.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes. I wanted to make quite sure you were all right. We made love. You were a virgin and I was not in the habit of deflowering virgins. My conscience smote me and I found myself turning back to look for you with mingled feelings of regret and concern.’
His words—that he had tried to find her, that he had been concerned about her—touched Melissa. She bit her lip and clamped down on her emotions which threatened to surface—despair, hopelessness and fear of laying eyes on this man again. When they had parted, a finger of disappointment had traced a delicate path down her spine. It had left her bewildered, for how could she have enjoyed such intimacy with a man? Why had she done something so reprehensible, so contrary to her upbringing that it would court a malicious scandal?
No one was allowed to see what festered inside her, the deep yearning which just would not die. She felt the intensity of his gaze fixed on her face. Her feelings for him were unchanged, all dominating, obscuring the pain of their parting. She could actually feel the tears welling up inside her, but she would not weep in front of him. He was looking at her with such shock and surprise, but no distaste, that to her own amazement and horror she wanted nothing more than to be gathered once more into his arms. What he said next quickly banished these tender feelings.
‘You aroused my curiosity,’ he murmured gently. ‘You could have secured a king’s ransom for what you lost to me, yet you came willingly, without even attempting to bargain for your worth. You then disappeared without a trace.’
Melissa stared at him speechless, unable to fully comprehend the impact of his words.
‘You wore the attire of a servant and yet you seemed gently born and not the type to be wandering the gardens with other ladies of the night seeking pleasure. It was the sound of your laughter above the music and chatter of the crowd that drew my attention. It was a joyous laugh, young and infectious, as though nothing had ever troubled you.’
Melissa threw back her head and glared at him, mortally offended by his words. ‘Ladies of the night? Is that what you thought I was? You were mistaken. I was not peddling my wares—far from it. I was in London for such a short time and, having escaped my mother’s watchful gaze I was simply there to experience the delights of the gardens—until I encountered you.’
In the face of her ire, he looked deep into her eyes, frowning deeply as he began to wonder at the repercussions for what had occurred. ‘Dear Lord, I had no idea—and who would have thought I would meet you here of all places.’
Melissa opened her eyes wide, then blinked rapidly, but Laurence had seen the moisture which shone in her eyes. It encouraged him and his face softened into a smile. ‘You are upset—and see, you are upsetting the child.’ His gaze dropped to the squirming bundle in her arms. ‘What have we here? Good Lord! Your child is nothing but a babe.’ He glared at her accusingly. ‘Have you no sense holding on to such a young child on a horse?’
Melissa stiffened in what appeared to be offence and her face, which had been ready to crumple with her angry tears, hardened and her lip lifted in contempt as she put up a defence, determined to pull herself together. ‘I assure you she is perfectly safe with me. See—she is secure in the sling.’ Standing up straight, her head held high, her jaw thrust forward, she pushed the heavy mantle of her hair back from her face with her free hand. ‘And I am not upset. I am angry because you almost knocked me off my horse with your recklessness. If the child is upset it is because you frightened her—didn’t he, Violet?’ she said, looking down to smile brilliantly, heartbreakingly, at her daughter.
Raising her eyes, she was struck—as she had been the first time they’d met—by how different he was from all other men she knew. There was something in his face, in his whole demeanour, that set him apart. As he continued to scrutinise her she wished more than anything in the world that she wasn’t attracted to him, that she could keep her eyes from straying to that mouth that had once explored every curve and hollow of her body. She had vowed many times to put him behind her, but it was easier said than done. The brief time they had spent together making love was etched on her soul and nothing could erase it however hard she tried.
‘She is your child?’
She nodded, averting her eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘She is very bonny. Your husband must be very proud of her.’
‘I—I have no husband.’ Raising her head, Melissa saw something move in the depths of his eyes—as if a thought had taken hold.
‘No? How old is your daughter?’
‘Eleven months.’
Violet was curious about what was happening around her and strained her neck to look at the stranger who had appeared from nowhere and disrupted their ride. The effect on Laurence was instantaneous.
‘Give her to me.’
