Married At Midnight (28 page)

* * *

"It was quite odd, my lord. A messenger arrived from Lyndermere Park with a letter for you. He said it was quite important, so I gave it to my lady. Then my lady packed her bags and left for her father's, only to return that very evening! Then not two days later she set out for Lyndermere. It was really quite odd," Nelson repeated.

Miles had set a breakneck pace back to London in the pouring rain. He was exhausted, drenched, and ached from head

to toe. All that had sustained him was the certainty of a warm, loving welcome from Victoria.

But now an awful tightness gripped his heart. I "Where is this letter?" he demanded.

Nelson coughed. "I believe my lady took it with her."

"Damn!" Miles tore up the stairs, but Nelson was right. There was no letter in either his bedroom or Victoria's.

He stood in the middle of the floor, his mind racing. He could only guess at the contents of the letter, but he had the terrible feeling Victoria had found out about Heather. God, but he should have told her the truth long ago!

For now the truth might very well mean his downfall.

He set out for Lyndermere within the hour.

* * *

For the most part, Victoria spent the next few days quietly, coming to know Heather ... but it was also a time of deep reflection. She came to realize that she was no longer the desperate young woman who sought to avoid marriage at all cost; for in

truth, marriage had changed her. Or perhaps more precisely,
love
had changed her.

It was odd, how she had come to want all she had dismissed with such disdain, all that she'd been so convinced was not important...

And it was here at Lyndermere Park that Victoria made a great discovery indeed.

She didn't want to spend her life alone, as she had proclaimed to Papa—and Sophie. She wanted a home—a home such as this!—that echoed with the sounds of laughter and love and life. She wanted children to cherish and nurture and protect. ..

And she wanted it with Miles.

She had thought he cared. She'd even thought he loved her just a little .. . She was furious with him. She felt betrayed—and

so very confused as well! But it pained her unbearably knowing that Miles had chosen not to tell her of Heather's existence.

It was as if he had some—some secret part of him that he would keep forever hidden from her.

Why?
Why
hadn't he told her? It was a question that caused her no end of torment. Miles loved Heather deeply; the way Heather spoke of him— and his behavior toward the child—left Victoria in no doubt that it was so. At first she'd thought Heather was his by-blow. But she'd learned from Mrs. Addison that Heather was Miles's ward; how and why it came to

be, Victoria had yet to learn. Yet few men would have taken in another's child, and in Victoria's estimation, it was an act of tremendous generosity. So it was that she couldn't imagine that Miles was ashamed of Heather because of her limp; it was

not in his character to be so petty.

Victoria was left with just one conclusion. He hadn't wanted her to know about Heather.

Did he trust her so little? Did he think she wouldn't care about this sweet, young child who waited so anxiously for her papa

to come home?

It hurt to realize he thought so little of her—that he chose to share so little with her. But Victoria stifled her hurt and hid her troubled state of mind whenever Heather was near.

On this particular day, Victoria sat with Heather in the drawing room, one arm around the child's narrow shoulders. Heather's dark head was nestled against her shoulder, her expression quiet and tranquil, her eyes ever alert. The pose was reflective of

all the pair had shared these past days. For both it was a time of discovery. At eight years of age, Heather was an extremely thoughtful, intelligent child. She also had quite a talent for watercolors. But she also possessed a maturity

—and sensitivity—

far beyond her tender years.

For Heather, it was a time of learning as well—learning to trust someone other than her papa—the
way
she trusted her dear Papa.

Though she was quite capable of doing so herself, she loved it when Victoria read to her. And she listened raptly when

Victoria told her stories.

"Tell me the story about the scandalous bride," Heather pleaded on this particular evening.

Victoria smothered a grin. The story about the scandalous bride was one which Heather never tired of hearing—one which Victoria was altogether familiar with . . . and for good reason.

"There once was a young woman whose father was a marquess. Like all fathers, the marquess was anxious for his daughter to make a suitable marriage. The young lady, however, had a mind of her own, you see, and had no wish to marry the boorish

and foppish young men who offered for her. If she were to marry, she wanted to marry a man she could love, and who loved her in return. But after several Seasons in London, she'd begun to give up hope that such a man existed.

"But by now the marquess had grown ever so impatient with his daughter. The young lady knew this, but she'd decided it was better to live her life alone than to marry a man she didn't love. And so she concocted an outrageous scheme, a scheme she thought would put her beyond the pale."

Heather snuggled against her. "What did the young lady do?"

