Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama)

It’s been a real treat to hook up with you once more, after our little dalliance last year and I’d hate to think we can never have a repeat performance.”
“Dalliance!  Um.  Yes, and the result of all that fun was an unwanted brat. Might I remind you that while you were sunning yourself in warmer climes afterwards, having debunked from London due to owing a considerable amount of money to certain people … oh, yes,” she nodded, “it was common knowledge at the time and once my Aunt and Uncle, who had so kindly taken me in when my parents died, discovered you were the father of my unborn child, I wasn’t treated with much kindness, believe me.  No.  It was a tough few months.  Thank God the brat was taken off to live in America with my ghastly cousin Elizabeth and her even ghastlier husband, George.  I suppose I was terribly lucky really, having them to deal with my little problem.”
Jimmy stared at the smoke rings he was blowing towards the ceiling.  “It’s strange to think I have a child growing up in America of whom I know absolutely nothing.”
Margaret looked at him sharply.  “Don’t start having any paternal feelings now,” she warned.
He laughed.  “Don’t worry, darling.  That’s the last thing on my mind.  Now,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside cabinet, “where exactly were we because I want to enjoy absolutely every moment I can before you disappear into the wilds of Yorkshire and become the very respectable Duchess of Canleigh?”

CHAPTER 1 LEEDS HOSPITAL TUESDAY 1ST MAY 1951
Margaret, the nineteen-year-old Duchess of Canleigh was in utter physical and mental torment on the operating table in the maternity wing of Leeds Hospital and stared menacingly at the figure of Mark Fuller, the Consultant Obstetrician.  There was every chance this man, or one of his staff, could let something slip and divulge her secret in the next few hours, and she couldn’t risk it.
“If you, or any member of your team, breathe a word to my husband that I’ve had another baby, I promise you will never work in another hospital again.  Do I make myself clear?”  She was looking straight at Mark Fuller but her words were loud enough for everyone in the theatre to hear.
Mark, Jack Cartwright, the Consultant Anaesthetist, and the two theatre nurses looked at each other over their masks.  None of them had met the Duchess before but from what they had seen of her since being admitted to hospital for an emergency caesarean an hour ago, she wasn’t someone they had warmed to and to hear her threatening them all with the sack if they should breathe a word of her secret wasn’t entirely a surprise.
Gowned up and ready to perform the caesarean section on the most prestigious patient in his career so far, Mark looked down at her.  Even devoid of make-up, the Duchess of Canleigh was extremely beautiful.  She possessed a fabulous head of thick jet-black wavy hair, which he had seen a nurse struggle to fit into a theatre cap; clear olive skin, a perfect oval shaped face and gorgeous dark eyes beneath well-defined brows.  She was truly lovely.  It was a shame her nature didn’t match her looks.
“You need have no fear, Your Grace,” he stated firmly.  “No-one will ever know as far as we are concerned.  We all take the confidentiality of our patients very seriously.  Now, let’s get these babies born.  We haven’t much time.”
Margaret grimaced.  She was terrified of this operation but wanted the dratted babies out of her stomach as fast as possible.  The whole business of motherhood was hateful.  After enduring yet another miserable pregnancy; full of sickness, swollen ankles and a hideous bulge, she wanted little to do with the results.  Why any woman would willingly want to put themselves through such an ordeal she had no idea, especially when the ghastly creatures would only howl for food, fill nappy after nappy and be sick a lot.  Margaret had never wanted children, seeing them as some kind of alien species with whom she had no connection whatsoever.  Thankfully, she was the wife of a wealthy man and with the aid of an expensive nanny and other doting household staff, she would have little to do with the two infants now about to make their debut into the world.
She stared hard at Mark Fuller as he advanced towards her, ready to perform the operation.  She wanted to feel normal again and have her perfect figure back and as eminent as the man towering above her might be, if he left a huge scar on her body she would never forgive him.
“Now, Your Grace,” he said, “you are going to feel a tiny pinprick in your hand and then I want you to count to ten.  Is that okay?”
She nodded.  Within seconds she closed her eyes and minutes later Jack Cartwright, checking his equipment and monitoring the patient, finally nodded to Mark that the Duchess was in a deep enough sleep for the operation to commence.  Mark took the scalpel offered to him by the theatre nurse and made the incision.  The heirs to Canleigh were about to be born.


*   *   *
Charles, the twenty-nine-year-old Duke of Canleigh, dressed in a dark green sweater on top of an open necked white shirt, brown cord trousers and brown leather shoes, paced the waiting room into which he had been ushered by a young nurse in a pale blue uniform.
“The operation shouldn’t take long, Your Grace, and I’ll bob back and let you know as soon as you can see your wife and the twins,” she said with a smile, thinking how handsome he was.  His hair must have been really dark when he was younger but it was greying now, especially at the temples, brushed back and with a left side parting.  His brown eyes with