by Holt, Cheryl
Nicholas kissed her on the cheek. “We’re adults, Sarah, and we can take care of ourselves.”
“I know that.”
“If they say one uncouth word, we’ll leave. And we’ll drag you out with us.”
“I know that too, but I don’t want any hurt feelings. I want everyone to get along.”
Nicholas was the most notorious scoundrel in the kingdom, and Sarah had married him anyway. Catherine and Abigail were aware of his despicable reputation, and they’d begged her not to proceed. She’d sworn she wouldn’t, then she’d eloped to Scotland with him. Mildred had accompanied them on the fast journey north.
Once they were back in England, Sarah had mustered her courage and written to Abigail and Catherine. She’d pleaded with them to accept the match and had asked if she and Nicholas could return to Wallace Downs. Abigail’s wedding—Catherine’s too—was quickly approaching, and Sarah was determined to be a part of it.
Abigail had replied to her letter and had promised they weren’t angry, but Sarah wasn’t convinced. She was anxious for her sisters to like Nicholas—or at least to not loathe him—and she couldn’t have them upset with Mildred due to her role in the elopement.
“No one’s feelings will be hurt,” Nicholas said. “Abigail and Catherine couldn’t distress me—no matter the insults they might hurl.”
“Just don’t blame me if they’re grumpy or mean.”
Nicholas tsked with irritation. “Now you’re being flat out ridiculous.”
“And you’ve exhausted my patience,” Mildred scolded. “I’m sick of this coach, and I’m going in. You can remain here and fret if you like, but I’m excited to see my granddaughters. I’ve missed them, and I won’t tolerate any further delay.”
She was referring to Mary and Millie Wallace, Sarah’s nieces who’d been sired during a salacious affair by her brother, Hayden, before he’d perished. They were being raised by Abigail and her husband, Alex. Their mother was Alex’s first wife, Eugenia, whom he’d scandalously divorced shortly after she’d birthed them.
They weren’t Mildred’s actual granddaughters, but she’d adopted them as her own, and they’d adopted her. She’d brought them a trunk of gifts. She opened the door, and the footman jumped over and helped her out. From down in the drive, she glowered at Sarah.
“What’s it to be, Sarah? Will you join me? Or will you dawdle like a ninny?”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sarah grumbled.
Nicholas kissed her cheek again. “It will be all right.”
She rested her forehead on his chest. “Stay by my side. Don’t abandon me for a single second.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, so off with you, you silly goose! Get it over with so you’ll stop worrying.”
She slid out, and he followed her. They climbed the grand stairs together, Nicholas’s palm a steadying presence on her back. As they reached the top, the butler whipped the door open.
They stepped into the ostentatious foyer, and Sarah blinked and blinked. The space had been decorated with flowers and streamers. There was a huge banner hanging from the landing that read, Congratulations, Sarah and Nicholas!
Her sisters were there, her brothers-in-law, Alex and Christopher, too. The servants were arrayed behind them. The twins stood in front of the group, and they were wearing their prettiest pink dresses, their golden-blond hair brushed to a shine.
They were holding bouquets of flowers, and they pranced over and gave them to Sarah so her arms were suddenly full of roses. She was so stunned she could have fainted.
“We didn’t think you’d ever arrive,” Mary said.
“We’ve been waiting forever,” Millie added.
“Welcome home!” they chimed in unison.
Nicholas grinned and murmured in her ear, “Told you not to fret.”
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, and her sisters rushed over and enveloped her in a tight hug. Their husbands rushed to Nicholas to shake his hand and pat him on the back.
Sarah was astounded and thankful and so very, very relieved. She burst into happy tears.
* * * *
“What is it, darling?”
Camilla Robertson smiled at Jasper. With his increasing girth and slovenly habits, his lack of fashion sense and proper manners, he was a pitiful specimen, especially with her prior paramour having been handsome, rich, and dashing Alex Wallace.
Camilla had been Alex’s partner and mistress for years, until he’d met that covetous shrew, Abigail Henley. Abigail had swooped in like a vulture and seized everything that had once belonged to Camilla.
Camilla had believed—despite Alex’s protests to the contrary—that they would wed someday. She’d run his life as if she were his wife. She’d had total authority at Wallace Downs, including responsibility for his twin daughters, Mary and Millie.
But had he been grateful? Had he appreciated her efforts on his behalf?
No, he had not. The moment Abigail Henley had strolled onto the property he’d tossed Camilla away as if she’d been a piece of rubbish.
Initially, she’d been shocked and disoriented, but she was a survivor. She’d regrouped and started over to find another protector.
After surveying the male offerings in London’s demimonde, she’d set her sights on Jasper Henley. She was just cunning enough to make him assume he was wonderful, and as an earl, there could only ever be a benefit for Camilla. Plus, there was the extra boon of her putting Abigail Henley’s nose out of joint.
Jasper was head of the Henley family, and gossip would filter to Abigail that he was involved with Camilla. She received enormous satisfaction from how the liaison would incense Abigail, and she’d even sent the horrid witch an anonymous note, telling her of Jasper’s amour so Camilla could be certain her nemesis learned of it.
