Page 21 of The Broken Marchioness (Lords of Inconvenience #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“H ere will do, thank you,” Frederica called out of the carriage.

The driver pulled the coach to a stop, and the footman opened the door for her.

“Thank you, Trevor,” Frederica whispered to the footman.

“This is where you wanted to come, My Lady?” Trevor looked uneasily at the back pathway to Hyde Park they had drawn alongside. “We could have taken you to the main entrance?”

“This will be fine, thank you.”

They both looked up in unison at the sky. On their journey, the blue sky had clouded over. Every minute that passed, the sky was darkening further still to an inky black.

“Maybe it’s not the best day for a walk in the park,” Trevor said, pointing at the clouds.

“I will not be long. I’ll return soon,” she promised him and forced a smile. “Please, wait here.”

Trevor clearly was about to argue again, perhaps that he should not leave his mistress alone going into a wooded area, but she dived away before he could complain again, heading into the park.

That conversation with Allan had just changed everything for Frederica. The way he had kissed her and spoken of love — not in words, but in action — had shown her what she needed to know.

What if I could have that life? What if I could turn my back on all the feelings of unworthiness and sadness and just be happy with Allan?

If she was going to do that, then she had to do one thing first. She had to meet with Lord Wetherington and tell him once and for all that he was not to contact her again, that he would never have what he wanted, and that if he laid a hand on Allan, she would crush him in turn.

She meant the threat.

Darting down paths that were overgrown on this side of the park, she struggled to find the intersection of streams which Lord Wetherington had referred to in his letter. The longer she walked, the more the clouds gathered overhead.

In the end, the sky began to shed its tears. Thick, heavy droplets of rain fell down on her head and shoulders, dampening her hair and making it stick to her skin.

Eventually, she came upon a small clearing in the wood. This part of the park was so removed from the main thoroughfare that there was no one around to see her. The circle of trees around her was so thick, that she highly doubted anyone would glimpse her through the branches.

She felt at once how vulnerable a situation this was, that maybe she should not have come at all. Deciding she would not be a victim to Lord Wetherington again, she reached for the nearest tree and broke off a branch. It took some effort, for she didn’t just select the flimsiest twig she could find but something a little sturdier that she dragged forward.

Standing in the middle of the clearing, she clutched the branch to her side like a bat.

Then that feeling returned. It was the sensation of being intently watched by someone, an intense pair of eyes on her back.

“I know you’re here,” she called into the woodland and looked down the path she had taken to this spot. “I have come. I have agreed that far to comply with your wishes. Now step out where I can see you,” she urged.

For a minute, nothing happened.

She tucked her reticule higher on her shoulder then gripped the branch harder.

“Come out,” she demanded again.

“Is that weapon really necessary, my darling?”

Her stomach curdled at his term for her. She spun around as behind her, a tall figure stepped out of the woodland. His dark clothes meant he’d melded perfectly with the trees.

His fair hair was plastered to his temple because of the rain, his dark almost-black eyes were like nothing but holes in his face as he stared at her.

“Put the branch down,” he urged, but she didn’t. Frederica stood taller, taking a single step back until she realized she was very close to the streams. She moved forward again.

“No,” she refused him. “There’s something I have to say to you, and I will say it with this weapon at my side.”

* * *

“Woah! Aye, maybe we need to take a break,” Gerard’s voice was hardly soothing as Allan broke off from their fencing match.

He backed away across the sports hall of Gerard’s house, catching his breath and leaning on his sword.

“Ye are fightin’ like a man possessed, Allan,” Gerard said with no small degree of unease. He leaned on his own sword, doing his best to catch Allan’s eye.

“Little good it’s doing me. I still can’t beat you.”

“Well, a ruffian from the streets of Edinburgh must learn how to fight. Aye, at least it’s one skill I have.” Gerard laughed. The jest offered Allan one momentary smile though it didn’t last. “Ye going to tell me what’s wrong? Or shall I just guess?”

