by Wolf, Bree
Samantha looked utterly happy and at peace in these moments, and Thorne could not help but fear what her mother’s sudden reappearance might do to his daughter’s life.
“Shall I send her away, Sir?” Reuben asked, a hard look in his eyes.
Thorne cleared his throat, willing his thoughts back to the here and now. “No. Please, send her in.”
“As you wish,” Reuben replied, that same disapproving tone still in his voice as he withdrew.
Thorne listened to the echo of his footsteps receding. He all but held his breath as silence once more stretched from one moment to the next. And then, his ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming closer. Not only one pair, but two.
Indeed, Thorne could not say what he had expected; however, when Mrs. Miller stepped into his study, he could not help but stare. His eyes swept over her pale face, searching for similarities between her and his precious daughter.
Her pale blonde hair was pulled back into a neat bun, giving her angular face an even sharper edge. He could see that she was thin, frail even. Her skin was pale to the point of concern, and she seemed in desperate need of a good meal; in fact, several of them. Her linen dress looked faded and washed so often that its color had been lost. The hem was frayed, and he could see holes along the seam of her sleeves.
“Mr. Sharpe,” Mrs. Miller addressed him in a faint voice, her blue eyes wide as she attempted a courtesy, “I am so grateful you agreed to see me.”
Thorne gestured for Reuben to leave them alone and then turned to the young woman. “Mrs. Miller, I presume.” His gaze swept over her face, trying to determine what had brought her here after all this time. “What can I do for you?”
Wringing her hands, the woman met his eyes hesitantly. “Is my daughter well?” She dropped her gaze to her hands before looking up at him once more.
Thorne tensed at her question, finding himself displeased to hear another speak of Samantha as their daughter. “She is well.”
Mrs. Miller’s face softened, and a deep sigh left her lips. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of her all these years. I am most grateful to you.”
A thousand questions assailed Thorne along with a thousand thoughts he did not dare dwell upon. “Why did you leave her upon my doorstep?” he asked in a voice that was far from friendly. “How could you set her down and simply walk away?” With his eyes fixed upon her, he took a step closer. “I had people looking for you for months.” He shook his head as the disbelief of those early days returned to him. “How could you simply leave her?”
Tears welled up in Mrs. Miller’s eyes, and she wrung her hands in a way that made the sinews stand out white, even more so because of her frailty. “I could not think of another way,” she sobbed, her thin frame trembling almost violently. “I did not wish it, but it was the best I could do for her.”
Thorne closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath, seeking to calm the turmoil in his own heart. Until this moment, he had not been aware of the anger he had harbored toward her. “Why?”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, she suddenly seemed to sway upon her feet, her face paling to such an extent that Thorne jumped forward and grasped her by the elbow. “Perhaps you should sit,” he said steering her toward one of the two armchairs under the window. Then he turned and poured her a glass of brandy. “Here, drink this.”
Breathing fast, Mrs. Miller accepted the drink and took a small sip, coughing as the liquid burned down her throat.
Thorne sat down in the armchair beside her, his eyes returning to search her face.
For a long moment, Mrs. Miller stared down at the glass in her hand. Then she sat back and lifted her chin. “When she was born, my husband had just died in a mining accident,” came her frail voice, choked with tears. “And I…I have a son. His name is Owen, and he is seven years old. He…” Once more, she looked down at the glass in her hands. “He is sickly. He has been since the day he was born. His legs…He…He cannot walk.” She looked up at Thorne, and large tears rolled down her cheeks. “He needs me. He needs me in a way that…” She shook her head, fatigue marking her features. “I did not know what to do.”
Thorne heaved a deep sigh as the woman’s words snaked their way into his heart. Indeed, was she not one of those he sought to protect? Thorne knew it to be true when his gaze returned to her. He tried to push aside his own emotions and to look at her with untainted eyes. Yes, her life was a struggle. Even before her husband’s death, Thorne doubted that the family had been well provided for. On her own, however, Mrs. Miller had been unable to support herself and her children. Yes, it had been a reasonable choice for her to leave her daughter with him. A choice she had made to protect the child she already had as well as the one she had just brought into the world.
An impossible choice, but a choice, nonetheless.
“I am deeply sorry for your loss as well as your struggles,” Thorne said gently, still at odds about how to feel. It seemed there were two different people within him: the father who sought to protect his family and the man who had spent years fighting for the plight of those who did not have a voice. “May I ask? What brings you here today?”
Mrs. Miller swallowed, then reached up to brush away the tears. “I came to see her, and…” Her gaze fell from his as she bit her lower lip. “I came to ask for your help.” Almost fearfully, she peeked up at him through lowered lashes. “My son… He…”
Thorne rose to his feet and moved a few steps away before turning around once more. “What is it you’re asking?” he inquired, unable to banish that odd sense of dread or perhaps foreboding that still lingered. He could not explain it, yet neither could he rid himself of it.
