by Ava Stone
Hannah’s mouth fell open. “He could copy others’ handwritin’?”
“A talent he developed at Eton,” Chet confirmed. “I had no idea he’d continued the practice into adulthood.”
Hannah thought she might be sick. Her entire world had been turned upside down all for “A prank?” she asked. “Are ye sayin’ this was all a prank?”
Chet shook his head. “I’m sure he meant for you to run just as you did.” He raked a hand through his dark hair. “I curse the ground he rests in. Damned nuisance you can’t punish the dead.” Then he leaned across the coach, so close she could smell the cheroot on his breath. “Hannah, I am sorry. I don’t know what he said in that letter, but I am so terribly sorry you thought the words were mine. I would never have done anything to hurt you. I loved you with my whole heart and soul.”
Tears trickled down Hannah’s face and she swiped at them. This revelation wasn’t one she had prepared for. What was she to do with the information now? How was she to make sense of everything that had happened afterward?
“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” Chet slid across the coach to sit beside her. He offered her a handkerchief, the whole time looking at her as though she were a patron saint. But she was not. He would hate her when he learned the truth. And so would Alasdair.
“Doona be nice ta me,” she whispered.
“Nice?” he chuckled. “Hannah, don’t you see? We can start over. Or try to, if you’ll give me the chance. I don’t know that either of us are the same people we were all those years ago, but I do know that I’ve never stopped loving you.” And then he very gently pulled her to his lap and pressed his lips to hers.
At once, Hannah was lost in his embrace, the feel of his warm body surrounding her, the feel of his soft lips, the comfort she hadn’t felt in a very long time. When she sighed, Chet groaned and his tongue slipped between her lips. Havers, he smelled and tasted the way she remembered, and she felt like the same lovesick lass she’d been once upon a time.
Hannah wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her as though he might vanish otherwise. Her tongue tangled with his in a slow give and take as a sense of belonging washed over her. She had loved Malcolm, but it was never like…
Malcolm. Guilt seeped into her thoughts.
What a horrible widow she was. Hannah pushed against Chet’s chest and scrambled out of his reach. “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me.”
An expression of pain flashed across his features, but then he cupped her face so he could stare into her eyes. “How exactly is that wrong, Hannah?”
How would she ever explain it? “I’ve only been widowed for two months. I owe my husband the same loyalty he showed me in life.”
Chet released a sigh. “Loyalty? Love, Major Campbell is gone. Your loyalty to him is no longer required. You’re as free as I am, lass. We can have a second chance that very few ever receive.”
Not after he knew the truth. His mother would be sure to tell him if Hannah didn’t. “Ye might no’ want one.”
He scoffed at that. “For thirteen years I’ve lamented your loss. If you are willing to start over, I am certain I am.”
“But I have children,” she said, still unable to blurt out the whole truth. “It canna ever be as it was.”
Chet nodded. “And I want to meet them. I want them to like me. I want to do whatever will make you happy. Just don’t run away again.”
This was all happening too fast. She hadn’t planned on any of this. Hannah closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at him. Not right now. “Chet, ye are one of the dearest men I’ve ever kent. But there’s somethin’ I have ta tell ye.”
“There’s not someone else?” he asked, pain lacing his words.
Hannah shook her head. “No.” She opened her eyes again to find him studying her for all his worth. “But I do still have somethin’ ye need ta ken.”
“I’m listening.”
Hannah sucked in a breath, then release it. “When Harold gave that letter ta James, my whole world turned upside down, and—”
“Hannah,” he interrupted, but she held up a hand to silence him.
“Ye said ye were listenin’. It’s hard enough ta tell ye. Just let me speak.” When he nodded, Hannah continued. “James bundled me inta his travelin’ coach and we headed home as fast as the driver could take us. By the time we reached Briarstrath, it was obvious somethin’ wasna right with me.” When his gaze intensified on her, Hannah took another steadying breath. “Then Dr. Fraser confirmed I was with child.”
***
Chet’s mouth fell open, but no words came out. She’d been with child? With his child? It had to be. She’d been an innocent before her night spent with him. Thank God he wasn’t standing; he’d have fallen to the ground otherwise upon hearing the news. As it was, a chill crawled up his spine.
“I dinna ken what ta do,” she continued softly, “and I doona ken what I would have done without James. He arranged for me ta marry Malcolm the very day we arrived home. Then he bought Malcolm’s colors and we left as soon as possible.”
Before Chet could even reach her. “My child?” he whispered, finally finding his voice.
She winced and her eyes dropped to her lap. “I told Malcolm before we said our vows. He had every right ta ken.”
“But I didn’t?” Chet muttered, anger seeping into his words. He had every right to know too, and yet she’d married some Scotsman and rushed for the continent before Chet could find her.
Hannah reached for his hand, anguish etched across her brow. “After the letter ye wrote… I dinna have any other choice, Chet.”
“I didn’t write the damn letter,” he whispered. Dear God, he had a son. All these years he’d had a child, and his brother had stolen his future from him. Harold was burning in hell, Chet had no doubt. “I want to meet him.”
