‘If he is still here, after the magistrate hears what happened.’
‘Ah. That was not strictly true, I’m afraid. It was all I could think of to buy some time. I was never more pleased to see you, Robert, of that you can be certain.’
Robert frowned. ‘But, if you did not come here to expose Quartly, why are you here?’
‘I thought Mary might have come here.’
Robert’s astonishment only served to make Lucas feel even more of a numbskull than he already did.
‘Can it be she never told you?’
‘Told me what?’
Robert jerked his thumb towards Quartly. ‘It was Quartly she was meant to wed, when she was just seventeen. He is the reason she ran away from home with the steward. She was petrified of him. She confided in Jenny.’
‘You!’ Fury erupted and Lucas charged at Quartly. He snatch his lapels, hauling him upright. ‘I ought to kill you!’
His face was a bare inch from Quartly’s. Lucas froze. Quartly’s eyes had not even flickered.
‘Rob?’
Lucas lowered Quartly back on to the sofa. Robert felt Quartly’s wrist, then put his fingers on his neck, sliding them beneath the man’s neckcloth. He looked round at Lucas, who had stepped back to give him space.
‘He’s dead.’
‘What?’ It couldn’t be. His temper! He had killed a man. Even a scoundrel like Quartly did not make that all right. ‘I never meant...’
Robert straightened. He gripped Lucas’s shoulders. ‘It wasn’t you, Luke. I swear. I saw him when you grabbed him. He didn’t respond, not even a twitch. He was dead before you touched him.’ He looked down at Quartly and shook his head. ‘Maybe it’s for the best. I doubt there’ll be many to mourn his passing. Were you aware he attacked Mary yesterday?’
‘He did what?’
‘Almost throttled her, her neck is black and blue, poor...’ Robert turned suddenly and strode for the door. ‘There will be arrangements to be made. I must speak to the servants, if you will excuse me, Lucas.’
Lucas barely registered Robert’s words. ‘Of course,’ he muttered, shame flooding him as he realised Mary had been trying to appease Quartly. If only his insight had come sooner. He called after Robert, by now halfway down the hall, ‘Rob, do you need me to stay? Only I...’
‘No, you go on home, Luke. There is nothing you can do here.’
As soon as Lucas mounted Sultan, the horse seemed to sense his urgency and he set off at a canter down Quartly’s drive, ears pricked. For the first time that morning, Lucas recalled the visitor due at the Hall. A visitor calling not only to view the breeding stock Lucas had for sale, but to be reunited with his daughter and the grandchildren he had never met. Sir William Cranston had presented as a changed man when Lucas, quite by chance, was introduced to him at Hexham Market. Sober and upright, remarried and well respected, he had been thrilled to learn Mary and the children were safe at Rothley Hall and he was eager to meet them and make amends for the past.
The pressure to find Mary and the children multiplied. How on earth could Lucas even begin to explain he had mislaid Cranston’s daughter and grandchildren?
As they reached the entrance gates to Dunwick Manor Lucas reined the big grey to a halt. Something niggled at his memory...something... He cursed fluently and looked back over his shoulder to Dunwick Manor, feeling a smile curve his lips.
‘Robert Preece...you old scoundrel!’
The dread that had weighed so heavily, the fear he would never find her, eased. He knew where she was. On the brink of riding for the village, he hesitated. He ruffled Sultan’s mane absently as he picked over his options. Mary and the children were coming back to the Hall. He would accept no other outcome. Ergo, he needed the carriage. He turned for home and gave Sultan his head.
He might not be at the Hall when Mary’s father arrived, but he would leave a message and apologies for him. It would not do to offend the man: Lucas might have need of his support in persuading Mary to forgive him.
Again.
He quashed any thought of failure. He could not fail. It was unthinkable.
Chapter Twenty-Six
In dire need of solitude, Mary sought out a secluded bench in the Preeces’ garden. Jenny was very kind, but she chattered incessantly and Mary needed to think. To plan. She had passed a restless night but had risen that morning with a new determination. Her daydream of a future with Lucas had been banished to a box marked ‘Past’.
