The Confessions of a Duchess (31 page)

Laura bent to kiss Hattie’s head and her daughter reached up and wrapped her fat little arms about Laura’s neck and buried her face in her hair.

“Mama smells like a horse,” she announced.

Laura laughed. “Thank you, darling. You are quite right, I do. I need to change my clothes and have a wash and then when I am clean why don’t we play with your doll’s house?”

“I want a papa for my doll’s house,” Hattie said. Her hazel eyes were bright as they fixed on her mother’s face. “I only have a mama and a Hattie. I’d like a brother and a sister, as well, if you please.”

Laura felt a hard lump in her throat. Her eyes met Alice’s. Her friend made a sympathetic face.

“Papas and brothers and sisters are not always easy to find, darling,” Laura said.

“My fault, I’m afraid,” Alice said in an undertone as Rachel took Hattie upstairs to the nursery to set the doll’s house up. “Hattie told me that because her papa had died, she was not allowed to have another one. When I explained that sometimes one’s mama might remarry she said that that was splendid and that she wanted another papa of her own right away.”

For a moment the lump in Laura’s throat felt so excruciatingly tight and hard that she could not speak.

“I am sorry,” Alice said anxiously. “I thought that if you were to accept Mr.

Anstruther’s proposal…”

“I understand,” Laura said.

“But you refused him,” Alice said, watching as Hattie disappeared around the corner of the stair, clutching Rachel’s hand and chattering to her about the exploits of Little Goody Two-Shoes.

“Yes,” Laura said. “I cannot wed Dexter, Alice. There are reasons…” She sighed.

She wished that her friend Mari Falconer were there to confide in. Mari was the only one who would understand. Mari knew all about Hattie’s parentage and Charles’s threats to expose her and Laura’s absolute fear for Hattie’s future.

“Dexter said a great deal about how he had to marry me because it is the only way to have me in honor,” Laura continued.

“How vastly romantic!” Alice said.

“But then he also implied that it was against his will and his good sense and there was no rational reason for feeling as he did. Truly, Alice—” Laura threw herself down into a chair “—he is pompous and pigheaded and a stuffed shirt of a man who wants a conformable wife and a well-ordered life—”

“So it is as I suspected all along,” Alice said, a twinkle in her eye. “You are in love with him. I thought that you must be. I did not imagine you would take him as your lover if you did not truly care for him.”

“He reminded me of my late husband Charles!” Laura said crossly.

“Dear me, the worst possible insult you could pay a man, so I understand!”

“Except,” Laura swept on, “that I cannot understand how a man can kiss like Dexter does and make love like he does and yet be so determined to be boring!”

“Hmm. You are definitely in love with him,” Alice said. “How amusing that you are so cross with him.”

“Well, what difference does it make if I am in love with him?” Laura demanded. She pulled off her hat and cast it aside with a sigh, running a hand through her tumbled hair. “It is over, Alice. I cannot marry Dexter and I cannot have an
affaire
with him because Miles will kill him if I do and anyway, you are right—I am not the sort of woman to have scandalous love affairs. Not really. I have Hattie to think of before I take Dexter as my lover and ruin my own reputation and my daughter’s future.”

“A pity, when you care for him,” Alice said, “but I can quite see that you are not cut out for a life of scandal, Laura. And as for marriage, well…” Her perceptive brown eyes scanned Laura’s face and she smiled. “If you tell me that you have good reasons for refusing Mr. Anstruther then I believe you.”

“I do,” Laura said. “And I should certainly not be speaking of such matters with you, Alice, no matter your worldly experience. I cannot believe we are having this conversation!

Your mama would be appalled.” She sighed. “I am a terrible influence for a dowager duchess. Oh, I feel blue-deviled.”

“And playing at happy families with Hattie will not help,” Alice said sadly.

“I suppose not.” Laura sighed again. She went upstairs to change. She could hear Hattie talking to Rachel about the people who lived in her doll’s house, the mother and father, the two boys and two girls…

I want a papa for my doll’s house and a brother and a sister…

Laura sat down a little heavily on the edge of her bed.

