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The Duke's Secret Heir
Sarah Mallory


'This, madam, changes everything.'Years ago, in the Egyptian desert, Ellen Tatham fell wildly in love and exchanged vows with Max Colnebrooke. But, when made to believe Max could not be trusted, she fled…Now, Max is back in England to take up the reins as Duke of Rossenhall. And when he spies Ellen at a ball, the sparks are hard to contain! Little does Max know, though, that Ellen has a secret… And soon, he must learn to embrace an unexpected heir, and an unexpected – and disconcertingly defiant – duchess!







‘This, madam, changes everything.’

Years ago, in the Egyptian desert, Ellen Tatham fell wildly in love and exchanged vows with Max Colnebrooke. But, when made to believe Max could not be trusted, she fled...

Now, Max is back in England to take up the reins as Duke of Rossenhall. And when he spies Ellen at a ball, the sparks are hard to contain! Little does Max know, though, that Ellen has a secret... And soon, he must learn to embrace an unexpected heir, and an unexpected—and disconcertingly defiant—duchess!


‘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 to catch the child in her arms. The child laid his head on her shoulder but for a moment looked directly at Max—a long, unblinking stare before his eyelids drooped. He was already asleep as Ellen handed him to the nursemaid.

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

Max’s brain was 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 had hardened into certainty. He stared at Ellen as she turned and made her way back down the stairs towards him and his simmering anger turned again to ice-cold fury.

He forced out his next words through gritted teeth.

‘This, madam, changes everything.’


Author Note (#uce2f3905-57d2-5ea5-9356-a1f8567259b7)

When I finished writing The Infamous Arrandales there was one character who just wouldn’t go away. Little Ellen Tatham, the spirited young heiress who appeared in the books, was quite adamant that she wanted her own story.

So that is how The Duke’s Secret Heir came about. We have moved on several years, and Ellen is now in her mid-twenties. She is enjoying life as a rich and independent young woman when she meets Major Max Colnebrooke. The setting, on the banks of the Nile, is perfect for romance, so is it any wonder that Ellen falls head over heels in love with the dashing major?

Unfortunately the course of true love does not run smoothly for our lovers, but Ellen is not one to sit and pine, and she makes a new life for herself in the north of England—quite a contrast with the Egyptian desert—content to be the diamond of Harrogate society. Until one day she comes face to face with Max again. Only now he is the Duke of Rossenhall.

After four years, can our lovers put the pain and misunderstandings of the past behind them and find true happiness?

I do hope you enjoy Ellen and Max’s journey, and if you would like to share your thoughts on the story with me then do feel free to contact me on my website, www.sarahmallory.com (http://www.sarahmallory.com), or on Twitter @SarahMRomance (https://twitter.com/sarahmromance).


The Duke’s Secret Heir

Sarah Mallory






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire moors. She has been writing for more than three decades—mainly historical romances set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, including the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award for The Dangerous Lord Darrington and for Beneath the Major’s Scars.

Books by Sarah Mallory

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

and Mills & Boon Historical Undone! eBook

The Infamous Arrandales

The Chaperon’s Seduction

Temptation of a Governess

Return of the Runaway

The Outcast’s Redemption

Brides of Waterloo

A Lady for Lord Randall

The Notorious Coale Brothers

Beneath the Major’s Scars

Behind the Rake’s Wicked Wager

The Tantalizing Miss Coale (Undone!)

Stand-Alone Novels

The Dangerous Lord Darrington

Bought for Revenge

The Scarlet Gown

Never Trust a Rebel

The Duke’s Secret Heir

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


For lovers everywhere


Contents

Cover (#u7d9971ee-1262-5310-854c-cdbce4d4a44f)

Back Cover Text (#u3fd135cd-4ad7-5295-b850-26f882553eb4)

Introduction (#u1ac94fb5-5d6f-535e-9228-4a7ce41a994d)

Author Note (#uf356195f-f92b-573b-80ac-de1161021732)

Title Page (#u59c2b9e4-df2b-5173-b0de-cb03646c3701)

About the Author (#u9f4c96f9-d5d9-5faa-81bb-a118d5643a3d)

Dedication (#u48453818-3b81-5e55-a496-799a9db367ca)

Chapter One (#uf89bcf23-6c34-5ca3-bd5f-61c021a6cc8f)

Chapter Two (#u51ab12af-e373-5afc-aff3-3b9dc0b63d49)

Chapter Three (#u58beaa98-2cee-56f7-bf63-be7d3bf3195e)

Chapter Four (#ua7be8cef-5386-5ee4-987b-a645daf0f73a)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_2d4e2e18-20e0-5bb1-bfb6-b948ee3d313c)

High Harrogate was in a state of excitement. A most illustrious visitor was expected to grace the ball at the Granby that evening. True, the rumours had not been confirmed, but the visitor was an old friend of a regular patron, so everyone was in high hopes. To add to the excitement, it was known that the golden widow had returned from London. Some might wonder why such a rich and attractive young widow as Mrs Ellen Furnell did not choose to make her home in the capital, where she would doubtless be one of the top society hostesses, but admirers such as old General Dingwall were only too happy that she did not and declared gallantly that London’s loss was High Harrogate’s gain.

The lady in question was currently at her desk in her house on Paradise Row, looking through the correspondence that had accumulated during her absence. Ellen had only yesterday returned from her annual stay in London. To be accurate, she had hired a house just outside the capital, in Kensington, where she resided very quietly, no invitations, no callers. However, from there she might walk into town if she wished, or go to the theatre or museums. And it was convenient for visiting the fashionable modistes and warehouses she patronised to replenish her wardrobe.

The bills and notes from tradesmen she put aside for another day and after a brief hesitation she added to that pile the letter from Lady Phyllida Arrandale. Ellen was sincerely attached to her step-mama, but her letters always exuded an air of calm domestic felicity, and this morning Ellen did not wish to read about such things for it would exacerbate the vague feelings of dissatisfaction that had been growing over the past few months. Ellen pushed aside such thoughts, refusing to indulge in self-pity. She had chosen her life and she did not regret anything she had done since she had stepped off the boat at Portsmouth four years ago. She was very happy living in High Harrogate. She was.

Ellen began to sort through the remaining papers and cards in front of her. There was an invitation to join a house party in Leicestershire for the summer, a politely worded note from the Reverend Robert Mitton soliciting her attendance at a forthcoming recital—which would naturally involve making a generous donation towards the repair of the chapel roof—and numerous invitations for tea-drinking, breakfasts, balls and evening parties. Ellen decided against the house party in Leicestershire, but the rest she would most likely attend, including tonight’s ball at the Granby Hotel. After all, that was what she did in Harrogate: attend lectures and debates, support charitable causes and go to parties. As a wealthy woman of independent means she must always be welcome and her many admirers declared she was a jewel, the brightest ornament of Harrogate society. Ellen might laugh when they paid her fulsome compliments, admired her ready wit or went into raptures over her golden-haired loveliness and sparkling blue eyes, but it would have been false modesty for Ellen to deny her beauty, when her looking glass confirmed it.

‘And you should be thankful for it,’ she muttered, scooping the invitations into a tidy pile. ‘Your pretty face has always made life much easier for you.’

Except once.

She was aware of a sudden contraction of the heart and an unexpected lump in her throat, and she found herself blinking back tears. Perhaps she should stay at home, claim she was fatigued from her journey.

‘But who would believe it?’ she argued with herself. Since her arrival in Harrogate four years ago she had worked hard at her image, becoming an important part of every social event whilst maintaining a spotless reputation. ‘So now everyone knows Mrs Ellen Furnell is indefatigable.’

Because you are afraid to stop and remember.

Ellen rose and made her way upstairs to the nursery. This was where her heart lay now. Not in some distant memory. She reached the top floor and went quietly into the nursery, where a grey-haired woman was sitting on the floor helping a very young boy to build a castle with wooden blocks. The blocks went flying as the child jumped up and ran towards Ellen as fast as his little legs would allow.

‘Mama!’

‘Jamie!’ Ellen dropped down and opened her arms.

With a shriek of delight, the little boy ran into her embrace. The maid climbed slowly to her feet, tutting.

‘You shouldn’t encourage him, ma’am. He’s wild enough as it is.’

Ellen scooped up the boy and carried him across the room. ‘Nonsense, Matty, he is only three, still a babe, aren’t you, my pet?’

‘Aye, and in my day he would not yet be breeched.’

‘And you would probably have left his hair to grow,’ laughed Ellen, ruffling the short curls that were even fairer than her own. ‘Now what are we doing here, are we building a house, Jamie? Perhaps you will let Mama help you.’

