by Stacy Reid
Papa, Mamma says we must decorate a nursery, but she is unsure where to have it established since Mrs. Fields explained you ordered every trace of the previous nursery destroyed and it has now been made into Lady Adeline’s library.
He had read that last letter a dozen times. His girls referred to Adeline as mother. He cleared his throat and looked to the next underlined words in the next letter.
Today was the first morning since you left that Adeline came downstairs to break her fast. She looked so beautiful.
He rustled through the mound and selected his favorite.
Papa, today Mamma took a walk in the gardens. She helped us escape the schoolroom, and Mrs. Fields packed a small hamper for us. We had the picnic by the lake and it was glorious. Sarah and I wished you were here, and Mamma smiled. I think that means she wants you home…we miss you. We also picked names for the baby! Sarah and I are so excited. We are hoping for a brother.
He was a damn fool. For some reason God had found favor in him, and Edmond was squandering it. He should be at Rosette Park with his wife and children. He should be holding Adel, comforting her, rubbing her feet and her back when she was weary. Holding the chamber pot for her when her stomach rebelled.
Instead, he had fled to London, rousing his staff in the dark of the night and setting them on their ears. He had been holed up for days, not visiting the sights as he had been lying in his letters. He did not want his daughters to know he had not been eating and that he was coldly miserable.
The door opened and he glanced up.
Westfall strolled in unannounced, took one glance at the letters spilling all over the desk, some on the floor. The man said nothing, simply moved to the sofa closest to Edmond and sank onto it, tilting his head back and staring at the decorative plasterwork on the ceiling.
“You’ve been in London for six weeks, and I do not believe you have left the residence,” the marquess said.
Edmond grunted.
“There is gossip that you have separated from your duchess.”
It had taken Westfall long enough for his curiosity to get the better of him.
“I’d not thought you a man to listen to that kind of rumor.”
“I heard it from my valet who seems to have a cousin who is an upstairs maid at Rosette Park.”
Edmond arched a brow.
“So what is happening with your duchess? You rested your honor upon marrying her when you did not have to, so why are you mucking it up?”
Edmond leaned back in his chair. “I care for her…deeply.”
“Truly?” the marquess asked, with sincere incredulity. “You have truly fallen prey to the same affliction twice?”
Edmond chuckled without humor. Westfall was certainly right in thinking this a damnable curse. Edmond could not sleep or eat without dreaming of Adeline. His first few nights had been tormented with nightmares of losing her, of seeing blood pour from her, and beautiful accusing eyes damming him to perdition. Then they had slowly transformed into dreams of walking beside her on their lake, a child of their own running on the lawn with the girls, seeing the joy on her face. He’d remembered those images, and his fear of losing her had been strangled by the fear of truly never getting to know her in her entirety. If he had only days with her, or months, or years, as he had been praying for, he should treasure whatever time God allotted them together.
Life without Adel was too bleak to contemplate, and it was time for him to return to Rosette Park.
He’d fallen in love with Maryann through the rose-colored spectacles of a young man, who had needed to be awakened. He had seen there was more to life than fulfilling his duty conserving everything his father had left behind. With Adeline… Edmond scrubbed a hand over his face. The depth of emotion he felt for her was truly too frightening at times, but in the midst of the passion, there was a calmness, a joint meeting of souls like he’d never felt before. The realization ached worse than a fist to his gut. He half laughed, half groaned. He was becoming a damned poet.
“It seems I have,” Edmond said dryly. “I cannot sleep or work, I do nothing but think of her. Every damn day I write her a letter that I have not posted. Sometimes I write a note in the morning, and there are days I still write to her before I sleep.”
“If you care for her, why have you been holed up here for weeks? I confess my ribs do not wish to meet with your fists again.”
He’d chosen to work off the raw edginess—both of body and of mind—by bare knuckle boxing with Westfall. Edmond had refused to even swallow a drop of liquor, he would not drink again to bury pain. Perhaps he would for pleasure, or when he entertained, but never to drown his sorrows again. Westfall had simply raised his shoulders at Edmond’s pronouncements, carefully peeled off his skintight coat and waistcoat, and joined him on the mat in the exercise room.
That morning’s session had been grueling, brutal, and freeing. He fully understood Westfall’s desire not to step on the mat with him again for some time. Edmond had been sparring with him almost every evening, ruthlessly striving to detach himself from the torment he’d put himself under. His friend had been constant, even going as far as to take up residence in one of Edmond’s guest rooms and he had realized Westfall had his own demons to work through.
Then during the day, Edmond would spend hours buried into writing articles and motions for the following year’s debates in the House of Lords. He was dissatisfied with everything he had written and it had failed to distract his heart and mind from being totally obsessed with missing Adeline.
“She is with child. Four months along by my calculation.”
“Congratulations to you and your duchess.” Westfall rose and went to the sideboard pouring brandy into a glass. He raised it to Edmond. “Here is to hoping for an heir!”
Dread coiled through him.
“Good God, man, I wished you an heir, not to be roasted on a devil’s spit.”
“The last time everyone wished for an heir, Maryann died.”