Hattie wanted nothing more than to belong to a family and Laura’s heart ached to deny her. She thought again about deceiving Dexter over Hattie’s parentage and tried fiercely to ignore the customary deep ache of guilt it roused in her. She had acted for the best of reasons. That had to be good enough.

DEXTER HAD BEEN FISHING all afternoon. The quiet run of the river and the cold mist rising from the water had soothed his mood a little but there were matters that still troubled him.

Most infuriating, most galling, was the fact that Laura had refused his offer of marriage. He had thought she might reject him and had been so certain he would feel nothing other than relief to be free to marry another heiress. Instead he had felt a white-hot, possessive fury that knew no bounds. So then he had been determined to persuade her in order to deal with the passion that was between them in a sensible manner. Yet still she could not be persuaded. All of which meant that he was frustrated and dissatisfied and aware that there were matters keeping them apart that he did not understand. He disliked unfinished business. One of the reasons he was generally so good at his job was that he was utterly relentless.

He was walking back to the Morris Clown Inn across the water meadows when he heard the sound of voices. The evening sun was low on the horizon and he put up a hand to shade his eyes. He could see Laura and Alice down by the water’s edge, playing with a small girl who was bowling a hoop through the grass. The child was running after the hoop and laughing and Dexter could hear her calling excitedly to her mother.

He realized that he had never seen little Lady Harriet Cole before and he paused for a moment to watch as Laura scooped her daughter up in her arms and spun her around until they were both dizzy and collapsed together in the grass. Dexter smiled ruefully. It felt strange seeing Laura playing with her daughter, to see her utterly unguarded. He felt the same tug of emotion he had felt when she had greeted Miles with such pleasure that first night at the assembly. He felt an outsider looking in. In some way that he did not understand but knew was not remotely rational, he was aware that he wanted that sense of belonging and he wanted it with Laura.

Hattie was giggling with excitement. Dexter could hear her laughter on the evening air as she scrambled to her feet and made a grab for the hoop. Her bonnet had come off and the last rays of the sun were shining on her hair and illuminating her face like a clear-cut silhouette. Her hair was as black as a raven’s wing, curly and strong, springing from a miniature widow’s peak on her forehead. Even though she was only young there was an intentness in the lines of her face, a determination and sense of concentration as she bowled the hoop along. Dexter had seen that expression before.

His heart turned over. His breath seemed to stop in his throat.

Alice had seen him now. She half raised a hand in greeting but then she must have seen the look on his face because she let her hand fall back to her side. There was apprehension in her eyes and she said something to Laura. A stillness came over Laura and her smile faded. She scrambled up and started to hurry after her daughter, the meadow grass whipping about her skirts.

“Hattie!” Dexter could hear the note of fear in her voice now. “Hattie! Wait!” Hattie ignored her. She rolled the hoop right up to his feet and Dexter put a hand out automatically to stop it. Hattie tilted her chin up so that she could look at him—another gesture that was so familiar to him that his heart clenched—and he dropped to one knee in the grass beside her so that they were on a level.

“Hello!” Hattie said. Her eyes were wide and fearless, hazel like Laura’s own. Dexter felt something twist within him. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dexter,” Dexter said.

“My name’s Harriet,” Hattie said, “but you can call me Hattie.” She looked from Dexter to the fishing line lying in the grass beside him. “What have you been doing?”

“Fishing,” Dexter said.

Hattie smiled. It felt to Dexter as though a fist had closed around his heart and squeezed so tightly he thought he would die.

“Mama and I go fishing,” Hattie said. “I catch things in my net. Then we let them go.

Did you catch anything?”

“No,” Dexter said. His voice was husky and he cleared his throat. “Not this afternoon.”

“Good,” Hattie said. “When you do you must let them go.” She smiled again and Dexter’s heart did another painful flip. “I like you,” Hattie announced.

“Hattie…” Laura had reached them now and picked Hattie up, whisking her protectively from under Dexter’s nose. She sounded out of breath. She held Hattie tightly, defensively, as though she thought Dexter would snatch her away. Her eyes were scared.

Hattie was the only one who had not sensed the tension between them for she was laughing, the same intent look on her face as before, as she twisted in her mother’s arms and pulled at the ribbon holding Laura’s hair back. It spilled from its confinement, settling in a russet halo about her face in the sunset. Laura brushed a few strands back with fingers that shook.