* * *

Playing with her son did much to restore Ellen’s spirits and she remained in the nursery until it was time to change into her ball gown. She had no qualms about leaving Jamie: Matlock had been Ellen’s own nursemaid and later, her dresser. Matty loved the little boy as much as she did.

After a solitary dinner Ellen went back up to the nursery. Little James was tucked up in his bed by then and fast asleep, so she dropped a gentle kiss on his golden head.

‘He looks like an angel,’ she murmured, gazing lovingly at her son. ‘I could stay here looking at him for ever.’

‘And what good would that do either of you, ma’am?’ asked Matlock, bustling around the room. ‘You go off and enjoy yourself. Master James will be perfectly safe with Hannah and me.’

Ellen sighed. ‘Ah, Matty, do you really think I enjoy these parties?’

‘Well, you says not, ma’am, but there’s no doubting you need to mix with people and to have some sensible conversation, which you won’t get with a three-year-old, and that’s a fact.’

Ellen laughed. ‘Sensible conversation! There is little enough of that to be had in society, Matty, I assure you. But you are right, it will serve no one if I become a recluse.’

With a smile and a wave of her hand she went downstairs and out to the waiting carriage.

* * *

‘Your Grace? Duke?’

Max started and turned to his hostess, quickly begging her pardon. He had been Duke of Rossenhall for over a year, but he had still not grown accustomed to the title. His hostess brushed aside his apology, not at all offended by his inattention. It was as if polite manners were unnecessary for a duke.

‘I was merely saying that it is time we were leaving for the Granby, Your Grace.’

‘Must we, Georgiana?’ Max grimaced, but followed it quickly with a smile, to show he meant no offence. ‘I would as lief enjoy a quiet evening here with you and Fred.’

‘Well, that ain’t possible,’ Frederick Arncliffe told him bluntly. ‘Georgie promised that she’d bring you to the ball tonight.’

Max threw him a look of pained reproach. ‘And I thought you were my friends. I am beginning to regret my decision to visit you.’

‘You know Georgie and I would do anything for you, old boy, but your presence here ain’t a secret. Dash it all, Max, you are even staying at the Granby!’

‘I had little choice, at such short notice,’ Max retorted. ‘If my business in York had not been concluded so swiftly I should not have come at all.’ Which they all knew was not the truth. Georgiana had written to him, explaining that Fred’s health was deteriorating rapidly, and Max had always intended to cut short his visit to York and call on his friend. Not that he would ever admit as much to Fred, of course, so now he scowled and added, ‘I should not have come near Harrogate if I had known you would want to show me off in this absurd fashion.’

Fred grinned. ‘What is the point of being acquainted with a duke if we can’t make use of him?’

‘And everyone knows you are here to visit Frederick, so they would naturally expect you to attend the ball with us,’ added Georgie. ‘Think what an honour you will be conferring on the hotel.’

‘I am thinking of it,’ said Max bitterly.

Frederick laughed. ‘I know you are not one for dancing and gaiety, my friend, but it will look very odd if you shut yourself in your rooms while Georgie and I are in the building.’ He sobered a little when he saw the look on Max’s face. ‘Do you think that because I am dying I should spend my remaining months hidden away?’

‘No, of course I don’t think that,’ said Max at once. ‘I beg your pardon, Fred. I am being odiously selfish, but having read Georgie’s letter I expected to find you at death’s door.’

‘And so I am,’ said his friend with brutal frankness. ‘I can no longer exert myself on the dance floor, but I love to sit and watch, and to see Georgie enjoying herself.’

Max regarded him in silence. Frederick Arncliffe was a former shadow of the strong soldier Max had known, but although the doctors had only given him months to live his zest for life was undimmed, and Max knew that any attempt at sympathy would offend him, so he offered none.

‘So I am to be paraded through the rooms,’ he said as they made their way out to the carriage. ‘Like some strange creature in a menagerie!’

‘That’s right.’ Fred chuckled, taking his arm. ‘You’ll be courted and toadied as if you were Prinny himself.’

Max shot him a look. ‘I am growing accustomed to that.’

Was he really? As a younger son he had never expected to succeed to the title. His father had bought him a commission in the army and convinced Max that his presence at Rossenhall was unnecessary. Even when the old Duke died Max was informed by his brother that he was not needed at home. That had caught Max on the raw, but Hugo had only recently taken a bride and Max understood that they would want time alone together. Everyone had expected an heir to follow the marriage, it was just a matter of time. Five years later there were still no children and Hugo’s untimely death just over a year ago had been a shock. For six months Max had refused to accept that he was now Duke of Rossenhall and continued with his military duties, convinced that the estates could go on very well without him. In his decision he was supported by Atherwell, his chief steward, and he had left the administration of his affairs to him and the Duchess, his widowed sister-in-law. The new Duke of Rossenhall was content to let the world pass him by.

Unfortunately for Max, the world had other ideas. He had thought remaining in the army would protect him from scheming parents with daughters to marry off, but he soon realised his mistake. Everywhere he was courted, fêted and pursued as England’s most eligible bachelor and he hated it. Even his best friend was not above matchmaking. Fred had written to Max, hinting that his little sister would make a fine duchess. Since Clare Arncliffe was barely sixteen, more than ten years Max’s junior, he had ignored the suggestion, but the subsequent letters suggested that Fred had taken his silence for acquiescence.

Max had always planned to tell Fred at some point that such a match was out of the question, but had never got around to it, deciding it was something that should be done face to face. Now Georgie’s most recent letter, informing him that the doctors had given Fred only months to live, had put paid to that. He had come to High Harrogate, determined to spend what little time was left with his friend, and if that involved accompanying him to the odd ball, then so be it.

Having resigned himself to the inevitable, Max climbed into the carriage with his friends for the short journey from their rented house in Low Harrogate up the hill to the Granby. The approach to the hotel was already choked with carriages when they arrived and Fred muttered darkly, ‘Confound it, Georgie, you must have told the world and his wife His Grace the Duke of Rossenhall would be present tonight.’

‘Nonsense,’ she replied comfortably. ‘I told only Lady Bilbrough.’

‘Which means it was all over Harrogate within the hour,’ retorted her fond spouse. ‘Oh, well, I suppose we had best go in. Never mind, Max, you can tell them you do not dance tonight and sit at the side with me.’

‘Oh, no, he cannot,’ said Georgie as she prepared to alight. ‘Max is the best dancer I know and I intend to have him as my partner at least for the first dance!’

* * *

The Granby Hotel might be more than two hundred miles from London, but the ball was no different from all the others Max had attended. Too many people squeezed into a warm room and all talking far too loudly for comfort. It was not in his nature to be rude or impolite, so he smiled as he was introduced to an endless line of guests, exchanged civilities with gushing matrons, avoided toadying sycophants and, after leading Georgie out for the first two dances, obligingly stood up with any number of blushing debutantes. He had done it all before, so many times, and when there was a break in the dancing he went in search of Georgie and Fred, wondering how soon they could leave without causing offence.

It was then he heard it, from across the room. A laugh, merry and joyful, clear as a peal of bells. The familiar sound that stopped him in his tracks and sliced into his heart like a sword.

* * *

When Ellen arrived at the Granby she was surprised to see how many carriages were still waiting on the drive and still more surprised at the crush of guests thronging the ballroom. As her name was announced at the door, Lady Bilbrough came hurrying over to greet her.

‘My dear Mrs Furnell, I am so pleased you could come tonight. And a new gown, too! Let me look at you... I adore that red silk net with the underdress of white satin just peeping through. Quite beautiful, and it suits you perfectly. One of your new creations from London, if I am not mistaken. How did you go on there, I hope you enjoyed yourself?’

‘Town was very hot, ma’am, and I am very glad to be back,’ replied Ellen, moving away from the door as another crowd of guests arrived. She glanced around the room. ‘Harrogate has turned out in force this evening.’

‘It has indeed,’ agreed my lady, but all the time her eyes were darting around, as if looking for someone. ‘I vow the landlords of the Crown and the Dragon will be kicking themselves that their balls have not been so honoured!’

‘Honoured, ma’am?’ Ellen gave a puzzled laugh. Surely the lady could not be talking of her own return from London.

Lady Bilbrough reached out and touched her arm, saying in a voice trembling with excitement, ‘Oh, Mrs Furnell, only wait until you have heard the news!’

But before she could continue General Dingwall came bustling up.

