by Holt, Cheryl
“You’ll see in the end.”
“Yes, I will. I’m furious with you for firing all the servants.”
“They didn’t deserve to stay on.”
“Probably not, but now, I have no help and I’m completely overwhelmed.”
“You don’t have to worry about it.”
“My cousin, Desdemona, will blame me for any difficulties.”
“You don’t have to worry about her either.”
She snorted. “Easy for you to say.”
“I’m going into the village tomorrow. I’ll talk to some of the community leaders. I intend to find as many of our old retainers as I can. You’ll have some assistance very soon.”
When he uttered comments like that, he seemed perfectly lucid, and she almost hoped he was Hayden Henley. After the horrors he’d endured during his travels, she’d like him to have a grand finale. But at the same juncture, if he was Henley, there wouldn’t be very many more occasions when she would be able to dawdle with him in a deserted bedchamber.
“You’re convinced people will accept you,” she said.
“Why wouldn’t they? My identity will be evident to anyone who was acquainted with me in the past.”
He shifted her so she was stretched out against him, her front pressed to his all the way down.
“How long have you been at Middlebury?” he asked.
“A couple of months.”
“I’m concerned about my sisters. I’m terrified about where they are and what their circumstances might be like. Have you stumbled on any news about them? Has there been any gossip?”
She froze, remembering the wedding invitation from Abigail Henley, and she was perplexed as to what her reply should be. If she told him about the wedding, she’d be acknowledging his story. If she was mum, it would be an admission that she didn’t acknowledge it.
Until she was certain of her opinion, she wouldn’t engage in any conduct that would have him pestering the unsuspecting woman. Helen needed an opportunity to ponder her course.
“No,” she fibbed, “there hasn’t been any gossip.”
“All the years I was gone, I dreamed about Middlebury. Whenever my experience was particularly grim, I’d close my eyes and picture the park on a summer day. I’d recall how green the grass was, how colorful the flowers, how blue the sky. It focused me on my goals during the roughest patches.”
The statement was so poignant and sad. She stroked her fingers across his back, touching the jagged edges of his scars. How had he survived his brutal treatment?
It had to have been his strong will, his strength of character. It was the sort of character aristocrats possessed, the sort that encouraged them to advise kings and lead armies. He was a dynamic, potent man. She couldn’t deny it, so why was she pretending he wasn’t Hayden Henley?
The prospect was so farfetched. Who came back from the dead? Who vanished for a decade, then reappeared, tattered and maimed, but hale and healthy and eager to carry on?
With each minute that ticked by, it was more likely he was telling the truth. So where did that leave her? If he was really Hayden Henley, then her predicament had become even more impossible. Why was she cuddling with him in the isolated room?
If they had been marching toward matrimony, it would be perfectly suitable for her to loaf with him. But not if he was Hayden. Not if he was an earl.
“My father insists he knows you from before,” she said.
“Yes, he met me and my father once in town. I don’t remember him though.”
She laughed. “Are you claiming my father left no lasting impression?”
He laughed too. “Not much of a one. No.”
“I guess—if he can verify who you are—I should quit arguing about it.”
“Yes, you should. Call me Hayden. I want to hear you say my name.”
She sighed. “I will call you by your Christian name if you promise to stop causing chaos and firing people.”
“I won’t desist until things are more settled.” He smiled down at her. “Say my name.”
Why not? “Hayden Henley.”
He grunted with satisfaction. “That’s more like it.”
“What will you do when Jasper arrives?”
“I’ll announce that I’m home, and I’ve resumed my rightful place. Then I’ll order him to get his sorry ass out of my house.”
“You don’t suppose he’ll contest it?”
“He can try, but what would be the point?”
“Be kind to him, would you?”
“Kind! Are you joking?”
“No. I hate spats and bickering, and all of this will be a terrible shock for him.”
“He should have been in my shoes. He should have felt the lash a time or two. That was a shock.”
“My poor, wounded viscount,” she murmured. “Are you still a viscount? Or are you an earl now? Must there be a ceremony so it’s official?”
“Probably. I’ve written to my lawyer—a letter I’m positive will make him faint—and I told him to start researching the issue.”
She kissed the center of his chest, at the spot where he’d purportedly been shot in a duel.
“You really fought a duel?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What was it about?”
“Your tender ears aren’t ready for such a salacious tale.”
“I’ll try to hold up.”
He snorted with dour amusement. “I had a fling with a strumpet, and it turned out she was married.”
“Married!”
“Her husband had been away in the army, and when he found out about our antics, he took exception to my behavior.”
“My goodness. How did he learn of it? Did she confess the affair?”
He wrinkled up his nose. “She couldn’t very well hide it.”
“Why not?”
He leaned down and whispered, “She was with child.”
Her jaw dropped in astonishment. “With your child?”
“Yes.”
“Was it a boy or a girl?”