“Hell,” Westfall said softly. “I wish you nothing but good fortune. All Saint’s Eve is next week. I daresay you should be at Rosette Park.”
Edmond frowned and rubbed a hand over his chest. “I confess this is the first time I have thought of Maryann and our son without the bitter taste of guilt on my tongue. Thoughts of Adeline simply bring peace, and I have been a bastard to her.”
“What have you done?”
With clipped words, and for the first time in years, he unburdened himself to Westfall.
Shadows shifted in his friend’s gaze. “I understand your fear, but it is better to hold onto her with everything you have, instead of wasting even a second of time spent with her and lose her forever.”
Edmond smiled to hear his friend echo such sentiments. Westfall was a hardened rake, and society gossip suggested he had not an ounce of feelings for anyone but himself. Despite his friend’s sometimes cruel, sarcastic tongue, Edmond knew otherwise.
He surged to his feet and strolled to the window facing the gardens. “I should not have left her. This is her first child…and I cannot imagine how uncertain she must feel. I shall go to her.”
“And will you tell her how you feel?”
Edmond despised emotions, especially those exercised to excess. Fear and grief were the ones he found hardest to deal with. Even now, the idea of being overly affectionate with his duchess made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. “My presence will be enough to show I care.”
Westfall grimaced. “I have never known you to show sentiment, but how you spoke just now…” He said nothing more, only taking several sips from his glass. “There is also a rumor Mr. James Atwood was seen traveling to Rosette Park.”
Edmond froze. “I beg your pardon?”
Westfall’s lips twisted. “It seemed the man was very happy to hear of your estrangement.”
“And how has he heard such rumors?”
“You and your duchess have become a reigning toast, everyone is interested in your lives.”
> Edmond dismissed Westfall’s words. “It does not signify if Mr. Atwood visits Adeline. My duchess has honor.”
“A thing I have never witnessed in a woman. Either way, honor is a cold bedfellow. What she needs is passion and—”
“Hold your damned tongue,” Edmond snapped. He would not even think of his duchess in another man’s arms. “How is your daughter?” Edmond asked, needing to change the subject matter.
Westfall tensed. “She heals as we speak. I swear she will want for nothing, and if society thinks to cut her when she is older they will bleed, Edmond. She has suffered enough.” Rage and icy ruthlessness throbbed in his voice.
Edmond understood. Westfall’s daughter was a bastard, and he had discovered her existence just before it had almost been too late. His father, the Duke of Salop, had refused to speak with his own son, for doing the unimaginable—acknowledging his bastard so that all of society knew of her existence.
“And her mother?”
“That damnable bitch abandoned her to a baby farm in Willesden Green and pretended Emily did not exist. Do you think now that she is a countess, she would risk her reputation to visit my dwelling to see the child or even acknowledge her?”
No, Edmond supposed not.
“My duchess told me you had formed an attachment.”
A tic jerked in Westfall’s cheek, and his golden eyes went blank. “It is you we are talking about Edmond, not my affairs.”
Edmond grunted. “I saw the way you watched Lady Evelyn at the last soiree I attended with my duchess. If the ton had observed the hunger I saw, they would have called for a wedding, surely believing you had already debauched the girl. Yet the attachment you have formed is with Lady Honoria. Please explain yourself.”
The marquess downed his drink in one swallow. “Go grovel to your duchess and take your nose out of my business, Wolverton.” Westfall slammed the glass on the mantle and stalked from the room.
Edmond sighed. Westfall would speak when he was ready, but Edmond hoped he did nothing foolish when his heart, or his damn lust, was so clearly engaged with another. But the man was right, Edmond had to travel to Rosette Park and visit his duchess. But what would he say? He couldn’t bear to be from her? Her death, whether he was with her for several months or seventy years, would shatter him when it arrived, but he needed to spend every last moment with her. Hell. He had no notion where to start, but he had to see her.
Edmond launched from the chair and strode from the room, tersely ordering his valet to pack a saddlebag and his groom to ready a horse.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Almost twelve hours later, Edmond arrived at Rosette Park. He had no notion of what he would say to his duchess, only knew he could not stay away from her or his daughters any longer. He swept from his horse, and handed the reins to the footman. The quietness of the estate unsettled him. The last letter he had received from his girls the day before had indicated all was well. He strode up to the front door, and Mr. Jenkins held it open, his face a smooth mask, but Edmond swore he could see an accusation dwelling in his butler’s eyes.
Edmond strode through the entrance hall and grounded to a halt.
A maid bustled down the corridor. “Mr. Jenkins, the remainder of her ladyship’s and the girls’ trunks have been readied to send down…”
The maid’s words trailed off when she spotted him, and it was then Edmond realized that the two footmen had frozen with trunks in their hands, and the butler stood stiff, eyes staring straight ahead as he’d been trained to do. Edmond’s gaze remained on several trunks, which were already standing in the hall. Their import slammed into his gut like an iron fist. His duchess had left him.
Footsteps sounded behind him, then the housekeeper appeared with a letter.
“Her ladyship left this for you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Fields said.