Dexter got slowly to his feet. A huge tide of anger welled up in him as he looked at Laura. He had never felt anything like it before, not even when she had sent him away from Cole Court like a whipped dog. He felt hot, furious and on the edge of losing control.

He kept his voice as steady as he could for Hattie’s sake.

“I think,” he said, “that there is something that you forgot to tell me when you were being so honest with me last night.”

Laura’s hazel eyes were wide and terrified as they met his across Hattie’s oblivious, down-bent head.

“How did you know?” she whispered. “She does not look like you and no one would ever have told you—”

There it was. No denials, no prevarication, no apology, no excuse.
Other people evidently knew about his daughter whilst he did not. Dexter’s mind reeled as he tried to grapple with the implications.

“Who knows that she is mine?” he asked harshly.

Laura looked dazed. “Her godparents, Nick and Mari Falconer. And I think Miles suspects, though he has said nothing…”

The rage exploded in Dexter so violently he was afraid of what he might do. The Falconers were friends of his. Miles had been, too, until Dexter had seduced Laura and forfeited Miles’s good opinion. He looked at Laura as she stood there holding his child.

“We cannot talk about this now,” he said. “Not in front of the child.” He dragged in a breath. “I will call on you in one hour. Be there.”

Laura’s chin came up. “I cannot. Miles is joining us for dinner—”

“Then get rid of him,” Dexter said. “I mean it, Laura.” He was afraid that if he stood there much longer his control would break and he would say something in his distress and anger that he would later regret. He was afraid of what she must see in his face. He had never before known such terrifying lack of control.

He turned away without another word but when he reached the gate he looked back. Alice, who had been hanging back out of earshot, an unwilling observer, had taken Hattie’s hand and they were walking away toward The Old Palace. Hattie had stopped to pick some of the late marguerites that starred the meadow. Her excited little voice faded away.

Laura was still standing where he had left her, her gaze fixed on his retreating figure.

The fury, the pain, the utter
agony
scalded Dexter, turning his insides to a seething mass.

He was astonished that anything could hurt so excruciatingly. He thought of Laura keeping from him the truth of his daughter’s existence and of Hattie bearing the name of a man he despised. Laura had fed him nothing but secrets and lies. He had thought that everything had been laid bare between them but even then she had held back. He had started to trust her again but she had never had any intention of trusting him with the truth of his daughter.

He felt something snap within him. He had always tried to use sense and reason to protect him against such excesses of emotion. Now that protection was gone. The hurt roared through him again and he knew he had to stem it before it ripped him apart. There was only one thing he could do now and as soon as he thought of it he felt better, calmer, more controlled, rational again.

He had to insist that Laura married him.

She had refused his proposal that morning but now there was a child involved. He closed his eyes and the images of his own childhood danced against the lids: the bewilderment on the faces of his brothers and sisters as they heard the gossip about the Anstruther miscellany, the scars that all the scandal had laid on his heart and the way he had tried to ignore the hurt, the endless doubts about his parentage and whether he was truly his father’s son.

He would insist that he and Laura wed. Hattie would be part of his family then. She would be officially his stepdaughter but he would make her true parentage known to her as soon as she was old enough to understand. By marrying Laura he could make everything right and bring some order out of this chaos. He would claim them both as his own.

He would have Laura as his wife and the wild passion that had led to the birth of their illegitimate daughter would at last be under his control. All would be ordered and calm again. For a moment he wondered how he could live with Laura now when she had hurt him so badly, but once again his calm logic came to his rescue, telling him that it need make no difference. What mattered was that he should be in control of the situation. And he would be. Everything would be well.

WHEN LAURA REACHED HOME the house was quiet. Rachel had taken Hattie upstairs to the nursery for supper. Alice had left a note on the hall table that she would call on Laura the following day. Laura’s eye fell on a small glass vase of marguerites drooping on the windowsill. She swallowed a lump in her throat. She went into the library, poured herself a glass of brandy and drank it down like medicine. She hated the spirit but it revived her, steadying her shattered nerves and calming the racing beat of her heart. Suddenly she felt exhausted. She sank down into a chair and put her head in her hands.