by Wolf, Bree
“Certainly, my lord,” Brighton mumbled and then hastened away with a speed that surprised Grant.
Stepping into his study, Grant found that he could not sit. His limbs tingled with the need to move and he soon found himself pacing up and down the length of his sanctuary, eagerly awaiting his father-in-law’s arrival. Perhaps he ought to have sought him out, but Grant did not wish to cross anyone else’s path at the moment. First, he needed to speak to Maynard.
A small eternity passed, but then he finally heard his father-in-law’s steps echoing over from down the hall. He moved faster than he usually did, and Grant wondered if he knew what his son-in-law had to tell him or if…he simply had hope.
Hope Grant should never have given up on.
Pulling open the door, Grant met his father-in-law’s blue gaze, wide and searching as the old man held his breath. Then he swallowed, and the ghost of a smile came to his lips. “It’s…” Maynard stammered as his hands reached out and grasped Grant’s. “It’s her?”
Unable to hold back his smile any longer, Grant nodded. “It’s her.” Tears shot to his eyes, and he barely saw the paleness that came to his father-in-law’s face before the old man suddenly sank down.
Jumping forward, Grant caught him under the arms. “Maynard!” he called, fear seizing his heart as he dragged his father-in-law to the nearest chair. Gently, he sat him down and was relieved to see that the old man’s legs began to move and his hands grasped the armrests of the chair for support. Kneeling in front of him, Grant looked up into his face. “Are you all right? Do you wish to lie down?”
Struggling for breath, Maynard shook his head, that ghost of a smile still clinging to his lips. “No, I wish to hear of my daughter. Tell me. Is it truly her?” His voice quivered, and Grant felt reminded of the shock he himself had received upon first seeing her.
Grant’s mouth opened; however, before a word managed to leave his tongue, angry footsteps echoed closer and, before long, his mother burst through the door left ajar.
“Wentford, you’re back. Where in heavens have you been?”
Rolling his eyes at his mother’s insistence to call him by his title, Grant rose to his feet. Still, before a single word made it past his teeth, his mother cut him off.
With her hands folded in front of her, she regarded him with no small measure of displeasure, her gaze briefly straying to her son’s panting father-in-law. “What is going on? I thought it very poor manners of you to leave without taking your leave of us properly. Why, if something had happened, I wouldn’t even have known where to find you.”
“I apologize, Mother,” Grant hastened to assure her before she could dwell on his shortcomings some more. “But I had a very good reason to have gone off so quickly.” He glanced at his father-in-law and saw his hands grip the armrests even tighter as he hung on every word.
His mother’s gaze narrowed as her eyes followed Grant’s. “Do tell,” she pressed. “What was so important?”
Grant smiled. “Nessa was found.”
While Maynard drew in a shuddering breath and his eyes closed as though he wished to savor the moment, Grant’s mother stared at him as though he had spoken in a foreign language. No emotion showed on her face, and he could see the shock of his words slowly sink in. Soon, her lashes began to flutter as she blinked her eyes, no doubt trying to wrap her mind around what he had said. “N-Ness-what?”
Reaching for her hands, Grant smiled at her. “Maynard received a letter from an old friend. He’d recently heard of a woman who’d lost her memory and was staying in an abbey up north. He visited that abbey and from what he said, Maynard thought it could be Nessa. So I went up there.” Grant swallowed the lump that had come to his throat knowing that without Maynard’s insistence he would still believe Nessa to be gone. Without his father-in-law’s determination, Grant would never have found her and she would have truly been lost to him.
To all of them.
“What?” his mother stammered as her eyes narrowed and she shook her head in disbelief. “That cannot be!”
Grant laughed as relief and joy washed over him. “Oh, but it is. She’s alive. Nessa is alive. The abbess told me that she was pulled from the sea by fishermen nearly three years ago.” He looked at his father-in-law, who was clearly hanging on every word, his eyes wide like a child’s on Christmas morning. “They brought her to the abbey. While she recovered quickly, it soon became clear that she did not remember who she was.”
