Gayle Wilson

by Lady Sarah's Son

  “That’s what she said,” the boy admitted.

  “She said it because it’s true.”

  “I just wanted to talk to you,” Drew avowed. “And to hear about your adventures in the war.”

  Justin smiled, reaching upward to ruffle the tangled curls. “Which were not nearly so exciting as you suppose them to be.”

  The child nodded, but his eyes were suspiciously bright.

  “Would you like a ride home on Star?” Justin asked.

  “I’m not going home,” Drew said stubbornly. “I am not ever going home again.” The small chin assumed a rebellious tilt.

  “Boys belong at home. With their mothers,” Justin said.

  “Did your mother flog you?”

  Justin laughed, and then realized he shouldn’t have. The question had been serious. “Flog me?” he repeated.

  “Well... beat you with a stick.” The child carefully revised his version of Sarah’s punishment.

  At last Justin was beginning to understand what had occurred to drive. Andrew to run away. Knowing Sarah as he did, he knew it was entirely possible this was the first time she had physically disciplined the child. And he hated to have been the cause of this rift. Hated that Drew had reacted as he had. The boy would certainly have his share of canings when he went away to school. Perhaps he needed to be made to understand that.

  “Actually, my father caned me. Fairly often, as I remember,” Justin admitted, almost amused by the memory of his easygoing father’s inept attempts at punishment. “Not nearly so frequently, however, as my tutor and later my headmaster did.” There had been nothing the least bit inept about those.

  “I didn’t cry,” Andrew said. “Because you didn’t. Soldiers don’t cry.” He repeated the words like a litany.

  “Some of them do,” the earl of Wynfield said, again studying the unmistakable stain of tears that marked the rounded cheeks. “Sometimes...we all cry.”

  The silence stretched. Slowly the little boy drew a breath, almost a sigh. It was certainly deep enough to be audible. Then, surprisingly, small, grubby fingers reached down to touch Justin’s cheek, their caress as subtle as dawn. They remained there only a moment before they were again smoothing aimlessly over the leather of the saddle.

  “If you don’t ever plan to come home, Andrew,” Sarah said softly, “I shall be very lonely.”

  Her voice had come from behind him, and Justin steeled himself to face her. He glanced up at the child before he did. Drew was looking at his mother as if he wanted to run to her and be safely encircled by her arms. His anger had been as ephemeral as the unspoken comfort he had just offered Justin.

  “I know you’re very angry with me,” Sarah continued.

  She had moved nearer, and Justin knew he could no longer delay a response. He put his wrist on the bow of the saddle, lightly resting his fingers on one of the small legs that straddled it. He turned, his eyes finding Sarah’s face.

  The delicate skin under her eyes was dark, and the eyes themselves were full of anxiety. He briefly wondered if either of those might have anything to do with the answer he had instructed his banker to send to her man of business yesterday.

  But of course, Sarah had her own problems, independent of those lurking in their shared past. Or in their present. And Justin was probably assuming that what he did or said had a far greater importance in her life than it really did.

  At Andrew’s continued silence, the earl’s eyes left their contemplation of Sarah’s face and again sought the child’s. Drew’s gaze was now on him, he realized, rather than on his mother. And Justin wasn’t sure why.

  “Your maman asked you a question,” he admonished gently.

  “Is she going to beat me again?” Drew asked.

  Justin controlled the urge to smile.

  “No, she is not,” Sarah said decisively. “But she is going to take you home. I don’t imagine you slept any better than I did last night.”

  “I slept with Star,” Andrew said. His eyes glowed with excitement over having that remarkable event to report.

  Sarah glanced at Justin as if for confirmation, and then at the big gelding, whose head was still extended over the half gate. She swallowed, the movement strong enough to be visible even in the dimness, and her lips tightened before she opened them to say calmly, “Then I expect you smell of horse.”

  Andrew sniffed at the sleeve of his jacket, which would probably never be the same, Justin thought.

  “I do,” he said proudly. “I smell just like a horse.”

  “Which is not something to brag about,” Justin suggested. He lifted the child out of the saddle and set him on the floor. “Horse is not a fragrance gentlemen wear in the company of their ladies,” he said, brushing straw and dirt from Drew’s clothing with his hands. “Unless they are engaged in the hunt.”

  “Why not?” the child asked.

  “Because it might offend them.”

  Small hands had joined his in attempting to remove the stains from his clothing.

  “Why would it offend them?” Andrew asked, his eyes lifting to Justin’s face. “Don’t they like horses?”

  “Only to ride,” the earl said simply. “Not to smell.”

  Giving up on making the boy presentable, he placed his hand in the small of Andrew’s back and propelled him toward his mother. At the same time, his eyes again found Sarah’s face. It was no longer the smooth, girlish oval he remembered. She had changed almost as much as he had, he realized for the first time.

  With the impetus of Justin’s push, Andrew walked slowly until he was within a few feet of his mother. Then he rushed forward all at once, throwing himself against her skirts and putting both arms tightly around her legs. She laid her hand on the back of his head, pulling him close.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, her gaze lifting from his disordered curls to Justin’s face.