“Of course you do.” Hannah nodded slowly. “But ye canna tell him, Chet.”
He snorted his response. Surely she didn’t intend to keep his son from him.
“Alasdair was very close ta Malcolm,” she explained. “He’s havin’ such a difficult time dealin’ with his fath…with Malcolm’s death. I doona want ta make the situation worse for him right now.”
Even though her words made sense and the last thing Chet would ever want to do would be to cause his son harm, his heart still constricted at the thought. “His name is Alasdair?”
Hannah’s face lightened a bit and she smiled for the first time that day. “After my father. He’s a strong lad, a good lad, but the last few months have been very difficult.”
Chet remembered when his own father had passed away. He’d been a boy himself at the time, and his heart went out to the son he’d never met. “Campbell was a good father, then?”
“He loved Alasdair like he was his own. Doted on him.”
The sincerity of her words eased his heart a bit. At least his son hadn’t suffered in Chet’s absence. “I want to meet him. Alasdair.”
She nodded again. “But please promise me ye willna tell him.”
Well, he certainly wasn’t going to lay eyes on the lad and just blurt out, ‘Nice to meet you, I’m your real father.’ Chet stared into Hannah’s pretty blue eyes and his heart tightened. How had everything in his world turned out like this? “I won’t tell him today, but I won’t make you any other promises.”
“But—” she began, then quickly closed her mouth when he narrowed his eyes on her.
“And you’ll marry me,” he said darkly.
Her mouth fell open this time. “I—but—”
“No buts.” He shook his head. “Alasdair is my son, and I deserve to be his father if only as a step-father in the eyes of the rest of the world.”
“No,” she whispered.
Chet scoffed. “I wasn’t asking you, Hannah. I did that once before, and it didn’t turn out well for me. I missed the first dozen years of my son’s life. I won’t miss a moment more.”
“Chet.” She heaved a sigh. “I’m no’ about ta marry
ye. I’m barely widowed. And I have two sons, no’ just the one.”
If she thought she was going to deny him his child, she was wrong. If she thought she was gong to deny him herself, she was mad. “Hannah Laren Campbell, I have every right to my family. My son and the wife I always should have had. Major Campbell raised my son, and I will return the debt by raising his.”
She clamped her lips together and folded her arms across her chest, but at least she didn’t say ‘No’ again.
***
Hannah’s mind spun the rest of the way to Carteret House. Never in a million years did she think her day would have progressed in such a way. But there was no point in discussing the situation any further with Chet. He’d made up his mind, and he wasn’t about to let her change it. So she’d wait until they reached her brother’s home, where her reinforcements were sure to be waiting. So long ago she’d dreamed of being Chet’s wife, but many years had passed and she’d gone down a different path. It was too late to go back, wasn’t it?
The coach rumbled to a stop and Chet opened the door, offering his hand to Hannah. She accepted his assistance, and together they ascended the front steps. The front door opened at the stoic butler ushered them into the corridor.
“Is his lordship in, Moffitt?”
Beside her, Chet grumbled, “I didn’t say I wanted to see him.”
Hannah frowned at her first love. She’d feel less guilty about this entire affair if her heart didn’t lighten a bit when she met his eyes. Blast him for making her knees slightly weak after all this time, and especially now when he was behaving so boorishly. “He is my brother. He might have a thing or two ta say about—”
“We’ll tell Carteret our good news after I’ve met with Alasdair.” Then he turned his gaze on the butler. “Have Master Alasdair Campbell brought down to the…” He gestured to the closest door. “Whatever room this is.”
He was being much more heavy-handed than Hannah remembered him, but she supposed she could understand his impatience. “Moffitt, please ask Alasdair to join us in the blue parlor.”
The old man nodded. “Of course, milady.”
She dropped her hold on Chet’s arm and entered the parlor in question, hoping for a little space; but he was quick on her heels. “I doona appreciate yer behavior, my lord.”
“My lord?” he echoed with a deep, rumbling chuckle. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me that.”
She lifted her brow in the haughtiest fashion she knew how. “Well, I doona think ye’ve ever acted the role of boorish lord before either.”
His smile vanished and he closed the distance between them. “As I’ve just discovered that the life I should have led was stolen from me, I’m certain you will find it in your heart to forgive me.” He captured her hand in one of his large ones and raised it to his lips. “You still smell like the sweetest honeysuckle, lass.”
Shivers raced across her skin and she took a step backward to prevent herself from leaning into him. She should be stronger, shouldn’t she? “Ye shouldna say such things.”
“Aye, but I’ll say them just the same.”
Just then Alasdair appeared on the threshold and Hannah wasn’t certain if she was relieved or disappointed by his arrival.
“Ye wanted ta see me, Mother?” he said, stepping into the parlor.
***
Chet stared at the son who would never share his name. The lad was tall, his hair a shade darker than Hannah’s and his eyes a light green. He could see himself in Alasdair’s countenance and he wondered what else they might share. Remorse for not having known his son before now washed across Chet and hardened his resolve to see that all was put to rights.
