The Duke's Secret Heir Page 4

  ‘And the chaplain?’ Mrs Ackroyd had asked him the question, since Ellen had been too distraught to speak.

  ‘I am personally acquainted with Dr Angus and if he were in Egypt he would have come to see me. The last letter I had from him was from Sicily and he was even then talking of a posting to South America. You have been grossly deceived, ladies, the soldiers you met could only have been deserters.’

  Ellen remembered his words all too clearly, felt again her shock. Shock and mortification so great that it had sent her into a dead faint. She had been foolish beyond reason to accept Max with no proof at all of his identity. She had fallen head over heels in love and within two weeks of their meeting she had married him. She had never before let down her guard and trusted any man, which was why his deception had broken her completely. When she had learned of it, all she had wanted was to leave the country as quickly as possible. Mrs Ackroyd had pointed out that the French Consul’s sphere of influence was far greater than that of the Allies and he could get them quickly and safely out of the country. Ellen had known how that would look to Max, if he found out, but she had not cared for that. In fact, she had been glad. It would be some small revenge for what he had done to her.

  But now, as he sat in her house, coolly refuting her arguments, the doubts crept in. Why would he suggest her lawyers should investigate unless he was sure of his facts? What if she had misjudged him all these years? She looked up to find he was watching her and his cold, assured smile chilled her to the bone.

  ‘Yes, madam, you are my wife, but not for long.’

  Ellen felt the blood draining from her face and put her hands to her cheeks. Max gave a scornful laugh and pushed himself out of his chair. As if in a dream she watched him place his empty glass carefully on the side table before turning back to her.

  ‘You should not have been so hasty in casting me off, Ellen. But four years ago neither of us dreamed I would ever become Duke. That makes you a duchess, but you may be sure I mean to obtain a divorce as soon as possible. I do not think it will be difficult, do you?’ he drawled. ‘A wife who abandons her husband for another man and a French official at that. And there is the bigamy charge, too. Divorce will be expensive, difficult and we will be a laughing stock, but I will endure it all to be free of you.’

  She barely heard him, too horrified by her own thoughts to understand his words. She had been so devastated by what she thought was his betrayal that on her return to England she had taken a false name and hidden herself away. She had given him no chance to explain himself. But if she had indeed been mistaken, this anger, this hatred he was displaying was perfectly understandable. She bit her lip and looked at him.

  ‘Oh, Max,’ she whispered. ‘I am more sorry than I can say...’

  His lip curled. ‘I am sure you are, but you should have thought of that before you deserted me.’ He picked up his hat and gloves. ‘I shall write to my lawyers tomorrow to free us both from this damnable mess.’

  Ellen looked into that cold, implacable face and her spirit crumbled. She felt physically sick at the thought that she had been wrong and she could not blame him for hating her. Leaving Alexandria under the protection of the French Consul was an insult Max would never forgive, but she had believed then that she was the injured party. Her head was reeling. If the marriage was indeed legal, then she needed to consider her situation, but that was impossible in his presence.

  She drew a breath and steadied her nerves. ‘Very well. I will show you out.’

  She waited until he had picked up his cloak, then preceded him to the empty hall, anxious to get him out of the house as quickly as possible. They had just stepped into the hall when a little voice called from the top of the stairs.

  ‘Mama! Mama!’

  * * *

  Max stopped and looked back to see a small, golden-haired boy standing halfway down the stairs. Ellen gave a little cry and rushed up to catch the child in her arms just as a flustered housemaid appeared on the landing.

  ‘Ooh, madam, I am sorry, I must have left the door ajar. I thought Master James was asleep and I’d only turned my back for a minute!’

  Ellen gathered the little boy up, hugging him close. The child laid his head on her shoulder, but for a moment he looked directly at Max, a long, unblinking stare, before his eyelids drooped. He was already asleep as Ellen handed him back to the nursemaid.

  ‘Take him back to bed, Hannah. And this time please make sure the door is properly closed.’

