The Disappearing Duchess

She had hurt her husband too much already and she did love him deeply, whatever he might believe. If she left him again, it would convince him that she had never loved him and he would surely divorce her. Perhaps if she stayed he might learn to forgive her—and if he did, one day, she would tell him the rest of her story. It might make him angry again, but perhaps he would understand that the pain of discovering that her child had been stolen from her had made her forget everything else for a time.

Oh, it was all such a coil! Lucinda wished that she could return to the day Avonlea had asked her to wed him. Had she told him then he might have withdrawn his offer, but he might have accepted the truth and forgiven her—yet even had he done so, he would never have accepted her child.

She had no choice but to keep the child’s existence a secret from him.

Justin went for a long hard ride after luncheon. Lucinda had looked so serene and beautiful when she came down to the dining room. He had felt a rush of desire at seeing her in one of the beautiful gowns he had purchased for her use. She was his wife, the woman he had chosen, and her revelations had left him feeling bruised and bewildered.

She was not the shy innocent girl he had thought her. Justin had believed her reticence in Harrogate had sprung from modesty and a natural desire to know him better. Now he wondered if he had been deceived in her character. Could he believe her story of rape? She had not told him before the wedding that she’d born an illegitimate child, nor had she given him any reason to believe that she was not the pure untouched woman he thought her. For a brief moment he doubted, but then dismissed the thought as unworthy. Lucinda had not been honest with him at the start, but he would not think less of her for what that evil man had done to her. The hurt in her eyes as she told her story was proof of her innocence, though she ought to have told him before they were wed.

Yet she ought never to have been faced with such a dilemma. No young girl should be subjected to such wickedness.

He thought that if he knew the man’s identity he would break the rogue’s neck. Fierce emotions raged through him as he considered taking revenge for the hurt inflicted on a vulnerable girl of sixteen. Justin would thrash the devil to within an inch of his life. Indeed, he would gladly see the man dead.

He wished that she’d kept the blackmail letter. He might have been able to get to the bottom of this business, but, as things stood, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Who had sent such a letter on their wedding day? How had that person discovered the secret that Lucinda’s father had so carefully hushed up?

Of course these things were never a complete secret. Someone knew the child had been born. There must surely have been a doctor or a midwife at the birth—or perhaps a servant in Lucinda’s grandmother’s house. It would be there he should begin his search if he intended to make enquiries.

Did he wish to discover more? Justin frowned. It was after all his wife’s secret, but if she were being blackmailed, he had a duty to protect her—and not just for the sake of his good name. Even if she paid the fellow—or woman—to keep quiet, they would come back for more. It was the nature of such creatures.

There was only one way to deal with blackmail and that was to meet threat with threat. He would make whomever had done this thing shiver in their boots and, if they continued with their evil purpose, he would see them punished.

The agents who had searched for Lucinda were discreet. He was certain he could trust them to discover the whereabouts of Lucinda’s grandmother—or, if she were no longer living, her servants. No need to disclose his wife’s secret. He would question the servants and then, if they answered openly, any doctor or midwife who had presided over the birth of Lucinda’s child.

She had told him the child had died—but was that certain? Justin frowned as he thought about the probable scenario. Mr Seymour would not have permitted his daughter to keep the child. It was possible that he might have ordered that she be told the babe was dead while in truth he’d had it adopted.

The net widened, for anyone involved in the handling of that secret adoption might have decided to use blackmail when they heard of Lucinda’s wedding plans. It was clear that it was her marriage to a wealthy man that had brought the toad crawling out from under its stone. Someone had seen an opportunity because she was to be the wife of an important man.

Justin felt angry that his wife had been subjected to such a foul blackmail on her wedding day. It had been meant to be a joyous occasion and had ended in distress for them both.

He felt a pang of regret when he recalled his own harshness towards her. He had felt such jealousy, such disappointment and pain when he learned that she was not the shy virgin he’d thought her that he’d lashed out. He’d promised he would not be unkind to her and he’d broken his word. He was uncertain why he had acted in such an uncharacteristic manner. At the start he had believed he could accept what she’d told him; after all, it had happened before they met—but then emotions he had not recognised welled up in him and his anger erupted. Why? Yes, she had deceived him, but he felt it was more her uncertainty that made her hold back rather than deliberate malice. At one time he’d briefly considered marrying a widow and the loss of the lady’s maidenhead to her first husband had not disturbed him one whit—why then should he feel such rage because Lucinda was not a virgin?

Why should he be jealous? It had not been meant to be a love match. He’d chosen her because she did not throw herself at him every time he so much as looked at her, as almost every other lady he’d met did constantly. It was her smile, her quiet charm and her sweetness that had made him notice her. She had not changed. It was Justin who felt differently, though at this moment he could not explain the conflicting emotions that raged within him or their cause.

Justin knew that he was in the wrong, but for the moment he could not quite forgive her for not confiding in him sooner. The look in her eyes had wrenched at his heart. She’d seemed to beg for something—something he had not been able to give. His own lack disturbed him, adding to his feeling of rage and he’d lashed out without thinking. In time his hurt would ease and he hoped that they might still have enough respect for each other to make a go of their marriage, but for the moment he needed to be alone.

