Joan Wolf Read online

  He found Frances sitting with her aunt in the drawing room. She looked pale but she smiled when she saw him and asked him to be seated. “What does Frances Stewart look like?” his mother had asked curiously, having heard reports from his aunts in London. As he looked now at the blonde head of the girl before him, he mentally shook his head. There was no describing Frances.

  She talked with him calmly and amusingly and said yes, she was going to Mrs. Carstairs’s ball that evening and yes, she would save a dance for him. As he left his brow was faintly puckered. On the surface she seemed the same, but the springing vitality he had so loved was gone. He had never seen her so subdued.

  He watched her carefully for a week and then, having prepared Lady Mary, he called in Hanover Square and was allowed to see her alone.

  “I asked you a question some months ago, Miss Stewart,” he said steadily. “You begged me at the time not to pressure you for an immediate answer. I have obeyed your wishes but I have not forgotten. Do you feel it possible to answer me now?”

  She refused to meet his eyes. “I cannot marry you, my lord,” she said in a voice so low he could barely hear it.

  Lord Robert had been a very good soldier. He decided it was time to go on the attack. “Why not?” he asked unexpectedly.

  She moved restlessly to the window with her lithe long walk. She fingered the velvet drapes. “Because I don’t love you.”

  “I love you,” he answered quietly. “Don’t you think, perhaps, you might learn to love me in return? I can be very persuasive.”

  At last she looked at him. His blue eyes were tender as they rested on her troubled face. It was the tenderness that broke her. She bent her head and he saw the heavy tears falling on her hands as she held to the velvet drapery. “Frances!” He crossed the room swiftly to stand beside her and she raised her tear-streaked face to his.

  “I can’t marry you, my lord,” she repeated. “I can’t marry anyone. Not now.”

  “Not now.” At those words a vivid picture flashed in his mind, of Ian touching Frances with a smile. His voice was uncharacteristically rough as he asked, “What did he do to you?”

  Her eyes widened until they were great liquid pools of green. He was standing over her so that his shoulders blotted out the rest of the room, but his aspect was not at all menacing. Rather, it was strangely comforting. He was on her side, Frances thought confusedly. And because she was frightened and didn’t know what to do, she told him. “I’m going to have a baby.”

  He felt as if someone had hit him across the face without provocation or warning. “My God!” he said, and she bowed her head again. “Macdonald’s?” he asked shortly, and the golden head nodded.

  Lord Robert’s blue eyes were black with anger. “And he left you?” he asked incredulously.

  “He didn’t know,” her voice was muffled. She went on, automatically coming to Ian’s defense, “He asked me. I said I was all right.”

  “But why?”

  She couldn’t tell him the real reason. “I was angry,” she said. She was as still now as she had been restless before. She raised her beautiful eyes to his and said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  He stared down at her, and there was a white line around his mouth. “I said once there was nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he said at last. “I meant it. Marry me.”

  She looked pale as a waxen saint. “I can’t do that.”

  His mouth twisted. “Do you find me so repulsive?”

  “No!” There was distress in her voice. “Of course not. Only there is more involved here than just the two of us. You are a man of great position. You cannot accept another man’s son as your heir.”

  “The child may be a girl,” he said steadily. “I’ll take the chance.” He smiled somewhat crookedly. “Don’t think me a hero, Frances. I thought I had lost you. If this is the only way I can get you, I’ll take it. If we are married immediately no one will ever know the child isn’t mine.”

  She looked searchingly into his face. What she saw there seemed to reassure her. “Are you certain?” she said hesitantly.

  He had not yet touched her. He put his hands on her shoulders now and felt her stiffen slightly. A sudden fear struck him. His love for Frances was not at all brotherly. With sudden decision he pulled her closer, bending his head to find her lips.

  His mouth was warm and hard and insistent on hers and Frances instinctively resisted him. But then she opened her eyes and saw his face, the bright hair falling forward over his forehead.