  He shook his head slowly, denying her gratitude, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t, because all at once the memories of what they had once been to one another were between them, as sharp and clear as the hint of fall in the morning air. And suddenly they were in her eyes as well.

  Turning Andrew, Sarah put her hand around her son’s shoulder and led him out of the stable. Behind them, the dust Justin had brushed from Andrew’s coat danced, glittering in the shafts of sunlight. The stable was very quiet and, without them there, incredibly lonely as well.

  “Lady Sarah Spenser has come to call, my lord,” Blevins announced. There was not a trace of surprise or disapproval in the butler’s voice. It was completely clear of inflection, his face perfectly composed.

  Justin was sure the same could not be said, however, of his own features. “You may show her in, Blevins,” he said finally.

  It had taken him too long to get the words out, but when he had, he was. pleased that his voice seemed steady. It rejected none of the turmoil his butler’s announcement had generated.

  “Very good, my lord. And shall I bring tea?” Blevins asked.

  Somehow the idea of calmly having tea with Sarah seemed beyond him, so Justin shook his head. Even when the butler disappeared through the door of his father’s study, the earl’s eyes remained on the opening, his mind racing.

  It had been three days since he had found Andrew asleep in his stables. And in the meantime, he had heard nothing from either of them. As he worked with the horses, getting them ready for the sale at Tattersall’s, he had expected to look up at any moment and find Andrew watching him. He hadn’t, however, so whatever Sarah had come here to say...

  She was standing in the doorway, he realized. Her eyes seemed less shadowed than they had the last time he had seen her, but perhaps that was simply a trick of the light. “May I come in?” she asked.

  Justin’s chest was tight, a hard knot of disillusionment that seemed to interfere with the familiar process of breathing. There was nothing to divert attention today from what lay between them. No chattering Andrew to provide a welcome distraction from remembering how
he had once felt about this woman. And no need to weigh every word he said in order to evaluate its possible effect on an impressionable child.

  He inclined his head, granting permission without speaking. She hesitated a moment longer and then walked across the room to the chair that sat at an angle in front of his desk. Her hair, only a little darker than he remembered it, had been dressed today in very becoming curls that nestled against her cheeks. And there was more color in her face. He couldn’t decide if that was from the outside air or from the strain of this meeting.

  When Sarah reached the desk, she stopped, waiting for his invitation to be seated, perhaps. At his continued silence, eventually she sat down in the chair opposite his. She folded her hands in her lap and raised her eyes to his face.

  “I don’t believe there is any need between us to stand on ceremony,” she began softly.

  Deliberately, he allowed the upward tilt of his lips, the movement mocking. And she knew it. The knowledge that he was mocking her understated summary of all that stood between them was reflected in her blue eyes.

  “I made you an offer,” she continued doggedly, the color rising more strongly into her cheeks. “And you refused it.”

  Justin said nothing, but his eyes, relentlessly without expression, held their focus on her face.

  “What will it take for you to accept it?” she asked.

  Whatever he had expected, it was not this. Something about Andrew, perhaps. Or an offer to buy part of the land he was being forced to sell, which, after all, marched on Brynmoor’s.

  “Your offer was extremely generous,” he said. “And explicit. My refusal had nothing to do with its terms.”

  “And everything to do with me,” she suggested.

  Since it was the truth, he didn’t bother to deny it.

  “And Andrew?” she asked.

  He lifted an eyebrow, questioning.

  “Everything or nothing to do with Andrew?” she repeated.

  “Andrew has nothing to do with this.”

  “He needs...” She hesitated, seeming reluctant to state the obvious.

  “A masculine influence other than Brynmoor’s?” he finished.

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  “Then may I suggest you apply to his father for assistance.”

  “His is not the kind of influence I would wish for Andrew,” she said. “Nor is my father’s. At least... not now.”

  “He frightens Drew,” the earl said.

  “I know, but...I don’t think he would hurt him.”

  “You don’t think?” Justin repeated incredulously.

  “My father sometimes...gets ideas in his head that are difficult to dislodge. Right now, he’s decided Andrew doesn’t belong at Longford.”

  Most people would agree with the assessment Sarah’s father had made, but however he felt about what Sarah had done, Justin could never condone the mistreatment of a child. And had Brynmoor been in his right mind, nor would he.

  “I can’t do anything to change that, Sarah. And I can’t, of course, accept your offer,” he said again, his voice deliberately decisive. As unequivocal as the letter she had once sent him.

  “Why not?” she asked. Her eyes were level and unflinching.

  “If you don’t understand why I can’t marry you, then there is probably nothing I can say to make you understand.”

  “I have a son who needs a man’s guidance. He listens to you. He respects you.”

  “He’s hungry for attention,” Justin said dismissingly, despite the uncomfortable reaction in his stomach to her words.

  “Hungry for masculine attention,” she agreed. “Andrew probably isn’t particular about the kind. I am,” she added, her voice very low.

  Justin’s eyes came up at that. He laid the pen his fingers had found back on top of the painful listing of the estate’s few remaining assets, which he had been in the process of composing when Blevins interrupted.

  “No, Sarah,” he said softly.

  She took a breath, her eyes still holding on his face.