‘My dear Mrs Furnell, delighted to have you back with us. I have been looking out for you, for you promised me the first dance when we met again and they are striking up already, ma’am, so let us make haste. You know I am loath to stand up with anyone else, my dear lady, for I swear no one else is so light on their feet.’

Ellen had no time for more than an apologetic smile for Lady Bilbrough before her elderly gallant carried her away. It was always the same; at any ball she attended there was never any shortage of dance partners and in tonight’s crush there were more than ever. No sooner had a dance ended than she was snapped up for the next. It was gratifying, but she was glad when the music stopped for a while and she was able to catch her breath and talk to her friends. She was drawn into a laughing, chattering group at the side of the room and was giving them a lively account of her time in the capital when she realised her companions were not attending. The men were standing to attention and straightening their neckcloths, while without exception the ladies were simpering and blushing as they looked at someone behind her.

Ellen turned and found herself face to face with the man she had tried so hard to forget.

The room began to spin. At a great distance she could hear Lady Bilbrough performing the introductions. So he was now the Duke of Rossenhall. He had not lied to her about everything, then. Only about the marriage. Only about loving her. But why had he come to find her? She realised she was being presented to him as if they were complete strangers. Which of course, her struggling brain fought to tell her, everyone thought they were.

As Ellen sank down into the required obeisance she wondered if she would be able to rise again, for her knees felt too weak to support her.

‘Your Grace.’

By a supreme effort of will she kept her voice steady and rose gracefully from her curtsy. When she forced herself to look at the Duke she was momentarily dazzled, for the candles glinted off his fair hair and it gleamed like molten gold. A halo, although she knew to her cost he was no saint. She schooled her face into a smile. His eyes, green as a cat’s but cold as ice, pierced her to the soul. The handsome face was achingly familiar, yet now it was stony and uncaring, so different from the way she remembered him. He looked as if this encounter was as unwelcome to him as it was to her and she knew in that moment he had not planned it; he had not sought her out. Ellen’s hands were tightly wrapped about her fan and she felt one of the sticks break beneath her grip.

‘Mrs Furnell.’ No one else noticed the steely menace behind the softly spoken words. But then, thought Ellen, no one else here was so well acquainted with the Duke. ‘If you are not engaged, madam, perhaps you would do me the honour of standing up with me for the next dance?’

No. That would break her. She said, with spurious regret, ‘Alas, Your Grace, I have promised the next to Mr Leeming.’

Ellen turned to smile at that gentleman, but he immediately coughed and bowed and assured His Grace that he was happy to forgo the pleasure of dancing with Mrs Furnell. He then lost himself in a tangle of words as he tried to assure Ellen that he meant no disrespect to her. His sacrifice earned him a bow from the Duke.

‘Normally I would not dream of taking another man’s partner,’ said His Grace, with smiling civility, ‘but in this instance, I confess the temptation is too great to be resisted. Mr Leeming, is it not? I am indebted to you, sir.’ As if on cue, the orchestra struck up the first notes of the next country dance and the Duke offered his arm. ‘Madam?’

Time stopped. Ellen felt as if she had grown roots and could not move. She was aware of the interested stares of everyone around her, the smiling face of Lady Bilbrough, who was nodding encouragement, but most of all she was aware of the man standing before her, fair, tall and broad-shouldered, his back ramrod straight. Solid as a rock and dangerous as sin.

Ellen’s eyes dropped to the dark sleeve. She would as lief put her hand in the jaws of a crocodile, but she was trapped. To turn away would cause talk and speculation. Ruin. Slowly and with infinite care she placed her fingers on his arm. Beneath the fine material he was tense, hard as iron, and as he led her to the dance floor she could feel the anger emanating from him. It was like a physical wave, trying to wash her off balance. She put up her chin. Why should he feel aggrieved, when she was the one who had been betrayed? They took their places in the set, facing one another more like opponents than partners.

‘It has been a long time,’ he said. ‘Four years.’

She smiled politely. During those years she had practised hiding her true feelings and now that training came to her aid.

‘Is it really so long? I had forgotten.’

A lie. She had counted every one of the days since they had parted, but she did not cry over the past. At least, only in her sleep, and no one could help their dreams. They moved forward and back. They circled, changed partners and back again. His next words, little more than a fierce whisper as they passed, caused her to miss her step.

‘I thought you were in France.’

She corrected quickly and hissed at him as they circled, ‘That was the intention.’

‘But you came here.’

‘I had to live somewhere.’

‘But not with me.’

She kept smiling, but inside a sharp blade sliced deep into her heart. ‘No, never with you.’

They separated. Only her familiarity with the dance kept Ellen moving. Only pride and strength of will kept her smiling, while her mind wandered back to those heady days in the Egyptian desert. The stuffy warmth of the ballroom disappeared, replaced by a dry heat and the scouring sand carried by the Simoon, the wind that could blow up ferociously and without warning. The chatter of guests became the shouts and menacing cries of the Mamelukes as they thundered up on their horses and surrounded the camel train, bristling with weapons and clearly hostile.

Ellen heard again Mrs Ackroyd’s impatient tut. The little Englishwoman had been Ellen’s schoolteacher and was now her friend and mentor, and her indomitable spirit was in no way cowed by a threatening tribe of desert horsemen. Or perhaps it was being perched high on a camel that enhanced her sense of superiority.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ she admonished their trembling guide, ‘tell them I am a personal friend of Bernardino Drovetti, the French Consul General. Tell them he has arranged safe passage for us with the Governor of Egypt.’ She drew out a paper and waved it at the nearest rider. ‘Look, we have permission to visit the antiquities at Giza and our permit is signed by Muhammed Ali himself!’

At the name of Egypt’s current ruler, the horsemen muttered and growled and looked even more threatening. One rider, taller and broader than the rest, pushed his way through the throng and approached them. He was dressed as the others in loose white trousers, a blue waistcoat over the billowing white shirt and a turban with a scrap of cloth over his face to protect him from the windborne sand, but Ellen noticed that his skin was paler than his companions, and there was a glint in his emerald-green eyes that was strangely compelling.

‘Perhaps I can help?’ His voice was deep and well-modulated. She remembered feeling no surprise to hear the aristocratic English accent in this foreign land. ‘No doubt you paid good money for that pass, but I’m afraid your dependence upon the Pasha’s protection is misplaced. Outside the walls of Cairo his power is limited.’ The green eyes narrowed and gleamed, as if he was laughing at them. ‘Let me see what I can do.’

The memory of that mocking glance had haunted Ellen’s dreams for four years. Now, as the dance brought them back together, she could perceive no laughter in his eyes, just an ice-cold fury that chilled her blood. If only she had known he would be here, if only she had enquired who was in town before venturing out this evening, but she had thought herself safe enough in Harrogate. The Duke had no properties and no family this far north. Her mind, normally so sharp and clear, refused to work. She could not think what she should do, save continue to dance and smile.

When the music ended she ignored the Duke’s hand as they walked off the floor.

She said coldly, ‘Pray do not feel obliged to accompany me, Your Grace. If you think I am honoured by your attentions, you are mistaken.’

‘I want to talk to you.’

‘We have nothing to say to one another.’

He put his hand on her arm, obliging her to stop and face him. There was barely contained anger in every line of him, but before he could speak they were interrupted by General Dingwall.

‘Well, now, Your Grace, you have had your dance and it is time to give up your fair partner!’ The old soldier gave a fat chuckle. ‘Oh, yes, you may look daggers at me, young man, but when you get to my age you will find that a title is not nearly so intimidating. Besides, I know you for a military man, sir. A major, so I outrank you!’

For a moment Ellen feared the Duke would ignore General Dingwall and actually drag her away with him, but at last he released his iron grip. He held her eyes, his own full of chilling ferocity, but his voice when he spoke was politeness itself.

‘Your superior strategy carries the day, General,’ he said. ‘I relinquish my prize. For the present.’

He bowed, but the look he gave Ellen as he walked away told her it was only a temporary reprieve.

* * *

Ellen’s elderly admirer led her back to the dance floor for a lively gavotte and when it ended she was approached by several other gentlemen, all hopeful of a dance, but she announced her intention of sitting out for the rest of the evening. She could not see Max, but she knew he was somewhere in the crowded room, watching her. She could feel his presence, menacing and dangerous. She considered leaving early, but was afraid he might follow her home and that was the last thing she wanted.

When supper was announced Ellen decided there was safety in numbers and headed for the large table that ran down the centre of the room. With relief she saw an empty chair beside Georgie Arncliffe and she hurried towards it.