She swallowed past her grief.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! You have your health and you have two wonderful children. Concentrate on them, on the future you must provide for them.
Her lids drooped as the soothing warmth of autumn sunshine caressed her face.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
The voice was gruffly gentle. Mary started, eyes jerking open as she leapt to her feet, heart thudding against her ribcage. Fingers, feather-light, brushed her throat. Her skin erupted in goosebumps at his touch. Misery crowded her. Why had he followed her? There could be no happy-ever-after, not with all their differences on fundamental matters.
Like trust. And openness. And honesty.
‘What are you doing here? Why are you here?’
‘I came to bring you back home. You and Toby and Emily.’
Home? She hunched her shoulder, turning away.
‘Why did you not tell me?’
She rounded on him. ‘Did you afford me the courtesy of listening to anything I tried to say last night?’
A muscle leapt in his jaw. ‘I regret that, more than you can know. At least I can set your mind at ease—you will never have to fear Quartly again.’
‘You cannot guarantee...’
‘I can. He is dead.’
Mary’s heart missed a beat. Had she heard correctly? ‘Dead?’
‘He died this morning. Rob is over at Dunwick now.’
‘Robert? But he was called out to one of the housemaids, Jenny said. What makes you think it was Quartly? Are you certain...?’
‘Positive. I was there when he died.’
Fear snaked through her. ‘Why did you go to Dunwick?’
A wry smile crossed his face. ‘You are wondering if I went there to kill him.’
Mary felt her skin heat. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Well...I did wonder if you may have been angry...’
‘Angry? I was boiling mad. Not only about his treatment of you, but by the discovery it was his men, on his orders, who were trying to steal my sheep and who shot me.’
Mary gasped. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite, quite sure. Unfortunately, by the time Rob told me about Quartly and you, he had acted the gentleman for once in his miserable life and saved me the effort of killing him.’
‘Oh.’ She was appalled by the relief and delight that swept through her at the knowledge Quartly was dead. What poor excuse of a human being could rejoice over the demise of another, even one as despicable as Quartly?
‘But...’ Something still didn’t quite fit, but she couldn’t order her thoughts with Lucas standing so close.
Lucas reached for her arm and steered her towards the bench. ‘Let us sit down, Mary. We need to talk.’
Mary pulled away. ‘If you have something you wish to add to what you said last night, please do so without feeling the need to dissemble. I have nothing left to say.’
She ached with misery. She could have coped if he had stayed away, but he had not. He was here and all she could think was how she longed to feel his arms around her and his lips on hers. An involuntary shiver coursed down her spine.
‘Very well. I owe you an apology for not listening to your side of the story last night. I leapt to a conclusion. Upon reflection, I realised how unfair I was.’
It changed nothing and she was in no mood to meekly forgive him in order to ease his conscience. His lack of trust in her had wounded her. Her future, although less desperate than before, still stretched ahead: grey, dull, interminable.
Why should she
make this easy for him?
‘Was that before or after the brandy had ceased to hold sway over your judgement?’
He raised one brow. ‘Your perception is not unreasonable, although the imbibition of the brandy did, in fact, take place after the judgement.’
Mary felt her forehead pucker as she followed his logic. She eyed him with suspicion. Was that a hint of a smile on his lips? She tensed. ‘You are mocking me.’
‘I was teasing. It is not the same.’
Mary bit her lip. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I accept your apology.’
She marched across the lawn to the back door of the Preeces’ house.
‘Wait!’
‘For what purpose?’ She halted. Spun to face him. ‘You have made your apology. I have accepted it. There surely cannot be anything left to say?’
‘There is a great deal left to say, Mary. Please. Will you come home? I have the carriage waiting. You must come home.’
‘Must?’
‘We have much to discuss, Mary. But, first, there is something...someone...waiting at the Hall to see you. I had thought to surprise you, but, then, everything went wrong.’
He stepped closer, stroked her cheek. She fought the urge to press into his touch. He gathered her into his arms and, despite her vow not to, her body softened and she relaxed into his embrace.