She’d hooked him so effortlessly. He was coarse and ordinary, and with her being beautiful and extraordinary, he was completely bowled over by her. He’d already rented her a house in a fashionable neighborhood. She had servants and a carriage.
While all had seemed lost when Alex had kicked her out, her future was suddenly very bright.
“It’s a letter from Middlebury,” he said, a frown marring his brow.
“You look distraught. Is it bad news?”
“Well, it’s strange news anyway.”
“Let me see.” They were in her front parlor and about to leave for the theater. She walked over and took the letter from him, checking the signature first. “Who is Helen Barnes?”
“My wife’s cousin. She’s working as our housekeeper until Des can hire an experienced person for the job. Then we’ll get rid of her.”
“Was it wise for your wife to retain a cousin?” She always relished the chance to denigrate Desdemona, having resolved that no reconciliation would ever occur. “I’ve never found it to be a good idea. If relatives are awful, it’s so difficult to terminate them. It creates such hard feelings.”
“I agree. I warned her not to, but as usual, she didn’t listen.”
“You poor thing,” Camilla cooed. “You’ve had to tolerate so much disrespect from her.”
“It has been terrible,” he sullenly concurred.
Camilla studied the curt and clearly anxious words Miss Barnes had penned, and when she finished, she was frowning too. “Jasper, did you read this? Did you really read it?”
“I told you it was strange.”
“This says…says…Hayden Henley is alive, and he’s returned to Middlebury.”
“How could that be, Camilla? Hayden’s been dead for ten years. The whole kingdom knows it.”
“I’m sure it’s impossible, but do you understand what this means?”
“It means some oaf is loafing at Middlebury and playing tricks when he shouldn’t be.”
“Yes, but it also means—if her tale is true—you’re not the earl anymore.”
He wasn’t nearly as alarmed as he should be, but Miss Barnes sounded quite conce
rned.
“Something dodgy is happening,” he said.
“Yes, it’s very dodgy.”
“I’m confused about how I should respond. I’m not eager to furnish the fellow with any credence or attention.”
“He can’t roam the neighborhood claiming to be Hayden Henley. Perhaps you should travel to Middlebury?”
“Oh, I hate the country. Middlebury is so boring in the summer, and there’s so much excitement in town.”
“We could both go!” Camilla cheerily suggested, having no intention of allowing him to traipse off without her. “Wouldn’t that be fun? And you could give me a tour of Middlebury. I’d love to see your home. You talk about it so often.”
“Desdemona wouldn’t like to hear you’d been there.”
“It’s your property. Why should she be permitted to tell you who can visit and who can’t?”
“Too right, Camilla.” He paused and pondered. “Maybe I should go.”
“I definitely think you ought,” Camilla firmly stated. “I’ll accompany you, and we’ll send this interloper packing.”
“Ha! Yes, we will. I can’t wait to discover how it unfolds. When shall we depart?”
“How about tomorrow morning? I don’t believe you should delay.”
He grinned. “Tomorrow it is. You and me—off to Middlebury.”
“And if your wife disapproves?”
“She can choke on a crow.”
* * * *
Robert couldn’t figure out why he slowed down and reined in his horse, but the house up ahead had tantalized him. He hadn’t been able to pass by without stopping.
He’d left Middlebury for the afternoon, having traveled to an auction yard to check on buying some work horses. With autumn about to arrive, Hayden couldn’t do any planting or harvesting, but there were plenty of other chores to accomplish.
Hayden was at the estate, drafting letters to his lawyers and preparing to call on village leaders. He planned to search for the family’s old retainers and invite them to reapply for their jobs.
He’d written to that lazy ass, Jasper Henley, too, but they hadn’t received a reply. If the idiot didn’t show up at Middlebury very soon, Robert and Hayden would ride to town to seek him out.
It was a meeting Robert was determined to attend, but he also needed to be there so Hayden didn’t kill the hapless sluggard. Hayden had survived many ordeals, and because of it, he had personal issues that would always plague him. During his worst tribulations, he’d kept himself going by dreaming of Middlebury and how perfect it had been.
The shock of witnessing its decrepit condition had been more of an upset than Hayden could abide. Robert didn’t know how the poor boy would stagger through the coming weeks without murdering somebody.
He guided his horse through the gate and trotted toward the house, but he didn’t move out of the trees. He loitered in the shadows, not inclined to approach and have a servant hail him and ask his purpose. How would he have explained himself?
Yet he needn’t have worried about being observed.
The place was shuttered, the knocker missing from the front door. It meant the occupants were away, but who were the occupants? That was the thousand-pound question.
It was the house where Mildred Farnsworth had lived all those years ago. Did her family still own it? Might Mildred still be there?
She’d been the lonely, foolish, but very rich girl he’d loved so madly as a young man, and his infatuation had caused him to forget how the world worked.
His father had been dead by then, and he’d had no connection to his British relatives, so he’d had no older, wiser men to consult. Without considering the consequences, he’d pursued his reckless affair, wrongly assuming he could win her in the end.