“She does not remember,” his mother mumbled as she took a step back. Then she sank into the chair beside Maynard’s.
Grant shook his head, sadness in his eyes as they turned to the old man. “She did not recognize me,” he told his father-in-law. “She didn’t even know her own name.”
“Not even her own name,” his mother echoed as she looked up at him for a brief moment before her gaze became distant.
“But she is well?” Maynard asked, eagerness in his voice as he scooted all but to the edge of the chair.
Grant nodded. “She is well. It’s only her memory that is still lost. But I’m certain she will remember once we bring her home. Perhaps not right away, but…eventually.” He could only hope that he was right. What if Nessa never remembered? What if she would return but their love was lost forever?
“Why didn’t you bring her home with you?” Maynard asked, his gaze fearful as he watched his son-in-law. “Why didn’t she come with you?”
His mother’s chin rose, and her eyes cleared as she looked at him. “What about your wife? Your new wife, I mean.”
Maynard’s jaw dropped, and he clasped a hand over his mouth.
Grant nodded, knowing only too well how it felt to forget everything else where Nessa was concerned. “I will speak to her,” he told his mother. “I will try to explain, but…”
“What will happen now?” his mother all but shrieked as she surged to her feet. “She is your wife. She—”
“I suspect our marriage is void,” Grant hastened to explain, worried that his mother would completely lose her composure. “I’ve already sent for Mr. Thatcher. He should be here soon, and I can only hope that he will confirm my suspicion.”
His mother’s hands balled into fists. “You cannot simply send her away. She’s your wife. She…”
“I have no intention of simply sending her away, Mother,” Grant snapped, regretting his tone, but was he unable to suppress the guilt he felt for the turn Eugenie’s life would now take. “I will do what I can to protect her, to see her safe, but—” he ran his hands through his hair as all his emotions dialed down to one simple need, “—I will not lose Nessa.”
His mother swallowed, her blue eyes narrowing as she looked at him. “She’ll be ruined.”
Grant nodded. “Of that, I’m aware. Believe me, I feel awful. She does not deserve to be treated thus, but it is not within my power to prevent it. All I can do is try my utmost to find…” To find what? Was there a place on this earth where Eugenie could start over without whispers and stares following her wherever she went? Where she would not be a societal outcast? Where she still had a chance at happiness?
“You cannot do that!” his mother hissed, hands on her hips as she glared at him. “You cannot do that to…her.”
“I understand your agitation,” Grant replied, wondering why his mother would champion Eugenie in such a way. “Believe me, I feel it as well. But I will not lose Nessa again. She is my wife, and I don’t care what I have to do to get her back. Do you understand? I will not give her up.”
If only he knew what to do about Eugenie.
Chapter Seven
Parting Words
After bidding Mr. Thatcher farewell, Grant sat back in his armchair and sighed. More than anything, he wished to see Nessa and share the good news with her. Still, the woman he needed to speak to would not consider them good news at all.
Resting his elbows on the desk before him, Grant buried his face in his hands as his mind ran rampant, trying to search for words that w
ould…what? Lessen the blow?
“Don’t fool yourself,” he whispered, knowing full well that nothing he said would make the slightest difference. Eugenie’s life would be turned upside down, and nothing he said could prevent that. All he could do was assure her that he would not leave her alone, that he would stand by her and help her in any way he could.
He owed her that.
He owed her more than that.
But he had no more to give. It would have to be enough.
Pushing himself to his feet, Grant decided that there was no reason to delay the inevitable any longer. He needed to speak to Eugenie and begin making preparations. With determination in his stride that he did not feel, Grant made his way toward the back drawing room where Eugenie and Milly often spent their afternoons together.
Upon entering, he saw them sitting together on the settee, heads bent toward one another as they looked down on a small piece of cloth. Milly was holding a needle in her little hands, her eyes squinting and her nose scrunched up in a way that reminded Grant of Nessa. A fortnight ago, the sight of it would have not only brought joy, but also pain and loss to his heart. Now, however, Grant could not wait to see mother and daughter reunited.