  She turned back, ready to usher him out, but Max did not move.

  He said, through gritted teeth, ‘This, madam, changes everything.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘Well, were you going to tell me I had a son?’

  He bit out the words, his mind working frantically. When he had first seen the boy on the stairs he had been forcibly reminded of the portrait hanging in the drawing room at Rossenhall, the one of Hugo and himself as children. When he had been barely four years old. Then he had seen the child’s eyes, green as emeralds, and suspicion hardened into certainty. Now, facing Ellen across the candlelit room, he saw the momentary panic flit across her face and he wondered if she would deny everything.

  ‘No. Yes.’ She put a hand to her head. ‘So much has happened this evening, my thoughts are in chaos.’ She took a breath, then another before saying slowly, ‘If you have told me the truth, if we are truly married, then Jamie is your heir, Max.’ With an effort she forced herself to look at him. ‘Will you take him from me?’

  There was naked fear in her eyes as she whispered the words. If he truly wanted to punish her, he now had the means to do it and no one would blame him. He had every right to take the child. Why hesitate? Why not deliver the killer blow? Four years of pain repaid, in an instant.

  He could not do it.

  ‘That is up to you,’ he said at last. ‘The boy must join my household. You are his mother. And my wife. You may come, too. If you choose to do so.’

  She closed her eyes, relief clearly visible in every line of her body.

  ‘Thank you. Max, I am truly grateful.’

  He said coldly, ‘I do not want your thanks. If I do not divorce you, it is for the boy’s sake, not yours.’ With an expert flick he threw the cloak about his shoulders. ‘We will discuss the details in the morning, but the boy will be joining my household as soon as I can arrange for it. With or without you.’

  * * *

  Max strode back to the Granby Hotel, barely noticing the chill wind that cut across from the Stray. Ellen had said her thoughts were in chaos, but they could be nothing to the turmoil raging within him. To discover his wife living as a widow in Harrogate was bad enough, but that she should be concealing his son was unforgivable.

  He knew nothing about Furnell, the man she had taken as a husband. Had she married him as soon as she returned to England and palmed the child off as his? Max slowed his pace. Now his initial rage was dying down he realised the delicacy of the situation. There was no way to avoid a scandal. The news that he was married would shock the ton. It would be the topic of gossip in every drawing room in the land, although possibly not quite such a furore as would be caused by a divorce. And then there was Fred. What would his good friend say when he knew Max had been deceiving him for the past four years?

  He stopped and looked up at the stars, exhaling softly. What did he really know about his wife? She appeared to be well respected here, but appearances could be deceptive. She had blown in and out of his life quicker than a desert storm. They had married after barely two weeks’ acquaintance and a fortnight later she was gone. Perhaps he could have tried harder to find her, but he had shied away from telling anyone of his marriage or her desertion, so his enquiries had always been couched in the vaguest terms. Confound it, he should have overcome his shame and embarrassment and set his lawyers to discover what had become of her, then
perhaps this whole sorry mess could have been avoided. Now he would need to tread carefully, if he was not to make a bad situation even worse.

  A sudden gust of wind jerked him from his reverie. It was beginning to rain. He pulled his borrowed cloak about him and began to walk on. Fred and Georgie appeared to be upon good terms with Ellen, in the morning he would call upon them and find out all he could about the golden widow. Then he would be better prepared to act.

  * * *

  A sleepless night brought Max no comfort. Finding his wife again had been a blow, discovering he also had a son, an heir, had almost floored him. He would have preferred to think that Ellen had played him false, but not only was the boy the right age, one look at the white-blond hair and emerald-green eyes convinced Max the child was his. By morning he was reconciled to the fact that he had a family, but he must decide the best way to proceed.

  He arrived at the Arncliffes’ rented house in Low Harrogate to find his friends still at breakfast. He would have withdrawn again, but Frederick beckoned to him.

  ‘Come in and sit down, Max. We have campaigned together too often to stand on ceremony. At least take a cup of coffee with us.’