Inhaling a deep breath, Mrs. Miller pushed herself out of the armchair. She seemed unsteady, her hands stretched out for balance, and Thorne wondered when she had last eaten. Then, her eyes returned to him, and she crossed to where he stood. “I am asking for your help,” she said softly, forcing a smile onto her face. Then she lifted her hands and placed her palms upon his chest, her face lifted toward his. “Of course, I’d be more than happy to repay you for your efforts.”
An icy chill crawled up Thorne’s spine as he stared down at her upturned face. His stomach twisted and turned, and his hands reached out to grasp her wrists, to remove her hands from his person. “Mrs. Miller, I must insist—”
The sound of someone clearing her throat drew their attention toward the door, and Thorne found himself looking at his wife, her blue eyes narrowed and her jaw tense as she glared at them. “How dare you?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mrs. Miller
Never in her life had Christina felt quite like this, quite so shaken, so furious, so disappointed, so…
Not even the night Aunt Francine had come to Whickerton Grove could measure up to how Christina felt when she saw another woman in her husband’s arms. The way they stood close, her eyes looking into his and his hands holding her to him.
“Christina!” Pushing the woman aside, Thorne hastened toward her. “I can explain.”
Christina shrank back as he tried to reach for her. “Can you?” she challenged, glaring at the other woman, wondering who she was. How could she have been so mistaken?
Her husband exhaled a deep breath, and she could see that he fought to remain calm. “Yes, I can.” His voice was hard, unburdened by guilt. He stepped toward the door and gestured for her to follow. “Mrs. Miller, I shall return shortly.” Then his gaze moved to Christina. “Come with me.”
Christina’s jaw hardened, and she was ready to refuse him. However, before she could, his hand clasped around her arm and pulled her along, shutting the door behind them.
Out in the corridor, Christina tried to dig in her heels, but her husband dragged her along until they were a good distance from his study. Then he spun around to face her. “I can see what you’re thinking, and I assure you that you’re wrong.”
Christina laughed. It was an almost hysterical sound, and she hated he
rself for breaking apart like this. “Am I? How can there possibly be a reasonable explanation for why she was in your arms?” She shook her head, backing away.
Coming after her, Thorne pulled her toward him, his eyes vibrant in a way she had never seen before. “She was not in my arms,” he hissed against her lips. “She…” His eyes closed briefly.
“What?” Christina demanded.
Her husband exhaled a slow breath and then looked at her, a strange sense of mortification in his eyes. “Truth be told, she…she offered herself to me.”
Christina felt sickened. She tried to pull free of her husband’s grasp, but he would not release her. “Why? Why would she do that? Who is she?”
Thorne’s gaze softened, and a hint of sadness came to his face. “She says she…is Samantha’s mother.”
Christina froze as though she had suddenly turned to a block of ice. Her husband’s words rang in her ears, and yet she could not seem to make any sense of them. “Her mother?” she gasped. “How can that be?”
Thorne shook his head. “I cannot be certain. She says she left her on my doorstep out of need. Her husband died, and she had another child, a sickly child, to see to.”
“Why is she here now? After all this time?” Feeling her pulse thudding in her neck, Christina was grateful for the way her husband’s hands held onto her. Although she had only met Samantha several weeks past, Christina could not help but feel terrified by the thought of another woman sweeping in to take her place in the little girl’s life. Yes, she had struggled with becoming Samantha’s mother, but deep down, Christina realized in that moment she wanted to be her mother. She had been uncertain, but she did want to be Samantha’s mother.
What now?
“Then why would she…offer herself to you?” Christina asked with a snarl, torn between a sense of compassion for the woman’s plight as well as a feeling of deepest jealousy burning itself through her veins. Had this woman come here to take away not only her daughter but also her husband?
To Christina’s great annoyance, an irritatingly pleased smile slowly spread over her husband’s face. “Are you jealous?” he whispered, urging her closer against him.
Christina set her hands against his shoulders and tried to push him away, but to no avail. “Do not flatter yourself. I have every right to be upset that—”
“Of course, you have every right to be upset. In fact, I cannot deny that I am most pleased that you are. You—”
“You are my husband!” Christina exclaimed, uncertain why she did so. After all, it would only fuel Thorne’s delight with her reaction.
He grinned. “And you are my wife.” The next moment, he dipped his head and kissed her, making it unmistakably clear that she was not the only one staking a claim.
For a long moment, they clung to one another, one fierce kiss becoming another, before their hearts slowly began to calm. “What will you tell her?” Christina demanded, her eyes challenging him to answer correctly.
Thorne chuckled. “You’re most adorable when you’re jealous, Chris. It suits you.”
Christina slapped his arm. “Be serious!”
After inhaling a deep breath, his face began to sober. “Of course, I will not accept…her offer. I don’t know what you think you saw, but the only reason I grasped her arms was to remove her hands from my person. That is all.” His deep green eyes held hers, needing to know that she believed him.
Sighing, Christina nodded. “Very well.” A deep breath rushed past her lips, and she was surprised by the sense of relief she felt at knowing that her husband desired no one but her.
A warm smile came to Thorne’s face, and he reached up and touched her face in an utterly gentle gesture. “You believe me?”
