Wayward by Carole Mortimer
Chapter Twelve
Gideon continued to hold Lydia tightly in his arms for several more minutes after the kiss had ended. Her face was buried against his throat, her breath warm against his skin, her arms clasped about his shoulders.
But he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. The journal had to be read, as did the letter accompanying it. And he had to believe that Lydia would stand by her promise to him that the contents would not diminish the affection she admitted feeling toward him.
How dearly he wished that emotion could be more than affection. Perhaps with time it might be?
But first, the journal had to be read.
He kept his arms firmly about Lydia’s waist as he once again opened the journal to the date of August 3rd, 1805. It read:
Today, I kissed Harriet Rhodes.
Or, to be more precise, she kissed me, and I was too surprised to stop her.
“You see?” Lydia said triumphantly.
“Let’s read on before you become too jubilant,” Gideon said. Although it had surprised him immensely to have Chessington claim Harriet had initiated the kiss. His wife had never initiated any physical sign of affection between the two of them in all of the two years of their marriage.
The journal continued:
Once the shock had receded, I pushed her away, of course, for she is another man’s wife, and I still and always will love my beloved Alicia. It was only… It had been so long since I had felt a woman’s warmth and tenderness or held one in my arms. I am ashamed to admit that I did not then, or afterward, have any real feelings for Harriet.
I tried to explain that the kiss had been a mistake, but she seemed convinced I was only behaving as a gentleman should by denying the love we feel for each other. A love she believed to have been destined by the gods.
Those are the very words she used, and I believe from that day forward, Harriet developed an unhealthy obsession with me which may have led to her death.
Lydia turned to Gideon. “I am so sorry.”
He gave a rueful huff. “It would seem that my wife was not so sparing of showing her affection toward another man.”
Lydia raised her hand to gently caress the hard clench of his cheek. “She was very young when the two of you married.”
“Only a year younger than you are now.”
“But my father has ensured I am not some romantic miss who became infatuated with a man who was not my husband and then announces that love to be destined by the gods.” She winced as she said the last. “I think we must add blasphemy to her other sins.”
Gideon gave a humorless smile. “I think we must read on to discover exactly what your father means by that last sentence.”
The diary entries over the next three weeks featured many visits to the Chessington estate by Harriet, despite Michael having constantly rebuffed her. In desperation, he had returned to London in the hope of avoiding her and her declarations of love. Harriet had simply followed him there.
Which was how both Gideon and Harriet came to be in residence at Esher House in London when it caught fire in September of that same year.
The married couple had lived in separate households for almost a year before that time. Even when both residing in London for the Season, they had, for the main part, avoided each other and been excessively polite when that couldn’t be managed.
Early that September, Gideon had returned to London from his estate in Gloucestershire. It was a month too early for when the House sat again in October, but having spent the summer months in the country, he had been desirous of some of the distractions to be found in the capital. Such as meeting up with his male friends for luncheon or an evening’s entertainment.
He had thought when Harriet joined him there that perhaps their estrangement was to be over.
He had been wrong.
Harriet was rarely at home, and when she was, she preferred to shut herself away in her rooms. The other days, she had told him she would be out meeting up with friends for luncheon or afternoon tea.
It would seem, from Chessington’s journal, that hadn’t been Harriet’s destination at all. That instead, she had visited him almost daily at Chessington House, despite his having repeatedly told her not to do so.
The entry for the same night as the fire at Esher House made for very unpleasant reading.
I had believed Harriet would eventually tire of this supposed infatuation she feels toward me, but instead, I believe she is becoming more and more unhinged in this obsession she has for me. To a degree I have no choice but to speak to Esher about the possibility of engaging medical help for her. I can think of no other way to persuade Harriet to accept I did not and do not return the love she repeatedly claims to feel toward me.
The saddest part in all this nonsense is Esher. I have seen how Harriet treats him so coldly at social events. A coldness she has assured me, several times, that exists between them, at her instigation, at all times. Esher, for his part, always behaves the perfect gentleman toward his wife. I sincerely hope, for his sake, that he does not love Harriet, for I fear her mental health has deteriorated to such a dangerous degree, she might have to be put away somewhere for her own safety.
I will send word to Esher tomorrow informing him that I need to speak with him urgently.
It was not only unpleasant for Gideon to read such things about his wife’s adulterous feelings and behavior toward another man, but even more so to realize how she had continued to hound and harass a man who did not return her feelings.
Perhaps it had been the unattainable that appealed to Harriet? Mayhap if Chessington had shown any signs of returning her feelings, she might not have become so obsessed with him?
They would never know the answer to that, because that night Esher House had caught fire, trapping Harriet in its flames and seriously burning Gideon.
The events that followed were well known.
It had taken Gideon months to recover enough to be able to travel to his estate in Kent, where he had remained for several more months before decamping to Cornwall.