  ‘Yes, please do,’ Georgie added her entreaty. ‘Perhaps your being here will persuade Fred to eat a little more this morning.’

  Max sat down at the table, his eyes wandering over the array of dishes.

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Frederick cheerfully, ‘there is far too much here for Georgie and me to eat, but I cannot help it. Since Corunna I have always liked my table groaning with food. Not that it is wasted—what the servants don’t eat is given to the poor. What we would have given to see such a breakfast when we were marching through the mountains of Galicia, eh?’

  ‘Aye, those were hard times,’ agreed Max.

  ‘Let us not think of it,’ said Georgie, shuddering. ‘When I learned how you had suffered, chased halfway across Spain by the French, I cannot bear it!’

  ‘Devil a bit, my love, that is the soldier’s lot,’ said Frederick. He reached across and took her hand. ‘And Max here brought me home safe, even if there is a little more to me now.’

  Max knew Fred was referring to the musket ball lodged near his lung, the reason for his current ill health. He said, ‘I expected to find you at Sulphur Well this morning.’

  There was a slight but definite pause, then Georgie said quietly, ‘He was too weak to walk that far this morning.’

  ‘Nothing serious,’ said Fred quickly, when Max frowned. ‘I have been trotting too hard, that is all.’

  ‘When we arrived back last night he could hardly manage the stairs to bed,’ Georgie told Max. ‘He was no better this morning so I summoned Dr Ingram. He has promised to visit us later.’

  Frederick gave a huff of impatience. ‘And he will tell you what we already know, that I must expect to be up and down.’ He glanced at Max. ‘Georgie blames herself for keeping me out so late last night, but dash it all, Max, I do not want to sit at home like an invalid, waiting to die.’

  ‘But perhaps you should have left a little earlier,’ Max suggested.

  ‘When everyone was having such a good time? Never. It does me good to be amongst my friends. I was particularly glad to see you and Ellen Furnell getting on so well. I have to admit you made a very handsome couple on the dance floor. She’s a dashed fine woman, ain’t she? And Georgie’s closest friend, you know.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Our children are almost the same age so we have much in common,’ Georgie explained.

  ‘That is good, because I wanted to ask you about her.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Frederick looked up from the sliver of ham that he was pushing around his plate. ‘Are you interested in the beautiful Mrs Furnell? I vow I shall take it very ill if you throw over m’sister for the golden widow!’

  Max could not smile. He knew his friend was funning, but the words flicked him on the raw. How was he to tell his friend he was married and had been for four years? Thankfully, he was saved from replying by the news that Dr Ingram had arrived.

  ‘So the old sawbones is here, is he?’ Frederick wiped his mouth and put down his napkin. ‘I’ll see him in the sitting room. No sense in climbing all those stairs again. No, no, stay there, Max. Georgie will be back to keep you company in a moment.’

  Max watched as Georgie hurried to help her husband to his feet. He noticed how heavily Fred leaned on her shoulder as they went slowly from the room and when she returned a few minutes later there was an anxious crease in her brow.

  He said bluntly, ‘He has grown much weaker, even in the few days I have been in Harrogate.’

  ‘Yes.’ She sat down at the table and poured herself another cup of coffee. Her hands were trembling slightly, but she spoke calmly enough. ‘The bullet has shifted; he cannot breathe so well now. Dr Ingram thinks it will move again, and next time it might be...be fatal.’

  ‘Is there nothing that can be done? If it is a question of money—’

  She shook her head. ‘Thank you, Your Grace, but, no, that would not help. If Fred could be induced to lie in bed and never move then his life might be prolonged, but he says that would be worse than anything. He is getting progressively weaker. Dr Ingram thinks it cannot go on more than a few weeks.’ She hunted for her handkerchief. ‘For myself I am resigned to it, but I hate to think of little Charlotte growing up without her father.’

  ‘Oh, Georgie, I am so sorry.’

  ‘Your Grace is too kind.’

