Chapter Eighteen

Ellen could barely sleep after returning from the ball. Oliver’s words of love swirled around her brain until she was dizzy with it. Her heart thundered with excitement and she so wished she had someone she could tell her secret to. But there was no one she could trust with this. Her friends were flighty and giddy and would surely not be able to keep the news to themselves.

She wished she had the type of relationship with her mother that allowed for confidences, but her mother was cold and had never been approachable with things such as this. So she hugged her knowledge of her impending betrothal to herself and fell asleep smiling.

Soon she would have a home of her own and Oliver as her husband. And life would be so very wonderful.

Oliver would allow her to be herself. He had not scoffed at her desire to learn, to expand her life beyond Society. He had thought her desire to meet different people was wonderful.

She woke early, dressed carefully, barely ate breakfast. Her mother frowned at her meager plate of toast and cup of coffee. Ellen was so excited she almost felt sick with it.

The morning dragged on and Oliver did not arrive. Maybe he was delayed by his father. She knew that the earl liked to have Oliver with him as he conducted business, to teach Oliver all he needed to know about being an earl.

She was going to be a countess someday! Surely, that would bring a smile to her mother’s usually unsmiling face. Her mother was a baroness, but it had never been enough for her. She’d wanted more and, since Ellen was an only child, it had always been her mother’s wish for Ellen to marry well. And an earl was very well, indeed. Oliver was a viscount now, but someday he would be an earl.

She was sitting in the front parlor, trying to concentrate on her stitching and not stare out the window looking for Oliver, when her maid motioned to her from the doorway.

Ellen hurried to her, and Hazel pulled her aside and handed her a folded note. It was from Oliver, and her heart sank. He’d been unexpectedly sent out of town with his father and wasn’t returning for…four days?

She couldn’t live with this anticipation for one more moment, let alone four days.

She felt she would surely expire, but no, if she was adult enough to have a husband, then she was adult enough to wait four days for Oliver. After all, what was four days compared to a lifetime together?

She went to her bedroom and lay down on her bed, dreaming of a small house on the ocean, a place they could escape to, with a passel of children that looked like a combination of them both.

Two interminable days later Ellen was wandering through the house when she saw a man she’d never seen before leaving her father’s study. She didn’t think much of it and continued her bored wanderings. She missed Oliver terribly and silently cursed his father for taking him away at such a crucial time. By now she had expected to be planning her wedding. That she wasn’t was frustrating. Plus, she just missed Oliver. She wanted to see him, talk to him, kiss him. Discuss their future. But she told herself to be patient. They had a lifetime together.

That afternoon she was summonsed to her father’s study. She was rarely allowed in this room where her father sat behind a large, imposing desk. She wasn’t sure what he did in here.

“Yes, Father?” She stopped in front of his desk, her hands folded in front of her, and waited while he read some correspondence. She was only vaguely curious as to why she’d been called in.

“I just met with the Earl of Fieldhurst’s solicitor and signed a marriage contract with him.”

She furrowed her brow. “A marriage contract for whom, Father?”

He looked at her just as confused as she probably appeared to be. “For you. You will wed Fieldhurst.”

The room began to spin, and her knees went weak. Surely she was hearing this wrong. “But…I can’t marry him.”

“Don’t be a foolish girl. It’s a remarkable match. He is an earl, well established, his line long. You will be a countess, and you will produce heirs for the Fieldhurst name. The marriage is set for three weeks from today.”

He pulled another paper toward him and started reading it, while Ellen’s vision blurred. She couldn’t marry this Fieldhurst. She was marrying Oliver. It was all planned.

Except it wasn’t planned.

Oliver had not spoken to her father and now other plans had been made for her.

Ellen paced the parlor. Periodically, she would enter the hall and press her ear to the study door where she could hear Oliver and Philip talking, but not what they were talking about.

Lunch was served, but she barely ate, and the men didn’t come out to join her. She assumed that the books Oliver had brought were the ledgers from the estate and that he was teaching Philip everything that Arthur had not had time to teach their son.

She should be grateful that Oliver was willing to do this. She was grateful. But she was also frightened.

Frightened of her carefully held secret and frightened of Oliver, because she still loved him. As much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t anymore.

She’d loved Arthur, too, in time.

But, oh, the guilt she had felt on her wedding day, knowing she loved another man, had made love to another man less than a week before her nuptials. And when Arthur had taken her to bed on their wedding night she had naively assumed that it would be the same as it had been with Oliver.

How wrong she had been.

How very, very wrong.

Oliver and Arthur were nothing alike.

Arthur had not hurt her, but he had not paid attention to her, either. He had done his duty and left. There had been little kissing, no hugging, and no whispered words in the dark.

She’d been left cold and alone in her own bed and that had set the course for the rest of her marriage.

A few months later she’d realized she was with child and she’d hoped and prayed it was Arthur’s son. The following months had been torturous, not knowing who the father of her child was.