The Arncliffes had come to Harrogate two years ago, when Frederick’s doctors had advised him to try the spa waters, and Ellen and Georgie had immediately struck up an acquaintance. The fact that they both had young children had drawn them together, but their lively minds were very much in harmony and the acquaintance soon blossomed into a firm friendship. Now, Georgie’s smile of welcome was balm to Ellen’s battered emotions.

‘I did not know you had returned, Ellen. Welcome back, my dear.’

‘Thank you.’ Ellen took the outstretched hand and squeezed it gratefully as she sank down on to the chair. ‘I am so pleased to see you and Frederick tonight.’

‘As if you did not know almost everyone here.’ Georgie laughed. ‘And I had been hoping to impress you by introducing Frederick’s good friend, but alas Lady Bilbrough has stolen my thunder.’

Georgie turned to smile across the table and Ellen’s heart sank when she saw the Duke of Rossenhall lowering himself into the vacant seat opposite. He gave her a look that was nothing short of predatory.

‘So,’ he said. ‘We meet again, Mrs Furnell.’

Frederick Arncliffe looked up. ‘You two are acquainted?’

Ellen kept her eyes on Max, wondering if he would tell them the truth; that they had met in Egypt four years ago, when he and his men, a mixture of English deserters and Mameluke warriors, had come upon two Englishwomen with their woefully few guards and had offered them protection. But it was Georgie who laughingly replied.

‘Why, yes, they are, my love,’ she said. ‘His Grace requested an introduction from Lady Bilbrough.’

‘What man would not?’ Max murmured with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

‘Indeed, Mrs Furnell is one of the diamonds of our society,’ put in Mr Rudby, sitting close by.

‘So I am informed,’ replied Max. ‘The golden widow.’

Ellen’s cheeks flamed. He made it sound like an insult, although no one else appeared to notice. True, Georgie gave a little tut of disapproval, but Frederick merely laughed and shook his head at her.

‘Pho, my dear, Mrs Furnell is not offended. She knows it is a compliment to her radiant beauty.’

‘Yes,’ the Duke agreed quietly. ‘I have been unable to think of anyone else all evening.’

‘Indeed?’ Ellen’s brows rose. She turned to Fred and said coolly, ‘I fear your friend is a breaker of hearts, Mr Arncliffe.’

Sitting a few seats along from the Duke, General Dingwall gave a bark of laughter. ‘How could he not be? Handsome young dog, with a title and a fortune, ’tis no wonder that all the ladies are hot for him.’

‘But I was not always titled, or rich. A few years ago I was merely Major Colnebrooke of a Regiment of Foot.’ He leaned back, his long, lean fingers, playing with the stem of his wineglass. ‘Then ladies were more inclined to run away.’

There was uproar at this, hoots of laughter from the gentlemen while from the ladies came disclaimers that their sex would be so fickle. Only the Duke and Ellen appeared unmoved. She felt his eyes upon her as she concentrated on her supper, cutting the meat into precise little portions. Each mouthful tasted of ashes, but pride forced her to continue. How dared he chastise her? What had he expected her to do, once his deceit was discovered?

And your own deception?

She would not think of that. She had done what was necessary to survive.

The scrape of fiddles heralded the start of another dance and the supper party began to disperse. The Duke pushed back his chair.

‘May I escort you back to the ballroom, Mrs Furnell?’

‘Thank you, Your Grace, but that will not be necessary.’

‘What, madam, are you afraid of me?’

Slowly she came to her feet, saying with a laugh, ‘Of course not, Your Grace.’

But the look in his eyes told her she should be. Very afraid.


Chapter Two (#ulink_d9dba760-56f3-55dd-8f35-1cda306a8a1e)

Ellen stood, waiting, while the Duke made his way around the table to join her. His step was firm, assured, and he had the lithe grace of a big cat. When they had first met she had likened him to a lion, with his shaggy mane of thick, wavy fair hair. It was shorter now, and darker than she remembered, but four years ago his locks had been bleached by the Egyptian sun. Now it had golden highlights that glinted in the candlelight.

All that glitters...

Mrs Ackroyd had called them a golden couple, but Ellen had quickly discovered that Max was not gold but dross. Foolishly she had allowed herself to be taken in by his charm, so blinded by love that she had ignored her friend’s advice to wait, and had entered into a hasty marriage, only to discover within weeks that it was all a pretence.

Now the man who had broken her heart and ruined her life was towering over her.

‘Well, madam, shall we go?’

With a smile she took his arm. She had vowed that no one would ever know how foolish she had been, how much she had suffered. Least of all Max Colnebrooke.

* * *

Max kept his pace slow, measured, as he escorted Ellen back to the ballroom. The shock of seeing her again after all these years had abated. Upon his return to England, four years ago, he had searched for her, hoping against all the evidence that she had come back to him and not forsaken him for the French Consul, but it had been in vain. She had left Egypt under her new lover’s protection, leaving him no word of explanation. Not even goodbye. His temper was under control now and it must stay that way. His anger against the woman beside him had cooled long ago, he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that her betrayal had almost destroyed him. But there were questions he wanted to ask, things he needed to know.

‘We must talk,’ he said.

‘No, we must dance.’ She was smiling, but not at him. She lifted her hand to acknowledge those already on the dance floor who were inviting them to join in.

He could refuse, he could drag her away to some secluded spot, but how would that look? Everyone would say he was besotted with the golden widow and he had no intention of adding to her consequence in that way. Max took his place in the line. It was a country dance and would go on for some time, perhaps as much as an hour. He almost ground his teeth in frustration, but there was nothing he could do now. Talking would have to wait.

The fellow standing beside him, a Mr Rudby, Max recalled, looked at Ellen in surprise.

‘Dash it, I thought you was not going to dance again tonight, ma’am.’ He laughed and threw a sly glance at Max. ‘I am glad you persuaded her, Your Grace, for now I can reserve the next for myself. And I’ll take no denials, madam, it would be dashed uncivil of you to refuse!’

Max saw the look of distaste in Ellen’s eyes at this forthright speech. She could not reject Rudby without giving serious offence and Max knew he could not stand up with her again. He silently cursed these rigid ballroom conventions; he would be obliged to invite other ladies to join him on the dance floor if he wanted to avoid speculation, even though there was only one woman he wanted to dance with.

There had only ever been one woman and that annoyed him more than all the rest.

* * *

Unbidden, the picture of Ellen in the desert came into his mind. She had been untrammelled by convention then. When he had first seen her she was dressed like a man in a fine silk shirt, scarlet waistcoat and long, loose trousers tucked into her riding boots. Very practical attire for riding a camel, he had thought, and with the scarlet khafiya covering her luxuriant golden hair she might have passed as a boy, although Max had never had any doubts about her sex, even though at first all he could see of her were those laughing eyes, blue as sapphire.

She had wanted to visit Giza and he had escorted her there, despite the risks of being discovered so close to Cairo by soldiers loyal to Muhammed Ali. It was night by the time they reached the pyramids, but the full moon provided light enough, although the shadows were black and sharp. The night air was balmy, the warm breeze a refreshing change from the oven-like heat of the day. Ellen had laughed and exclaimed at how ragged the pyramids appeared when one was close, and Max had challenged her to climb with him. She had not hesitated. He remembered how nimbly she had scrambled over the large stone blocks, how they had rested together in companionable silence on their high perch. How he had stolen a kiss.

* * *

Ellen smiled and skipped her way through the dance and when the music stopped she accepted Mr Rudby’s hand to join the next set. She had never felt less like dancing, but it was almost obligatory and besides, the alternative was a tête-à-tête with Max, which she wanted to avoid at all costs. With mixed feelings she watched the Duke lead out Mr Rudby’s previous partner. She would much rather he had taken himself off, but she could not help feeling a little grateful that he had taken pity on poor Miss Glossop. His attentions would go a long way to make up for the offence Mr Rudby had offered the poor girl in discarding her so quickly for the golden widow.

* * *

Ellen was exhausted. Her face ached with the effort of smiling and she felt sure her dance shoes were worn through. She had danced continuously since supper, putting off the evil moment when she would have to face Max alone. It would come, she knew it, and it must be this evening. There was no help for it. Even as she skipped and laughed and twirled she was planning how quickly she could remove her household from Harrogate.

When the last dance ended Ellen looked about for the Duke, steeling herself for a confrontation. She was a little surprised that she could not see him, because she had expected him to be standing at the side of the room, ready to pounce. She was even more surprised when Lady Bilbrough told her that the Duke had already left.

‘Although he has the advantage of us,’ said the lady, with a regal smile. ‘He is staying here at the Granby, so he does not have to wait for his carriage.’