He had been in Kent long enough, at least, for the gossip in London to reach his ears.
The main part of that gossip appeared to be that he had deliberately set fire to the study in his own house in an effort to rid himself of his estranged wife. That it had been purely accidental that he had been caught in the fire himself, and then burned so badly he was not fit to be seen in Society.
A Society which had made it clear, in any case, that they believed him guilty of killing his wife.
Instead of returning to London, Gideon had removed himself to his remote estate in Cornwall and remained here ever since.
“Read the entry for the following day,” Lydia now encouraged.
Gideon turned and read the next page.
Dear God!
I can hardly believe it. Harriet is dead and Esher burned so badly, it is feared he might not survive.
The fire ignited accidentally, it is said. It began in Esher’s study, possibly from a lit candle falling over and setting fire to carpets and curtains and then the rest of the house.
In any case, Esher House is burned to the ground. Harriet is dead. Esher is burned so badly, no one is allowed to visit him at the private infirmary where he is to be a patient for some time to come.
What would I say to him, in any case?
Your wife believed herself to be in love with me?
That she also believed the two of us were destined to be together?
That she thought Esher himself was the only thing preventing the two of us from spending the rest of our lives together?
I cannot tell a man who is on death’s door himself such arrant nonsense as that. Harriet is dead, and Esher might soon be too, and anything else regarding how the fire started is pure speculation on my part.
Under the circumstances, I feel it would be best for all concerned if I just left the past where it belongs: in the past.
“Gideon, is it possible…” Lydia paused, as if searching for the right words. “Having read what my father describes as Harriet’s faltering mental state, is it possible she might have started the fire to rid herself of an unwanted husband, but instead only succeeded in orchestrating her own death and seriously injuring you?”
Gideon had asked himself the same question many times in the past. But apart from Harriet’s aversion to him, which he had not believed to be reason enough to want to kill him, he had not thought there to be motive for her to actually want him dead.
The things Chessington had written in his journal shed a different light on that entirely.
Then why hadn’t the earl come to him and told him all these things before now?
Chessington had already answered that question: What would have been the purpose of such a conversation when Gideon was in danger of dying himself? Harriet was already dead, and without proof to the contrary, Society would believe what it wanted to about that death. Chessington admitted his own thoughts on how the fire was started were pure speculation. There was no way to prove—
“Did Harriet keep a diary?”
It took some effort for Gideon to pull his thoughts from the past and answer Lydia’s question. “I have no idea.”
“Hm.” Lydia rose and began to pace the kitchen. “I never met her, of course, but she strikes me as having been the sort of romantic ninny who kept a diary so that she might pour all of her girlish hopes and dreams into it, never realizing what a glorious and handsome husband she had in you.” She looked up at Gideon. “Did any of the things inside your London home survive the fire?”
He shrugged. “I was informed a few metal trunks were salvageable. They have been stored in the cellar of the new house after it was rebuilt. But as I left all the details of that rebuilding to my solicitor and have never so much as visited this new residence, I have no idea as to the trunks’ contents.”
Lydia gave a satisfied nod. “Then you and I need to go to London to see what is inside them.”
Gideon stood restlessly. “To what purpose? Even if we should find Harriet’s diaries and she confesses all in them, I have no intention of then taking myself about London ten years after the fact, claiming my innocence to anyone who will listen.”
Lydia chuckled. “I should not expect you to do so.” She sobered. “Nor do I need to have confirmation of the truth to believe in your innocence.”
Gideon’s haughty air didn’t lessen in the slightest. “Then why go there at all?”
“So that you know, beyond all doubt, that you did not accidentally kill your wife.”
Gideon had no idea how Lydia could know of those doubts when he had never spoken of them to her or anyone else.
But often in the years since the fire, he had wondered if he had not accidentally started it.
In those days, he liked to retire to his study after dinner in the evenings with a cigar and brandy. No matter how many times he had tried in the years since, he could never remember whether he had put out his cigar that night or if he had left it smoldering in the glass receptacle to later fall to the ground and set fire to the carpets and curtains and then the rest of the house.
“Open the letter now.”Lydia could see Gideon’s reluctance to do so. He perhaps even feared there would be something more in it which might damn him all over again.
Lydia didn’t believe that to be the case. Her father had been badly wounded at the Battle of Waterloo, and it had eventually resulted in his death, but there had been absolutely nothing wrong with his mental faculties. To the end, he had remained lucid and sensible.
She crossed the room to stand in front of Gideon. “I will not falter in my affection for you,” she promised, placing her hands against his chest for balance as she moved up on her tiptoes to place her lips gently against his.
Gideon remained rigidly unresponsive for several long seconds before his arms moved tightly about her waist, molding her body to his, as the kiss became passionate.