He took a step towards the lad and offered his hand. “The Marquess of Astwick. I take it you’re Alasdair Campbell.”
“Aye, my lord.” The lad nodded once as he shook Chet’s hand. “Have we met? Ye seem…familiar.”
“I regret that we have not met before now, but it is my sincerest pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, my boy.”
Alasdair’s brow furrowed as though he was trying to make sense of everything.
“I am an old friend of your mother’s,” Chet continued. “And I just had to meet you.”
“Me? But why?”
Chet smiled, hoping to disarm the lad and make this easier for everyone. Why indeed? How could he possibly explain the situation without explaining all of it? “Because I’ve offered your mother the protection of my name, and I want to make certain you know that protection extends to you and your brother.”
Alasdair’s eyes flashed to Hannah. “What does he mean by that?”
“Al—” she began.
“It means,” Chet interrupted her, “your mother has agreed to marry me.” Not today, but she’d agreed many years ago, and Chet intended to see that she kept her word in that regard. “Life, as you know, can be difficult for a widow. I can and will provide for you, your mother, and your brother.”
“My father has barely been gone these two months.” The boy’s eyes flashed to his mother in something akin to anger, which was the last thing Chet wanted. He was moving too quickly.
So Chet smiled his most pleasant smile and hoped Alasdair could see his sincerity. “Indeed,” he said. “But you see I owe Major Campbell a debt that can only be repaid by bringing the three of you into my family. For me to personally see to your safety, health, and happiness.”
“Ye kent Papa?” Surprise flashed across the boy’s face.
Chet nodded. It wasn’t technically a lie. He did know himself, after all. “And I know he would want me to care for the three of you. But I’d like your blessing as well, Alasdair, as you’re the man of your family.”
Alasdair looked from Hannah to Chet and back. A perplexed frown creased his brow. “Did ye really say ye’d marry this man, Mother?”
Hannah met Chet’s eyes, and from the tear that trickled down her cheek he felt confident she clearly remembered the night she’d vowed to be his wife. The night they’d conceived their son. “Aye,” she whispered. “I did promise ta marry Lord Astwick.”
“And Papa wanted this for ye?”
Hannah nodded. “His lordship speaks the truth, Alasdair. Yer father would want it this way.”
Alasdair turned his attention back to Chet, the frown still firmly in place. “What is this debt ye owe my father?”
Hannah sucked in a breath, but she needn’t worry. Chet had promised he wouldn’t reveal the truth to Alasdair today, and he had no intention of going back on his word. “I’m afraid that is between Major Campbell and me. I hope you’ll understand.”
The lad seemed to consider it for a while and he glanced once more at his mother. “Do ye want ta marry Astwick?”
Chet’s heart clenched in his chest. When she said ‘No,’ what would Alasdair say then?
“Aye. I do want ta marry Lord Astwick,” she said softly, so surprising Chet he nearly choked.
Alasdair nodded in agreement. “I doona think Ewan will understand.”
“Will you try to help him do so?” Chet asked.
“I’m no’ quite sure I understand myself, my lord, but I’ll do my best.”
***
As soon as Alasdair left the parlor, Hannah turned her back on Chet and strode towards the front window to peer down at the street below. Truthfully, the encounter with Alasdair had gone better than expected, but she wasn’t certain what to say, what to do at this point.
A moment later, Chet came up behind her and drew her back against his chest, his arms encircling her like they had once upon a time. “Thank you,” he whispered into her hair.
What an odd thing for him to say. He’d been hurt just as deeply as she had been and now he was thanking her? “Ye realize tellin’ James will be much more difficult? Ye canna tell him ye owe his father a debt and expect ta leave it at that.”
Chet scoffed. “I haven’t cared one whit about a thing Carteret has said these last thirteen years. I’m not about to start caring about h
is opinion now. Besides, you are of an age where you no longer require his permission.”
She didn’t need to be reminded about how much time had passed. “I met yer mother this afternoon. Ye should ken that she positively hates me.”
At that, Chet chuckled. “Ah, sweetheart, she hates everyone. Me included.”
Hannah spun in his arms so she was facing him. “Things can’t possibly be the way they were, Chet. You’re different. I’m different.”
“I love you,” he said quietly. “I never stopped. Your heart is the same, lass. I can tell it. Everything else, we will work through as needs be.”
“I’ve always loved ye, even when I thought the better of it.”
He dipped his head and kissed her. His soft lips gently pressed against hers and a flood of memories enveloped her until she was breathlessly clutching him to her.
“Ye realize this is madness?” she finally said, staring up into the green eyes that had always made her heart melt.
A grin spread across his face. “This sort of madness, I can get used to.”
About the Author
Ava Stone first fell in love with Mr. Darcy, Jane Austen and Regency England at the age of twelve. And in the years since, that love has never diminished. If she isn’t writing Regency era romance, she can be found reading it.
