Gayle Callen - [Brides of Redemption 02]
Page 23
“I—” Audrey hesitated. “I don’t know about his feelings, but I love him.”
Blythe gave her a swift hug before settling back on the bench at her side. “I knew it,” she said with satisfaction.
Audrey could only laugh. She would not allow her doubts to assail her, only thought of the next time she would meet with Robert, the next time she could show him with her body how she felt. And she trembled at the memories, and hugged them tight to herself all the way home. She wasn’t afraid anymore.
Two days passed swiftly, and Robert enjoyed his own home more than he ever had in his life. Sharing it with Michael and Cecilia made all the difference in the world—as did the knowledge that soon he’d be sharing it with Audrey. Regardless of her “scandalous widow” comment, he knew she wasn’t the type of woman to have an affair and then forget him.
He still saw her face in his dreams, the last time he’d kissed her good-bye, the hope and the tenderness she hadn’t bothered to hide. And when he wasn’t seeing her face, he was remembering her passionate lovemaking until he could barely fall asleep at night for wanting her.
When Michael and Cecilia heard about Audrey’s tenants’ feast, they asked if they could attend, and the three of them arrived together. There were pavilions thrown up across the grounds, tables and chairs being set up by the Sanfords as well as workers Audrey had hired from the village. People scurried about, but with a sense of happy anticipation.
Robert smiled at it all, until he saw Audrey in the garden, holding Louisa Sanford’s little boy, Molly standing nearby, the puppy on a leash. His eagerness to see Audrey felt doused with cold water, and he couldn’t quite understand his own uneasiness.
“Who is the little boy Audrey is holding?” Cecilia asked as they walked through the grass.
“The son of one of Rose Cottage’s maids,” he said.
But Michael’s gaze sharpened on him, as if Robert’s voice had revealed too much to his good friend.
Audrey heard the gravel crunch beneath their feet and lifted her head, her brilliant smile for the boy fading.
“Good morning, Lord Knightsbridge,” Molly said.
Audrey’s expression softened with pleasure, and Robert felt some of his concerns fade—not all.
“Robert,” Audrey said. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I’ve missed you. But before we become all sentimental, I’ve brought Michael and Cecilia, too.”
“What a lovely home you have, Audrey,” Cecilia said.
Audrey’s smile widened to a grin. “How wonderful that you’ve come! All our plans are going well, and everything will be ready for the feast this afternoon. Molly can show you both inside where you can refresh yourselves.”
“I’ll remain and speak with you,” Robert said.
Her expression was quizzical, but she turned to Molly. “Can you return Arthur to Louisa? She must be done helping her mother with the tarts by now. I’ll keep the dog. Bye-bye, Arthur.”
She gave a little wave, and the boy waved back. Everyone headed for Rose Cottage, and Robert squatted down to pet the puppy.
“Does he have a name yet?” he asked.
“Victor,” she said. “Molly came up with it. For Queen Victoria.”
“A good name.” And then he rose to his feet, and they stood there, separated, but so recently joined together. For just a moment, he let the pleasure of looking at her, being with her, overtake his concern.
She smiled almost shyly. “What are you doing?”
“Remembering.” He cleared his throat, then lowered his voice. “Remembering how you look naked, by candlelight.”
She blushed, her eyelids lowered, a sweet smile curving her lips. “Robert, you shouldn’t speak so.”
“I think I’ll have to make love to you outdoors.”
Her eyes flew wide. “Robert!”
He laughed and took both her hands to kiss them, wishing no gloves separated her skin from his lips. “Then I’ll change the subject to something more serious. Perhaps this will discomfit you, but I’m concerned about your closeness to Louisa’s son.”
To his surprise, her smile softened, and she reached up to touch his face. “I cannot believe how well you see what’s inside me, Robert.”
“You don’t seem to mind my concern.”
“I understand it. There were moments when I first learned of Arthur’s existence, that I felt too . . . connected to him. He is Martin’s son.”
She hesitated, as if she was about to tell him about her son who’d died, and then changed her mind. He was surprised to feel sorrow because she didn’t want to share her private pain with him—but he hadn’t shared his secrets either.
“I even considered making him my ward, giving him the education Martin should have given him. But then I realized that Louisa was actually afraid of my involvement—that the whole family feared I could take him away. That was a power I’d never had before, and I felt sickened that I didn’t initially see how wrong it was. I was shocked back into realizing I couldn’t live my life through other people.”
“You don’t need to do that, Audrey. Live your life with me, and we can have our own children.”
To his surprise, she gave him an enigmatic, even flirtatious smile. “We’ll talk later. I have guests to prepare for just now.”
As he escorted her back to the house, Robert felt a renewed sense of hope. She’d made love with him, and she hadn’t denied his desire to marry her. He felt like everything he’d ever wanted—the family he’d never truly had—would finally be his.
Audrey had never imagined how wonderful it would be to be a hostess to the people who depended on her just as she depended on them. She owned the land, but they had the labor to make it fertile, and she was so grateful to be able to show her thanks, and her promise of a long partnership in the future.