“Neither. She lost the baby, so I skated through the debacle without becoming a father.” He flashed a wry grin. “In my own defense, I was very young and very stupid. I shouldn’t have involved myself with her, but back then, I was a bit wild. I definitely paid a steep price for being such an idiot.”
“Yes, you did.”
“After the duel, my parents whisked me out of the country so I wouldn’t be arrested. We spent a year in Italy.”
“I seem to recall some of that story.”
“Our ship sank in a storm on the way home. My parents perished, but I didn’t. I’ve always shouldered an enormous amount of guilt over my surviving and their not. They took me to Italy to protect me, and I was an ass to them while we were there.”
“I’m sure they forgave you.”
“They were kind and caring. In light of the trouble I’d caused, I was lucky they didn’t forsake me.”
“Who was the other man in the duel? I don’t believe you ever told me who he was.”
“He was a soldier. Alexander Wallace?”
She pictured the wedding invitation in Jasper’s desk. Cautiously, she inquired, “Would he be of the Wallaces at Wallace Downs?”
He blanched. “You know them?”
“Not personally,” she hurriedly replied. “I’ve just…ah…heard of the family.”
A thousand frantic questions raced in her head. Should she mention the invitation? Should she show it to him? Should she keep her mouth shut and stay out of it? What was best?
“If you ran into him,” she asked, “how would you react?”
“Most times, I figure I’d ignore him and walk on by, but other times, I figure I might murder him before he had a chance to realize who I was.”
“You would not,” she scolded.
“I might. He’s haunted me for an entire decade.”
“Maybe it’s the mo
ment to finally let it go.”
“Maybe. It seems so odd that I was part of the reckless episode—as if it didn’t actually happen to me.”
“I know it was you. I’ve seen the scar.”
“I rode by there on my way to Middlebury.”
She scowled. “By where? By Wallace Downs?”
“Yes.”
She gazed up at him. “Please tell me you didn’t do anything rash.”
“I didn’t.” He scoffed. “I thought about it though.”
“Well, stop thinking about it.”
Then and there, she decided she had to explain about the invitation. But how? And when?
If Abigail Henley was his sister, why would she consider having Alex Wallace as her husband? Wasn’t she aware of his connection to her brother? Didn’t she understand the catastrophe Mr. Wallace had set in motion?
Yet what if she was aware of their terrible history, but was determined to wed him anyway? What if she was madly in love with Mr. Wallace, but Hayden went to Wallace Downs and killed him?
There were so many issues pummeling her that she felt dizzy. He deserved to learn about the wedding, but she was alarmed over the possible consequences, and it dawned on her that she should confide the news to Mr. Stone. He and Hayden were friends, and he had a steadying influence.
Before she could choose her path, he interrupted her anxious contemplation.
“I probably won’t slay him.”
“Good. That’s very wise and mature of you.”
“It’s just that the duel ignited the tragedy, and it sucked ten years out of my life. I’ve arrived at Middlebury to find it in ruins, so I blame Wallace for that too. He never suffered any penalty. It all landed on me. Shouldn’t he have to pay too? Should it all have been my burden but not his?”
She rubbed her palm over the scar. “Let’s talk about something else. This discussion of the event can’t be healthy for you.”
“It’s not. It keeps it at the surface—where it’s been since it occurred.”
“What about Jasper and the title? What’s next? Let’s talk about that.”
“Fine. I’ll say this: I’m not about to permit him to loaf at Middlebury and pretend we have matters to debate. We don’t. And I’m not about to have lazy servants and slothful tenants taking advantage of me. I’ll fix what’s wrong and get the estate back into the condition it was in in my dreams while I was away.”
He dipped down and kissed her, and she sighed with pleasure.
“Have I sufficiently distracted you from difficult topics?” she asked.
“Yes and no.”
“I only staggered in to inform you that you can’t be in this room.”
“I didn’t listen.”
“You’re such a vain beast. What if Jasper is angry?”
He gaped at her as if it was the stupidest question ever. “Helen, you know me.”
“Yes, I do. Or at least I think I do.”
“Can you seriously expect I would care if Jasper is angry?”
“No.”
He stepped away from her, and he went over to the bed and stretched out.
“Come over here.” He gestured for her to join him.
“Come where? Onto the bed with you?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’m too exhausted to remain on my feet another second, so if you want to persist with your harangue—”
“I haven’t been haranguing.”
“Yes, you have, and if you’d like to keep on, you’ll have to proceed while I’m lying down. This has been the most stressful day, and I’m spent.”
“If you need to rest, I’ll leave.”
But she didn’t move. She studied his prone form, his delicious body that was only covered by his trousers. She’d intended to depart—she really did!—but he jumped up, grabbed her, and carried her to the bed.
He tossed her onto the mattress and flopped down next to her. She squealed with outrage and struggled to scoot away, but he was too quick. He draped a thigh across her legs and an arm across her waist, and he drew her over his chest, her ear directly over his heart so she could hear its steady beating.
“I can’t be in here with you,” she chided.
“Hush.”
“What if someone sees us?”