Reaching out, he pulled Violet from the security of the sling and held her at arm’s length. The child did not turn back to her mother and kept her eyes, curious and searching, fixed on the man. He continued looking intently at Violet, grey eyes meeting grey, locking, the older eyes searching, probing, the young eyes inquisitive, thoughtful. Watching him closely, Melissa watched his changing expression, her heart beating frantically. It was as if a sudden pain twisted his heart—as if it had been pierced by a sharp blade.
As he cradled Violet in the crook of his arm, a thought clearly suddenly struck him and he pushed back her bonnet, gently lifting the tumble of hair that stood about her head in a froth of light, to reveal the small, tell-tale mark just above her ear. Melissa almost felt his shock.
‘Well, well,’ he said softly, ‘what have we here?’ He continued to scrutinise Violet, in no hurry, it would seem, to hand her back to her mother.
Melissa began to feel uncomfortable. ‘I—I’ll take her. I must be getting back.’
‘Back? Where is back?’
‘Home—to High Meadows. Baron Charles Frobisher is my father.’
‘Is he indeed.’ Raising his head, he looked at Melissa. The still, bright silver of his eyes was enigmatic, revealing nothing of his feelings. ‘Violet is my daughter. She has the mark. There can be no dispute over it.’
With two identical faces looking at her it was a statement of fact Melissa could not deny. Even their expressions, audacious and compelling, were the same and with a tilt of humour at the corners of their lips.
‘She—she is my daughter,’ he reiterated. ‘It takes two to make a child. We—you and I—made this one.’
‘Yes,’ Melissa whispered, wanting to snatch Violet from his arms and ride for home. She could see he was finding it hard to comprehend that this was happening. Not only had he made love to a sexually innocent girl from a respectable family, but he had impregnated her.
‘Violet,’ he said, speaking softly. ‘It’s a pretty name.’
‘I think so,’ Melissa murmured, swallowing down the hard, emotional lump that had appeared in her throat. ‘When she was born her eyes were blue which quickly turned to violet. I thought they would remain so, but as you see they are no longer violet.’
‘Has she been baptised?’
‘No—not with her being illegitimate.’
‘Then she will be. Every child should be baptised.’
Melissa looked at him steadily. ‘What is it to you? You do not know her.’
‘Through no fault of my own. It is something I intend to rectify. I am responsible for her existence. I want to help.’
‘Violet is my daughter. That means that I make the decisions concerning her.’
Laurence looked at Melissa as if he was about to explode. ‘We’ll see about that. You cannot bring a child up on your own.’
‘I have my parents to help me.’
‘They won’t always be there. You and I—what we did, Violet is the innocent result,’ he said, handing Violet back to her.
Melissa felt a sudden surge of anger when she recalled how disappointed she had felt when he had left her in the Spring Gardens. How stupid and naive she had been. Despite the feelings he had stirred in her she was ashamed that she had been such a willing participant. Her sexual innocence and lack of knowledge regarding the male species had led to her undoing. But perhaps this was nothing out of the ordinary and he was used to making love to ladies whenever the fancy took him. After all, she thought bitterly, how would she know? She regarded him coldly, her face showing no trace of emotion. With pride and self-respect she held her head high.
‘That night in the Spring Gardens dealt me a cruel blow, but I was determined not to be the victim of circumstance. Despite what you must have thought at the time, I did not have your experience. Apart from yourself, no other man has touched me—either before or since,’ she told him with simple honesty, giving him further insight into just how truly innocent she was.
‘Thank you for telling me. Now I know Violet, have seen her, I cannot walk away from her.’
Melissa could think of no immediate reply. Panic rose into her throat, her heart beating so loudly that she felt it must be audible. How far was he prepared to take his responsibility? What would he do? Take Violet away from her? It was a situation she could not allow. She could not endure any more humiliation. With an urgent need to escape she took a step back, but then she stood, transfixed by the power in his eyes that held hers.
‘There is no need to fear me, Melissa.’
‘I don’t,’ she replied. But she did. She feared even more what he would do. ‘And me?’ she asked the question quietly.