Ellen was relieved, but that relief was tinged with anger. He had ruined her evening and now she had lost the chance to give him the verbal flaying he deserved. However, her natural common sense reasserted itself as she went off to collect her cloak and change her shoes. If he had grown tired of taunting her so much the better. She really did not want to relive all those painful memories.

But it was already too late. As she sat down to replace her worn slippers with more serviceable footwear, recollections of their last night together were already crowding in. She was once again in the luxurious and gaily painted cabin of the dahabiya, rocking gently at anchor on the Nile. She could feel the soft cotton bed quilt on her naked skin as she lay in Max’s arms, sleepy and replete from their lovemaking.

‘There is trouble coming, my love,’ he told her between kisses. ‘I cannot tell you more, but believe me when I say it would be dangerous for you to remain in Egypt. You must leave the country with all speed. I would escort you to Alexandria myself, if I could, but that is not possible, so tomorrow I will arrange an escort to take you there. Seek out the British Resident, Major Missett. He will arrange a passage for you back to England. Go to Portsmouth and wait for me there.’ She felt again the soft touch of his lips on her neck, heard his smooth voice in her ear. ‘Forgive me, love, but it will be safer if you travel as Miss Tatham. If the enemy learns you are my wife, it would put you in much greater danger.’

A tear dropped on to her shoe and Ellen quickly blinked the rest of them away. Honeyed words. Honeyed lies, all of it. Yet she had thought it perfectly sensible at the time, and then he had made love to her again and she had ceased to think anything at all.

What a besotted fool she had been! Angrily Ellen threw her cloak about her shoulders and went downstairs. In the entrance hall she met the Arncliffes and as they said their goodbyes she noticed the dark shadows beneath Frederick’s eyes.

‘You must be fatigued, Mr Arncliffe,’ she said quickly, her own concerns forgotten for the moment. ‘Look, my carriage is at the door, I could take you up, if you wish...’

He acknowledged and declined her offer in one wave of his hand.

‘That’s kind of you, m’dear, but the Duke has put his own chaise at our disposal. We are waiting upon it now. It will not be long behind yours, I am sure.’

He ended with a wheezing cough and Ellen noted how anxiously Georgie urged him to sit down. When he demurred Ellen took his arm and gently pushed him down on to the bench.

‘Yes, sir, rest yourself,’ she said. ‘Do not think I shall be offended. Quite the reverse; we are such old friends I shall be hurt if you do not sit down. It has been a long evening for you.’

‘Nonsense, I would not have missed it for the world. It does my heart good to see everyone enjoying themselves. And to see you dancing with my old friend Rossenhall was a high treat, I assure you, ma’am. And very good you looked together, too, although I warn you not to lose your heart to His Grace, for he is as good as promised to m’sister. Ain’t that so, Georgie?’

Ellen’s hand crept to her throat. Promised? Could Max be in love with another woman?

‘You would like it to be so, at all events, my love.’ Georgiana laughed, rolling her eyes.

Ellen tried to smile, wondering how much more her beleaguered spirit could take. She allowed Georgie to enfold her in a warm, scented embrace, promised to visit her very soon and at last she could leave. Torches flared on each side of the doorway, lighting up the hotel entrance and her footman, who scrambled down from the chaise to open the door for her. She climbed in and as the carriage jolted into motion she sank back with a sigh against the thickly padded squabs.

‘We are alone at last. Mrs Furnell.’

Ellen sat up with a gasp and peered into the velvety blackness of the far corner. There was no mistaking that deep voice and as her eyes grew more accustomed to the dark, she could make out his cloaked figure, although it was little more than a deeper black shadow against the gloom.

‘How did you get in here?’ she demanded angrily.

‘Once I had ascertained which was your coach, it was easy to slip inside.’

Max sat up, pushing away the black cloak. He wondered if its owner was even now berating some hapless footman over its loss. Little matter. He would hand it back to the hotel manager tomorrow and he could return it.

‘Do you expect me to fall into your arms?’ Ellen’s voice was scathing. ‘I am surprised you dare to approach me.’

‘Oh, I dare, madam.’

‘Then you are shameless.’

‘Hah, that’s rich indeed, coming from you. You were the one who put yourself under the protection of the French Consul. I suppose he was more to your taste than a poor major.’

‘How dare you? Monsieur Drovetti arranged safe passage for us out of Egypt—that is all.’

‘And why should he do that if you were not lovers?’

‘I told you at the time that he and Mrs Ackroyd had been in correspondence long before our visit to Egypt. They share an interest in antiquities.’

His lip curled. ‘Do you really expect me to believe that?’ Max scowled. ‘When I reached Alexandria I learned Drovetti had sent you off on a ship to France. I have always been intrigued to know why you did not go back to him, when everything settled down. Or did you play him false, too?’

She flushed, but ignored this taunt.

‘We never went to France. It was just...easier to let the world think it. I wanted to make a new life for myself.’ Her hands fluttered in her lap. ‘In the confusion of the British invading Alexandria it was not difficult. Monsieur Drovetti arranged passage for us on a French ship and from there we were smuggled back to England.’

‘Where you hid yourself away. I suppose you thought I would come after you.’

‘Why should you?’ she said bitterly. ‘You had had your pleasure.’

‘Had my pleasure? Confound it, woman, I married you!’

‘That was nothing but a trick. You had one of your friends impersonate a chaplain and I am ashamed I fell for it.’

‘Impersonate! Why the deuce should I do that?’

‘To trick me into your bed.’

He bared his teeth. ‘Unnecessary. You would have come there very willingly without marrying me. Admit it.’

Ellen would never admit such a thing, although she knew it to be the truth. She had been so in love she would have died for him. But not now. The carriage slowed and she looked out of the window. She said coldly, ‘I am home. My coachman will take you back to the Granby.’

‘Oh, no,’ he said, following her out of the carriage. ‘We have not yet finished our business.’

She gasped in outrage as he dismissed her coachman.

‘How dare you! I do not want you in my house.’

‘I think you will find, madam, that it is my house. As my wife, any property you own is mine.’

‘We were never married.’

‘Oh, yes, we were,’ he said grimly. ‘And I have the papers to prove it.’ He caught Ellen’s arm, marching her up the steps and past the astonished butler who was holding open the door. ‘Which way?’ he growled. ‘Or do you want to discuss this in the hall?’

For a long moment Ellen glared at him in silence before leading the way into the drawing room. Only two candles were burning and the butler followed them into the room to light the others. Ellen walked over to the mirror that was fixed above the mantelshelf. She pretended to give her attention to tucking a stray curl back into place, but all the time she noted what was going on behind her. While Snow made his stately progress around the room lighting the candles, Max took off his cloak and tossed it on to a chair before inspecting the decanters arranged on a side table. She pressed her lips together. If he thought she would be offering him refreshment, he was very much mistaken!

‘Will that be all, madam?’ The butler’s tone was perfectly polite, but she knew he was reluctant to leave her alone. Her servants were all very loyal and protective, but even if she asked them, they could hardly manhandle a duke from the house. She turned, hiding her anxiety behind a cool smile.

‘Yes, thank you, Snow. You may go. I shall ring when I need you.’ As soon as the butler had withdrawn she said coldly, ‘I will spare you five minutes, no more. It is late and I am very tired.’

‘You surprise me. I was informed the golden widow could dance until dawn.’

‘We are not dancing.’

‘Very true. Shall we sit down? But first, brandy, I think.’ She curbed her indignation as he turned away from her and pulled the stopper from one of the decanters. ‘Will you take a glass with me, or there is Madeira. I remember you saying you liked it, although we never drank it during our time together. The best I could offer you then was strong coffee and rose syrup. Or mint tea. I remember you liked that.’

Ellen sank on to a chair, trying not to shiver. She did not wish to remember those heady days, nor the nights they had spent together.

‘I want nothing,’ she told him. ‘Only for you to leave.’

‘I am sure you do,’ he said, taking a chair opposite her. He crossed one long leg over the other, very much at his ease, which irritated her immensely.

She stared at the fireplace, determined not to begin any conversation.

‘I was surprised when you did not write to me upon my brother’s death,’ he said at last. ‘I thought if anything might bring you back to me, it would be the knowledge that you were a duchess.’

‘I—’ She stopped and after a heartbeat’s pause she said icily, ‘You forget, I know we are not married.’

Max sipped his brandy, pretending to savour it although in truth he was too intent on controlling his anger to taste anything. Seeing Ellen again had shaken him to the core. He had thought he was over her, but to hear her laugh, as if she had not a care in the world, when for the past four years he had known nothing but grief and guilt and emptiness, had brought back all the bitterness of her betrayal. It took all his iron will to remain outwardly calm.

