Never Trust a Rebel(30)

‘I have forgotten nothing!’ Sir Edward pushed himself out of his chair and stalked over to the sideboard. He carried the decanter to Drew and refilled his glass before charging his own.

‘She never gave up.’ He resumed his seat and wrapped his fingers round his glass, holding it up so that he could stare into the blood-red depths. ‘Your mother. It was the only time she ever disobeyed me. She sold her jewels to hire lawyers to plead for you. Up until her death she wrote to everyone of influence, bought favours, petitioned anyone who might be able to help.’

‘I thought she was seriously ill.’

‘Not then. You were her son and she would not abandon you.’ The faded blue eyes flickered over Drew and away again. ‘We never told you or Simon, but your mother had a weak heart. The news from Scotland distressed her, of course, but not as badly as I told you at the time. I wrote to you in anger. I wanted you to suffer, to believe she had collapsed because of your actions, but that was not the case. She was too intent upon obtaining a pardon for you to give in, at least for a long time. She fought hard for you, but it took its toll. By the time the letter arrived, the notice that you had been pardoned, she was dying. I read it out to her and by the end of the day she was dead.’

Drew sat very still.

‘Why did I not hear of this pardon?’

‘I loved her, yet it was only you she cared for.’

‘So you did not tell me.’

The old man bowed his head. Drew watched him, so many emotions rioting inside that it was impossible to make sense of them.

‘You did not tell me,’ he said again, his voice deadly quiet. ‘I was pardoned four years ago and you did not tell me. I might have returned to England, taken up my life again. And you let me think her death was my fault.’

‘It was your doing. She fought for years, only waiting to know that you were safe, then she released her hold on life.’

Drew frowned. ‘But Mrs Parfitt—Jed—they still think I am in danger.’

‘I told no one. The letter came, I told your mother but no one else. It made her so happy.’ His face contorted with pain. ‘How I envied you.’

Drew stared at him

‘You were jealous? Of me?’

The old man dropped his head in his hands.

‘Yes! Oh, she loved me, too, and Simon, of course, but she showed such devotion to your cause.’ Sir Edward slumped a little lower in his chair. He gave a long sigh. ‘Perhaps I should not blame you for that. It might well have been fighting for you that kept her with me for as long as it did.’

‘I am sure she would have done the same for any one of us,’ said Drew slowly, his mind going over all he had learned. ‘But why did I not hear of it? There must have been some announcement.’

‘Possibly in London, but I made no effort to publicise your pardon, I put nothing in the local newspaper, hired no crier, posted no bills in the village square. All that mattered to me was the fact that my wife was dead.’

‘But Jenkins, our lawyer, surely he—’

‘Yes, he knew, but I forbade him to write to you. He has instructions not to contact you until I am dead.’

Drew was silent for a long moment. He said at last, ‘You must hate me very much.’

Sir Edward raised his head and for the first time Drew saw the haunting sadness in his eyes.

‘I did at that time. I blamed you for taking her away from me.’

‘I know. You wrote to tell me as much.’ Drew held his breath. ‘And now?’

‘Now? I do not know. You are heir to Hartcombe, or what is left of it.’

Silence filled the study. Sir Edward sat up straight in his chair and pushed one hand through the white mane of hair. Slowly he rose and turned to face Drew.

‘If it is not too late,’ he said, ‘I want to tell you I regret keeping the truth from you and—to ask if you can forgive me.’

Drew stood up. When he had left Hartcombe ten years ago he had been a head shorter than his father. Now they were of a height and he looked straight into his father’s eyes, blue, like his own, but faded by age. He saw no anger in them, only pain, sorrow and anguish. And, underlying all the rest, loneliness.

His own bitterness melted away.

‘Can you forgive me, Father, for bringing such hardship to the family? If so, I would like to come home. I would like to help you rebuild Hartcombe.’

Sir Edward’s eyes misted. He put out his hand.

‘Come home, and welcome, my boy.’

They gripped hands and moved closer to embrace each other briefly. Drew found his throat constricting. Home. He could return to Hartcombe as its heir, invest the fortune he had made in the estate, perhaps buy back some of the land they had lost.