Ellen could pinpoint the exact moment she knew that Philip was Oliver’s. He’d been a year and a half, and he was on the floor playing with his toys when the sun hit him just right, and in his profile Ellen saw a younger version of Oliver. The tilt of his chin was reminiscent of his real father. His hair was darker, but it curled above his ears just like Oliver’s did when he’d worn it longer.

And that had started a new, deeper, desperate fear that others would see what she had. But as time went on and Oliver had kept his distance and it became clear to her that her secret was not written on her forehead or her son’s, she’d relaxed.

Arthur had doted on Philip and had worshipped the boy to no end. Philip had been the sun and the moon to Arthur, and the guilt had returned for the deception she’d been living. The lie that would have killed Arthur if he’d known.

And that’s how Ellen learned to live in constant, silent fear.

“My lady.”

Ellen’s head popped up. She’d been so deep in reminiscing that she hadn’t heard the butler enter.

“Sir William Needham to see you, my lady.”

Ellen’s breath caught in her throat, and a need to flee overtook her. William had said he would give her time, but he was here already? Surely he didn’t want an answer now.

“Send him in,” she said.

She stood to smooth her skirts and pat her hair to make sure it was all in place while her heart hammered.

William entered and smiled at her as he took her hand and kissed it. “I know I said I would give you time, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I just had to see you.”

She hoped her smile didn’t tremble as much as her insides did. “Tea, please,” she said to the hovering maid.

William led her to the couch and waited for her to sit before he did.

“I trust you slept well last night.”

“I did.”

“I was between patients this morning and knew that I had to see you.”

“William, I…” She’d thought about his proposal all night. His words had kept her awake but not in excitement or joy. She’d thought of his attitude during the dinner and the cutting words he had spoken to her, and then she’d thought of his bizarre marriage proposal where he’d not spoken one word of his feelings toward her but rather how she would benefit him if they wed.

Oliver’s arrival this morning had convinced her that she could not marry William.

Not that she would ever marry Oliver. On the contrary. She could never live with herself and the secret she must keep while seeing Oliver day in and day out. No, she could never have Oliver.

But just knowing what kind of life she could have had with him ruined her for any other man.

William felt no passion for her. There was no excitement when they were together. She could never imagine William taking her against the side of a house, while people danced and socialized just feet away from them.

“Have you given any thought to what we discussed last night?” William asked.

“Much,” she admitted.

His face lit up, and Ellen shifted to face him. “William, I can’t marry you. As much as you think we would suit, I disagree. I am not the wife you need for your practice. I socialize with the fringe of Society. I am friends with actresses, poets, novelists, and musicians.”

For a moment William was silent, and she could not read his expression. It was so difficult sometimes to determine what he was thinking.

“In time, people will forget your bohemian ways,” William said.

“Forget them?”

“Of course you would have to give up your salons. It’s quite inappropriate for my standing in Society. But we can attend the opera and you can see your friends from afar.”

She drew back, astounded that he would even think that she would give up her friends for him.

“I have no intention of giving up my salons or my friends.”

“Ellen, dear.” He patted her hand. Ellen wanted to yank it away but decided to remain civil. “I understand that you were grieving for your late husband and making new friends might have lessened that grief. But it’s time to return to the Society you were trained for. That’s the Ellen I need.”

Trained for?

What he needs?

She pulled her hand from his. “If you mean by ‘trained’ that I married into the title of countess, then you are correct. But my upbringing was much more humble. My father was a baron. I was not raised as Lady Ellen, but Miss Ellen.”

He waved his hand in the air. That hand that had saved so many people. “That is of no consequence to me, and that was long ago. I daresay that most people assume you have been a lady your entire life.”

This conversation was beyond bizarre.

“William, I’m not giving up my salons. Or my friends. For anyone.”

His face darkened just as the door opened and Philip and Oliver strolled in, talking quietly to themselves. They both stopped short when they saw Ellen and William sitting close together and talking earnestly.

William stood but Ellen’s legs had gone weak.

In the doorway, the similarities were obvious. It was so clear to her that they were father and son.

And the eyes.

The eyes were the giveaway.

The same shade of sky blue—summer sky blue.

Her gaze was riveted to them, her breath stolen with the lies she’d been living.

“Ah,” Oliver said as he noticed William. “I wasn’t aware you were entertaining.”

“Uh. Yes.” Ellen stood on shaking legs. She clasped her hands together so no one would notice how much they trembled. “You’ve met Sir William.”

Oliver nodded to William, then turned his attention to Ellen. Philip seemed to be scowling at William.

“Philip and I are finished for now. I will call tomorrow and we can wrap it up.”

“Of course.”

He turned to Philip and they shook hands, and Ellen wanted to sink through a hole in the floor. She couldn’t possibly let these two spend any more time together or everything would be ruined. Philip would lose his title, his inheritance, his name.

“Thank you,” she heard Philip saying, and for once he didn’t seem angry or belligerent.

“You did well.” Oliver patted Philip on the back, nodded to Ellen, and left.

Philip didn’t bother with pleasantries, he simply vanished through the door, and she could hear him running up the steps to his rooms.