“I believe you,” she whispered in reply before her hands grasped him by the lapels and tugged him closer. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“Never.”
Christina heaved a deep sigh. “What now?” she whispered, casting a look over her shoulder at the door toward her husband’s study. “Are you certain she’s Samantha’s mother?”
Thorne frowned, and Christina could see that the possibility of an imposter had never before entered his mind. “I had not thought of that. She seemed so…so sincere in her emotions.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should at least, for Samantha’s sake as well as our own, have someone look into her story, confirm that she speaks the truth.”
“I believe that to be a wise thought,” Christina agreed before a slight frown came to her face. “Do you hear that?”
Her husband stilled. “That is Samantha’s voice, is it not?”
Christina strained her ears to listen. “Not only hers. It’s coming from the front hall.” Slipping from her husband’s embrace, Christina hurried down the corridor, her feet carrying her closer to the voices, her husband’s echoing upon the parquet floors behind her. Was there another child in the house?
Stepping into the hall, Christina pulled up short when her eyes fell on Samantha as well as a little boy seated in a chair near the entrance. Two footmen stood nearby, their eyes never leaving the child as though they had been instructed to watch him. “Who is that boy?” Christina asked, turning around to look at her husband.
“I believe he is Mrs. Miller’s son,” Thorne replied to her question, apprehension upon his face. “She said his name was Owen.”
Together, they stood at the edge of the hall and watched the two children. Were they truly brother and sister?
Christina could not say that she saw a particular resemblance. However, the same could be said for her and Leonora as well as Harriet. The three of them looked vastly different from one another, and yet they were sisters.
“Why do you only sit there?” Samantha inquired as she eyed the boy curiously.
Owen’s lips thinned, and his brows drew down in a disapproving frown. “I can’t walk,” he snapped, his voice hard.
“Why not?” Samantha inquired undeterred.
“Because I can’t.”
“That’s not a good answer,” Samantha replied as her eyes swept over his legs. They were thin and oddly bent. “Have you ever tried?”
Owen crossed his arms in front of his chest, a look full of hatred filling his eyes. Christina suspected that the child had been teased and mocked about his inability to walk all his life.
“Would you like to come to my tea party?” Samantha asked, a wide smile coming to her face. “I can bring the tea here. You don’t have to get up.”
The boy’s lips pressed together as though he wished to say something but knew it would not be wise. Still, pain lingered upon his face, and Christina knew that if he truly were Samantha’s brother, they could not simply send them away.
She turned to look at her husband. “We need to know if they truly are who they claim to be.”
Thorne nodded, then turned his gaze from his daughter and Owen to her. “I agree. I’ll hire someone to verify her story. In the meantime…” He trailed off, a question in his eyes.
Christina sighed. “They can stay, but only under one condition. Until we know for certain who they are, they are simply our guests. If she does not agree to this, she must leave.”
Her husband nodded. “I’ll speak to her.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned and walked back toward his study.
For a moment, Christina remained and looked at the closed door through which her husband had vanished. She wondered what was happening inside, and a part of her tensed. A part of her wanted to hurry after him and assure herself that nothing untoward was happening, that he remained true to her. Only another part of her reminded her that there was no need, that she could trust him.
Christina smiled. “I can, can I not?” she whispered to herself. “He’s a man of his word.” More than that, he cared for her, did he not?
More than once, he had said that he liked her. He had yet to speak of love, but there had been moments when Christina had all but seen the words in his eyes. Yes, she
could trust him because he cared for her.
Because he did not want anyone but her.
A warm feeling settled in Christina’s belly and chased away the last of the lingering chill Mrs. Miller’s arrival had brought upon her.
“Mama, will you come to our tea party as well?” Samantha suddenly called from across the hall.
Christina almost flinched. How odd was it that in the very moment that Samantha’s mother had returned for her, the little girl had chosen to bestow that title upon Christina? Was it a mere coincidence? Could it mean something?
Whatever the answer, Christina could not help but smile. Her heart warmed and danced with joy, and she knew that no matter what happened from this day onward, she was now and would forever be Samantha’s mother.
Perhaps not the only one.
But looking into Samantha’s eyes, Christina knew that she did not mind. She wanted her daughter—her daughter!—to have everything. To feel loved and cherished. To be full of joy and see nothing but beauty in the world. These were the thoughts of a mother, were they not?
“I would love to,” Christina answered her daughter and then strode forward to greet their newest arrival. “You must be Owen?”
The boy glared at her. Only she could not help but think that deep down he did not wish to. He was merely protecting himself because the life he had led thus far had taught him that it was necessary.
“Sam, will you ask Cook for some milk and biscuits? After all, we have a guest.”
Samantha’s face brightened. “Of course.” In an instant, she dashed away, always eager to sneak into the kitchen. It was a happy place for her for Mrs. Norris, their cook, doted upon the little girl and more often than not sneaked her a little treat.
“Let us help you into the drawing room, mmh?” Christina smiled at the boy, then gestured to another footman. “Would you carry him inside, please?”