  ‘It is Max,’ he said, grief adding a touch of impatience to his voice. ‘You know how much I hate formality.’

  She gave a watery chuckle. ‘I shall try to remember. I wanted to thank you for coming to Harrogate. It has cheered Fred a great deal to have your company. He won’t ask you himself, but I know he would like you to be here until... until the end.’ She wiped her eyes and smiled bravely. ‘That is why I was so pleased you came to the ball last night. You seemed very taken with Ellen Furnell and I hoped she might encourage you to prolong your stay.’

  He felt a frown gathering. ‘If I remain in Harrogate, it will be for Fred’s sake and yours. But I did want to ask you about Mrs Furnell.’ He saw the sudden lift of her brows and said quickly, ‘Please—ask me no questions, Georgie, not yet. Just tell me what you know of her.’

  ‘I cannot tell you a great deal. She was here when Frederick and I arrived and has been in Harrogate a number of years, I believe. We became acquainted almost immediately, because of the children.’ She smiled. ‘I like her very much, she has been so kind to Fred and me. Oh, I know they call her the golden widow, which sounds so very frivolous, but she is very well respected. Truly, she is admired by everyone and gives generously to good causes.’

  ‘A paragon, then.’

  ‘You sound disapproving, but I assure you I have never seen any evidence of artifice or ill breeding in her. Since we have been in Harrogate, Ellen has been a very good friend and heaven knows I have needed one.’

  ‘Yes of course, I beg your pardon,’ said Max. ‘Do you know anything of her husband?’

  ‘Ellen was already a widow when she first came here, I believe, and her little boy was born here. He is a little older than my Charlotte and will be four in the autumn.’

  Her little boy. His son. Something unfamiliar slammed into Max’s gut, surprising him with its violence.

  ‘Your Grace? Is anything wrong?’

  Max saw the innocent enquiry in Georgie’s eyes and knew it was time to tell the truth.

  * * *

  Ellen waved away the freshly baked muffins that Snow was offering to her. She had no appetite for breakfast, having spent a sleepless night trying to find a solution to the horrors that pressed upon her. Max’s arrival had turned her world upside down. She would set her lawyers to look again at the army records, but in her heart sh
e had no doubt that what Max had told her was true and he was as unhappy as she about the situation.

  She felt physically sick with regret. If she had trusted him, they might now be living very happily together, but it was too late for that. She had killed his love, she must face up to the fact and to the future. It did not look very bright, but many couples entered into loveless marriages. She would survive. And at least he was not going to take Jamie away from her—that must be her consolation.

  Ellen glanced at the clock. He would be here soon and then she would learn her fate. Most likely she and Jamie would be whisked away to one of his estates, where they would live in seclusion while the shocking news was announced. It would cause uproar, she had no doubt. At some point she must be presented at Court as the new Duchess of Rossenhall and she would have to face the sly remarks and tittle-tattle, but she knew enough of her world to be sure that her story would eventually be eclipsed by another scandal and she would be able to get on with her life.

  But what life? Max had been her first, her only love. There had been so many suitors, most of them concerned only with her fortune, but none had ever touched her heart. She had grown up hedged about by warnings that gentlemen would court her for her fortune and she had never found it difficult to keep them at bay. She had developed a protective shell, always laughing, always smiling, until she had fallen in love with Major Max Colnebrooke and let down her defences. She had thought he loved her for herself. She had not told him of her immense fortune, and, although he had said he was the younger brother of a duke, their respective backgrounds had seemed unimportant, a world away from the reality of love under a desert sky. Ellen loved Max from the first moment she saw him and married him without a second thought. If the marriage was legal then everything she owned now belonged to her husband. Even her son. She must make her peace with the Duke, for Jamie’s sake.

  She heard the thud of the knocker and carefully put down her half-empty coffee cup. It was time. Snow had instructions to show the Duke into the drawing room and she went there to join him, pausing momentarily outside the door to smooth down her gown and take a deep, steadying breath.