Allan said nothing but raised his sword again.

“Very well, we’re left with guessing then.” Gerard advanced fast, his movements so quick with the blades that Allan had to give the fight his full focus. Clearly, the fight was so easy for Gerard that he could afford to be distracted. “Yer new wife. Is she the source of yer consternation?”

“Gerard, just fight.” Allan managed to avoid a swipe to his chest, leaping back.

“Is it her past life catching up with her?”

“Gerard!”

“Aye, that’s the answer then.”

“For God’s sake — woah!” Allan managed to avoid another blow, this time having to roll across the floor to escape Gerard’s sword before he stood again. Allan’s replying parry was so heated that, for a minute, they were both silent as they fought.

Inevitably, Gerard’s greater experience won out. He knocked Allan’s sword from his hand and raised the point high then he held it still and smiled with his victory.

“Ye’re gettin’ better,” he said approvingly to Allan. “Ye fought well and for a long time. Ye’re better than Stephen now.”

“Tell him that. I’d quite like to see him burn with envy for a bit,” Allan said, forcing a smile.

Gerard laughed again and picked up the discarded sword.

“Whilst we have another breather, are ye goin’ to tell me, now, what’s bothering ye?”

Allan sighed. There were many things that were bothering him but putting it all into words was impossible.

“Frederica.” This one word in itself seemed to be enough.

“Aye, I ken that feeling.” Gerard nodded, returning their weapons to the racks on the wall. “Mine and Charlotte’s early days were hardly smooth.”

“They weren’t?” Allan asked, sitting down on a bench beside the racking. He had been travelling for much of the courtship between Gerard and Charlotte. All he had heard about it was that it was definitely an unorthodox courtship.

“Nay.” Gerard sat down beside him. “I think for a long time, Charlotte couldnae decide if she really liked me or nae.”

“How could that be true?” Allan’s eyes widened. “She’s besotted with you.” He had glimpsed more than once the way Charlotte would stare at Gerard across a room or take him to the side, so they could talk privately. They weren’t just in love but the dearest of friends.

“Because happy marriages are nae always easy things. We daenae always fall for the one we should be with either.” Gerard turned to him conspiratorially. “Ye ken by now that my birth was nae exactly legitimate.”

Allan nodded, for he had heard the stories but never from Gerard’s own lips.

“Me father was a duke; me mother a maid. Aye, but she loved him still, and I found out much later that he loved her too.”

“I’m sorry,” Allan whispered. They’d had the chance of happiness, but clearly, it was not theirs to take.

“Their story made me realize somethin’ when I met Charlotte.” Gerard smiled sadly. “Sometimes, happiness in love is being willing to take a chance on it. Aye, it’s about choosin’ it. Maybe ye two just need to take a little longer to decide what ye both want.”

Allan nodded thoughtfully and leaned back on the bench.

The truth was, he knew what he wanted. He was most definitely willing to take a chance on loving Frederica.

“Maybe she’s the one who needs to make that choice,” he whispered.

Gerard clapped him comfortingly on the shoulder.

“Then be patient,” Gerard urged. “She’ll make it in time. And in the meantime, have another go at running me through with a sword.”

Allan laughed and reached for the blade again.

By the time Allan left Gerard’s house, he was exhausted. Gerard had drilled him hard with fencing exercises, and for a short while, Allan was able to forget the world and his troubles at home.

As he pulled his horse up outside of his house, the heavens opened. It was no longer a light rain but heavy and persistent with great globules falling on his face and clothes.

He took the horse to the stables then returned to the house, shaking off the excess water from his clothes as he stepped inside.

As he closed the door behind him, he caught the tail end of a conversation that suddenly dropped silent.

“Not here…” a woman was saying.

Allan looked around to see his butler, Mrs. Long, and Lucy all standing together at the bottom of the stairs. Lucy was pale, Mrs. Long excessively fidgety, and the butler plainly didn’t know where to look.