“Ouch!”
At his daughter’s cry of pain, Grant’s head snapped up and he hastened toward her. However, Eugenie was already holding her in her arms, a gentle smile on her face as she inspected Milly’s fingertip. “Hush, little one, it was only a small prick. See? There’s no blood. Try again.”
Nodding, Milly bent down to her task once more, her little fingers moving with care as she stuck the needle through the cloth, pulling the thread through. Angling his head sideways, Grant could identify the beginnings of a leaf. “It looks beautiful, Milly,” he complimented her, and she beamed up at him.
A moment later, her eyes fell open as though she had just noticed his presence. “You’re back!” she exclaimed, dropped the embroidery on the settee beside her and flung herself into his arms.
Catching his precious daughter, Grant held her tightly, wishing he could tell her that Nessa would soon return to them. Still, now was not the time. He glanced at Eugenie who had risen from her spot on the settee and carefully stepped toward them, the same gentle smile on her face that she always wore. “Welcome home, my lord.”
Grant nodded to her before he turned his attention back to Milly. “Listen, dearest, there is something I need to speak to my lady about. Will you go and see to your grandfather?”
For a moment, Milly’s brows crinkled as though she would refuse to be kept in the dark. But then her face broke out into a smile and she hastened away, skipping as she went. Grant smiled, knowing that if his mother were to see her so carefree she would no doubt reprimand Milly for her unladylike behavior.
Grant hoped his mother was far away.
“Is something wrong, my lord?”
Turning toward his wife, Grant drew in a slow breath.
Eugenie’s gray eyes lingered on his face, watchful and alert, and he could see that she suspected something. Never before had he noticed the way she observed others as she was now observing him, her mind no doubt noticing the strain on his face and the guilt in his eyes. Indeed, she seemed to sense that something was wrong, and Grant did not know if he should feel relieved or guilty.
Probably both.
“May I ask where you’ve been, my lord?” Eugenie inquired carefully. “The dowager countess has been most concerned.”
Grant nodded. “Yes, she’s already voiced her disapproval loud and clear.” Gritting his teeth, Grant met Eugenie’s eyes, wishing with all his heart that he did not have to do this to her. Still, there was no other way. “Listen,” he began, and she swallowed hard as though she knew what was coming, “there has been a new development, which unfortunately affects you as well.”
“What new development?” Folding her hands in front of her, Eugenie held his gaze, her shoulders drawing back as though she were a warrior preparing herself for battle.
Never before had Grant noticed these subtle mannerisms of her, but then again, he had never paid that much attention to her.
“My father-in-law recently received a letter,” Grant began, feeling it important to tell her the whole story, hoping that she would understand that he had not deceived her intentionally. “It spoke of a woman in an abbey up north who had been pulled from the sea about three years before. A woman who had lost her memory and does not know who she is.”
Eugenie’s gray eyes held his as she stood in front of him, perfectly still as though she had turned into a marble column. Moments ticked by, and Grant feared she might have already gone into shock. Then, however, she drew in a shuddering breath and a large tear formed in her right eye, slowly growing larger, before it spilled over and snaked its way down her cheek. A slight tremble gripped her jaw and she clamped her hands together tightly. “Your…your wife.”
Grant nodded, although her words had not been a question. She knew. Somehow, she knew. “Yes, I went up there myself to learn if it could be true. I assure you, I did not think it possible. I’d given up on the idea of ever finding her alive a long time ago. It was her father who could not abandon his child and held on to hope. Still, I could not ignore the letter he brought me.”
More tears ran down Eugenie’s face. The ghost of a smile hung on her lips. “Of course you could not,” she whispered, and Grant almost toppled over at the understanding in her tone. “And neither could he. Our children are too precious to ever give up on. T-They’re our heart and soul, and without them, we’re nothing but g-ghosts.”
Astounded by her compassion, Grant all but stared at her. “I never meant to put you in this position,” he whispered, feeling fresh guilt flood his heart at the sight of her misery…as well as her bravery. Perhaps he had underestimated her.