Laurence looked at her directly and the impact of his gaze was potent. He took a step closer, his powerful, animalistic masculinity immediately assaulting her senses. Melting inwardly, she felt her traitorous body offer itself to this man—in that moment they both acknowledged the forbidden flame that sparked between them. He raised one well-defined eyebrow, watching her. He seemed to know exactly what was going on in her mind.
‘As to that we shall have to see. Does the idea of me being involved in Violet’s life strike you as distasteful? It is customary for the father of a child to be a part of its life.’
Melissa almost retreated from those suddenly fierce eyes, but she steeled herself and held her ground. ‘I do not find the idea of you in any way distasteful and as much as you want to be a part of Violet’s life you must understand that ever since I realised I was with child the decisions that have been taken where she is concerned have been mine and mine alone. I cannot help it if I find the idea of sharing the responsibility with someone else—difficult.’
He looked at her hard, then nodded and cupped her chin in his hand. ‘I do understand—more than you realise. I can see that you have not had an easy time of it. But our daughter is a beautiful child, a credit to you, and I thank you for what you have done for her in my absence. Believe me when I tell you that had I known of her existence I would have come to you before now.’ Dropping his hand, he drew her horse forward. ‘You live nearby, I take it?’
His touch had been like a caress. She had felt a frisson of warmth glow inside her and she hadn’t wanted him to pull it away. She had embraced it. ‘Yes, about a mile away.’
‘Then I will ride there with you. No doubt you have had some difficult questions to answer. How did your parents react when they found out you were to bear an illegitimate child?’
‘My mother with anger—which was understandable. She was mostly concerned with what others would think. She didn’t want friends and neighbours to ridicule my situation. My father was upset. My mother wanted me to go away, to have the child and let some needy couple adopt her. I couldn’t do that. To give away my baby was anathema to me.’
A silence stretched between them, filled with the intensity of the emotion that suddenly linked them.
‘Thank God for that,’ he said calmly after a short pause in which neither of them seemed to want to break the silence. ‘I’m relieved you remained strong and fought for her.’
‘I couldn’t do anything else. My mother is a formidable lady. It was a huge relief when I won the battle to keep Violet. But I couldn’t let her go. I wouldn’t hear of it. When my mother realised I was serious, she suggested that I went away and when I returned with a child tell everyone that I had married and my husband had died.’
‘I take it you didn’t want to do that either.’
‘No. I couldn’t spend my life living a lie. When I got over the initial shock of my condition, my duty was to the child. I decided to look to the future, to my new life with all the responsibility due to that child who would grow up without knowing her father—life was too short to squander on what ifs and wherefores. My day-to-day life would change, I knew that, and that I would be ostracised and shunned by friends and neighbours. But after much soul-searching I discarded any resentment and self-pity I felt about my situation. Now I spend as much time with my beautiful daughter as I possibly can.’
Laurence gave her a look of admiration. ‘It appears to me that you are a capable young woman. I can only apologise for not being there to support you. When we parted that night, I had no idea who you were or where you lived. I truly believed you were a servant.’
‘I know. That was what I wanted you to think. It was my birthday—my eighteenth—and when my maid told me she was going to the Spring Gardens with her friends, I could not resist the temptation to go with her.’
‘I see. I did not know you.’
‘Nor I you—apart from your first name.’
‘And I yours.’ Retrieving his hat, he brushed it down and placed it on his head. ‘Let me help you on to your horse.’
They rode slowly back the way Melissa had come. The house became visible through the trees lining the road. She knew he could not fail to register the overgrown gardens and the years of neglect showing on the house with its patched roof and peeling paintwork, which her father could not afford to repair due to mismanagement and their ancestors being forced to sell off land to settle debts accrued at the gaming tables. She saw the look on Laurence’s face and chose to ignore it. It was best that she knew his opinions of her home and her family, but she wished he had not made it quite so obvious.
‘This is your home?’ he said.
‘Yes. As you can already see, it has been somewhat neglected. My ancestors thought their own amusements were more important than keeping the house in order, but I would not wish to live anywhere else.’
