Читать книгу Bound By One Scandalous Night - Diane Gaston, Diane Gaston - Страница 13

Chapter Six

It took no more than an hour before Edmund and Glenville were on the road to Hertfordshire, where the Northdon country estate was located. Glenville rode a few paces ahead of Edmund, clearly having no wish to converse with him. Glenville’s displeasure was palpable, and Edmund could not blame him. Edmund would react the same—worse, in fact—if a near stranger had violated any of his sisters.

Edmund let Glenville decide when to stop and rest the horses, when they should quicken the pace and when they should slow. Why quibble about such trifles? They rode past crumbling Roman ruins and pretty villages with houses all in a line next to the road. They passed through busy market towns and quiet villages where the few people in the street took notice and eyed them with curiosity.

Edmund had too much time to think, and that was not a pleasant circumstance. Turn off your thoughts, he told himself. Numb your mind as you used to on long marches in Spain.

* * *

The sun was very low in the sky when they rode through a pretty village that time appeared to have forgotten. The houses and shops looked as if the War of the Roses had been fought the day before. Edmund knew they must be close. The village was called Northdon.

Soon he spied a large Palladian house in the distance, its white stone gleaming in the waning light. Northdon House, no doubt. At its grand wrought-iron gate, Glenville dismounted and opened it.

As they approached the house, Glenville said, ‘Let me do the talking.’

‘No.’ This time Edmund must be in charge. ‘I tell him.’

‘Let me do the talking up to that point, then,’ Glenville said anxiously.

Glenville’s presence was greeted with happy excitement. Both his parents ran to greet him. There were hugs and kisses and exclamations of pleasure showered on him before Lord and Lady Northdon even seemed to notice Edmund, who was greeted with greater reserve but kind civility.

They all retired to a drawing room.

As soon as Lord and Lady Northdon were seated, Edmund faced them. ‘We have come because I have a very important matter to discuss.’

Lady Northdon looked worried, Lord Northdon apprehensive.

Edmund took a breath. ‘I will not mince words. Your daughter and I must marry. She is carrying my child.’

‘Mon Dieu!’ Lady Northdon cried.

Lord Northdon’s face grew red with rage. ‘You did what to my daughter?’ he said after.

‘She carries my child,’ Edmund repeated.

‘You ruddy bastard!’ Northdon charged at him.

Glenville held him back.

Edmund stood his ground. ‘I accept your anger, sir. I understand it. But what is important now is for us to marry quickly and avoid as much scandal as possible. To accomplish that we need your permission.’

‘No!’ Northdon cried, his son still holding his arm. Northdon shrugged him off but faced him. ‘Amelie does not wish this, does she, Marc?’

‘It is what she wants,’ Glenville answered.

‘It cannot be!’ his father cried.

‘Ma pauvre fille,’ whispered Lady Northdon. ‘Is she in good health?’

Edmund answered her. ‘She is sick in the mornings and greatly fatigued.’

‘You know this?’ Glenville looked surprised.

Edmund turned to him. ‘She told me.’ He faced Lord Northdon again. ‘Do we have your permission?’

‘I would rather kill you,’ Northdon snapped.

‘Then your daughter will have an illegitimate child.’ Edmund kept his voice as even as possible. He was used to people hating him because of his birth. This was not much different. ‘I wish to prevent that.’

‘You have to give permission, Papa,’ Glenville said. ‘It will be best for Amelie.’

‘Marriage to this—this bastard cannot be what is best for her.’ Northdon spat out the word bastard.

‘He is the child’s father,’ Glenville pressed. ‘You must allow them to marry.’

‘Give your permission, John!’ Lady Northdon became more agitated. ‘Remember Lucien! I will not lose my daughter the way we lost Lucien.’

Who was Lucien?

Lord Northdon’s shoulders slumped, and he suddenly looked old and feeble, which he was certainly not. ‘Yes, Ines,’ he said in a weak voice. ‘Not like Lucien.’

A pall came over the room, as thick as smoke.

When Lord Northdon finally raised his head, his eyes were filled with pain. ‘Please get him out of my sight before I change my mind and kill him.’

‘Come.’ Lady Northdon took Edmund by the arm. ‘You must be hungry.’

Lady Northdon was still a beautiful woman, although her features, so like Amelie’s, were pinched with stress and unhappiness. The crisp sunny September day had been rendered bleak—by Edmund. If only he could simply remount that horse and ride far away from all of them.

But that would not safeguard his future son or daughter.

Lady Northdon led him to a smaller drawing room, one with many windows and furnished with a table and chairs. The breakfast room, Edmund thought.

‘I will have Cook prepare some food. Someone will bring it in a moment. Please enjoy your repast and wait for me here. I will come back for you.’

It seemed expedient to agree. ‘As you wish it, madame.’

A few minutes later, a servant brought him a tray.

He ate the warm bread and cold meat, downed a cup of tea and waited. Finally Lady Northdon returned carrying a letter.

He stood.

‘It is the permission. Signed and sealed.’ She handed him the folded paper.

‘Merci, madame.’ He took the letter and slipped it into a pocket inside his coat.

She looked up at him. ‘Treat my daughter well, s’il vous plaît.’

He met her eyes. ‘You have my promise.’

She held his gaze for a moment before gesturing for him to follow her back to the hall. He assumed he was taking his leave. At least he was not leaving the house through the tradesmen’s door.