  He was not at all like Ian. Slowly her heart quieted and she leaned against him, comforted by his strong arms and slow-moving kisses. When he finally raised his head his blue eyes looked relieved. “It’s going to be all right,” he said in a rich, deep voice.

  “Yes,” she replied on a note of wonder. “I think it is.”

  They were married a week later and Robert took her first to the lakes and then home to Aysgarth. His father and mother were pleased to learn that their son had carried off the girl who was being called the beauty of the century, and soon they came to appreciate Frances for her own sake. They were gentle and kind, reasonable and satisfied. The house itself was very lovely, with huge rooms furnished with sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth century furniture. It was the sort of house that had grown gradually, under centuries of Sedburgh guardianship. Frances, who was used to Scottish country houses, products of colder winters and families with considerably less money than the Sedburghs, was very impressed. The first time she had seen it it had seemed enormous and powerful and intimidating, but it was the kind of household that was still rooted in its neighborhood, and she soon found that while the scale of life was different from what she was used to, the substance was not.

  Robert’s three younger brothers were at school, so the Earl and Countess of Aysgarth were the only other inhabitants of the house for most of the time. When it became obvious that Frances was going to have a child they were delighted. Lady Aysgarth spent hours telling Frances about the history of the Sedburgh family, which had acquired its earldom under Elizabeth.

  Frances was wretched. She had lied to everyone about the expected date of birth, and no one seemed to doubt her word. She was tall and carried well; it never seemed to occur to anyone that she was two months more pregnant than she had said she was. It was not fear of discovery that made her so miserable. It was the deception itself. The more she heard about the ancient lineage of the Sedburgh family, the more she saw of their quality, the more profoundly unhappy she became. When she brought her trouble up to Robert, he was always reassuring, “If the baby is a boy, he will be my son. That is all there is to it, Frances. He will be brought up here at Aysgarth and he will learn to love it as well as any Sedburgh. Don’t worry.”

  But, of course, she did worry. He made light of her concern but it was not a light matter. She knew that and he knew it as well. She prayed night and day to the Holy Virgin that her baby would be a girl.

  On May 7, Frances’s maid came into her bedroom to find her lying on the floor. She had been rearranging some flowers, had stepped back to regard them, tripped over a small stool, fallen, and hit her head on the comer of a table. She had knocked herself out. The maid shrieked for help and Robert, who was coming up the stairs, ran into the room. Frances was just stirring. White-lipped with fear he carried her to the bed and sent for the doctor. Aside from a painful bruise on her temple, she was pronounced to be all right. The doctor recommended a good night’s sleep.

  Her labor pains began early the following morning. She went through the connecting door into Robert’s room and woke him. At the touch of her hand on his arm, he sat up immediately. “The pains have started, Rob,” she said quietly. “I think you’d better send for the doctor.”

  He swung himself out of bed and put a supporting arm around her. “Let me put you back into bed first.” As they returned slowly to her room he said calmly, “Frances, it was the fall. That’s why the baby is early.”

  Her eyes l
ooked enormous in her pale face. “Yes,” she said. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Her hand tightened for a minute on his arm. “Rob, I’m so frightened.”

  He knew it wasn’t childbirth that terrified her but the result of it. “It will be all right,” he said soothingly. “Even if it’s a boy, and the spitting image of Macdonald, we’ll brazen it out together. Now let me help you into bed and I’ll ring for your maid.”

  For a brief moment her lips rested against his hand. “You’re so good to me.”

  “Of course I am,” he replied reasonably. “I love you. Now for God’s sake will you get into bed! It’s freezing out here!” And with a shaken laugh she obeyed.

  Frances’s daughter was born six hours later. She was six pounds, a very decent weight for a seven-month baby. She had downy hair and her eyes were blue. Frances took one look at her and tears of relief and tenderness slid down her face. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  Robert was staring, fascinated. “She’s so tiny.”‘ Gently he touched the baby’s fingers and the infant looked at him, a comer of her mouth flaring up. “She smiled at me!” He sounded genuinely delighted. Frances looked at him.