Having halted in front of the house, Laurence took Violet while she dismounted. ‘This unfortunate state of affairs was brought about by me. I’m not proud of myself for what I did to you at the Spring Gardens. Had I known who you were, that you were the daughter of a gentleman, I would have sought you out and apologised to your family—even though your father would have been within his rights to call me out. I fully intend to do what is right.’
Melissa bristled at his words. ‘And if I had not been the daughter of a gentleman, but only a servant?’
‘My responsibility to the child would be the same regardless of the mother’s station in life,’ he said, handing Violet to her as a groom appeared to take her horse. ‘Obviously matters cannot be left like this. I will speak to your parents—’
‘Oh—are you coming in?’
‘Not now. I have to consider how best to proceed. I shall call on them tomorrow.’
With no further word he looked again at a gurgling Violet before turning his horse and riding away. Melissa watched him go, wondering in what way he wished to proceed. Perhaps he would offer some kind of financial settlement for Violet’s future. If so, Melissa’s mother would certainly not object. The only other way she could think of that would put things right would be if he were to offer her marriage, but somehow she doubted he would do that.
As Laurence rode away from High Meadows, his encounter with Melissa Frobisher had given him much to think about. He could not equate the elegant young lady with the amazing amber eyes and wealth of dark hair with the frivolous girl he had dallied with in the pleasure gardens all those months ago. He felt a deep stirring of compassion mingled with admiration for the manner in which she had coped with her situation—a combination of emotions that was completely foreign to him. Hers was not a situation he would have inflicted on a gently bred lady of character—or any other female for that matter—and it pained him to contemplate the tribulations she must have gone through.
He remembered her as being a young lady who had been so sure of herself. Dress her in fashionable clothes, coif her hair into ringlets and curls, and she would not have been out of place at Almack’s. He remembered her as being so direct it was easy to forget that she was so young. He supposed it came with being left to her own devices. He recalled how impressed he had been by her and how grateful he had been that she had been so unexpectedly capable of breaking down the barriers he had erected around himself since the death of his wife. And yet he caught himself up short, chiding himself for having misread the situation so entirely and for his callous disregard of her future when their short yet pleasurable liaison was over.
So, what was to be done now? His life at this point in time was fraught with problems—he had no time for marriage and affairs of the heart. A man who loved too well was vulnerable—something he had learned to his cost. Certainly in the past he had yielded to the desires of the flesh as much as the next man, but he had never doted on any of them—except one, a beautiful, callous woman called Alice, a woman he had made his wife, a woman who had deceived him with another, leaving him and taking their son with her, only for it to end in tragedy. Now, almost three years on, he was confronted with a serious dilemma.
When he had encountered and made love to Melissa Frobisher, how could he have known she was something other than a servant? He’d fallen into the oldest trap in the world, made weak by his own maleness, and the trap unwittingly set by this woman’s own female body which hadn’t even known what it was about. He had done so much harm to her who, at the time, in her innocence, had likely confused sexuality with infatuation or even love in her mind. But whatever the facts of the matter he must, for the sake of the child they had heedlessly made, put it right. However awkward that might be, he must pay the price of his passion. Already he was taking steps with regard to his child.
When he had taken Violet in his arms, he was rewarded with a smile that lit up the darkest corner of his heart. She had looked into his face with interest, as if she, too, was affected by the poignancy of the moment of their meeting. The new life he held seemed like a miracle after all he had suffered after losing his son. The memory of the pain he’d felt when he had been told of Toby’s death, the harrowing, crucifying agony, had lessened a little with time, but it had not gone away. It never would.
He’d wanted to find something there to give him pause, to remind him why he’d vowed on the death of his son never to father a child again, because should he lose another, the pain of it would be impossible to bear. But he had found nothing except the trusting eyes of a child, his child, a child he could not, would not deny. He had stepped over an invisible line and wouldn’t be able to step back again. He could only move forward. On discovering that Violet was his daughter, hope had flared within him, a great shining hope...
Dear Lord, was he mad letting his thoughts wander as they were doing, when all his senses, every warning bell, every instinct for self-preservation that his human body possessed told him to back away, not to be tempted a second time? But Violet was his daughter and he would not. Could not.