‘It certainly did not take you long to forget me,’ he remarked, swirling the brandy around in the glass. ‘By the by, what happened to your new husband? If he had been alive I should have had to tell him you had committed bigamy.’

She gave a bitter laugh. ‘You need not pretend any more that we were ever married. Do you think I did not make enquiries as soon as I returned to England? I had my lawyers inspect the regimental registers and they confirmed what Missett had told me, that there were no British soldiers south of Cairo at that time. Unless they were deserters.’

‘I explained it to you, my unit was on special duties that even the Consul knew nothing about.’

‘But why could I find no evidence? The men you were with, the chaplain—’

‘Dr Angus went to South America after we left Egypt. The others—’ pain twisted like a knife in his gut ‘—they are all dead. Killed in action either in Egypt or the Peninsula.’

All except me.

Max felt the bitter taste of his guilt welling up in his throat again. He had cared so little for life after Ellen had left him, yet he was the one who had been spared, time and again, however fearful the odds. He had seen his men, his friends and colleagues slaughtered in the field of battle, yet he had survived.

‘Why should I believe you?’ Ellen threw at him now. ‘When Major Missett told me only deserters could be south of Cairo I assumed you had taken a false name, too. Now it is clear that your desertion was concealed. After all, your family would not want their good name disgraced, would they? Any more than they would want you to marry a tradesman’s chit.’ There was something in her tone, something more than bitterness and it made him frown at her, but she waved one hand dismissively and continued. ‘But whatever your own situation, the marriage was a fraud. Dr Angus, the chaplain you say married us, was in Sicily at that time. Missett was quite clear about that.’

‘Confound the man!’

‘Do not try to blame the Consul, you tricked me!’

‘No, you wanted to believe that, because you had found yourself another lover.’

She flew out of her chair. ‘That is a lie.’

‘Is it, madam? Why not admit that you decided to throw your lot in with the French? After all, they had the upper hand in Egypt at that time, I had told you as much. I was trying to negotiate alliances with the Mamelukes, but they were fighting so much amongst themselves that it was impossible to form a cohesive resistance to the Pasha. And despite losing the Battle of the Nile, Bonaparte looked set to conquer the world, so who could blame you for switching your allegiance?’

‘I did nothing of the kind. I merely deemed it safer to leave Egypt under the French Consul’s protection.’

‘And leave me to learn of it from Missett. Fine behaviour from my wife, madam!’

‘I am not your wife!’ She flung out her hand to silence him. ‘I was taken in once by your lies, it will not happen again.’

‘You need not take my word for it,’ he retorted. ‘If you check now you will find the records have been amended.’

‘I do not believe you. I made thorough enquiries when I returned to England. I even had my lawyers go through the Chaplains’ Returns. There is no record of our marriage.’

‘All the papers have now been returned to England. Send your lawyers to look again, if you do not trust my word.’ He saw the first flicker of doubt in her eyes and his lip curled. ‘You are my wife, madam, like it or not.’

* * *

Ellen felt as if she was standing on the edge of a precipice. She could still recall the hurt and disillusionment she had felt when she and Mrs Ackroyd had arrived in Alexandria and the English Consul had told them categorically that there were no British soldiers south of Cairo. He had waved a sheaf of papers at them, detailed information on ship and troop movements.

‘Believe me, ladies, if there were any British units in the area I would know of it. I am afraid you have been duped by deserters who have thrown in their lot with the Mamelukes.’

‘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 (#ulink_3a270b65-11e3-5a68-8c45-8858ca062dbf)

‘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 she 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.

Max was standing before the fireplace when she went in. He was staring moodily at the carpet and when he looked up his expression did not change. Formality and good manners dictated how she should behave. She sank into a deep curtsy.

‘Your Grace.’ Silence. ‘Will you not sit down?’ Ellen perched on the edge of a chair and folded her hands in her lap, trying to look composed. ‘I must tell you how much I...regret...the misunderstandings that have occurred between us.’

‘Ha! Regret, you call it? Treachery, more like.’

She ignored this. ‘I wish to be plain with you, Your Grace. To tell you the truth.’

‘No doubt that will be a novelty for you, madam.’

Ellen winced at his sarcasm.

‘I never lied to you and I will not do so now,’ she said quietly. ‘There never was a Mr Furnell. I never married. When I discovered I was carrying your—our—child, I decided to pose as a widow.’

He looked at her hands. ‘Where is the ring I bought you—did you discard it, sell it, perhaps?’

‘No. It is in my jewel box.’

Ellen thought of the heavy gold ring he had given her, engraved with Arabic characters she could not read but that he had told her said ‘I love you’. Crossing the Mediterranean in the French frigate she had more than once wanted to throw the ring into the sea, but she had kept it, clinging on to the hope that when she was back in England she might be able to prove he had not lied to her, that he really was the man he purported to be. By the time her enquiries were concluded, and her lawyers had told her that Major Max Colnebrooke could not have been in Egypt that winter, she knew she was pregnant and she had put the ring carefully away. It was the only token she had of the child’s father. Now she glanced at the plain gold band on her finger.

‘I thought this was more in keeping for a respectable English widow.’

‘A very rich English widow.’ Her eyes flew to his face and he continued. ‘You say you never lied to me, but you will admit you omitted to tell me the extent of your fortune. I only discovered it once I set about looking for you in England.’

She could not resist saying bitterly, ‘Yet for all my wealth I am not considered a suitable consort for a duke.’

‘A man wants a wife he can trust!’

She winced at that and said quietly, ‘I hurt you very badly, did I not, Max?’

‘More than you can ever know, madam.’

She bowed her head and for a moment there was only silence.

‘And your family,’ he said at last, ‘are they complicit in this subterfuge?’

‘My step-mama knows of it, but she is sworn to secrecy.’

‘She is married to an Arrandale, so no doubt she is accustomed to scandal and intrigue.’

Ellen’s head went up at that. ‘You forget, sir, that until yesterday I thought you had tricked me, that my child would be born out of wedlock. Lady Phyllida understood immediately that I would wish to make a new life for myself. As for my father’s family, when they learned of my disgrace, they immediately cut all connection with me.’

‘Yes, I sent my people to the Tathams in an attempt to find you and they were met with nothing but silence. Of course, they did not know the Duke of Rossenhall was behind the enquiry.’

‘It would have made no difference. I have never told them where to find me.’

‘And is that why you chose Harrogate, to be as far away as possible from everyone you know?’

‘In part. You will recall I was travelling with a companion, Mrs Ackroyd. By the time we returned to England she was very ill. The climate in the east had taken its toll of her health and she was advised to take the waters. We both have too many acquaintances at Bath and Tonbridge Wells, so we hit upon Harrogate. We set up home together and she was with me for twelve happy months.’

Ellen ended on a sigh, wishing her dear friend was with her now. She badly needed support.

‘I remember Mrs Ackroyd very well,’ said the Duke. ‘She was an intelligent and educated woman.’ He hesitated. ‘Please accept my condolences on your loss, ma’am.’

‘What? Oh, no.’ Even in her present situation Ellen could not help smiling a little. ‘She is not dead, sir. She has gone travelling again. Greece and Turkey, this time.’

She saw his lips twitch. So he had not completely lost his sense of humour. But his next words set her on her guard again.

‘You live here unattended, unchaperoned.’

‘I do not need a chaperon.’

‘No, it would sadly curtail your freedom, would it not?’

‘I live here with my servants and my son,’ she retorted, bristling. ‘If I was to behave indecorously, it would be all over the town within days.’ She rose. ‘Now, if that is all you have to say, I beg you will excuse me. You will no doubt wish us to remove from here as soon as possible and I have much to do.’

‘There has been a change of plan.’

Ellen froze. He was going to take Jamie. He had decided to divorce her, to drag her name through the courts, expose her to ridicule and shame before banishing her from her son’s life for ever.

‘We cannot leave Harrogate immediately.’ Giddy with relief, Ellen sank back on to her chair and as she did so Max continued. ‘It is necessary to remain here for a few more weeks yet. You will continue to live in this house and I shall stay at the Granby. We will be obliged to meet, of course—’

‘Wait.’ Ellen stopped him. ‘I do not understand. Last night you were impatient to quit Harrogate.’

‘I had not then thought it through.’ He walked to the window and stared out. His large frame blocked the light and cast a shadow over Ellen. ‘Frederick Arncliffe is dying. I have given my word that I will remain here with him until the end.’