Her puppy, Victor, spent much of the afternoon with her as she moved from pavilion to pavilion, table to table. Sometimes Blythe was with her, other times Robert, and she heard in the voices of her tenants the gratitude at having a new landlord who cared, the promise of future stability. And it wasn’t just because of Robert and his title, but her own belief, her own desire to be a part of this community.
Even Mr. Sanford sounded proud, and she knew that at last she’d won the trust of her servants, and she returned that trust in kind.
Blythe was more grown-up and gracious than Audrey had ever dared to hope, mingling with people of a different station than her own, but still winning them over with her charm and genuine joy, something Audrey had never heard in all the long years they’d lived together—no, that wasn’t true. Blythe’s unhappiness had only evolved since their mother’s death, and their father’s conviction like a stain upon the family that Audrey was too embarrassing to ever be seen. It seemed like a dream to her now, an ugly dream soon forgotten, now that the world had opened up to her.
And then there was Robert, moving smoothly between the Blackthornes and the meekest shepherd with equal ease. She had never imagined she would find a man to bring her happiness—and it was because of Martin she’d even met him. But she glowed with an inner fire when she was near him, could not stop smiling up at him, and accepted his hand whenever he reached for her. Their engagement was becoming real, and she felt so blessed and happy.
All she’d have to do was say the magic words, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” and her new life would spread out before her, with a loving husband and perhaps the children she’d been afraid to hope for.
It all came down to trust, and at last, she was starting to believe he was trustworthy.
That evening, after the grounds had been restored to pristine gardens and parkland, her grateful tenants had gone home with full bellies, and she entered her own home with a full heart. She moved quietly through the kitchens, where only Mrs. Sanford checked on the banked fire and wished her a good night.
“Mrs. Blake, would you like a candle to guide your way?” the housekeeper called as Audrey moved toward the front of the house.
Audrey turned back and grinned. “Thanks, but no.”
Where once Mrs. Sanford would have been mortified by her gaffe, now she simply chuckled through her apology.
The other servants and Blythe had already gone to bed, and Audrey couldn’t help wondering if Robert and the Blackthornes had also retired. With Blythe and the married couple in attendance, it had seemed acceptable to allow Robert to remain as well.
She found herself wishing she could sneak into his room, knowing that in her small manor, it would be too noticeable. But a girl could dream . . .
And then she heard male voices in the drawing room and slowed to a stop. She didn’t want to interrupt if—
“I’m going to tell her the truth, Michael,” Robert was saying.
Audrey froze, a knot of worry unfurling inside her. She almost went up the stairs, telling herself it was none of her business, but she was a stronger woman than that now.
She reached for the door, found it partially closed, and pushed inside. The silence was deafening, but for the tick-ticking of the coal settling in the grate.
“What truth do you wish to tell me, Robert?” she asked in a cool voice.
“You can leave us, Michael,” Robert said impassively.
“Good night, Audrey,” Michael murmured as he went by.
Although she nodded, she didn’t spare another thought for him, simply walked slowly toward where she believed Robert was standing. “Well?”
“I have two things to tell you,” he began at last.
His voice was more somber than she’d ever heard before, and it gave her a sick twist of fear. She’d been so happy—had it all been a lie?
“I was referring to my part in the death of your husband, of our commander, and another soldier in our regiment.”
“Your part?” she repeated faintly.
“Blackthorne, Rothford, and I. I feel you need to hear the whole story.”
“All right.”
“We were escorting what we thought were thieves and their families, women and children, all so hungry. They were prisoners, but it just didn’t seem right to us, especially their destination—a place where they’d be interrogated further, using measures only used in time of war or great need.”
She felt a spasm of queasiness at what might be done to people to coerce the truth out of them—innocent or not. “Go on.”
“So we disobeyed orders. We allowed them to escape.”
He emphasized “allowed” so she’d understand that they must have looked the other way.
“Did you think you were doing right?” she asked in bewilderment.
“We did.”
“Then how can you blame yourselves for the decision?”
“Don’t you understand, Audrey?” he demanded. “We let them return to their lives and their villages, as if we knew better than our superiors. Soldiers are taught respect and obedience, loyalty to one’s commander—and we lost sight of that, and even our commander died as a result.”
“They weren’t villagers?” she whispered, twisting her fingers together, feeling the scene unfold in her imagination, the one she kept primed and ready to show her what she assumed the world looked like. Just now, it seemed like a curse.
“Perhaps they were, but they brought others with them when they attacked our regiment. Three men died, including our commander, Cecilia’s father.”
“And my husband,” she said stonily.
“And your husband. From the beginning, Michael tried to insist that we’d made the best decision we could at the time, under great stress, that it wasn’t our fault. I don’t believe that, and neither does Rothford. I felt guilt for what we’d done, and it only continued to grow. And when Michael was to be sent home to recover from his wounds and meet his bride, Rothford and I decided to resign our commissions and return as well. We had to do something to atone for the consequences of our decision.”