  “Andrew needs to be taught how to behave as a gentleman. He needs to become one. And to be accepted as one.”

  Again she hesitated, and when she went on, her voice was very quiet. It was filled, however, with a conviction Justin couldn’t doubt, despite his inclination to disregard both her words and their intent.

  “There is no one who is more admired in this district than you are. No one more respected, especially now. If there is anyone who can do for Andrew what must be done, then it is you.”

  “What do you think I can do?” he asked. “Besides teach him civilized behavior. You can hire a tutor for that. Believe me, it will be much less expensive.”

  For some reason the pen was again in his fingers. Disgusted, he threw it down on the desk and pushed himself up, limping across to the window. When he turned, he was expecting that same pitying revulsion in Sarah’s eyes he had surprised there before. Instead they were locked on his face, still hopeful.

  “I can’t be father to your son, Sarah,” he said. “I may have nothing to leave to my own sons, but I want them,” he acknowledged bitterly.

  Her pupils widened, and it was not until they did that he realized the interpretation she had put on those words.

  “I can’t marry you,” he said bitingly. “I can’t change Andrew’s situation. This is something you’ve dreamed up because you don’t want to see him hurt.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide and dark, swimming with tears. “I don’t want to see him hurt,” she repeated in agreement. “None of this is his fault.”

  Or mine, Justin longed to say. What happened four years ago was not my fault. I can’t change it. I shouldn’t be asked to.

  “There is no going back,” he said instead.

  “I’m not asking for that. Whatever was between us...” Her voice faltered, and one slow tear slipped down the cheek that was now blanched and white. “Whatever happened, Andrew shouldn’t be made to bear the brunt of it.”

  The sins of the father, Justin thought. They were inescapable. He had spent the last five years fighting honorably for his country. It had cost him more that he was willing to openly acknowledge. And now he was being forced to pay for his father’s sins. That was simply the way of the world.

  “You can keep all of this,” she said. “Nothing has to change. Nothing lost. You can keep it exactly as it is.”

  It was enticing, especially given the contents of the list on the desk in front of him. Everything he owned was on it, from his grandmother’s diamonds, which had been a bequest intended for his unborn daughter, to Star, the beloved gelding to whom he owed his life.

  “Keep it for whom?” he asked softly, and watched the color rush in again under the alabaster skin.

  They were silent a long time. Long enough that he was aware of the clock on the mantel ticking off the passage of the slow minutes. Exactly as it had in this room for more than a century.

  “If...” she began, her voice little more than a whisper. She stopped, swallowing against the constriction in her throat, and then, strengthening her tone, she went on. “If that is what you want... If that is your condition...”

  He laughed, realizing, even if she did not, that he was in no position to bargain or to set conditions. This marriage was simply something he knew he could not do. He could not live with Sarah and her son, not even to save a heritage he loved.

  Until he saw her face change, he hadn’t realized the unthinking cruelty of his laughter or how she would interpret it. Only when she stood and rushed blindly toward the door, bumping into the chair she had been sitting in, did he understand what she thought.

  “Sarah,” he called, knowing only then the scope of the mistake he had made. “It’s too late, Sarah. Don’t you know that? Don’t you understand that it’s all too late?”

  She was already gone. The last word echoed in the room, which seemed as empty now as the stables had that morning when she and Andrew had left. Too late. All of it, far too late. />
  Chapter Five

  “My lord! My lord!”

  The shouts broke the peaceful stillness of the afternoon. The earl and his head groom had been engaged in a discussion about the horses that were to go up to London on the morrow. Justin wanted them to arrive a few days before the auction so that they would have fully recovered from the journey and be in prime condition at the time of the sale.

  Both men looked up in response to the cry to see Meg Randolph’s oldest son, Tom, running down the long, sloping hillside toward the stables. His face was white beneath its covering of freckles. “Come quick, my lord,” he shouted, waving his arms over his head. “Mum says you must be quick.”

  Accustomed to reading men and their voices, even when they were distorted by stress, Justin had begun to run toward the shouting lad. He realized immediately, however, that whatever the emergency Meg Randolph believed required his attention, he would never arrive in time to do any good if he attempted to get to her cottage on foot.

  “Saddle the gray,” he ordered, throwing the words over his shoulder as he limped as rapidly as possible, without risking a fall, to meet the approaching boy.

  By the time he had, Meg’s son seemed totally out of breath and near collapse. He bent over in front of the earl, his hands on his knees. He was, however, able to gasp out the plea for assistance he’d been sent to deliver.

  “The Spenser boy,” he managed to say, pulling enough breath into his starving lungs to push those words out.

  “Andrew?” Justin questioned.

  The boy nodded, lifting his head to look up into the earl’s face. His breath was sawing in and out, his hands still on his knees, supporting him. It was more than two miles to the Randolph cottage, even if one cut across the hills and dales as Tom had. Apparently he had run at full speed all the way.

  At the word Spenser, Justin had felt his breathing falter. He waited impatiently for the rest of the message. Finally, he grabbed Meg’s son by the shoulders, forcing him upright. “What about the Spenser child?” he demanded, shaking Meg’s son.