“Is something wrong?” Allan asked, shrugging off his sudden frock coat.

“No, no, My Lord,” Mrs. Long said hurriedly. “We were just not aware that Frederica would be out this evening. Is she having dinner elsewhere?”

“Wait… she still isn’t back?” Allan stepped forward, looking between the three of them. “The carriage hasn’t returned with her?”

“Neither the carriage nor Lady Padleigh are back, My Lord,” the butler said somberly, clearly keen to avoid any confusion.

“Wait a minute.” Allan had to see the proof for himself.

Unusually, he didn’t care if he was treading damp footprints through the house, and he swept into each room he could possibly find, searching it intently.

He went to her chamber first, but it was empty, then he tried every guest room and every chamber downstairs too. The dining table had been prepped for dinner, but Frederica was not in her seat waiting for it to be served.

Lastly, he went the music room. Disturbed to see his gift to her with the note still attached to the strings, he turned his back on the room fast before halting in the doorway.

What was that?

He turned back and walked into the room, seeing a chunk of red wax hardened on the carpet. He bent down, rubbing the pieces between his forefinger and thumb as he realized what they were — they were pieces from the red wax that sealed an envelope.

“Mrs. Long?” he called as he returned to the entrance hall. “Did Frederica receive a letter today?”

“Yes, My Lord. This morning,” Mrs. Long explained. “She didn’t mention it?”

“No. No, she did not.” Allan couldn’t bear the way they were all looking at him with pity and worry. He turned his back on them, staring down at the pieces of red wax again.

Someone wrote to her; now she has left the house. Perhaps they asked for a meeting with her, but who?

He crumbled the red wax into even smaller pieces in his hand.

* * *

“What is it you have to say?” Lord Wetherington wouldn’t stop staring at Frederica. There was a keenness in his gaze that left her breathless in fear. She clutched even more tightly to the branch in her grasp.

“I…” She hesitated as the rain started to come down harder then remembered the feeling of Allan’s lips on her cheek and on her neck. When there was the possibility of such happiness, how could she not fight for it? “I want you to stop writing letters to me.”

Lord Wetherington raised a single eyebrow, as if her words were as cumbersome as a passing fly.

“You will never call me to your side again. Ever,” she said, growing increasingly confident with her words. “I am married now, married to Allan. I never want to see you again, Lord Wetherington.”

“Morgan. My name is Morgan, Frederica.”

“And I shall never call you that,” she cut in sharply, moving that branch an inch at her side, showing she was very prepared to use it to protect herself if the situation called for it. “You are never to bother me again.”

“Or what?” Lord Wetherington’s eyes narrowed to slits as he took a step forward.

She backed up, her heels even more dangerously close to the stream than before. She glanced back down at the water, and in that time, it allowed him to close the distance between them.

“What are you doing —?”

He caught the branch from her grasp and wrenched it free, then tossed it into the water behind her. She backed up a little more, her feet now in the shallows of the stream in her effort to get away from him.

“You know I cannot stay away from you. Maybe I cannot marry you now.” His eyes slid down to her hand. She curled her hand into a protective fist, knowing that he was looking at the ring upon her finger. “But there’s something more I can ask of you.”

“What is that?” she asked, well aware how preposterous she looked, even as she attempted to raise her chin higher and maintain some dignity when the water was reaching up to her calves.

He held up a single finger between them, moving a few inches nearer to her, she moved along the bank, still trying to escape him, but he just pursued her, his boots muddying the waters.

“Can you not guess?” He caught her hand. She did her best to pull back from him, but he was too strong, yanking her forward and forcing her to stumble toward him, barely staying on her feet. “If I cannot have you legally,” he hissed, his lips moving near her ear even as she leaned as far away from him as she could possibly get, “then I will have you outside of marriage.”

“No,” she murmured in horror, fearing what he would make her do in this river. She looked around herself, scrambling for some sort of escape from him.

“Be my mistress, Frederica.”