He stopped speaking, and she stood still, hugging herself, trying to think logically, without the emotions that were so powerful and overwhelming two years before. But there was bitterness beneath her words as she said, “So you came to me, Martin’s widow, to express your condolences.”
“And I offered you my help,” he reminded her. “It was the least I could do after all you’d suffered. That was all you wanted from me—you made it perfectly clear you didn’t want a husband.”
“But you would have offered yourself like some sort of sacrifice?” she asked in outrage.
“I might have considered it, but I knew you were too proud, too independent.”
“I was not independent when you met me.”
“But you wanted to be, and I wanted to be of assistance.”
She remained quiet for a moment, trying to rethink the last few weeks. He was right about everything he said—where she was concerned. But . . .
“I cannot lie to you and say that I loved Martin,” she said. “Regardless, I’m able to see an honest mistake for what it was. You didn’t mean to cause his death.” And perhaps the death of my child, she thought, with the resulting flare of grief.
He took her hand and squeezed it. “You have every right to blame me for not telling you up front. But . . . I thought it would hurt you all over again, and perhaps complicate what I could do for you.”
“And perhaps shower you with my grief?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. I honestly thought the news might hurt worse. I didn’t know if you loved Blake or—”
“But none of this conjecture matters,” she interrupted tiredly. “You offered your help, and I took it, and now I have my own household, and the love of my sister again. I could have been trapped there forever without you.”
“Those are kind words, Audrey, and I appreciate them. But there’s one last thing you need to know.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m so tired, Robert. Can this not wait?”
“I know about the child you lost.”
She went still, and though the grief was still there, confusion bubbled inside her. “But how . . .”
“Blythe accidentally told me.”
She felt suddenly cold, as if she were growing distant from her body. “When?” she whispered. “You two were barely speaking when she first came to visit me.”
“Over a week ago,” he answered.
“That’s not what I mean—was it before you suddenly wanted to marry me in truth?”
He didn’t answer, and she didn’t need to see his face to understand the reality. “You only wanted to marry me out of guilt and pity.”
“Audrey, I had already come to admire everything about you. I cannot deny that hearing about your child altered things, but my feelings have continued to grow—”
“I’m not marrying you,” she said flatly. “My God, I even—gave myself to you! How you must have pitied me.” And she’d been so stupid as to fall in love with him. God, she was a fool. Everyone had tried to warn her, and she’d been so convinced she’d never fall for a man’s lies again.
“I didn’t pity you! I wanted you, Audrey, and you wanted me.”
“But I can’t trust your reasons anymore, Robert. I can’t trust you. We’ll simply end this now. You gave your pathetic blind widow her scandalous affair.”
“I want more than an affair, Audrey,” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “We deal so well together.”
No words of love, but she couldn’t be surprised. “We both have too much guilt, Robert—you for the death of my husband, and me for whatever I did that caused my child’s death.”
“Whatever you did? My God, Audrey, you learned that your husband had died. The grief—”
“Grief? I felt little for him after the way he’d treated me. But perhaps I caused my little boy’s death with my terrible fear that they’d take him away from me. My father was horrified that his flawed daughter might give birth to an equally flawed grandchild. My baby was just a thing to him, and when he was born dead—I think they were all relieved. Now you can be relieved,
too, for you’ve done enough for me.”
“Audrey, don’t—”
“I was right all along—only as a single, independent widow will I find even a modicum of happiness. I can’t even trust my own motives where you’re concerned—maybe I was going to use you to have a baby. God, I can’t take this.” She wouldn’t have been hurt again if she’d never let anyone close—how had Robert made her forget that?
She turned and hurried away, forcing herself not to run. When she reached her bedroom, she couldn’t even have the release of crying. Everything inside her felt so very cold and remote and—dead.
Chapter 22
Audrey was sitting on the edge of her bed when the door opened. She prayed it would only be Molly, come to help her undress for bed, but she heard Blythe’s cheerful voice. To her ears, it was like raucous screech of a bird, making her wince.
“I told Molly to go to bed, since she’s been dealing with the puppy. I’m here to help.”
And then she must have looked at Audrey, who couldn’t master the emotions necessary to hide her despair.
“Audrey, what’s wrong?” she cried.
When Blythe sat down on the bed beside her, tried to put her arm around her, it was too much. Audrey shook her off and rose to pace.
“Robert knows about my baby,” she said, feeling her despair replaced by anger as she said the words aloud.
Blythe burst into noisy tears. “Don’t blame him—it’s my fault!”
At least she’d admitted it. “Tell me the truth—tell me everything! I cannot take another lie.”
“Oh, Audrey, I didn’t mean to. Robert and I were discussing how the servants seemed to be hiding Louisa’s baby from you, and the truth just . . . came out.” She blew her nose in a handkerchief. “I had no idea he didn’t know. I’ve been trying so hard to be worthy of your trust, to prove that I’ve grown up. I spent so much of my childhood resenting that you were different, that Father made us treat you that way. You were always so independent, like you never needed us—I wanted to be needed,” she added on a whisper. “I came here thinking I could be of help, even though Father sent me.”