Duarte's Child

‘Don’t say you weren’t warned, minha esposa.’

Odd how he could boss her about with such sublime cool himself but react like a caged lion at the mere prospect of anyone else taking advantage of her easy-going nature. It was a kind of territorial possessiveness, she supposed vaguely. Feeling sympathetic, she allowed him to arrange for a limo to take her to her family home when she could perfectly well have climbed on the train and got there much faster.

CHAPTER TEN

‘I SUPPOSE you had better come in,’ Lorene Davies said grudgingly when she found her daughter on the doorstep of her smart detached home.

Nervous as a cat, Emily watched her mother’s slim, straight back disappear into the kitchen. An attractive blonde woman well into her fifties, she looked a good decade younger. Following her disinterested parent, Emily hovered in the kitchen doorway while Lorene continued to stack her dishwasher with plates. Not much of a welcome after her eight-month absence, Emily thought tautly. But then, had she really expected anything different?

‘Been in touch with your husband recently?’ the older woman asked with her first flicker of curiosity. ‘He came here looking for you last year and he seemed to blame us for not keeping you here. It was really very embarrassing and, I can tell you, I was very annoyed about it. You’ve always been a problem, Emily.’

Emily stiffened, thinking she’d been the quietest, tidiest and most helpful child in the household but had only ever earnt criticism in return for her best efforts.

‘Look, I’m sure you don’t want me taking up your time when you’re so busy. I won’t keep you long,’ Emily murmured, her nails digging into the palms of her clenched hands as she willed herself on. ‘I’m only here for one reason. I hope you can give me an honest answer and I promise not to hold it against you—’

‘What on earth are you rambling on about?’ Lorene Davies demanded angrily, unaccustomed to her timid daughter addressing her in such a manner. Emily forced her chin up and stood as tall as she could. ‘I have a right to know why you don’t like me—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! Don’t like you? What’s that supposed to mean?’ Her mother said scornfully. ‘You have such odd ways, Emily.’

Emily lost what little colour she had. ‘If I’m odd, you made me odd. I need to hear a reason from you and then I’ll leave you in peace.’

Tight-mouthed, Lorene studied her for a long timeless moment of tension. ‘All right. Before we moved up here from Cornwall, I had an affair and lived with another man for a while. That man was your real father…’

‘What are you telling me?’ Emily mumbled, her skin coming up in gooseflesh.

‘What you said you wanted to know.’ Lorene folded her arms, looking defiant and bitter. ‘His name was Daniel Stevenson. He owned a big stud farm. Daniel said he was going to marry me when my divorce came through but he changed his mind when I was about seven months pregnant. He told me to go back to my husband and he slung us out—’

‘My father—Peter Davies isn’t…my father?’ Emily said sickly.

‘No, but when I went back to Peter he said he’d raise you as his child and we moved up here to make a fresh start. That’s more or less it.’

‘This Daniel Stevenson…I look like him, don’t I?’ Emily prompted chokily.

‘You’re the image of him,’ Lorene confirmed grimly. ‘He died about fifteen years ago. A riding accident. I can’t say that I grieved when I heard about it. He was a creep. I really loved him but I was only one in a long line of foolish women—’

‘I’m sorry…’ Emily saw the core of her mother’s hardness in the bitterness in her eyes. Lorene had been hurt, humiliated and abandoned.

‘I’m sorry too,’ the older woman muttered wearily. ‘But I could never feel for you what I felt for your sisters. It wasn’t your fault but I still can’t look at you without remembering Daniel and I couldn’t forgive him for what he did to me.’

‘I can imagine. Thank you for finally telling me,’ Emily managed to say and then she turned on her heel and walked straight back out of her childhood home. Her sisters had probably known the truth for years, she thought strickenly, possibly even recalling something of that time when their mother had taken them to live with Daniel Stevenson. Why had she been excluded from the secret?

For an instant she hovered on the outside step, struggling to get a hold on the shock consuming her. Duarte, where are you when I need you? The craving for Duarte was so strong she could’ve cried. Was she really going to tell him that sad little story? The unfaithful wife and the womaniser? Duarte with his incredibly respectable family tree and aristocratic background?