Lydia was both breathless and boneless by the time Gideon raised his head to rest his brow gently against hers and stare intently into her eyes. Her fingers clung to his muscular shoulders and his arms remained about her waist, both preventing her knees from buckling completely so she was able to remain standing on her feet.
“You are the most miraculous and magnificent woman I have ever met,” Gideon finally said gruffly.
She smiled. “The two of us shall not be reduced to talking arrant nonsense such as it having been destined for the two of us to meet at the will of these foreign gods.”
Gideon grimaced. “I should have realized how seriously Harriet’s emotional state had deteriorated. Perhaps it was triggered by the loss of the baby the year before…”
“You seem determined to try to blame yourself in some way, Gideon,” Lydia chided. “You have admitted your marriage was not happy from the start, despite, as my father has already pointed out, how obviously you tried to please your wife. The loss of a baby is very sad for both of you, but it sounds to me as if it was only for the last month of her life that Harriet became so unhealthily obsessive in her likes and dislikes,” she reasoned. “I should not be surprised if there is not some form of previous madness in the family which you were not informed about before the two of you were married. I believe her mother has not appeared in Society for the past five years or more.”
“Grief for her daughter, perhaps?”
“That did not seem to bother her for the four years after her official year of mourning, when I believe she was often out and about in Society,” Lydia dismissed. “No, I believe that when we reach London, one of the things you need to do is arrange for someone to investigate the Beecher family, past and present, for similar cases of mental derangement.”
Gideon looked at her admiringly. “I am in deep danger of becoming totally enthralled by you just from listening to your clearheaded intelligence!”
Again, it wasn’t a declaration of love, but Lydia, not particularly known for her patience, was in this instance willing to wait as long as it took for Gideon to realize and acknowledge his feelings for her.
“My father’s letter,” she reminded gently.
Gideon would far rather have continuedto hold Lydia in his arms and kiss her. But he could see by the stubborn expression on the face he was growing to love that Lydia would not allow herself to be distracted indefinitely. Better to get it over with quickly, like the removal of a bandage from an open wound, than continue to delay the inevitable.
Besides, he believed Lydia when she assured him her affection for him would not be altered.
It was not a declaration of love, as such, but it was a warmth of emotion Gideon had not felt from another for many years.
He released Lydia to pick up the letter and break the seal before reading, with Lydia, the words written on the two thin sheets of paper.
My dear Lydia and Esher,
I am assuming that the two of you are reading this letter together. I sincerely hope that to be the case.
Lydia, Gideon Rhodes is one of the finest gentlemen I have ever known, and for many years, I have wronged him by not telling him the truth of his wife’s behavior before her death. I leave you with the responsibility of ensuring that is no longer the case.
Esher, I have entrusted my beloved daughter to you because I truly believe there is not a finer gentleman in all of England. (Do not tell Prinny that. He is sure he is the finest gentleman as ever existed!) I believe, Esher, you will also find Lydia’s straightforward approach to life helpful in discovering the full truth of the events of ten years ago.
You both now know from reading my journal of the events the month before Harriet died, and my own behavior in the years that followed. I am not proud of that reticence, and it is no excuse, but at the time, I was beset with constantly going off to war to fight against Napoleon and ensuring that my beloved and motherless Lydia was suitably cared for while I was away. In truth, I was kept so occupied by these two things that for many years, I forgot about Harriet and the circumstances of her death.
I also believed, Esher, that it was your preference to live in Cornwall because of your own severe injuries. If I am wrong about that, then I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.
In any case, I have absolutely no doubt that my beloved Lydia will not allow your self-exile to continue.
I say self-exile, because I know from private conversations I have had with Prinny that he did not and would never have ordered you to absent yourself from Society. That he has never believed you to be involved in starting the fire which resulted in the death of your wife.
In those same conversations, Prinny has assured me that he will welcome you back into Society whenever you choose to return to London. He goes further inasmuch as he tells me he will make a point of showing a partiality for your friendship to any and all who care to observe that preference.
So, to conclude, my dears…
Lydia, you are the heart of me, and never doubt for a moment that your mother and I will always love you and approve of your choices.
Esher, do not let past hurts influence your decisions for the future. And you do still have a long future ahead of you. Choose wisely as to what you do with it.
To both of you, I say it is my dearest wish that you will find the happiness you deserve, either singly or together.
My love, always,
Michael Montague.
Gideon read the letter again, and then again.
Not only had Chessington ensured that Gideon could return to London Society and the old friendship he had once shared with the Prince Regent, but it also seemed that Chessington had deliberately and purposefully entrusted Lydia’s guardianship to him in the hope that the two of them might be a comfort to each other.
In the final paragraph, it was almost as if Chessington was giving his blessing from the grave on any friendship he and Lydia found together.
And Lydia, Gideon noted with a sinking heart, had not spoken a single word since reading her father’s letter.