"She followed a man into a garden and kissed him—can you imagine, she dared to kiss him! But you see, Heather, the young lady was not quite so clever as she'd thought, for her father demanded she marry the fellow, a man who happened to be of good family—an earl, in fact. So it was that she ended up a bride, though as you can imagine, a rather scandalous bride."

Heather peered up at her. "Was her husband handsome?"

"Oh, yes, this lord was so handsome he made her
heart flutter madly and she tingled clear to her very toes just looking

at him! But you see, they both were a stubborn pair, and rather resentful of each other for being forced to wed."

"They didn't like each other, did they?"

"No, love, not at first." The corners of Victoria's lips lifted. Though she didn't realize it, her voice had gone all soft and dreamy. "But do you know, strange as it may seem, the young lady ended up falling hopelessly in love with her handsome young lord."

"And what about him? Did he love her?"

Victoria's heart twisted.
If only I knew,
a voice inside cried.
If only I knew ...

"Yes, pet, he loved her quite madly." Though she still smiled, her eyes were full of wistfulness. "He loved her, and they were happier than either dreamed possible."

Usually Heather was content to move on to the next story. But today, she was silent for a moment. Her dark head dipped

low. It spun through Victoria's mind that she seemed troubled. Then all at once she spoke.

"I will never marry," she said.

Quiet as the child's voice was, there was a ring of finality that stunned Victoria. She frowned. "Heather,

sweet, why on

earth would you—"

"Lady Sutherland said I would forever be an encumbrance around Papa's neck. She said no man would want me for a wife.

I-I heard her."

Victoria gritted her teeth. Lady Sutherland again. Anger simmered within her. She could cheerfully strangle the woman!

"Heather," she stated firmly. "I thought we'd established that Lady Sutherland hasn't a brain in her head."

Heather still had yet to look at her. "I think she is right. I think I will never marry. The boys in the village.

They stare at me.

They stare because I'm different than other girls."

Victoria's throat grew thick with tears. She wrapped her arms around Heather and pulled her close. "Oh, darling, I know it

may seem impossible now, but nothing could be further from the truth! You're a beautiful little girl and you'll grow into a, beautiful young woman. It may take some time, but someday there will be a man who loves you very much and you will be happy, I promise you."

Slowly Heather raised her head. Victoria nearly cried out when she saw that the little girl's eyes shimmered with tears. "As happy as the lord and lady in the story?" she asked in a tiny voice.

Something broke inside Victoria then. She ducked her head and rested her cheek against Heather's dark, shining cloud of

hair. "Yes," she choked out, only barely able to speak. The ache in her breast was nearly unbearable.

Not wanting to distress Heather further, she gathered herself in hand and gave Heather a quick hug.

Raising her head, she offered the little girl a shaky smile.

Heather regarded her curiously, tipping her head to the side. "Do you know," she said after a moment,

"I'm still not certain

what to call you. 'My lady' is so formal."

"I agree," Victoria said promptly. "What would you like to call me?"

Heather pondered a moment. "Well," she murmured, "Papa isn't really my papa. I'm his ward, you know."

Victoria nodded. "Yes, I know, dear. Mrs. Addison told me."

"Still," Heather went on thoughtfully, "I call him Papa." A tiny frown furrowed her brow. "My mother died when I was very young. Mrs. Addison and my nanny are very nice, but..." Her voice trailed off. She bit her lip, opened her mouth as if to

speak, then abruptly closed it.

Victoria encouraged her gently. "Yes, love, what is it?"

A small hand stole into hers. "May I call you Mama?" she whispered.

"Heather. Oh, Heather, of course you may." Touched beyond words, Victoria pulled the little girl onto her lap and hugged

her fiercely. She was laughing; she was crying, tears she couldn't withhold and didn't try to.

It was the faint click of a door that alerted her ... They weren't alone. Someone else was in the room...

And that someone was her husband.

Conscious thought was but a blur. Despite everything, all she could do was stare, as if he were a veritable feast for the eyes.

Heather had spied him as well. "Papa!" she exclaimed. She slipped off Victoria's lap. But before she could take more than

a few steps, Miles was there. He caught her high in his arms.

"My black-haired little poppet. I missed you, love."

Heather giggled. "Did you bring me a present?"

Miles's mouth quirked dryly. "I brought you a whole trunkload of presents, poppet."

"Can I see?" She fidgeted eagerly.

Miles kissed her cheek, his eyes tender. "In just a bit, love." He paused. "I see you've met my wife."

Heather glanced shyly back at Victoria. She curled her fingers around Miles's collar and bent her forehead to his. "She said

I could call her Mama."