‘Come home, Mary. At least listen to what I have to say. Then, if you still want to go, I shall not stop you.’
‘Who is it waiting to see me?’
‘Your father.’
* * *
The carriage ride back to Rothley Hall passed in a daze. Her father! At the Hall! So many questions clamoured for an answer, but she held her silence. Thankfully, Lucas left her in peace, shielding her from the children’s excited chatter as much as possible.
As they drew up in front of the Hall, Trant opened the front door.
‘You have a visitor, my lord,’ he murmured, flicking a glance at Mary. ‘Sir William Cranston.’
Mary’s breath seized. It was true. He was here. Her father.
‘He is in the sitting room, my lord.’
‘Thank you, Trant. Will you take the children to Susan, please? Ask her to bring them to the sitting room in about ten minutes.’
A hand settled at Mary’s waist, urging her forward. ‘No need to be nervous, sweetheart.’
Lucas opened the sitting room door and Mary stepped through.
‘Papa?’
Her father looked up, then scrambled to his feet. Mary took two steps towards him, then hesitated, uncertain. She had persuaded herself he did not want her, that he was not interested in her or her children. How would he react? Tears welled as he held out his arms, but she blinked them aside and forced herself to approach him slowly. He appeared sober and clean, his spare frame neatly attired, unlike the wreck of a man he had been when she had left Linburgh. Did he still drink? And gamble? She glanced at Lucas. His expression revealed nothing.
She focused on her father. She wanted answers. ‘How did you find me?’
Her father’s beaming smile wavered. ‘I met Rothley at Hexham...’
‘Hexham?’ Mary turned on Lucas. ‘You have been back two days and you did not think to tell me you had met my father?’
‘I—’ Lucas snapped his mouth shut, his dark brows drawing together. ‘I had my reasons. I will tell you of them later. In private.’
In private? Mary felt her nerves skitter at the prospect. She concentrated on her father.
‘I was interested in the livestock Rothley had taken to Hexham and I arranged to call at the Hall on my way home to view some more animals for sale,’ he said.
Animals? He had not come to find her, then. Her heart sank.
‘Then Rothley told me you were at the Hall, with my grandchildren. Oh, Mary, I canna tell ye of my relief, to know ye were all safe.’
The knot loosened at his words. Hope stirred. Might she and the children be offered a home with her father after all? She banished any thought of Lucas, despite his brooding presence not three yards from where she stood. She must focus on the possible.
Her father continued, in a low, hurried voice: ‘I bitterly regret my behaviour after your poor mama’s passing, lass. Bitterly regret it. I know it is no excuse, but I drank to numb the pain of losing her. I ended up losing far more than I bargained for. If only I had realised the outcome of my actions. If I had not been so lost in my addictions, ye would not have been forced to take such desperate measures.
‘Your leaving brought me to my senses and I gave up the drink, but it was too late. Can ye ever forgive me?’
How can he think otherwise? Mary’s heart soared. Her dream had become reality. One of her dreams. She peeped through her lashes at Lucas—handsome, unreadable—as he stood apart. Their eyes met. Butterflies danced in her belly as her knees trembled. How could she have thought he was safely relegated to the past? She tore her eyes from his, clenched her jaw and concentrated on her father.
Who was gazing at her, hope and fear jostling for position on his face.
What was it he had asked her? Oh!
‘Papa, of course I forgive you.’
His chest swelled as he inhaled. ‘Well, now, that is splendid.’ He took her hand and squeezed as his eyes grew shiny. ‘I dare say I do not deserve it, but I am grateful ye have such a good heart, lass.’
As she sat with her father on one of the pair of sofas, Mary sneaked a peek at Lucas, seated opposite, as he sprawled at his ease. She envied him his nonchalance. What was he thinking? She could not begin to guess. His gaze was fixed on her face with an unfathomable expression. Was he relieved she was now reconciled with her father? That he need no longer be responsible for her and her children? She shifted in her seat, made edgy by his silent scrutiny.