  “I don’t deserve you, Rob,” she said humbly.

  “Maybe not,” he grinned at her, “but you’ve got me. Forever.”

  Chapter Ten

  If love for love thou wilt na gie

  At least be pity to me shown

  —ROBERT BURNS

  Eighteen months later Lord Robert Sedburgh, his wife, and his daughter paid a rare visit to London. The occasion was an exhibit by Douglas Macdonald at the Royal Academy. Frances had been delighted when she heard the news from Douglas, and had immediately asked Robert if they could go up to London to see it. He had not really wanted to go; he had repeatedly found reasons why a stay in London would be impossible. But now he looked at the eager face of his wife and relented. This time, he could see, she really wanted to go. They brought the baby, who had been named Helen, after Frances’s mother, with them.

  The Earl of Aysgarth had a house in Berkeley Square, which he had opened and staffed for the use of his son and daughter-in-law. They planned to stay for at least a month. It was not London that Robert had been avoiding for all these months but the Macdonalds, specifically Douglas and Charlie. He did not care to have Frances reminded of Ian. However, it was inevitable that they meet at some time, he realized, and so he was the one who proposed the longer visit.

  They had been in town for two days when Frances wrote to tell Douglas they had arrived. He came immediately. She heard his voice as she was coming down the main stairs, and went herself into the front hall to welcome him.

  “Douglas! How marvelous to see you. We’re so excited about your exhibition. Come into the drawing room and tell me about it.” She drew his arm through hers and began to walk him down the hall. Over her shoulder she said to the butler, “Bring some sherry, Matthews.”

  Douglas was regarding her with an expression that Frances barely noticed, she was so accustomed to seeing it in the eyes of men when they looked at her. She smiled warmly and sat down. “Tell me all about it,” she repeated. “I made Robert bring me to London as soon as I heard. Imagine. The Royal Academy!”

  Douglas blinked and abruptly sat down. After a moment’s silence he began to do as she requested. When he had finished the tale and had promised to escort them himself to see the paintings he asked courteously, “But how is the baby, Frances? She must be walking by now.”

  Frances grinned. “She’s been walking for eight months, Douglas! And she’s fine. You can see for yourself. We brought her with us.” She rang the bell.

  Douglas smiled a little painfully. “Oh, good.”

  The butler came in. “Matthews, will you ask Nurse to bring Miss Helen down to the drawing room, please?”

  “Yes, my lady.” The butler nodded magisterially and withdrew. In ten minutes a stout middle-aged woman appeared holding a little girl by the hand.

  “Thank you. Nurse,” Frances said. “I’ll bring her back to the nursery later.’’ The little girl ran to Frances and immediately climbed up into her lap, staring with huge gray eyes at the strange man sitting in her mother’s drawing room.

  “This is Mr. Macdonald, Nell,” Frances said. “He is a good friend of Mama’s. Will you say hello?”

  “Hello,” the little girl said gravely, staring at Douglas with the relentless gaze of childhood. She was a beautiful child. She had hair of dark gold and eyes the deep gray of a northern loch.

  “Hello, Nell,” Douglas replied equally solemnly. “I am very glad to meet you.”

  Nell considered this in silence for a few minutes, then got off Frances’s lap and went over to him. “What that?”

  Douglas looked ruefully at his finger. “A paint stain,” he admitted. “I like to paint, Nell.” Nell looked incredulous and he smiled. “I know it isn’t a very grown-up thing to do but I like it.”

  The child’s eye was caught by an ornament on a table over on the far side of the room and she toddled toward it determinedly. “She looks like your father, Frances,” he said.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “So everyone says.” Nell had reached the ornament. She picked it up.

  “Mama!” she said excitedly. “A horsie!”

