Chapter Thirty-Two
As the clock chimed eleven, there was a scrape of the lock in the door.
Wide awake and too keyed up to sleep, Violet sat up as the door opened and a tall shadow entered the room.
She froze in fear until light from the fireplace illuminated the man’s familiar features.
“Rhys!” Violet launched herself from the bed and flew across the room into his arms.
They banded tightly around her. “Hey, sugar. Sorry it took me so long to get here.” He stroked her hair. “Are you all right? Tell me if he’s harmed you. I will take a chunk of flesh from him for every bruise.”
She shook her head. “I am unharmed.” She buried her face in the crook of his neck. “What took you so long?”
“I’m sorry, baby. I was called out of town on business. I sent you a note explaining, unaware that he had come and taken you that same day.”
She lifted her head to look up into his eyes. “How did you get inside? He locked us in.”
“Violet, do you think there is a lock in existence that could keep me from you?” He bent and captured her lips in a desperate kiss.
Ginny came barging into the room from the sitting room where she had been sleeping on the couch, brandishing a candlestick. Then she dropped her arm from where she had been ready to bean the skull of anyone attempting to harm her mistress. “Mr. Seaton, finally.”
“Ginny.” Rhys sent her a charming smile. “Can you please pack Violet’s trunks? We are leaving.”
“Thank the Lord,” Ginny muttered.
“I have the carriage with Jim and George outside. I needed to come in and locate you first. But they will come up and collect the luggage. Let me go get them.” He bent and gave her a swift, hard kiss.
“Get dressed. I will be right back.” Then he was gone, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Violet put her fingertips to her lips, savoring the taste of him that lingered. He came for her. Tears of relief welled, but she blew out a breath. Now was not the time to go watery. She needed to get dressed.
By the time Rhys returned with Jim and George in tow, she and Ginny were dressed and ready. Rhys crossed to her, grabbed up her hands, and brought them to his lips. “Are you sure you are unharmed?”
Violet nodded. “But before we go, there is something I must tell you.” She glanced over at where Ginny was bossing around the two men in low tones as she frantically tried to finish packing Violet’s wardrobe. “Actually, it is something I need to show you. Will you come with me?”
Rhys frowned. “Is it important?”
“Tremendously so.” She turned to her maid. “Ginny, we will meet you three outside by the carriage.” Then she led Rhys out to the hallway and down the main stairs.
They padded silently through the house. At one point, Rhys pulled her into the shadows behind a large statue as a footman walked by before disappearing down the stairs to the kitchens.
Violet quickly led Rhys across to the east tower.
As they climbed the stairs in the dark, she began her story in a whisper.
“Yesterday, I met a woman who has been a longtime servant at the manse. Her daughter is the current housekeeper. She is a sweet elderly lady who became confused when she met me. She called me Lady Lilly, mistaking me for a former mistress of this house. One who also had blonde hair and was with child.” Violet took in a breath and tried to keep her tale pared down to the most important parts. “The woman’s name is Mrs. Seaton.”
Rhys stopped and stared down at her. “Mrs. Seaton?”
Violet nodded and gave his hand a tug to continue up the stairs. “This morning, I could not stop thinking about it when I was at church. After the duke left for home, I stayed and had the opportunity to look at the church register.”
“Did you now?” Rhys’s voice was wry.
They had reached the door to Lady Lilly’s room.
She took both of Rhys’s hands in hers. “The duke was married to a Lillian Kelley in the fall of 1800. Mrs. Seaton told me that she was a sweet girl, ever so nice to the staff. But she became a victim of her husband’s abuse, and she asked for help to flee, to protect the babe she carried.
Mrs. Seaton and her husband aided her escape.
Mr. Seaton took her in the middle of the night to the next town.
She boarded the coach in the morning and disappeared. ”
Violet opened the door. When they entered, she still gripped Rhys’s hand. He was silent as she led him over to the portrait on the mantel, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window.
*
Stunned, Rhys stared at a pair of familiar blue eyes looking back at him from the painting. “Why is there a portrait of my mother here?”
Violet squeezed his hand but remained silent while he processed all that she had just told him—Lillian Kelley, married to the Duke of Lavensham, disappeared into the night, carrying her precious cargo.
Taking the name of the couple who had so generously saved her, she had disappeared.
He took a step forward. She looked so young, so vibrant.
He couldn’t fathom how she’d ended up married to the likes of Lavensham.
No, it couldn’t be true. Because then it changed everything he knew about himself.
Violet tugged his hand again, and he followed her across the room. This time, she picked up a taper that sat on the desk. “Do you have flint?”
Of course he had flint. He dug into his pocket, pulled out his flint box, and lit her candle. She held it up to shine light on the framed pictures on the wall.