But her father had had some staunch opinions about the idea, and they hadn’t matched Robert’s or Mildred’s. He’d accused Robert of being a fortune hunter who was after her money. And of course, Mildred had been engaged to another man. Her father had been livid over Robert’s interference in her betrothal.
At the memory, Robert snorted with disgust. He and Mildred had thought they could thwart the pompous codger. They’d actually eloped to Scotland, but he’d outsmarted them. He’d caught them and had dragged Mildred away. He’d had Robert arrested and jailed.
By the time Robert had agreed to leave England on the next sailing ship, Mildred had already been married off to the man she’d sworn she would never wed. It certainly made her seem very fickle, but then, who could guess what pressure her father had exerted?
Ah…the folly of youth.
He’d been so sure that love could conquer any obstacle, but what a dunce he’d been!
The pathetic history sat heavily on his shoulders, so he couldn’t deduce his current motives. What if the residents had been home? Would he have strutted in and demanded to speak to her? Would he have demanded to be introduced to her husband? Was her despicable father still alive? Would they have chatted and reminisced?
Though he hated to admit it, her sudden marriage had always bothered him. Why had she capitulated so easily? As her father had wrestled her away, she’d yelled to Robert that she would remain steadfast and would never waver in her affection.
He’d believed her, yet less than a week later, she’d been wed to the man her father had chosen for her.
It was pointless to obsess about any of it, but he’d always wanted to ask her why. Why had she proceeded so quickly? What threats or bribes had her father used?
He’d have told her a horrid story about Robert. She probably figured he’d abandoned her or had confessed to being after her money—as her father had constantly alleged. She probably figured he’d been paid to forsake her.
After so much time had passed, it didn’t matter, but he was so curious.
If she’d been home, would he have knocked?
No. He was a brave man, but not a glutton for punishment. If he’d provided his name to her butler, she likely wouldn’t have remembered who he was. And wouldn’t that have been a blow to his massive ego?
He tugged on the reins, turned his horse, and rode away without a backward glance.
* * * *
Mildred stood on the verandah at the rear of the manor at Wallace Downs. She was watching Mary and Millie play out in the grass. They were such pretty girls, like two blond cherubs that might have been painted in a mural on a church ceiling.
From the moment she’d met them, she’d felt an unbreakable bond. They had no grandparents, and she had no grandchildren, and they’d all had difficult pasts. It had seemed completely expected that she would step into the family and give them things they needed. They gave her things too.
Behind her, footsteps sounded, and she peeked over to see her son, Nicholas, walking over.
“Has Sarah calmed down?” she asked.
“Finally. She’s regaling her sisters about our trip to Scotland. Since I just lived through it, I was tired of listening.”
“Men never appreciate the finer details.”
“I’ve heard that.” He grinned. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fantastic.”
“Are you glad to be here?”
“Yes. If Sarah had decided not to stay, I would have stayed without her. I was invited to the wedding, and I get to sit in the front pew during the ceremony. How many times have I been honored like that? I wasn’t about to miss the opportunity.”
He chuckled. “I’m relieved her sisters made it easy for her to come home.”
“It’s their good breeding.” Mildred snorted with amusement. “They don’t like you.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“But they’ve accepted you—for her. So she’d be happy.”
“I know.”
“We’re lucky, you and I. Lucky they allowed us to become part of them.”
“I agree.”
“And you are lucky you were smart enough to snatch her
up while you had the chance.”
“I wasn’t about to let her escape my dastardly clutches. I take after you in that. I’m always determined to have my way.”
“No. That’s your father’s personality poking through. I’m very mild-mannered. He was the one who was obstinate and intractable.”
“Where do you suppose he is these days?”
“I have no idea,” but she’d always been curious about the answer to that question.
Over the decades, she’d regularly consulted gypsy fortunetellers, and they’d all claimed Robert was still alive. She realized they were charlatans, that she had to assess their predictions with a grain of salt, but she’d chosen to believe he was hale and in a safe place. Why not hope he was?
“If he strolled up right now,” Nicholas said, “would you faint?”
“Yes—if I recognized him that is. It’s been thirty years.”
In reality, she had no doubt she would recognize him in an instant. Nicholas was tall and lithe, dark-haired and blue-eyed, and he resembled Robert exactly. She could simply gaze at her son to remember his father.
That last terrible morning, when her father had caught up with her on the road to Gretna Green, she’d told Robert she would always love him, that she would wait forever for him to find her and rescue her, and she’d remained pitifully loyal to his memory.
She’d never married and had had no children but for Nicholas whom she hadn’t been permitted to raise and had never seen until they’d crossed paths over the summer.
The minute he’d been born in an unwed mother’s home—where she’d been locked away to hide her shame—her father had yanked him out of her arms and vanished with him. He’d insisted Nicholas had been put out for adoption, but she’d never had any evidence to prove it was true.
Her father had been such a cruel man. If he’d drowned her baby in the Thames, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
Often, she’d pondered whether it had been a mistake not to wed, not to have other children. When Robert had disappeared, they hadn’t known she was about to have a baby, so he hadn’t known he was destined to be a father. If he’d been apprised, would it have made any difference to him?