‘When I think of all those wasted years,’ Papa was saying. He clasped her hand with his and squeezed. ‘I searched everywhere for ye, Mary, but it was as though you had fallen off the edge of the world. The one good thing to come of it was it brought me to my senses. But it was too late. I am so sorry...’
Mary patted his hand. ‘Papa, please. You have apologised a thousand times over. You were coping with Mama’s death the best way you knew how.’
‘Yes, and see how it got out of hand. Somehow, and I shall never fathom how, I allowed that scoundrel to corner me. Even in my cups, I knew it was wrong. I did not want to take his wager, but still I found myself agreeing to it. And then, when I had lost...och, my poor, poor girl. Quartly would brook no delay; he insisted on an immediate wedding. What I have put ye through... I shall regret it all my days.’
Lucas stirred. ‘What do you regret?’
‘Everything. It is to my eternal shame that I was the cause of her running away at seventeen, but Quartly played his role in it, too.’
Mary’s father recounted the tale of how drink had almost ruined his life and had resulted in him wagering the hand of his only child to Quartly in order to settle his debts.
Lucas, face like thunder, paced the room. ‘No wonder she was reluctant to continue her journey to Linburgh. At least you can rest assured Quartly can do no more harm.’ He told Mary’s father about Quartly’s death. ‘You were not the only man to find himself stitched up by him, sir—my own father, too, fell prey to his schemes. Listening to your story gives me a better understanding of what I used to think of as his crass stupidity. Quartly was a very cunning fellow. I doubt many will mourn his passing.’
He halted in front of Mary, his face softening. ‘No wonder you have such distaste for drinking and gambling. How I wish you had trusted me enough to confide in me.’
He crossed to the other sofa and sat down again as Mary tucked that idea away to examine later. Who was he to talk of trust?
‘Your elopement finally brought me to my senses,’ Papa continued, stroking Mary’s hand, ‘but it was too late. I never did succeed in tracing you. Until I received your letter, I had no clue where to look. I cannot tell ye what joy that simple let
ter brought to me.’
‘But why you did not reply, Papa?’
‘It took many weeks to reach me, lass. It must have travelled over most of the north of England before crossing the border to Linburgh. I travelled south that same day, but ye’d gone.’
‘Did you see Mr Wendover?’
‘I did. Nasty piece of work.’ Mary felt his arm go around her shoulders and he hugged her close. ‘Ye’ve had scant luck with the men in your life, have ye not?’
Mary was conscious of Lucas shifting in his seat. Was he bored? Now he had solved the mystery of her whereabouts and her past, was he restless to return to his old life and leave her to get on with hers? Cold dread dragged at her stomach. She must leave soon and return to Linburgh. She would never see him again. She forced her attention back to her father.
‘I still owe Simon Wendover rent money. Do you think...?’
‘It is all taken care of, don’t worry. I paid him what you owed, plus the interest he said was due. He will never trouble you again.’
It was one less thing to fret over. Why then did she feel so dreadful?
‘Now, my bonny lass, what about these grandchildren I have yet to meet?’
Lucas sprang to his feet and went to the door. He spoke to Trant, then crossed to the fireplace and propped his shoulders against the mantelshelf.
There was a sudden commotion as a small body rocketed into the room.
‘Sir! Sir!’ Toby skidded to a halt in front of Lucas, gazing up at him with adoration. ‘Can we go and groom Sultan?’
‘Not today, Toby. Please, come over here, will you?’ Mary said, as both she and her father stood up. ‘Where is Emily?’
‘She’s coming.’ He gestured disdainfully, back the way he had come. ‘She can’t run fast like me.’
Emily soon toddled into view, clutching tight to Susan’s hand. Mary watched her father’s reactions as he drank in every detail of his grandchildren.
‘Toby, Emily—this is your grandpapa.’
Her heart swelled with pride as Toby bowed to her father. Emily, thumb in mouth, stared wide-eyed. Her father crouched down and held his hand out for Toby to shake.
Mary and the Marquis Page 23
