by Merry Farmer
“Stop being such a maudlin, indulgent prick,” Niall’s voice scolded in his head. “You’re as bad as Alan throwing a tantrum.”
He sat up, his back cracking as he did, and let out a heavy sigh. Niall’s letters dropped around him. It felt as though it took a supreme effort of will to gather them up, one at a time, catching bits and pieces of Niall’s words, and fold them. Once he had them neatly in a pile, he raised the pile to his nose and breathed in. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still make out Niall’s scent on them.
He dragged himself to his feet, stretching his shoulders and wincing as he crossed the nursery to the piano. He accidentally kicked one of Alan’s red, wooden blocks as he went, sending it flying to the corner of the room where the girls’ mountain of stuffed animals stood. The faces of bears, elephants, rabbits, tigers, and monkeys looked as sad and expectant as he felt, missing them.
God, he missed his children! He sat heavily at the piano he’d insisted be brought into the nursery, in spite of Annamarie’s protests, and set the pile of Niall’s letters on its top. His fingers flew across the keys as he started in on one of Greta’s favorite songs. It was happy and light, and he could hear the sound of her and Jessie’s laughter as they danced. Some little girls demanded to be lulled to sleep at night with a story. His girls always wanted a dance.
A breathy sob escaped him as he switched from playing the dance tune to a lullaby. He squeezed his eyes shut, amazed at how much pain missing people could cause. His children had been gone for three weeks, four days, and twelve hours. Niall had been gone for ten years, five months, twelve days, and two hours. He’d sent his plea to Niall twenty days ago, and still he was alone.
“Papa, tell us the story of Siegfried and Greta again,” his own Greta’s voice sounded in his head.
“Greta was a princess,” he said aloud, pivoting on the piano stool.
He ended up facing an empty room. Rows and rows of books stood on the shelves against the far wall. A miniature table and four tiny chairs sat in the center of the room, its child-sized, silver tea set laid out as though the girls would rush in from the adjoining bedroom at any moment. Jessie’s favorite doll sat with her mild, painted-on smile in one of the chairs. Jessie would be beside herself to have left the doll behind. Annamarie should have known better and taken the doll.
Not that Annamarie had ever been interested in the children the way a mother should. She cared enough for Alan, considering he was the heir and her insurance that she would always have a place in society, but the way she ignored the girls was criminal. He was the one who loved them. He was the one who oversaw their lessons and taught them to sing. He was the one who kissed their fevered brows when they were sick, the one whose bedroom they ran to in the middle of the night when they’d had bad dreams. He was the one who took them to every theatrical performance that passed through Leeds and who had promised them that someday he would take them to London, to a real musical. He was the one who—
“Sir?”
Blake gasped and jerked straight, dizzy from failing to breathe as his thoughts ran wild. He blinked rapidly and glanced around, trying to remember where he was and what he’d been doing. Threads of panic wormed their way through him as the reality of his situation came back to him. He was alone. The girls were gone. Niall was gone. Everyone who loved him and whom he loved had been stolen away from him.
“Sir.” Xavier, his valet, cleared his throat and took another step into the room. Deep concern cut lines in the young man’s face.
“Yes. Sorry.” Blake shook his head and stood. He rubbed the heels of his hands against his burning eyes, then scrubbed a hand over his thick beard. Had he forgotten to shave for days again?
“Sir, you really shouldn’t sit up here all alone like this.” Xavier walked deeper into the room, hands clasped behind his back. He was the only one in the household who had leave to address Blake informally, since he was Blake’s valet and closest friend, but even informality seemed formal coming from Xavier. In spite of his unremarkable birth and his employment, Xavier held himself like a king. The image was helped by his patrician good looks, though Blake hardly noticed things like that anymore.
“I came up here to….” Blake let his arms fall to his sides. He couldn’t remember why he’d come to the nursery except that he’d finished his lunch, and coming up to the nursery to see what his children were up to was simply what he did with his afternoons. Or at least what he had done.