‘You will need to see the accounts,’ said Sir Edward, as if reading his mind. ‘We must sit down together and discuss what needs to be done.’

‘Of course. We will do so as soon as I return from Bath.’

‘Ah yes. Miss Salforde must be delivered to her fiancé.’

Must she? Drew remembered how passionately she had succumbed to his kiss, how right she had felt in his arms. He had hurt her, pushed her away but if he explained that he had been trying to protect her…

‘Delightful lady, Miss Salforde.’ Sir Edward was refilling their glasses. ‘She upbraided me for cutting you out, showed me what I was giving up for the sake of stubborn pride.’

Drew looked up. ‘Does she know, then?’

‘That you are pardoned? No, her concern was that we should not lose one another.’ The old man smiled. ‘We owe her a great deal.’

Drew nodded. A plan was forming in his mind. Perhaps it was not too late. They must go to Bath, of course, but he could tell her that now there was an alternative, if she found she did not love William Reverson, after all.



Finishing his wine Drew excused himself and set off in search of Elyse. He went first to her bedchamber, but there was no answer when he knocked on the door. Quickly he ran back down the stairs. Could she still be outside, wandering the grounds, distraught? What a devil he was to cause her such pain, even if he had thought it was right to protect her, to put himself beyond reach. He must find her, quickly, and repair the damage. If he could!

He saw Jed coming in from the garden and asked him if he had seen Miss Salforde in the grounds.

‘No, Master Drew, she be in the kitchen with Mrs Parfitt.’

Drew made his way towards the kitchen. The door was open and light spilled out into the dim passage, along with the sound of voices. And laughter. He stopped and drew back into the shadows. Surely that was Elyse laughing, a clear, joyous sound as if she had not a care in the world.



The meeting with Drew in the pavilion left Elyse confused and distraught. She fled from his presence, tears streaming down her face. The gardens were so overgrown that everywhere was a wilderness and she had no idea where she was going, merely following any path that was still passable. Eventually she found herself in a small walled enclosure that might once have been a flower garden. It was wildly overgrown but she picked her way to a wooden bench in one corner and sank down to give way to her distress.

Drew had roused such wonderful feelings in her, brought her body alive. It had positively thrummed with passion and, yes, with love. She had come very close to saying I love you as he kissed and caressed her, at least until she had become incapable of saying anything or controlling the waves of giddy exhilaration that had rolled over her, leaving her shocked and drained and not a little frightened by the experience.

Then Drew had destroyed the new-found wonder in a stroke.

He had not kissed her out of love, but lust. He had told her so. He was so well practised she had not known the difference and had responded, surrendering herself fully, prepared to give him her heart and her body, but it seemed he wanted neither. And he expected her to thank him for the consideration he had shown in leaving her a maid.

She searched for her handkerchief and mopped her eyes. So this was how it felt to be seduced by a rake. Oh, he might not have completely taken her virtue but he had totally destroyed her happiness. How could she now give herself to any other man?

‘Oh, do not be so weak.’ She blew her nose defiantly. ‘You still have William and if you go to him a little older and a little wiser, surely that can only be a good thing?’

She remembered Drew’s arms drawing her close, his lips on hers, and hungry desire leapt again, tearing at her insides. How could she endure another man’s touch now?

Angrily she thrust aside the thought and drew on her pride. She was no milk-and-water miss to sink into a decline. Papa had been an adventurer, loving and leaving her while he went off to pursue his own life. What was it Drew had said of him? He had laughed at adversity. Well, she would do the same. Not laugh, perhaps, but she would not cry any more.

‘You must pull yourself together, Elyse Salforde.’ She rose and shook out her heavy skirts, straightened the fichu over her shoulders. ‘You are not the first maid to be seduced by a rake and you will not be the last.’

She made her way to the house and slipped in through the garden entrance. As she passed the kitchen she paused, gazing in through the open door. Mrs Parfitt was sitting at the kitchen table, an array of vegetables spread out before her.

‘Oh, pray do not get up,’ said Elyse quickly, when the housekeeper saw her. ‘I have just realised I have not yet broken my fast and—’