He would tell Lucinda that evening. There was some business in London that needed his attention. It meant that he would be away for perhaps ten days. When he returned he hoped that he would have come to terms with his disappointment and they might begin again. It must be better for both of them to go on with the marriage than suffer a painful divorce. He would recover from the scandal, but she would be ruined. He could not do that to her. It would be cruel and unfair.

Relieved to have settled the matter in his mind, he returned home. The servants must not suspect anything, for there had been enough scandal. He would take tea with Lucinda in the small salon just as if nothing had ever come between them. If he suspected that he had not been quite truthful with himself in his motives for his decision, he was not yet ready to face the possibility that he might care more deeply for his lovely wife than he’d thought possible.

Romantic love was a myth. To give one’s heart without reserve was to invite pain. Affection was sufficient and once he had recovered from this absurd attack of jealous rage, he would resort to being the considerate husband he’d always intended to be.

That night, Lucinda sat in front of her dressing mirror brushing her hair when Justin knocked and asked if he might enter. She gave permission and he came in, looking at her oddly as she stood and turned to face him. Something in his expression spoke of hunger and a need to take her in his arms and for a moment she hoped that he intended to make up their quarrel, but his next words chilled her.

‘Forgive me, I did not intend to disturb you, Lucinda. I said nothing downstairs for I would not have the servants hear me. I must go to London tomorrow on business. You will give me your word to remain here and do nothing to cause more scandal.’

His harsh words hurt her. ‘Why should I cause more scandal? Can you not accept that I am sorry for harming you?’

‘Perhaps. I was merely making myself clear. I need a little space to come to terms with what you told me earlier. I should be no longer than ten days—perhaps less. When I return we shall take time to know each other properly. I think perhaps we wed in haste. We know very little about one another’s lives.’

‘I told you that when you asked me to wed you, Justin.’

‘I believed I knew you,’ he said and a tiny nerve flicked at his temple. ‘Now I know that I was wrong. I think we must both work at this, Lucinda. I did not mean to be so harsh earlier. Had I not cared for you, it would not have been such a shock to learn that you were not what I thought you.’

‘Yes, I understand you must feel disgust and anger,’ she said, but kept her head high. ‘I have apologised for not telling you—but I am as I was. I did nothing to encourage that man’s attack, I promise you.’

‘You will give me his name?’

‘What do you intend to do?’ She was startled, her eyes on his face.

‘He may well be your blackmailer—had you not thought of him?’

‘No,’ Lucinda whispered, putting a hand to her throat. ‘I have not thought about who wrote the note.’

‘You have not wondered?’ Justin looked puzzled. ‘Surely you must realise that whomever it was will most likely try again. Next time I insist that you bring the letter to me.’

‘Yes,’ she said, not daring to meet his eyes. ‘But it was not signed.’

‘No, it would not be—but sometimes there is a clue. Was it well written or badly formed?’

‘Oh, I had not thought…well written, I think. Yes, the letters were clear and there were no spelling or grammar mistakes.’

‘Then it makes it more likely that it was either your father’s friend himself—or perhaps the doctor who assisted at the birth. Who else would know your secret, Lucinda?’

‘Grandmama, my parents and the doctor—also my grandmother’s servants. They knew what had happened, I am sure.’

‘Yes, they must, but most servants could not write a letter of that quality. I think it narrows the options a little.’

‘Unless…Grandmama had friends. She may have told someone in confidence.’ Lucinda raised her eyes to his. ‘Why is it important?’

‘Because I must be ready in case whomever it is tries again. You will not pay, Lucinda. You will have nothing to do with this person, whomever it may be. I shall deal with the problem, do you hear me?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Very well. We shall not speak of this again unless we must.’ He moved towards her. For a moment she thought he meant to touch her or kiss her, but instead he picked up a perfume bottle from the dressing table and held it to his nose. ‘This is such a haunting scent. I kept smelling it when you were away and it brought you closer. I am glad to have you back, Lucinda.’

She swallowed hard. ‘Thank you for accepting me.’

‘You are my wife. What else should I do?’

The expression in his eyes caused Lucinda’s heart to race. For a moment she thought he would take her into his arms and kiss her. Had he done so she would have clung to him, returned his kisses and then confessed her secret, but the look faded. He inclined his head to her, then turned and walked away without touching her or speaking further.

Lucinda stared at the door for some moments after he closed it behind him. She almost wished that he had raged at her. His quiet, controlled anger was hard to bear. She could not blame him, because she’d brought it on herself, but it still hurt. Justin had been so courteous towards her, so careful and caring of her feelings and her comfort. Where had that charming, gentle, teasing gentleman gone? Would she ever see him again—or had her thoughtless deceit destroyed him?

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she discovered that she could no longer hold back her tears. They trickled unheeded down her cheeks for some minutes, then she wiped them away. She would not waste time feeling sorry for herself.

She must think about the future. If she was to keep her daughter and hide the secret from Justin, it would mean taking Alice into her confidence. Her maid was honest and would help her by taking messages to her daughter and making excuses for her absence when she went to visit the child.

It was not an ideal arrangement keeping Angela in the old cottage at the edge of the estate, but it was all she could do for the moment. She had been so lucky to find that Nanny was still alive and living a precarious existence since her dismissal from Mrs Seymour’s employ.