“You need to wash and dress.” Xavier lowered his voice to a gentle tone as he crossed to stand by Blake’s side. “It’s been too long.”
“It hasn’t been—” Blake stopped. Truth be told, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper bath. There didn’t seem to be any point in it, considering the house was empty and Niall hadn’t responded to his letter yet. Not even a letter of his own or a telegram. The horrible thought struck him that Niall hadn’t been lying. He really wouldn’t ever forgive him. Blake had been abandoned completely and—
“Sir.” Xavier rested a hand on Blake’s arm, startling him out of the spiral of his thoughts. With a sympathetic wince, he said, “She will bring them back. She knows how much you love them. She isn’t so cruel that she would keep them away from you forever. She’s just having a bit of a pout is all.”
Blake let out a breath and sent Xavier a thankful look. Even though the man was wrong. Xavier didn’t know why Annamarie had left. And he most certainly didn’t know about Niall.
“I’ll have a bath,” he said, sagging in defeat.
Xavier hesitated. “You’ll have to be quick about it. There’s a gentleman downstairs to see you, and I’m not sure if he’s willing to wait for—”
Blake launched into motion before Xavier could finish, his heart in his throat. Niall. He’d come at last. He hadn’t been abandoned after all. His heart was saved.
He raced downstairs, running right past his room and the hallway that led to the other wing of the house—where Annamarie had her rooms—to the stairs. He nearly tripped over himself as he flew down to the foyer, then shot on across the hall, looking into every parlor along the way to discover where his butler had put Niall.
“He’s in your office, your grace,” his butler, Dobson, said, cutting Blake off before he could run through the entire house, like the lunatic he was.
Heart in his throat, Blake tore across the hall and burst into his office, sweaty and panting. Hope blossomed in his chest to the point where it was painful, then crashed spectacularly when the grey-haired man studying some of the books on the shelf in his office turned to stare curiously at him.
“Your grace, are you well?” Kinesin, his solicitor, asked, stepping away from the shelf.
Blake couldn’t catch his breath. Disappointment rang through him, like the echoing vibrations of a gong that had been rung too hard. Desperation not to tip his hand and reveal his secrets slammed into him, and he straightened, tugging at the hem of his jacket.
“Forgive me,” he said, forcing as much cheer and affability into his voice as he could. He strode purposefully across to his desk, praying he didn’t look as bad as he thought he did. God, what had happened to the last few days? Had he really not changed clothes since yesterday morning? “I was all the way upstairs seeing to a few things.” He made an excuse, slipping behind his desk and gesturing for Kinesin to have a seat opposite him.
Only when Kinesin reached the desk did Blake remember it was polite to shake the man’s hand. He reached out, alarmed by how obvious it was that he hadn’t bathed. Thank God there was a desk between them.
After Kinesin shook his hand, wariness at Blake’s unkempt state registering briefly on his face, and sat, Blake sat as well. “What can I do for you this morning, Mr. Kinesin?” he asked, sounding as pleased with life as a duke should.
“I’ve come about the sale of your brother’s estate,” Kinesin said, looking graver than ever.
“How are things progressing with the buyer?” Blake leaned back in his chair
, hoping to put as much distance between him and Kinesin as he could so that he didn’t overpower the man with his slovenliness.
Kinesin’s frown deepened. “They’re not, your grace.”
“Oh?” A different sort of worry struck Blake. Since Montague’s arrest for the horrific crime of masterminding a child kidnapping ring earlier in the summer, Blake had been acting on his behalf to do whatever it took to sell off everything Montague owned, including Castleford Estate. Whether Montague spent the rest of his days in prison or not had yet to be determined, but his brother had already made it known that if he ever was released, he planned to leave England for South America or Australia, or some other place so far away from the scene of his crimes that no one who knew him would ever see him again. Blake was more than happy to oblige. If he never saw his brother again it would be too soon.
But there was the problem of the estate.