It was the next afternoon and Melissa was outside with Violet, awaiting the arrival of their visitor. Holding her daughter close, as she walked in the garden she gazed at the old house with great affection. Unlike so many large houses, High Meadow had not withstood the passage of time well. Melissa’s great-grandfather had built the house to impress, with no thought of restraint, but from the day the builders had moved out the house had begun a long and steady decline.
Melissa’s once prosperous ancestors had been part of a merchant class, but after a series of poor investments there was little money left to inherit. But there was something eternal in the mellowing walls and gardens overgrown with creepers and vines. It was set in a deer park, serene and untouched, though a large portion of the land and farms High Meadows depended on for its income had long since been sold, along with much of the house contents. The income from the few remaining tenants was meagre and Melissa’s mother worked tirelessly trying to make ends meet.
Melissa missed her brothers terribly. Robert had married a hard-headed businessman’s daughter from the north of England. She was no great catch, but from her mother’s point of view and their own impoverishment, she was not a disaster. Henry, two years Robert’s senior, was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. She thought often of the time when they had been children, when they had run up and down the wide staircase and slid down the wooden banister, the sound of their voices, the playful squabbling and boisterous laughter, filling the house.
That was all gone now and the spacious rooms felt empty and bereft. She knew her parents missed her siblings, especially her mother, who had doted on her handsome sons, often at the expense of Melissa, who had often felt rejected in favour of her brothers. When Robert and Henry had left home to seek their independence, her comfort had come from her father’s beloved horses, who loved her for who she was.
Her mother was always concerned with doing the right thing and with protocol and rules for this and that, insisting that they should be followed religiously. She certainly made up for her father’s easy-going manner. Very little disturbed him unless it concerned his horses. This often infuriated her mother, who wasn’t a cruel woman, just bitterly disappointed that she was buried alive in the rustic Hertfordshire countryside instead of being part of the London scene.
Melissa was watching with interest as a dead beech tree which had been felled by two woodmen was in the process of being sawn into logs that would be taken round to the stables and stored. Violet was having great fun trying to scramble over one, gurgling with glee as she managed to perch on top. The two men laughed at her antics, clearly taken with the child.
‘Ah, keeping an eye on Violet, I see.’
Melissa spun round to find herself confronted by Laurence. He had dismounted from his horse and was holding the reins loosely in his hand. She hadn’t seen him arrive and his sudden appearance put her on the alert. ‘I always do.’
Unfortunately Violet chose that moment to tumble off the log. Laurence made an exclamation and started forward, but at the sound of his voice Violet picked herself up and grinned, all thoughts of her tumble forgotten as she crawled towards the man who had made such a big impression on her the day before. With a gesture that tugged at Melissa’s heart and astonished the two woodcutters, Laurence dropped the reins and swung the child up into his arms, hugging her close and kissing her rosy cheek.
‘I trust you have informed your parents of my visit—and the connection I have to Violet?’ he asked, looking at her over the top of Violet’s head.
‘Yes. It was—difficult,’ she told him, which was true. Her mother had been struck dumb and her father had gaped at her in absolute astonishment before bombarding her with questions until her head ached. ‘They are expecting you.’
‘Indeed! Lead the way.’ Handing Violet to her, he instructed one of the woodcutters to look after his horse. ‘The sooner I make their acquaintance and get this situation under control the better.’
Without a word he strode towards the house ahead of her, his long legs eating up the ground with considerable speed. Melissa followed at a slower pace, her nerves a jangled mass of discordant vibrations. She was reluctant to face what awaited her inside when Laurence had introduced himself to her parents as their daughter’s seducer, father of Violet, and told them whatever it was he intended to do.
It was no fault of his that he hadn’t been aware of Violet’s birth. Had she known his full identity and where he lived, she would have notified him, but this had not been the case. However, now he did know it was to his credit that he wanted to rectify matters, but, she couldn’t help wondering, where did she fit into his order of things?