She nodded slowly. ‘I understand that, Your Grace, but once our situation is known, life here will be very difficult.’

‘Our situation as you call it must remain a secret.’

‘What?’

He turned on his heel. With the light behind him, she could not see his face, but his voice was hard and cold as steel.

‘We must pretend we are merely acquaintances.’

‘No! Do you think I can meet you now in company with equanimity?’

‘You can, madam, and you will.’

‘I will not.’ Ellen was on her feet now. ‘The news of our marriage must come out, that cannot be helped. I am prepared for our situation to be made public, for us to be ridiculed in broadsheets and pamphlets, but think of the uproar if it is discovered we are pretending to be strangers. I will not remain here to be humiliated.’

‘There need be no humiliation if you play your part.’

Her lip curled. ‘Do you think the truth can be concealed? One slip, one wrong word and the gossips will begin to poke and pry. No, Your Grace, you claim that we are man and wife, well, so be it. We shall tell the truth and shame the devil, but I will not play your games.’

She turned away, but in two strides he crossed the room and caught her arm, roughly pulling her back to face him.

‘Believe me, it is no game, madam.’

The words were more of a growl and they sent a shiver running through Ellen. He was so close, towering over her, and awareness crackled between them. The blood pounded through her veins, she felt the power of him, his ability to send all coherent thoughts out of her head. No. She would not allow him to dominate her again. Sheer effort of will allowed her to meet his eyes.

‘I see no reason for the secrecy,’ she told him. ‘It would be intolerable to live such a lie.’

‘I am trying to protect a dying man!’

* * *

Max had not meant to tell her that, but she had goaded him too far. He saw her eyes widen in surprise and the combative fire in their blue depths was replaced by a puzzled look and something softer, something that reminded him of the warm, generous woman he had known in the desert. He thought he had known. Abruptly he released her and walked back to the window, staring out across the Stray. People were promenading, wrapped up and battling against the wind that never seemed to ease up, even in summer.

‘What has my remaining in Harrogate to do with Frederick Arncliffe?’ she asked quietly.

He knew if he wanted her help he would have to tell her something or the truth.

‘Fred and I have been friends since childhood. We joined up together, fought together. We were in the Peninsula, retreating towards Corunna when Fred was hit by the musket ball that he still carries in his lung. There was no time to find a surgeon so I patched him up as best I could and somehow we got him on to one of the ships for England. I had to do my best for him. It was my fault he took that bullet.’

He thought of his life for the past four years. Every moment since Ellen had left him was full of grief, guilt and inescapable duty.

‘But I do not understand,’ she said. ‘What has this to do with me?’

‘When my brother died in a riding accident last year and I became the Duke, my family and friends threw themselves with enthusiasm into finding me a wife.’ He turned to face her. ‘I never told them about our marriage, you see. My pride would not let me. I felt such a fool, marrying a woman I knew nothing about, only to have her leave me and throw in her lot with the enemy.

‘I endured their hints and jests, the constant parading of eligible young ladies. I ignored it all, politely but firmly declined to show interest in any woman. Then Fred got it fixed in his head that his little sister Clare was the bride for me. He thought it a perfect solution, since I seemed so set against marriage. It would stop the matchmakers pursuing me, while making sure his sister and widowed mother were provided for, when he is gone. I should have killed the idea from the start, but that would have meant telling him the truth and I could not bring myself to do that. How could I explain to my best friend, a man who is closer to me than my own brother, that I had married and never told him of it?’ He read the concern in her eyes and added quickly, ‘Clare herself was never in any danger of believing the nonsense, nor her mother or Georgie. We all thought that, with Fred being so ill, it was best not to upset him. But as time has gone on the idea has become more and more fixed in Fred’s brain. I have promised him that I shall look after Clare and I will, but not as a husband.’

‘I quite see that it is a difficult situation,’ said Ellen. ‘However, I am sure, when everything is explained—’

‘No.’ Max shook his head. ‘Fred must never know that I am married.’

She bit her lip. ‘I have been living a lie for nearly four years, Your Grace, I do not wish to compound it with more deceit. I beg you will let me take Jamie away. We could live at one of your properties while you remain in Harrogate. There would be no need then for anything to be said to distress your friend.’

‘Do you think I have not considered that?’ Max responded, impatience feathering his voice. ‘It will not do. I called upon the Arncliffes this morning and know full well that you and Georgie are engaged to meet at least three times in the coming week. She is your best friend; Frederick would expect you to tell her if you were leaving town. He is not a fool, he has already remarked how well we danced together last night. He might well guess at something near the truth.’

She gave an impatient tut. ‘He is even more likely to do so if he sees us trying to act as strangers. I am no actress, I cannot, will not be part of such a ridiculous charade.’ She walked across the room and tugged at the bell-pull. ‘Jamie and I will leave Harrogate tomorrow. I can say urgent business has called us away. What you tell your friends here is up to you, but let us be clear. I will not stay.’

‘You are my wife, madam, you must do as I bid you.’

‘Must I?’ Blue eyes locked with green. Max saw the stubborn tilt to that dainty chin and knew she would defy him. She continued in a steely voice, ‘You may be a duke now, Your Grace, but unless you have the marriage certificate about you, the magistrate would have only your word against mine and the matter would not be resolved without a messy and very public brawl, which is exactly what you wish to avoid.’ Her eyes shifted to the door as the butler came in. ‘Snow will show you out. At present I have no idea where I shall go, but be assured I will keep you fully informed.’

With the butler looking on Max was unable to reply. With no more than a nod he left her, acknowledging that she had won the first round of what was going to be a prolonged battle.

* * *

Ellen did not move as he left the room. She remained on her feet until she heard the soft thud of the front door. Only then did she collapse on to the nearest chair. She was shaking and wanted very much to burst into tears, but there was no time to succumb to such a weakness. There was much to do. A tiny, rebellious voice whispered that she could run away, set up home for herself and Jamie in another town, under another name, but Ellen knew that Max would hunt her down, not for her sake, but for Jamie’s, and if she pushed him too far he might well remove the boy from her care altogether.

She rose and shook out her skirts with hands that were not quite steady. She would take Jamie somewhere they were not known and there she would await the Duke’s instructions.

* * *

A little over an hour later Ellen was in the morning room, writing yet another note regretfully cancelling an engagement, when Snow announced Mrs Arncliffe. Her heart sank when Georgie came in and dropped into a low curtsy.

Ellen said bleakly, ‘He has told you.’

‘Yes, Your Grace.’

‘Pray, do not call me that. We are friends, or we were, until now.’ Ellen clasped her hands together. ‘You must think very ill of me, if Max told you how I deserted him.’

There was nothing but sympathy in Georgie’s eyes when she replied, ‘He told me only there was a misunderstanding.’

‘Did he?’ said Ellen, surprised. ‘That is true, but I begin to think it was all on my part.’

‘I am sure you had good reason.’

‘I thought so, at the time.’ Ellen took a deep breath. ‘I thought Max had tricked me—that he was an imposter and the marriage was a sham. So I hid my disgrace, took another name and came here to live amongst you as a widow. It was wrong of me to deceive you so and I beg your pardon for it.’

‘I think I might have done the same, in your place.’

Ellen managed a smile. ‘Bless you for saying so. Will you not sit down?’

‘Thank you.’

Ellen was gratified that Georgie chose to sit close, as she had always done. As if their friendship had not changed.

‘I had to come,’ Georgie said quietly. ‘Max told me that you were planning to leave immediately.’

‘I think I must.’ Ellen glanced at the little writing table. ‘I was going to pen a note to you, crying off from our walk this afternoon. I am sure you will appreciate there is a great deal to be done.’

Georgie’s hand fluttered. ‘I have come to ask you. To beg you, not to go.’ Her eyes, heavy with sadness, flickered to Ellen’s face. ‘I have no right to ask it of you, but you said yourself we are friends and it is as a friend that I am here. Max came to see me, to warn me.’ She sighed. ‘You know what Harrogate is, Ellen. Your dancing with the Duke last night is already the talk of the town. If you leave Harrogate now, within days of your return, there is bound to be speculation. People will gossip, the resemblance between Jamie and the Duke will be remarked upon—it will be impossible to keep it all from Frederick and if he asks Max direct—’ She broke off, biting her lip. ‘Fred loves the Duke like a brother. He would be deeply shocked and distressed that Max kept such a secret from him.’ She hunted for her handkerchief. ‘I am very much afraid that he will take it very badly and any upset now lays him low.’