  “Yes, love, I see. Bring it here carefully and we’ll look at it.” Frances smiled at the child who grinned back, her small face lighting up in a way that made her suddenly resemble unmistakably the man who was her father.

  Douglas’s breath rasped in his throat. Frances was still smiling lovingly at Nell, who was coming toward her carefully holding the horse. She turned briefly to say something to Douglas and when she saw the appalled recognition in his eyes her own face sobered. “Is it as obvious as that?” she asked out of a constricted throat.

  He looked from the child to her. “No,” he said after a minute. “She really doesn’t look like him at all. It’s the smile.”

  Her face never changed. “I know.”

  “Only someone who knew him very well would ever see it.” For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to say Ian’s name. “God, Frances! I had no idea.”

  “Thank you, sweetie,” she said to her daughter. “Yes, look at his mane and his tail. Just like a real horse. Sit down here and you can play with him. It’s bronze,” she said to Douglas as if answering a question of his. “It won’t break.”

  “Frances!”

  “Yes?” She spoke almost absently.

  “Does Robert know?” He was surprised to see a flame of anger in her eyes.

  “What do you take me for, Douglas? Of course he knows. He married me anyway.”

  Douglas stared at her for a minute and then his mouth took on a grim look. “Of course,” he said, “I asked the wrong question. I should have asked does Ian know?”

  Her eyes fell away from his to rest on the bright curls of her daughter. “No,” she said shortly. “And I don’t want him to know.”

  “Why did you let him go, Frances?” His eyes too were on the child, playing so happily with her new find.

  To Douglas she told the truth. “Because I wanted him to stay for me. Not for anything else. Just for me.”

  He nodded slowly, as if her answer made perfect sense, as, to him, it did. “He is still in South America,” he volunteered, giving her the information she longed for but would never ask for. “I wrote, of course, to tell him about your marriage. I hear from him periodically.”

  “I understand that the republicans were badly beaten,” she said in a stiff voice.

  He stared at her in surprise. He had never before known Frances to concern herself about foreign affairs, and the news from Venezuela was not easily come by. “Yes,” he said. “Bolivar is presently in New Granada, in Cartagena to be precise. Ian is with him. They are determined to convince New Granada to assist them in a new effort to liberate Venezuela.”

  Frances’s face was shadowed. “I see,” she said quietly.

  There was the sound of a step i
n the hall, and the door opened. “Papa!” Nell cried, her face vivid with joy. She ran toward Robert Sedburgh, her arms held out.

  “Nell!” the tall blond man laughed back and swung her up into his arms. “How is my girl?”

  She giggled delightedly as he held her over his head, then he sat her in the crook of his arm and crossed the room. Frances watched him come, her eyes warm with tenderness. “Rob, you remember Douglas MacDonald,” she said.

  “Of course.” He put Nell down and went to shake hands with Douglas. “We are looking forward to seeing your exhibit,” he said courteously. “In fact, it is the main reason for our visit to London.”

  “I am flattered,” returned Douglas. “And very pleased.”

  Robert sat down and Nell immediately climbed up his legs, clutching her horse. “Look, Papa!” she said urgently. He bent his head to the child and Frances said mournfully, “Deserted again.”

  Robert laughed at her. “You’re an old story,” he said. “I’m a treat.”

  But she shook her head. “Nell has been Papa’s girl virtually since she was born,” she explained to Douglas. “She only puts up with me until she can get her hands on him. She’s a true female, I’m afraid.”

  At this point a very serious look descended over Nell’s face. “Oh dear,” said Frances comically, jumping up. “I think it’s time to remove her upstairs. I know that look.”

  Robert handed her over with alacrity. “By all means,” he said definitely, and both he and Douglas watched as she carried the little girl out of the room. Then Robert turned to Douglas. He had not missed the shadow on Frances’s face when he came in.

  “Frances looks well,” Douglas said. He hesitated. “She looks happy,” he added finally.