“The buyers were appalled by the condition of the place,” Kinesin went on. “The house itself sustained so much fire damage that it will need to be demolished and rebuilt.”
“I thought the prospective buyers were aware of that and eager to do the work,” Blake said.
“They were.” Kinesin nodded. “But then they saw the cages.”
Blake swallowed hard. The key reason he’d spent so little time at Montague’s house was because of those ghastly cages. Montague had kept a menagerie on his property, but one look at the cages gave any outside observer the feeling that his brother had been keeping a park where he tortured helpless animals. And Blake had had enough of a feeling of being caged and tortured to last a lifetime.
“So no sale, eh?” He fought to present himself as the mild-mannered, unflappable, pleasant-to-be-around man that everyone thought he was.
“Not to those buyers,” Kinesin said with a sigh. “I’ll keep looking, though.”
“Thank you, Kinesin. We need to get that estate off our hands as fast as possible.”
“Agreed.” Kinesin arched one eyebrow. “The taxes levied on the place are truly staggering, and your brother ran everything productive about the land into the ground. If you don’t find someone to take it off your hands by the end of the year, you’ll be bankrupt. What remains of your wife’s money won’t be enough to save you.”
Blake’s heart dropped to his acid-filled gut. Kinesin had the good sense to look sheepish at his mention of Annamarie. Everyone knew she was gone. Everyone knew she’d run off with a lover too.
“We wouldn’t want that,” Blake said hoarsely, standing. “Advertise for the place as far and wide as you can. On the continent and in America too, if necessary. Perhaps some foreigner who hasn’t heard Montague’s story would be willing to take the place off my hands.”
“Yes, your grace.” Kinesin stood. He hesitated, then reached across the desk for Blake’s hand. “Chin up, your grace,” he added with a pitying smile. “Women are fickle creatures. Whatever tiff the two of you had, she’ll come back. They always come back.”
Blake smiled and hummed, but his heart felt blacker than ever. They did not always come back. Twenty days, and Niall hadn’t answered him. He wasn’t coming. Annamarie hadn’t sent so much as a ransom note or a list of demands. She’d simply vanished and taken the children with her. For all he knew, they could have boarded a ship bound for America. If so, he’d never seen them again.
“Your grace?”
Blake sucked in a breath. He was gripping Kinesin’s hand so tightly the man’s skin had gone white.
“Sorry,” he said, letting go. “I’m greatly distressed.”
The look in Kinesin’s eyes said he knew that was an understatement. “It’ll work out, your grace.” Kinesin nodded, then turned to head out of the room.
Blake followed him, which was only polite. Even though he wanted to sink into one of the leather sofas in his office, curl into a ball, and sleep until the terrible nightmare was over. With any luck, he’d wake up on graduation day ten years ago so that he could make the decision he should have made in the first place.
But no, if he’d thrown Annamarie over to run away with Niall he wouldn’t have Greta, Jessie, and Alan.
“Why hasn’t she sent a note?” he hissed aloud once he was in the hall.
He winced, realizing he was talking to himself again. Thank God Kinesin had moved on. Dobson was showing him out at the far end of the hall.
“Sir?” Xavier approached him from the other end of the hall. He had what appeared to be a clean set of clothes draped over one arm.
“Is something the matter?” Blake frowned.
“You have another guest in the conservatory.”
Blake’s heart swelled all over again, nearly making him sick. He couldn’t breathe. His head swam. He pushed a hand through his hair. The stray thought that it had grown too long and was a curling mess flew at him from nowhere.
“I figured you wouldn’t want to speak with her in your current state,” Xavier went on. “So I brought these down for you to change into.”
Once again, Blake’s hopes crashed. Speak with her. It wasn’t Niall.
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Xavier. I suppose you can help me change in here.”
He stepped back into his office, Xavier following him. Xavier shut the door as Blake peeled out of his rumpled clothes. He sniffed himself in disgust, wishing Xavier had brought a washbasin down with him. There was nothing to be done, though. At least the clean clothes hid some of his stench. Xavier helped tie his tie and straighten his cuffs before sending him on his way to the conservatory.