“I know,” Eugenie whispered before she pressed her lips together to suppress a sob. “I-I always knew your heart was hers and would be until the end of time.” Again, she did her best to smile at him. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”
Staring at his young wife, Grant gritted his teeth as an agonizing groan threatened to spill from his lips. Instead, he raked his hands through his hair, pulling hard as though he wished to pull it out by the roots. “I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, knowing that she believed him, and yet, feeling that he did not deserve her understanding. “I never expected to see her again. I never expected that she would ever be found alive.” He shook his head in frustration. “I would never have asked for your hand if I had thought even for a moment that—”
Eugenie’s hand gently settled on his, cutting off his ramblings, as she met his eyes. “It’s all right. I know you could not have foreseen this. I know you intended to move on. I know you tried, and I’m grateful for what you did for me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t asked for my hand.” Again, that brave little smile came to her lips. “W-what will happen now?”
Grant swallowed. “I spoke to Mr. Thatcher. According to him, our…our marriage is void.” A sob left Eugenie’s lips, and she pressed them together tightly. “Since Nessa did not die, our marriage remains intact, which also means that ours was never legally binding.” The words felt like acid in his mouth and, selfishly, Grant rushed to rid himself of them.
Eugenie swallowed, belatedly realizing that her hand was still resting on his. Slowly, she drew it back, a touch of regret in her eyes as though she had done something wrong. “I’ll be ruined,” she whispered then as her eyes became distant and then closed as though she could no longer bear the pain he had brought her.
Once again, the desire to protect her seized Grant and he reached for her hand. “I will not allow anything to happen to you,” he vowed, looking down into her tear-filled eyes. “None of this is your fault, and I’ll do what I can to see you safely settled.” He swallowed. “I’m certain we can find you a…a husband who will understand that you did nothing wrong.”
Eugenie shook her head, the look in her eyes aged beyond her
years. “You know as well as I that society does not care whether or not I acted wrongly. I’ll be ruined, and no decent man will want to marry me.” She swallowed hard and a deep breath filled her chest before she dropped her gaze and her other hand slowly rose, carefully settling on her belly.
As though in a daze, Grant watched her. He recognized the motion and knew what it meant even before she had uttered a single word. He had seen it many times before…
…on Nessa…
…when she had been expecting Milly.
A shielding hand covering the child within. Grant closed his eyes as the world came crashing down around him. “How long have you known?”
Eugenie sighed, fresh tears trickling down her face. “Not long. I meant to tell you but…”
Grant nodded. But Maynard’s letter had sent him north. Hanging his head, he looked down at her, saw her trusting eyes. Still, he could see that she knew as well as him that no man would marry a woman who was expecting another man’s child. At least no decent man. There would be nowhere for her to go. No one to hold a shielding hand over her…and their child. They’d be outcasts. His son or daughter would be a bastard and treated as such, never to be received in polite society, always whispered about and have fingers pointed at him or her.
Milly’s face floated before his inner eyes, and Grant groaned at the thought of her suffering such treatment. Only Milly was safe. She would never know such hardship. But what of this child? What of Eugenie? What had he done to them?
The very moment happiness had returned to his life, theirs had been plunged into darkness. Grant knew very well that Eugenie harbored no love for him. She cared for him, yes, as he cared for her, but it was not his loss that broke her heart. Indeed, she might recover soon from her change in circumstances if the world was a different place and more respectful of those who deserved it.
Still, there was no use in lamenting the unfairness of the world. A solution needed to be found. Fast. Rather today than tomorrow. However, short of sending Eugenie and their child far away, meaning out of the country, the only possible way was for Eugenie to marry again. Rather today than tomorrow so that their child would not only be born in wedlock but could also reasonably be considered the husband’s offspring. But what man would agree to such a bargain? Perhaps an old, widowed lecher who had his heir and spare in place and did not fear his title falling to another man’s bastard. Whether or not he could find such a man did not matter as the thought alone turned Grant’s stomach. He would never allow Eugenie to be forced into such a situation. No, there had to be another way.