There she was again, in an advert for the Fortune’s Herald Theatre.
Lillian Kelley, London’s renowned soprano.
Come listen to the angelic melodies of Fortune’s very own Blue Angel!
The drawing of the angel on the swing made his breath catch in his throat.
He reached out and traced a finger down the glass.
“My mother loved to swing. When I was young, before we moved to London, we lived in a house she’d rented on the Hampshire coast. I remember there was a swing hung from the big old oak in the yard, and she would swing with me in her lap.”
Fuzzy memories surfaced of him resting against her breast as she leaned them backward.
“Look up, baby. See the sky through the leaves. It’s like flying, don’t you think?
” Then he would feel her laughter rumble as she pumped her legs to push them higher.
He hadn’t thought about that swing in twenty years.
“That’s such a sweet recollection,” Violet said.
Rhys shook his head. He couldn’t think about this now. He gripped Violet’s hand. “Let’s go.”
“But don’t you want to talk about this?”
“No.” Right now, he only wanted to get Violet out of this house and safe.
He pulled her to the door. But at the threshold, he stopped.
Dropping her hand, he spun around and stalked over to the mantel.
The hell if he was leaving this behind. He plucked the small portrait off its perch and tucked it underneath his arm.
Then he returned to Violet, and they made their way back to the main part of the house.
Everything seemed quiet still as they walked across the grand foyer toward the front door. “The carriage is out front,” he said.
But as he set his hand on the door handle, a voice rang out. “Just where the hell do you think you are going?”
They turned to find the Duke of Lavensham standing across the foyer, a candelabra held high in one hand. The glow of candlelight cast shadows on the wall behind him like an army of specters.
Rhys squeezed Violet’s hand. “I am taking her.”
“Like hell you are.” The duke waved a hand, and several footmen stepped out of the shadows from behind him. “She and her child belong to me.”
The men approached.
Rhys dropped Violet’s hand, slipped his pistol from his jacket, and cocked the trigger. “I repeat. We are leaving.”
The servants stopped, looking to the duke.
“There are four of you. He’s only got one shot,” the duke growled.
But nobody moved. It appeared that none of the men wanted to be the one to take the bullet. Smart lads. Rhys passed the portrait of his mother to Violet and stepped forward, widening his stance, ready for a fight.
The duke stalked toward them but froze as his candelabra cast a circle of light around the three of them, his eyes glued to the portrait. His gaze slowly moved from it to Rhys’s face, and he stared at him for a long moment.
Rhys kept the pistol trained on the duke’s chest. He was taking no chances with this bastard.
“Now that I know, I can see you do look like her. So much. I knew she was carrying a boy.” His eyes became unfocused. Lost in memories, his voice softened. “Violet told you? That you are my son?”
Rhys recoiled at the statement. “No, my mother said I was Hartwick’s son.”
“Hartwick.” The duke’s eyes narrowed; he spat out the name.
“Hartwick always got everything he wanted. Two strapping sons, all the women he could seduce, a wife who always forgave his indiscretions. Lilly loved him for some reason, but he didn’t appreciate her.
When his wife threw a fit about their affair, he let her go without a second thought.
” He beat a fist to his chest. “But I loved her. She was wild and beautiful, and her voice bewitched me from the moment I saw her on stage. I was the one who wanted to marry her. I offered her everything I had.” He yanked at his hair and paced in front of them.
“But she left me. Just disappeared into the night.”
“You beat her. She discovered your cruelty,” Violet said. “Like father, like son.” Bitterness laced her voice. “You didn’t deserve her or the babe she carried.”
“You can’t leave.” But Lavensham wasn’t looking at Violet; instead, he stared at Rhys. “You’re mine. You have to stay.”
Rhys looked back at the man who may be his father and found that it didn’t make an ounce of difference to him which of the two men had sired him. There had only been one man who had been a true father figure for him, and Fleming had been twice the man of either of the two powerful dukes. Fuck them.
“Like I said, we are leaving.” He gently guided Violet back to the door.
“Wait, no, don’t—don’t leave me,” the duke called out, his voice cracking.
Violet opened the door, and Rhys followed her outside. Jim waited with a hand on the open carriage door. George sat on the box, reins gripped in his hands. Ginny stuck her head out and whistled. He and Violet hurried over. She handed the portrait up to Ginny. Then Rhys helped her inside.
“You remember where we are going?” he asked Jim.
“Yes, sir. You think they will give pursuit?”
Rhys looked back at the house. The duke leaned heavily against the frame of the great doors. His face was a mask of anguish as he slid slowly to his knees.
“I don’t think they will. Not tonight, anyway.” Rhys shook his head, turned from the house, and climbed into the carriage. “Let’s go.”