Miles's gaze rested on his wife. "So I heard," he said softly.

Victoria's eyes flitted away. She linked trembling hands together in her lap. Her heart lurched. What else had he heard?

When she finally found the courage to glance back at him, she was disconcerted to find herself the object of his attention.

"I'd like to spend a few minutes with Heather and get her settled for the night." His eyes cleaved the distance between them. "Will you wait for me here?"

Victoria's nod was jerky; she could manage no more. To Heather, she called a wobbly goodnight.

The time passed all too quickly. Victoria sat and then paced. She paced and then sat. Then suddenly Miles was there before her, and it was just as she'd said in her story—he was so handsome her heart fluttered madly. The very sight of him made her tingle all the way to her toes.

He moved to stand directly before her. One corner of his mouth curled up in a half-smile. "I must say, Victoria, this is the last place I expected to find you."

Her head came up. "No doubt," she snapped. She was up and on her feet, her eyes blazing. She'd suddenly remembered

how angry she was with him— and she was, so furious she was shaking with it.

"You're aware a letter came for you from Lyndermere?"

"Yes. Though I've yet to discover the contents."

"I opened it only because Nelson thought it might be urgent." She defended herself fiercely. "It was very brief, my lord. Something on the order of ... 'I miss you terribly. Love, Heather,' " she quoted.

"And you thought Heather was a woman, didn't you? A woman I kept here in the country? A mistress perhaps?" When

she glared at him, his lips quirked. "And that was what sent you packing to your father's?"

"Oh, I can see you find it vastly amusing," she flared hotly. "And I had every intention of never seeing you again, Miles

Grayson! But Papa had the audacity to tell me you might not be such a scoundrel after all. He knew about Heather,

didn't he?"

Miles's grin had faded. "Yes—and no. He was aware of her existence—that she was my ward—but I had no way of knowing if he knew the truth ..." He sighed wearily, running his fingers through his hair.

"Victoria, it's a long story. And I know you're angry that I didn't tell you about Heather—"

Tears burned her throat. "Yes, I'm angry. Angry because in all the weeks we've been married, not once did you see fit to tell me about your ward! Why, when I came here, I had no idea Heather even existed

—I've never felt so foolish! And I'm angry because all the time you were in London, this poor, neglected child was here alone—"

"Neglected? Come now, Victoria, you exaggerate. I have never neglected Heather, nor will I. And she was hardly alone, for there is a house full of servants who love her and care for her every need—"

"But it was
you
she needed, Miles. She wanted her papa, and you should have been here with her! For that matter, she—

she needs a mother, too, though apparently it's never occurred to you that your
wife
could be the mother she needs."

Guilt flickered across his face. "Did you think it was easy for me? I stayed because of you, Victoria." His tone was intense. "Because I wanted to be with
you.
That's the truth."

"The truth!" The breath she drew was deep and shuddering. "How am I to believe you when you hid the truth from me—you didn't tell me about Heather! How am I to trust you when you refused to trust me?

Because you didn't, did you, Miles? You didn't trust me with the truth about Heather, did you?"

Miles's face had gone pale. "No," he said very quietly.

Victoria began to cry openly. "Why?" she cried. "Why didn't you trust me? Did you think I'd fly into a rage? Did you think

I wouldn't understand? Did you think I'd want to send her away like—like that witch Lady Sutherland?"

She saw him flinch, as if he'd been struck. And she knew then ...

"That's it, isn't it?" Pain slashed through her, like a rapier through the heart. Her words were a trembling, broken whisper. "You—you thought I was like her..."

Miles's body had gone stiff.

"You're right," he said, his tone wooden. "I
did
think you were like Margaret. You see, I'd heard of you, even before that

night at the Rutherfords, the beautiful—and much sought-after—daughter of the marquess of Norcastle who refused to

choose a husband. Victoria, how can I explain... ? The next thing I knew we were wed. I knew you didn't want to be a

wife ... why would you want to be a mother, and to a little girl who wasn't even your own ...

"I never loved Margaret, not really. I want you to know that, Victoria. I admit, I was swept away by her beauty and charm.

I proposed to her because I thought Heather needed a mother—because I thought she could make us happy. I-I thought I

was doing the right thing. Margaret came from an impeccable family. She loved the glitter of London, the parties, the gossip.

"But as the wedding date drew near, I'd begun to have doubts—to think her shallow and vain—but I kept them to myself. I brought Margaret to Lyndermere to meet Heather. Victoria, she was .. . horrified when she saw Heather. She looked at Heather as if she were a—a monster."

