Page 26 of Lusting for the Duke's Kiss
Was her friend right? Should she give the Duke a chance and give up the thought of entering a convent entirely?
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Hetty took a deep breath, then walked swiftly towards it. She was closest, after all, and it would save the butler the long walk from the kitchen.
There was a messenger standing there. Without a word, he put a letter into her hands and left.
Hetty stared down at it, her blood running cold.
It was addressed to her. And it was written in Frank Blackmore’s hand. She would recognise that scrawl anywhere.
She almost dropped the letter. He had written to her. Fearfully, she gazed at it as if it might suddenly explode.
He had turned her whole world upside down. What on earth was the letter going to say? For a moment, she was tempted to throw it to the wind.
But then, she stopped herself. She had to be brave. She must face this.
With a heart full of dread, she trailed up the stairs to her room to read it privately. Her legs were shaking so much Hetty was surprised that she didn’t fall down entirely.
Her past had returned. And she knew, with deep certainty, that this letter was not going to contain anything good.
Chapter 12
Louis knew instantly that something had changed the minute he walked back into Hillsworth House.
Hetty seemed subdued, even more than she usually was. She sat on the chaise longue in the drawing room, dressed in a sober dark blue gown, as severe as a nun’s habit. Her rich chestnut hair was styled in a plain bun at the back of her head; there were no curls framing her face. She glanced quickly at him, then dropped her gaze to the floor.
Mrs Arnold was sitting opposite her, looking solemn, as well. There was no sign of Mr Arnold.
He gazed from one to the other. “Has something happened?”
Mrs Arnold cleared her throat. “I think I shall go to the kitchen and order some tea,” she said, standing up. “Perhaps Hetty might inform you of what has occurred while I do so, Your Grace.” She hesitated for a moment, glancing at her daughter, but when Hetty did not respond, she quickly left the room.
Louis sat down on the chair that Mrs Arnold had just vacated, gazing closely at Hetty. She was pale, even paler than normal.
“Hetty,” he said, in a low voice. “What is it?”
She sighed deeply, finally raising her head and gazing steadily at him.
“I received a letter from Frank,” she said slowly. “It arrived just yesterday afternoon.”
Louis felt his heart constrict. The rake had finally got in contact with her. And judging by the look on her face, what he had imparted was not good.
“What did he say?” he asked gently.
Hetty stood up abruptly, pacing the floor. “He informed me that he has left the country,” she said, in a strangled voice. “He is currently in France. He said that he sailed there as soon as he left our own home …”
“France?” Louis frowned. “He sailed there to avoid the fallout from the scandal I take it?”
Hetty stopped, gazing at him with a bitter look on her face. “One might assume so, but it is a bit more complicated than that,” she said. “Frank informed me that he has a mistress. Her name is Amelie Marchand, a French native.” She took a deep, shuddering breath.“Mademoiselle Marchand wanted to return to her home, and her family, as she is in a delicate condition.”
Louis’s blood ran cold. “She is …”
Hetty took another deep breath. “Yes, she is with child, and Frank claims her child as his own,” she said, her face twisting. “Mademoiselle Marchand was his mistress, the whole time that we were engaged, you see. He claims that he always loved her, and that he never loved me.” She paused. “As if I did not always know that he held no great affection for me. But still, the fact that he had a mistress the whole time is still a great shock, as you can imagine.”
Louis nodded. The unspeakable scoundrel. Frank Blackmore had married Hetty, while involved in a close liaison with another woman. More than that, he had always been intending to desert Hetty, to be with this other woman. He had just been waiting to get her money before he did so.
“Frank claims that he wishes to start afresh, in France,” she continued, her voice bitter. “And reading between the lines, it is obvious that the funds from my dowry and the sale of our house is funding his little love nest.” Her face twisted again. “While I sit here, in my parents’ home, bearing the brunt of his desertion, he has sailed off into the sunset with his lover and their coming child, laughing all the way to the bank.”
Louis stood up, slowly approaching her. He reached out, taking her hand. He was heartened to see that she did not try to snatch it away.