“Thank you.” Edmond took it and with clipped strides walked away to his study. He entered and strolled over to the window, almost afraid to open the letter. He realized what an arrogant idiot he had been, thinking he would simply ride to Rosette Park and Adeline would be waiting for him. Unable to wait any longer, he unfolded the paper.
Dear Edmond,
I have retired to the Somerset Estates. It grows unbearable to live at Rosette Park with the memories of us, and I’ve finally conceded to the estrangement you desire. It has been weeks since we’ve last spoken, and I’ve come to realize you will not look beyond the past to the future with me. I cannot say I regret accidentally compromising you, for you have given me a great gift and I will treasure our child. The girls and Lady Harriet insisted on traveling with me, however I expect you will send word when you wish for their return. My father’s estate is only a few miles away, and I will find comfort there when I need. I only ask that you allow the girls to visit me as much as they desire, and when our child is born, you will meet him or her.
Adeline
Edmond hated the weak feeling that overcame him. She did not believe she could get comfort from him, and why should she, when he had been so foolish? She mentioned nothing of loving him, in fact her words seemed so final, his soul ached. He knew then that words would be inadequate. He loved her, and he needed to show her he was more than ready to be a family and do away with fear, that had held him for far too long. Dropping the letter on the desk, he stormed from his study calling for the housekeeper and his butler.
“Your Grace?” Mrs. Fields said, hurrying toward him, with Mr. Jenkins right on her heels.
“Send word to the village. I want carpenters, painters, and all the necessary workers here to build a nursery. Hire as many as possible, for I want it done in less than a week.”
Delight crossed Mrs. Fields face, and what appeared to be approval glowed in his butler’s eyes.
“And which room shall be converted?”
“The chambers beside the duchess’s chambers.”
With quick bows and curtsies, his servants departed. Edmond scrubbed a hand over his face. He would build their child a nursery, and then travel to Somerset and plead his case, and pray he had not completely killed her love for him.
…
A shout of laughter filtered from the entrance hall, and Adeline smiled. It had been a week since they departed Rosette Park, and the girls seemed to be enjoying Somerset, and she even felt a bit more at peace. In the two months Edmond had been absent from Rosette Park without even scrawling a note to her, something inside of her had withered. If he truly loved her, regardless of his fear, should he not fight to be with her? Adel had pushed past the pain, and resolved to find happiness with her children. There was a brief knock on the drawing room door, and then it was opened to admit Lady Harriet, and her husband’s man of affairs Mr. Dobson.
Adel stood frowning. “Mr. Dobson?”
He bowed slightly. “Your Grace. I’ve been sent down by the duke to make arrangements for a nursery to be constructed here.”
Pain almost made her knees buckle. He was truly relieved she was gone from Rosette Park and his life. “I see.”
“Tell her the rest, Mr. Dobson,” Lady Harriet said with a smile.
“The duke has given instructions that all his estates be equipped with nurseries, Your Ladyship.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Adel’s heart jolted. “Even at Rosette Park?”
“Yes, Your Grace, and also the estates in Scotland.”
Oh. What did that mean?
“There will be some knocking and hammering for the next few days, Your Grace, we are begging your pardon for the noise.”
She nodded, and Mr. Dobson exited.
“Why is he doing this?” she asked, still in a daze. What did it mean?
“It seems my son is awakening,” Lady Harriet said.
“But he still has not written to me.”
The dowager duchess walked over to her, and clasped Adel’s hands. “I never thought you were the one to sit and wait. You, my dear, are very decisive and bold, traits m
y son admires. Go to him.”
Adeline smiled and rushed from the drawing room. Hope was stirring in her breast, and she did nothing to suppress it. Was this Edmond showing her he wanted her with him? She’d already realized she loved him, and now she had to know if he loved her and was willing to fight for their family, despite his fears. For if he didn’t, she would walk away forever.
…
A noise alerted Edmond, and he glanced up. Adeline stood at the entrance of the nursery, perfectly still, looking at him. She was dressed in a dark green gown that flowed gently over her rounded stomach. He swallowed. Her stomach was much higher, and more rounded than how Maryann had been when she was sixteen weeks pregnant. “Adeline, I…” His mouth was suddenly dry.
Hell, he had practiced his apology for days, and now that he was face to face with his duchess, words deserted him. He stared at her face which stared back coldly aloof. It was an expression he had never seen her display before and it chilled him. “You came back,” he said, at loss for any other words.
“Yes.”
His heart lurched. The distance in her tone was inescapable.
“I see.”
He placed the lion he had been carving on the carpet. What the hell was he to say? He had always been a man of few words, and frustratingly, now the few words he needed had deserted him. All he could think of was how radiant and beautiful she appeared. “I can’t work. I can’t think. I can’t sleep.” The words slipped from him, as if from their own volition.
“And what does that have to do with me?”
He distantly became aware of a few servants lingering in the hallway, including the housekeeper and the butler. Didn’t they have duties to attend? Though they did not look directly at him, he could feel their keen attention to his conversation with his duchess.
“I have been an unmitigated fool.”
She inclined her head with icy civility. “That you have been, Your Grace.” There was no give in her tone, she simply agreed with him, noticing his existence in passing, with what appeared to be mild curiosity, as she might give an unusual insect found in the gardens.