The door was opened by the white-haired Bradley, an old retainer whose duties were butler, her father’s valet, carriage driver, general servant and anything else when there was a job to be done.
Melissa strode in ahead of Laurence. ‘Are my parents in the drawing room, Bradley?’
‘They are, Miss Melissa,’ Bradley confirmed, glancing curiously at her companion. ‘Shall I announce you?’
‘Good heavens, no. They know to expect a visitor. I’ll announce myself and...’
She turned and lifted a questioning eyebrow.
‘Lord Laurence Maxwell, the Earl of Winchcombe,’ he obliged with a twinkle in his eye, as if to humour her.
Melissa raised her eyebrows even further. ‘My word!’ she breathed. ‘An Earl! Now, that will impress my mother. Please come with me. The sooner we get this over with the better—although you must prepare yourself for my mother’s temper. Papa is a gentle soul, but Mother is a different matter entirely. Woe betide anyone who gets on the wrong side of her. Is that not so, Bradley?’
‘If you say so, Miss Melissa,’ he replied, prepared to agree to anything she said.
Laurence’s face hardened. ‘Lead the way—and thank you for the warning.’
‘Don’t mention it. It’s best that you are forewarned.’
Melissa marched towards the drawing room and without ceremony opened the door. She existed in a state of jarring tension as she fought to appear calm, clinging to her composure as best she could as the dreaded moment when she would have to introduce Laurence to her parents came closer. Her father, small, stout and always rumpled looking, was reading a paper in his favourite chair by the fire, his feet propped up on the brass fender, while her mother sat drinking tea. On seeing Melissa followed by a tall gentleman, she took a sip from her teacup and set it down, dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin and then rose to greet the visitor with a smile. The Baroness was a formidable middle-aged woman, slender to the point of being thin, with sculpted cheekbones and as regal a nose as one would ever see.
‘Why, Melissa. I was beginning to wonder where you could have got to.’ Her eyes went beyond her to the gentleman with interest. ‘Our visitor has arrived, I see. Aren’t you going to introduce us to the gentleman, my dear?’
‘Of course,’ she said, juggling Violet in her arms, who was straining her neck to see the man who appeared to have made such an impact on her. She looked at Laurence, who looked completely relaxed, yet there was an undeniable aura of forcefulness about him, of power. ‘This is Laurence Maxwell—Violet’s father.’ She turned to Laurence. ‘I would like to introduce my parents.’
The silence that fell was complete. Dispelling the prolonged silence, Laurence stepped forward with a respectful bow of his head.
‘I am Lord Laurence Alexander Maxwell, the Earl of Winchcombe. My home is Winchcombe Hall in Surrey. I realise my appearance will come as something of a shock to you both, but you must believe me when I say that, had I known of your daughter’s situation, I would have come before now. I would understand your reluctance to admit me into your home. I am a stranger to you and have done nothing that entitles me to an acknowledgement from you. I came upon your daughter by chance while out riding yesterday.’
Remembering his manners, with a stony expression on his face the Baron stepped forward, unsure how to greet this visitor—a titled gentleman who had ruined his beloved daughter—but he considered it necessary to be amiable if the man was to offer reparation. He executed a stiff bow.
‘Baron Charles Frobisher at your service.’ He looked at the illustrious visitor closely. ‘Is it correct what Melissa has told us—that you are Violet’s father?’
‘Apparently that is the case.’
‘Well,’ the Baroness said, not quite sure how to receive the man who had seduced her daughter—a handsome one at that and an earl to boot—but she managed to hold on to her composure. She held her head high as she considered him coolly. ‘I cannot deny that it was indeed a surprise when Melissa told us she had met you and that you intended to call on us. Naturally my husband and I are interested to hear your reason for coming here now. When I recall your less than gentlemanly treatment of Melissa on your previous encounter, you must forgive me if I appear somewhat bemused by your presence. When gentlemen find their indiscretions have landed them in hot water, they usually take to the hills rather than face up to their responsibilities.’
Hearing the sharp, patronising voice, Laurence was already regretting having come to her, yet he was impressed by this woman who had managed to keep her wits and composure despite the circumstances. Any other woman would have either gone to pieces or flown at him in anger for the ruination of her daughter.