“No one will.”
“If it was my father, he’d demand you wed me. If that doesn’t scare the pants off of you, I don’t know what would.”
“As if your father could make me obey him.”
“He can be very forbidding.
He chortled. “You’re hilarious. Now I’m trying to relax, and I can’t when you’re blathering nonstop.”
“I can’t stay!”
“Helen! Be silent. You can go in a few minutes.”
“I suppose I can oblige you,” she grumbled.
“It’s nice just to hold you…”
It was the dearest thing anyone had ever said to her, and she glanced up to tell him so, but he’d already dozed off and was lightly snoring. He’d been that drained, and his fatigue forced her to recognize how truly challenging the day had been for him.
She’d passed the hours worrying about herself, the servants, Jasper and Cousin Des and how they’d react to his invasion. She hadn’t paused to ponder him, hadn’t paused to consider how overwhelming his return would be.
She snuggled closer, and she was very quiet, cataloguing the details so she’d never forget.
For an eternity, she nestled with him. The evening waned and night fell. The moon rose and drifted up into the sky. She tarried through it all, feeling especially protective of him, as if she had been given a unique duty to watch over him and keep him safe from harm.
When she caught herself dozing off too, she had to sneak out. She didn’t dare be found with him in the morning. She slid away, and he was slumbering so heavily he didn’t stir. She hovered, observing him, thinking—for a change—he appeared so young and innocent.
“Goodnight, my sweet prince,” she whispered. “Sleep well.”
She took a knitted throw and covered him with it. Then she tiptoed out—even though it seemed wrong to abandon him. But it wasn’t her place to remain, and she had to remember that. She continued on, and she didn’t look back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
Sarah Henley, who was newly wed and no longer a Henley, took a deep breath. She was in a coach in the driveway outside the manor at Wallace Downs.
Her husband, Nicholas Swift-Stone, was with her. On the seat across was his mother and her mother-in-law, Mildred Farnsworth.
Earlier in the summer, she’d been employed by Mildred as her companion. Then Nicholas had blustered into their lives. Sarah had fallen madly in love with him, and Mildred had discovered she was his mother.
As a young lady, Mildred had had a torrid affair with a handsome rapscallion named Robert Stone. Once she was ruined, he’d promptly disappeared, leaving her in dire straits. She’d birthed Nicholas out of wedlock, and when he was born, her father had whisked him away and told her he’d been adopted.
She’d never seen Robert or her baby again and had been haunted by the loss of both, but Nicholas had found her, and gradually, things were reverting to normal. She was a rich spinster, so Nicholas was now her heir and very rich too.
At age fifty, she’d never married. She’d loved Robert so desperately, and she’d never been able to imagine binding herself to another. Over the years, she’d had other chances to wed, but she’d declined every suitor. And of course, she’d always expected Robert might return someday. She’d sworn she would wait for him, and she had.
Sarah didn’t encourage her in her wishful—likely deluded—thinking about Robert, but she didn’t tamp it down either. With how her own future had unfolded with Nicholas, she thought any wild ending could occur.
A footman opened the d
oor and said, “Welcome back, Lady Sarah.”
For a moment, she was startled by his mode of address.
After her father had died and Jasper had become earl, she’d stopped using the elevated moniker. She’d simply been Miss Henley, then Miss Barrington—her mother’s maiden name—at the various posts where she’d worked.
Now though, with their position in the world being restored through her and her sisters’ marriages, Abigail had decreed they be referred to as Lady from that point on, and Sarah wasn’t about to argue.
The decision was meant to honor their parents and their ancestors, to honor their deceased brother, Hayden, who would have been earl if he’d lived. It reminded them of who they were and where they’d come from, but it also announced that they were the daughters of Lord and Lady Middlebury. They wouldn’t allow anyone to take that designation away from them.
Nicholas nudged her with his elbow. “Are you planning to sit there all day, Lady Sarah? Or are you getting out?”
He deemed the label to be hilarious.
“Not just yet.” She leaned toward the footman. “Could you give us a minute?”
“Certainly.”
He closed the door and stepped away. Nicholas and Mildred shared an exasperated look and rolled their identical blue eyes.
The entire trip to Wallace Downs, Sarah had been nervous. She’d described a dozen scenarios of possible disaster over the pending meeting with her sisters, and Nicholas and Mildred had laughed at all of them.
“What is it now, dear?” Mildred asked.
“Perhaps I should go in alone,” Sarah said.
“Why would you?”
“Abigail and Catherine invited us to visit, but I’m not sure they were sincere. I should check out the situation.”
“Are you afraid they’ll be rude to us?” Nicholas inquired. “Is that it?”
“Well…maybe,” Sarah mumbled.
Mildred added, “You must think—when they claimed they forgave you—that they were lying.”
“It’s just that I would hate to have them be awful to you.”
“Your sisters? Awful?” Mildred scoffed. “Don’t be absurd.”
“I can’t abide any bickering,” Sarah insisted.