Ellen stretched out and touched her arm. ‘Oh, my dear.’

‘It was wrong to let Frederick think that Max would marry Clare, but you see, it gave him such comfort to think that his little sister would be established when he was no longer here to look out for her. We none of us thought it could do any harm, to humour a dying man. And he is dying, Ellen. You saw how tired and drawn he looked last night.’ Georgie wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘Dr Ingram called today and says it cannot continue much longer.’

‘I am so very sorry, Georgie, but—’

‘Please, Ellen, let me give you my reasons for asking you to stay. Believe me, I do not ask it lightly. Frederick is very fond of you and would take your leaving us now very hard. He worries about me, you see, and says often and often that he is glad I have such a friend as yourself to help me through the dark times that lie ahead. Also, Max is afraid that if Frederick found that he had been deceiving him all these years it would break his heart. It would certainly spoil their friendship, which would be very sad, for there is no time to rebuild the trust that has always existed between them. And, finally, if you were to remain here as Mrs Furnell, and to meet with the Duke, Fred might see for himself that Max and Clare will not make a match of it. He would not expect them to marry if the Duke’s affections are engaged elsewhere. He only suggested it in the first place because he knew Max had set his face against marriage.’ She stopped, taking a moment to collect herself. ‘Ellen, I know as well as you that Harrogate will be scandalised when the truth comes out and I quite understand that you do not wish to live a lie, but you have been deceiving us these past four years, have you not? Would it be so very hard to continue the charade for just a little longer?’

Ellen looked into the anxious eyes fixed so beseechingly upon her and she felt her resolve weakening. She gazed down at her clasped hands, gazing at the plain gold ring, the symbol of her own lies.

‘Very well,’ she said at last. ‘You and Frederick have been such good friends to me that I cannot refuse.’ Ellen raised her head. ‘I gave you my word I would be here when you needed me, did I not? I will honour that promise.’

She could almost see the weight lifting from Georgie’s shoulders.

‘Oh, Ellen, thank you. I was so very much afraid you would despise me, knowing what we had done.’

‘Despise you?’ Ellen shook her head. ‘How can I blame you and the Duke for humouring your husband, when I have been guilty of a much greater deceit? No, no, we must do this for Frederick’s sake, I quite see that.’ She reached out and took Georgie’s hands in her own. ‘Now, go you home. It is getting late, so I think perhaps we should cancel our walk this afternoon, but tomorrow morning you must send Charlotte to play with Jamie, as usual.’

‘Of course, and you must take tea with me later in the day, as we do every Sunday.’ As they both rose Georgie put her arms about Ellen. ‘How shall I ever thank you?’

‘By remaining my good friend,’ said Ellen, returning the embrace. ‘I fear I shall be in need of your support. Perhaps, too, you would tell Max of my decision?’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I confess my pride rebels against informing him of this volte face.’


Chapter Four (#ulink_b1da194d-9857-5102-8bfc-affd9ae2ad95)

When Georgie had gone, Ellen tore up the pile of letters she had written. They were unnecessary, now she had decided to stay. She wondered how Max would take the news and how she would react when they next met. Last night it had been as much as she could do not to faint when she first saw him and it had been no easier this morning. While she had thought him a rogue her anger had helped her to maintain her composure, but the realisation that he had been telling the truth had filled her with shame and remorse that she had ever doubted him. Added to that was the fact that she thought him even more handsome now than when they had first met. The way her pulse leapt at the sight of him was proof that the attraction was still there, on her side at least. She dashed away a tear.

‘Well, it is too late for that now,’ she said to the empty room. ‘You had your chance and made a mull of it.’

The past could not be changed, so there was no point worrying about it. Ellen squared her shoulders and glanced at the clock; there was still time to take Jamie for an airing before dinner. She ordered her carriage, then went upstairs to change into her walking dress while Matlock took out Jamie’s warm coat to cover his blue suit.

‘I’d be happier if you would put up the head rather than sitting in an open carriage,’ opined the maid. ‘That wind is cutting, for all that we are at the end of May. And you should take a hot brick for your feet.’

‘Nonsense, Matty, it is only a fresh breeze,’ said Ellen. ‘We shall come to no harm if we are wrapped up.’

But she did not stop her old nurse from following them to the travelling barouche and tucking a rug about their legs, nor did she point out that her son would kick off the rug within minutes of their setting off.

* * *

Jamie loved riding in an open carriage and as they drove along the edge of the Stray she pointed out the various animals grazing there before they turned away from the open ground and headed for Low Harrogate. The roads were busy at this time of day, when many of the visitors took a walk or a drive before dinner. For herself, Ellen would have preferred to travel out of Harrogate but the noisy, bustling traffic provided entertainment for her son.

They had not gone far when she saw Max’s familiar figure striding along the flag way. He spotted their carriage and raised his cane to attract her attention. Ellen’s first impulse was to pretend she had not seen him, but she berated herself for such a cowardly thought and gave word to her driver to pull up.

‘I was on my way to see you,’ he said without preamble.

Conscious that her son was listening, and also of the crowds, and her servants sitting on the box, Ellen responded brightly.

‘As you see, Jamie and I are going for a drive and, alas, after dinner I am engaged to take tea with Lady Bilbrough. Perhaps you could call tomorrow.’

‘Thank you, I shall join you now.’ He glanced at Jamie. ‘After all, the sooner I become acquainted with this young man the better.’

She watched in horror as he opened the carriage door.

‘But there is no room,’ she said desperately.

‘Nonsense, there will be plenty of room if Master James will consent to sit on my knee. What do you say, young sir? You will be able to see much more if you are a little higher.’

Ellen had always been proud that Jamie was such a friendly, confident child, but now she found herself regretting the sunny nature that had Jamie climbing on to Max’s lap as if they had known each other for ever.

* * *

This is my son.

The words rang around in Max’s head as he helped the little boy on to his knee. He had known it from the first moment he had clapped eyes on the child and he had felt strangely relieved when Ellen had told him she had never married again. She had not tried to replace him in her life, or their son’s.

Their son. His heart lifted. This child would not be confined to the nursery as he had been. He would not be a cold, distant figure like his own father, but someone the boy could talk to, confide in. He found himself looking forward to the new role and it should start immediately.

‘Well, ma’am, I think you should introduce us,’ said Max, as they moved off.

Ellen narrowed her eyes at him. He knew she was put out by the way the boy had taken to him and could not deny a feeling of triumph. Ignoble, perhaps, but very satisfying.

‘May I present my son James to you, Your Grace? James, this is the Duke of Rossenhall.’

‘Duke,’ repeated James.

‘That’s right,’ Max smiled, surprised at the pride he felt to have this little fellow sitting on his knee. He glanced at Ellen and said quietly, ‘I wanted to thank you, for agreeing to stay.’

She was sitting very upright and gazing resolutely ahead. She said coldly, ‘Mr and Mrs Arncliffe are my friends. I am doing this for their sake.’

‘Mrs Arncliffe is Lottie’s mama,’ Jamie informed him. ‘Lottie is my friend.’

‘Is she?’ said Max. ‘Well, Lottie’s papa is my friend, too. We have known each other since I was your age. We were soldiers together.’

Jamie fixed him with his steady gaze.

‘I want to be a soldier when I grow up. I want to wear a red coat and bang the drum.’

‘Really? Perhaps I should buy you a toy drum, so you can practise.’

‘Not until we live in a much larger house. One with very thick walls.’

Max laughed at Ellen’s interjection. ‘Mayhap you are right.’ He hesitated. ‘Is my presence upsetting you, ma’am?’

‘Not at all,’ she said politely. ‘What is it you wish to say to me, Your Grace?’

‘Why, nothing of moment.’

She bridled at that. ‘I thought you wished to talk to me. Anyone watching will think that I—that you—’

He could not resist teasing her.

‘They will conclude I am, er, smitten by your radiance, ma’am.’

Ellen glared. Max could see she was about to make a blistering retort, but as she opened her mouth little James piped up.

‘What is smitten, Mama?’

‘I think you had best ask the Duke, Jamie, since he used the word.’

‘Witch.’ He mouthed the word at her over the boy’s head and received a very false smile in return. ‘Well now, let me see. Smitten means enamoured, besotted.’ He heard Ellen’s scornful laugh and added gruffly, ‘Not that that is the case, of course.’ He saw that the boy was looking confused and felt compelled to explain. ‘People will think I consider your mama very beautiful.’

‘Mama is very beautiful,’ stated Jamie.

Max’s good mood was evaporating rapidly. He had thought her beautiful once, before he had known her true character.




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