‘I suspect your feelings have run to something stronger than bemusement, Baroness, and all things considered I cannot say that I blame you. However, I am not one to shirk my responsibilities and I trust you will have the goodness to hear me out.’
‘Indeed! You certainly owe my daughter that consideration after what you have done. If you’d had an ounce of common decency—whether she was a servant or noblewoman—you would not have done what you did. You ruined her—a decent, vulnerable girl.’
‘I’m not proud of myself, which is why I am here now—to make amends.’
‘Well, I have to say that I am relieved not to have to plead for her salvation from the man who destroyed any chance she had of making a decent marriage,’ the Baroness said.
‘I cannot do more than humbly apologise for my conduct and offer recompense.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Melissa interjected with a frown, hoisting her wriggling daughter to her shoulder. ‘I was equally to blame. What happened between us was by mutual consent, so please do not think you have to make any recompense.’
He looked at her intently. Yes, she had been willing. It was what they had both wanted. He’d felt it in her supple body, in its yielding, which had melted in that certain way women had when they were ready to take what they wanted, knowing what it was he had to offer. But she had been so young, a mere girl, really, and therefore she was absolved of all blame.
‘But I do. I did you a great discourtesy for which I ask your pardon. What I did was inexcusable. It was unpardonable of me. You are very beautiful—sweet...but I know that is no excuse. The fault was undoubtedly all mine. I cannot leave without coming to an arrangement with you.’
‘An arrangement,’ the Baron said quickly. ‘Kindly explain what you mean by that.’
Melissa was looking at him directly, holding his gaze with her own. Not one of his servants would look at him so, for her look was telling him that she could read his mind, that she knew what he had come for, what he wanted and the answer was no. Still holding her daughter, she moved closer to him, holding herself straight as she glared at him.
‘I know what it is you want,’ she said, her voice shaking with anger. ‘You want Violet for yourself, don’t you? You want to take her away from me. Indeed, I know I am right and I can tell you now that you are wasting your time. Have you any idea what it would do to her—to suddenly have her mother disappear from her life for no other reason than that you want her for yourself? Have you any idea how selfish that makes you appear? You have no right. She belongs to me. I will not allow you to take her.’
‘She is my daughter,’ he said with an inbred arrogance and certainty that said it would do no good to argue with him. ‘If that was what I wanted, I would have every right.’
‘I will not part with her. Don’t you dare ask that of me. Had you told me of your intentions yesterday it would have saved you a visit to my home, wasting both your time and mine. What is it you intend, to buy her?—because if so I will tell you now that I don’t want your money. There isn’t enough money in the world that could buy my daughter.’
‘You do realise that I could take Violet away from you by law, but that would mean exposing us all to publicity and I don’t believe that either of us want that.’ It was true, Laurence did not want that—not after the damning, shaming publicity he had been forced to endure when his wife and son had died. He turned to the Baron and his wife. ‘Do you have anything to say?’
Melissa watched her parents, knowing exactly what her mother was thinking, that if he were to offer them money for Violet it would enable them to live well, as never before. The house, which was in such a miserable state of repair, could be done up at long last and the Baroness would be able to buy the latest fashions when she went to town, which she hadn’t been able to afford for more years than she could remember. But knowing how her mother had become deeply attached to her beautiful granddaughter and knowing how Melissa doted on her, she was confident that her mother would support her in her decision.
For just a moment, the softening of the Baroness’s face indicated that she might be tempted if he were to offer significant recompense and persuade her daughter to see sense, as money always won, until the Baron spoke up.
‘Violet will not leave this house,’ he said firmly. ‘My daughter is right when she says there isn’t enough money in the world that could buy her. Life has not been easy for Melissa, I grant you—and Violet’s birth has created its own gossip in the neighbourhood—but she has weathered the worst of it and I am proud of her. Violet is my granddaughter and this is her home for as long as Melissa wants it to be, so let there be no more talk of you taking her away. Violet will not leave this house without my consent.’