A second wave of disappointment hit him as Lady Inglewood, one of his closest neighbors, turned away from his grand piano, where she was squinting at the hand-written sheet music he’d left there, and smiled benevolently at him.
“Lord Selby,” she said, swishing across the room to greet him, her hands outstretched. “You poor thing.”
Blake took her hands and smiled, playing the role he knew damn well he was expected to play. “Lady Inglewood. How lovely to see you.” He was sunny, friendly, and above all, masculine. “What brings you to my humble abode this morning?”
“No one has seen you for days, your grace,” she said, gripping his hands harder. “We are all so worried about you.”
“I’m getting along as best I can,” he sighed, but smiled as he did. “One must always make the best of things.”
“Yes, yes, of course, dear man.” The august lady went so far as to pat his cheek before taking a step back. “But you know how all of your friends and neighbors worry. Especially with you being all alone in this big house.” There was a particular flash in her eyes as she studied him. She was fishing for information, that much was certain. “You’re still alone?” she asked, proving as much.
“Annamarie has not returned, no.” He lowered his head slightly and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Do you suppose she will ever return?” Lady Inglewood asked, far too curious. “Americans can be so fickle, you know. So many of the so-called perfect matches I’ve heard of with those dollar princesses have ended in heartbreak and divorce.” She put just enough emphasis on the last word that Blake knew what she was truly asking.
“I have to find her first,” he said with a bit too much bitterness.
“Of course, of course.” Lady Inglewood was back to being sympathetic in a heartbeat. “I’m sure you long for her return, and for the return of your children?” He lifted her brow just a bit.
“Yes, I miss my children terribly,” he said, unable to hide his pain, even though it was clear Lady Inglewood was asking if Annamarie had taken the children as well. Blake hated the sorts of games Lady Inglewood and her friends played, but two could play at them. “You don’t happen to know who Annamarie’s lover is, do you, Lady Inglewood?” he asked bluntly.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t, your grace,” she sighed. The veil of propriety dropped for a moment, and she shrugged. “I’ve asked around, but no one knows. As far as everyone was aware, you and your duchess were a
perfect match. Neither one of you has raised so much as a hint of suspicion when it comes to extramarital affairs. Everyone knows how loyal you have been.”
Blake smiled and glanced away. Yes, he had a reputation for being steadfastly faithful. A reputation gained through having half a dozen women throw themselves at him over the years without so much as a kiss or a tickle. If only they knew. As for Annamarie, she’d carried out her affairs discreetly.
Lady Inglewood cleared her throat and stepped closer. “I’ve come to invite you to a small supper party tomorrow,” she said, then rushed on to, “And I won’t take no for an answer. You’ve been declining every invitation sent your way for the last several weeks, and we all know why. But you must know that you will be among friends with us. We genuinely are worried about you, dear. You need to be in company again.” She touched his arm the way his mother might have.
Blake lowered his head and nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t hide myself simply because I’m….” He searched for the right word, settling on, “Embarrassed.”
“Everyone knows it’s not your fault, your grace,” Lady Inglewood said. She leaned in. “Everyone also knows your father was the one who chose Lady Selby for you. You’ll make a much better choice the second time around.”
Blake’s face burned. He should have known he’d be thrown back on the marriage market before his first marriage had truly ended. Lady Inglewood was right about one thing, though. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He already had an heir, so he was free from the torture of trying to get another.
“Thank you, my lady.” He touched Lady Inglewood’s hand on his arm. “I would be delighted to accept your invitation for tomorrow evening.”
“Good.” Lady Inglewood took a step back, beaming. “I will have my cook prepare roast lamb, since I know how much you enjoyed it last winter.” She stepped toward the door, as though her mission were done and it was time to get on with preparations. “Until tomorrow evening, dear.”
“Until then.” Blake smiled and bowed slightly as she left.
