The Viscount's Runaway Wife. Laura Martin
had given birth.
‘He was so beautiful—’ her voice was barely more than a whisper ‘—so perfect in every single way.’
That wasn’t how the doctor had put it. ‘Characteristic facial features’ had been mentioned a number of times and ‘a likelihood of mental difficulties’.
‘The doctor commiserated with me when he looked David over, told me that there was no reason I couldn’t have a healthy child next time.’ There was bitterness in her voice as she recalled the words.
Lucy glanced up at him and he could see she was on the verge of tears again, but no matter how difficult this was for her he had to know what had happened next.
‘I lay there with our son resting on my breast, cuddled in all warm and safe once the doctor had gone, and I started to realise that he wouldn’t be the only one judging our son, finding him wanting.’
‘You can’t mean...’ Oliver said, his eyes widening.
‘I didn’t know you,’ Lucy said quietly, unable to meet his eye. ‘I knew what most men do with their offspring when they don’t view them as completely healthy—they send them off to be raised by another family, sometimes even deny their existence.’
‘So you left, before even finding out what my reaction might be.’
‘I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk you taking my son away from me.’
‘Our son,’ Oliver murmured. ‘He was my son, as well.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It was cruel of me, I know that. I knew that at the time, but I had to protect him.’
‘You didn’t have to protect him from me.’
She regarded him calmly, searching his face as if trying to see if there was truth in his words. Oliver felt a surge of anger. She shouldn’t be judging him. He’d done nothing wrong. He hadn’t run off with their son without any explanation.
He stood, needing to put some space between them, and busied himself adjusting the clock on the mantelpiece. The seconds ticked past in silence as Oliver struggled to regain control of himself. Outwardly nothing in his expression or stance changed, but inwardly he had felt a tight coil of frustration and anger ready to explode. Now, breathing deeply, he forced himself to remain calm. Nothing would be gained from showing his estranged wife how much she had hurt him, how much her betrayal still affected every aspect of his life.
‘Then what happened?’ he asked, returning to his seat, motioning for Lucy to continue.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes,’ he barked sharply. ‘It matters to me. What happened next?’
‘I had a little money so I made my way to London. I knew I couldn’t seek refuge with anyone I knew. I had to go where no one knew me.’
She was making it sound as though she’d been running from a monster, when in truth he didn’t think he’d ever raised his voice towards her or spoken a single word in anger.
‘I ended up in St Giles.’ Lucy grimaced. ‘The first few days were not easy, but then Mary found me. She helps to run a home for women and children and she took us in.’
‘David was still alive?’ It sounded strange to be saying his son’s name after so long of not even knowing what Lucy had called their child. The words almost caught in his throat, but he managed to force them out, gripping the back of his chair for physical support as he said them.
Lucy nodded, pressing her lips together. ‘He seemed healthy enough the first couple of weeks, thriving and growing, but then he deteriorated quickly.’ Her voice quivered, but she managed to go on. ‘I’m told it is quite common in those born with similar conditions to our son to have problems with their hearts and chests. David became unwell and although we saw doctors, they could do nothing. He died when he was three weeks old.’
He watched as she suppressed a sob, swallowing a couple of times and taking a deep breath to compose herself.
‘Where is he buried?’ Oliver asked bluntly.
Looking up at him with wide eyes, Lucy shook her head before answering.
‘He did get a proper burial?’ Oliver interrupted, his heart sinking at the thought of his only child being consigned to a pauper’s grave.
‘I used the last of my money. He’s buried in the churchyard of St Giles in the Fields.’
He nodded grimly. Not a peaceful resting place for an innocent young boy, among the plague victims and the executed criminals, but at least he’d had a proper burial.
‘You’ll take me there this week.’
A spark of indignation flared in his wife’s eyes, but he watched as quickly she quashed it and nodded. ‘As you wish.’
Visiting his son’s grave would be difficult, but he owed it to the child he’d never held in his arms to at least see where he was buried.
Smoothing her skirts down, Lucy stood, placing her almost-full glass on the small table beside her.
‘I should be getting back,’ she said, inclining her head and taking a step towards the door.
For a long moment Oliver was too stunned to do or say anything. He’d barely begun questioning her, barely scratched the surface of what had become of his wife over the past year. All she’d revealed was the bare bones of the story of how and why she’d fled after the birth of their son. He needed to know so much more.
‘Sit down,’ he said, catching her arm as she edged past him.
For the first time since he’d cornered her in St Giles, her eyes came up to meet his and Oliver felt a painful flash of memory. He’d barely known Lucy on their wedding day, but when she’d walked down the aisle of the church and turned to face him in front of the altar, he’d felt a hopeful stirring deep inside him. He’d wondered if perhaps their marriage could be about more than convenience, more than producing the heir he so desperately needed and having a wife at home to look after the estate. Quickly he suppressed the memory, setting his mouth into a hard line.
‘You’re my wife, Lucy. I’m not going to let you just walk out of my life again.’
There was panic in her eyes, the same feral expression as an animal that knows it is cornered.
‘You can’t just keep me here,’ she said softly, as if she knew it wasn’t true.
‘Twenty minutes,’ Oliver said brusquely. ‘That’s how long you’ve been in my house. Over a year I’ve been searching for you.’
‘What if I promise not to disappear again?’ she said quietly. ‘I can give you my address.’
‘I don’t trust you, Lucy.’
She chewed her lip and Oliver wondered if she had something or someone she wanted to get back for or if she just couldn’t bear to be in his company any longer. The idea that she might have a lover was like a dagger to his heart and quickly he had to push the thought away before it did any more damage to his emotions.
Before he could stop himself, he spoke. ‘Come,’ he said brusquely, ‘let me show you to your room. We can continue our discussion at dinner.’
Although they had been married for ten months before Lucy had fled, she hadn’t before been to Sedgewick House in London. His main residence was Sedgewick Place, a sprawling country estate in Sussex, and that had been where they’d married and spent the time together before he’d been recalled back to the army. Since she was pregnant by the time he’d left, she had decided to spend the Season in the country rather than travelling up to London, only to have to return to Sussex for her confinement.
With a guiding hand resting in the small of her back, he felt Lucy stiffen, but she allowed him to show her the way out of the room and up the stairs.
‘Your