Tears coursed down her cheeks. Everything he said was like a knife turning inside her. "I know that, Miles. But you must

have known later that I wasn't like her. I-I could never be so cruel! Yet still you didn't tell me. You refused to believe in me. God, and I"—a jagged cry tore from her lips—"I thought you cared for me."

He seized her hands. She tried to snatch them back but he wouldn't let her.

"I do. Victoria, I
do."
His tone was low and fervent. "But I was still afraid, sweet, and you must admit, you were scarcely

at home those first weeks of our marriage. It seemed you thrived on the parties, the crowds, the adoration from those silly young bucks in London. I-I didn't think you could be happy with a simple life in the country. I didn't think you could be

happy with
me!"

His voice grew raw. "But above all, I had to protect Heather. I've remained here at Lyndermere in order to spare Heather

the pain of gossip and whispers among the London highbrows. I couldn't let her be scorned or disdained by anyone. I

couldn't let her be hurt again the way Margaret hurt her! Victoria, the night we made love ... I knew you were different or I wouldn't have let it happen. My God, I wouldn't have
wanted
it to happen. But I did, Victoria. I wanted you so much it hurt inside. And then the next morning I intended to tell you about Heather, but the news from Cornwall came and I had to leave..."

He pulled her shaking body into his embrace. "I'm sorry, sweet," he said achingly. "I'm so sorry. I knew how wrong I'd been when I saw you with Heather. I was so relieved and yet so ashamed!"

Victoria searched his face. The depth of emotion reflected in his eyes nearly took her breath away. It was going to be all right after all. . . With a tiny little cry she wrapped her arms around his waist and clung.

"I want you to know everything, sweet, how Heather came to live here .. . everything. There was a carriage accident nearby some years ago. The coach carried three passengers—a man, a woman, and a child of about three."

Victoria's tears had begun to slow. She turned her tear-stained face up to his. "Heather?" she whispered.

Miles nodded. "The driver and the man were killed immediately. The woman lingered for several days."

"Heather's parents?"

"I believe so. I know for certain the woman was her mother. I brought her here to Lyndermere." An odd note entered his

voice. "Victoria, never in my life have I heard such vileness! Her mother knew she was dying. She heaped curses on her daughter and spewed the crudest of obscenities—because Heather would live and not her!"

Victoria went cold inside. "The accident. Is that how she came to be lame?"

"No. Her injuries were serious, but her knee was already scarred and malformed. The physician said it was likely some other accident. She was too ill to be moved—and she was so small—that I kept her here with me to recuperate. By the time she

was well—oh, I know it sounds strange—but I loved her too much to let her go."

Victoria rubbed her cheek against the soft wool of his jacket. "It's not strange at all," she whispered. "I feel the same already."

His arms tightened. "There's more, Victoria. Heather was an orphan. I do not condemn them, but her parents' clothing was ragged and unkempt. Had I let her go, she would have been called a guttersnipe. I couldn't let that happen. Nor could I let

her go to an orphan house—my God, the conditions in those places are deplorable!"

Victoria felt him swallow.

"I lied, Victoria. I asked the courts to declare her my ward. I told the magistrate her parents were very dear friends of mine; that her father was an impoverished lord from France—Heather's mother told me her name was Duval—who'd married an English lady. I said they were on their way to see me, to resettle here in England, when the accident occurred."

His palm was warm upon her nape. With his thumb he urged her face to his. "Heather believes herself to be the daughter

of a French aristocrat and an English lady. Until this moment, no one knew the truth but me." His eyes darkened. "It's a

secret I will guard with my life."

For an instant Victoria couldn't speak. Her throat was too tight. "Why? Why do you tell me this? Why now?"

"Because I trust you with my heart, sweet. I love you, Victoria. I
love you."

To her utter shame, she began to cry all over again. Miles swept her close, so close their hearts beat together as one.

"Shhh," he soothed. "I didn't mean to make you cry again, sweet. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Her smile was tremulous. "It's all right. It's just that I—I never thought to hear you say that."

His gaze had fallen to her lips. "No? What about the story you told Heather?" he teased. "The lord loved his lady quite

madly, did he not?"

"That was just a-a fanciful dream," she confessed.

His expression was incredibly tender. "It's no dream, sweet. I
do
love you. But I fear I must know—did

the lady truly fall hopelessly in love with her lord?"

Victoria pressed her hand into his cheek, her smile misty. "Oh, yes," she whispered. "Quite hopelessly indeed ..."