William faced her, his expression hard, his gaze piercing. “Well. Ellen. It seems you have some explaining to do.”

Her heart dropped, and she felt the blood rush from her head. It took all of her effort not to sway, to smile and look innocent instead of panicked.

“Lord Armbruster is helping Philip learn about being an earl. Things that Arthur never had a chance to teach him.”

William cocked his head to the side, and Ellen felt like a small rabbit in the sights of a relentless hunting dog. He knew. William knew her secret and all she could think to do was deny everything, get William out of here quickly, and cut all ties to him.

“Philip is not Arthur’s son, is he, Ellen?”

She drew back and tried to appear shocked and offended. “Of course Philip is Arthur’s son.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Lady Fieldhurst had an affair and lied to her husband, pretending Philip was his. That’s quite a big lie to live with all these years.”

Ellen was struck mute. She had dreaded this moment for more than a decade, and every argument she had devised, every word she had promised she would say in defense of Philip and Arthur, vanished. She had no words, just flustered thoughts that flitted through her brain.

Run. Hit William on the head with the nearby vase. Sink to the floor in a dead faint to keep him from talking.

But she did none of those things. She was embarrassed to discover that she had no backbone, no strength, nothing to save herself.

“Such a stupid fool Armbruster is to be cuckolded all of these years.” He chuckled, and Ellen’s hand whipped out and her palm connected with William’s cheek.

They both stood there, stunned, as the slap reverberated through the room. She’d never hit anyone in all of her life, but her anger was so sharp and real when he’d laughed at Oliver that she hadn’t been able to control herself.

A large red welt the size of her palm slowly darkened on William’s face. His expression went from shocked to furious, and his eyes went flat with anger. He grabbed her wrist in a painful grip that made her cry out, and he yanked her toward him until she bounced against his chest and the air rushed out of her.

“Don’t ever hit me again. Do you understand, Ellen?”

She nodded, thinking she would never be in the same room with him again and therefore would never have the need to slap him.

He leaned toward her until his mouth was near her ear. She tried to pull away, to create distance, because her skin was crawling, but he wouldn’t give quarter, and his grasp was bruising, the bones in her wrist rubbing against each other.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he whispered, causing goose bumps of fear to rise along her arms. “Your secret is safe with me.”

His words did not make her feel better, because she sensed there was more. In the past two days she had seen a side of William that she had never seen before. A dark, terrible side.

He released her wrist and she rubbed it. “That is, as long as you wed me, your secret is safe.”

She looked at him in horror. “No,” she whispered. She could never marry this man. This monster. He had everyone fooled. The queen, his colleagues. Her.

He straightened his cuffs and adjusted them. “Oh, yes. We will wed and Philip’s inheritance, his name, his title, will all be safe. Of course, he will return to Eton next semester and will stay there. I won’t have that insolent bastard darkening my doorstep, but at least he will have everything he thinks is due him. As for Lord Armbruster, you will never speak to him again. He will never be allowed at our home and you will never cross paths with him outside of our home. You will always have a servant of my choosing with you at all times when you leave the house. I can’t risk another…indiscretion…with a former lover.”

He finally looked at her, and there was no life in his eyes. They were dead. No emotion. Nothing. She feared that she was seeing the true William.

He was cutting her off from everything. Everyone she knew. Her own son, even.

But if she didn’t comply. If she didn’t marry him, Philip would lose everything.

“Well? What is your answer, dear? I haven’t all day. People need me, and don’t think I’ll give you time to think about this. Yes or no?”

She swallowed. She so badly wanted to say no, to spit in his face, to slap him again and walk away. But she couldn’t afford to, and he knew it. He had her cornered.

“Why?” she asked instead. “Why me?”

“Because we suit.”

“No, we don’t. I would never willingly marry someone as coldhearted as you.”

A corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “Then we’re both coldhearted, because it takes a coldhearted bitch to sleep with another man and lie to her husband, letting him believe the whelp is his own child.”

She flinched at the barbed words. He believed that she’d slept with Oliver while married to Arthur. She hadn’t, but was there much difference in what she had done?

“Come now, Ellen. Stop prevaricating and give me your answer. I have a cadaver and a roomful of students waiting for me.”

“Y-yes.”

He grinned. “Very good, love. I will place an announcement in the paper. Everyone will know by tomorrow.”

Every word he spoke felt like a death sentence. She was agreeing to life imprisonment. She would constantly be followed, constantly monitored, and she probably would never see Philip again after this summer, not to mention Oliver.

William stepped toward her, and it took all of her willpower not to cower or back away. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. She cried out in pain and surprise, but he swallowed her cries with a brutal kiss that ground his teeth against hers, bruising her lips. It was a kiss of power and dominance.

He pulled away and before she could react his hand flew out and he slapped her so hard that her head whipped to the side. It happened so fast that she didn’t even cry out.

“Be mindful, Ellen. What you do to me I will return tenfold.”

He walked out, closing the door behind him. She could hear him speaking to her butler, and then he was gone.

Hand covering her cheek, she sank to the couch and let her tears fall.