Hunting the Hero

by Heather Boyd

  “We’re nothing alike.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ.” He offered a dazzling smile. “And I aim to convince you to give me, us, another chance.” He swung a garnet bracelet before her face. The gemstones winked prettily in the afternoon light and Meredith almost reached to catch them. She held back but the cost was high. She was well aware that a man gave gems to his mistress or his wife. Never to a governess. He was cruel to tease her like this. “To what end?”

  “You’ll see.” He tucked the trinket back into his coat pocket and then tipped his head at the board. His brows rose, mocking her chances of winning. “Let’s see just how far you will go to get what you want and what else might be claimed in the process. It’s your move, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not your sweetheart,” she grumbled.

  Grayling shook his head. “You see, even that name doesn’t suit you. I’m definitely going to need the real one. No matter how long it takes.”

  CHAPTER 18

  SNOW CRUNCHED BENEATH thick boots as Constantine trudged across the grounds of Stanton Harold Hall in search of forgiveness. He had not enjoyed or looked forward to Christmas since the day his wife had died and he wanted this year to be different. Augusta had died today, exactly two years ago, and the cheer the season had once evoked had fled with her.

  Yet this morning, Christmas Eve, had dawned clear and bright and full of hope. He glanced up at the crystal-blue sky and smiled. The world outside his windows, his domain, had beckoned him to explore during the brief lull between snowstorms to clear his conscience, to make peace with his past and prepare for the future.

  A future he wanted very much, no matter the cost to his social standing.

  The snow was thickly piled on the earthen path, but he knew where he was going and trudged the short distance with sure steps. He’d walked this path countless times in the past, more so in the past two years. The Lynch Gate stood open and he passed beneath the snow-covered structure, pausing momentarily to glance around the shrouded cemetery. It was as if he’d stepped into another world. A world where hopes and dreams must end.

  He walked past the grave markers of his ancestors, some grand, others tilting beneath the weight of age and snow. His parents’ graves were side by side and he passed them by with a momentary pang. They’d had years together, not always civil, but together, none the less, passing away within months of the other. He’d always thought he’d have the same life.

  The one he wanted was farther back, a few more steps to the right.

  He paused when he reached his destination and glanced down at the snow-covered plot.

  Here lies Augusta Regina Hunt. Beloved wife and mother. Forever young.

  Constantine stepped around the grave and brushed snow from the headstone. “The weather has cleared, my love. Just in time for Christmas.”

  He clutched the headstone briefly and then stepped back, pulling his greatcoat closer about him as a light wind stirred the cold air. He removed his hat. “The new governess has done what she can to mend their broken hearts, but our daughters still miss you. They always will. You should see Willow now. You always said she’d be a beauty, and I see more of you in her eyes every day. She will cause me no end of trouble with the fellows when she’s grown enough to have her coming out.”

  Lord help him. If Willow grew to be as beautiful as her mother, then he would have to always keep his dueling pistols primed and ready once she came of age. Constantine stared at the distant snow-dusted woods. “Maisy is completely unlike her elder sister. You picked her nature to perfection when she was little. Miss Mischief. She’s still hiding under tables despite the governess’s best efforts to keep her on her feet. I may have to pry her out into the light when it’s her time to be a debutante. I wonder what she’ll make of society’s strictures. I don’t know how she’ll survive all those rules.”

  He laughed as he imagined the trouble coming his way. “I always wondered how you would cope with them, but it seemed God had other plans for us both. I’m sorry, love. I never should have got another child on you. I put your life in danger. But as you pointed out, I needed an heir. I still do.”

  Constantine glanced down at the gravestone again. “Poppy is so beautiful. The gift you left to me fills the space in my heart I never knew existed. I’ve struggled with my joy and sadness so often when I hold her. You never got a chance. She’s the sweetest of all our children and she needs more love than I can give. I’m not enough for her. Not enough for all of them.”

  He curled his hands into fists. “I’ve missed you so badly these past years. Do you remember how we were together? Snugly curled about each other in your bed every night, sneaking away from our guests to kiss or make love. We had a good marriage. You were the mother of my children, but you also became a good friend. No one could ever know how much your absence has cut into my soul. Marrying you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I treasured our life together.”

  He took a deep breath, ready to say what he’d been struggling not to admit these past weeks. “But that life is gone. I have to accept it and move on.”

  Across the way, a few adventurous souls were trudging their way through the snow-covered fields, people who relied on him for the livelihood of this generation and the ones to follow. He owed it to them and to himself to safeguard the legacy of the Grayling estates. But that was not the whole reason for this visit today. He still had another confession to make.

  “I’ve met someone, Augusta. Someone I’d very much like to spend every part of the day and night with.” He shook his head. “She’s not at all like you, but I think you would like her. In all honestly, I don’t know who she is or what her connections might be. She could be a flower seller’s daughter for all I know, but I very much doubt such a creature could intrigue me as she does.”

  Constantine rubbed his jaw. “She’s wounded, I think. She keeps secrets but reveals so much by the hundred kindnesses she shows others. She’s strong and independent. If I can convince her to stay, she’ll be a good influence on our daughters. She’s done so much to keep your memory alive already and I can see how Willow has responded to her. She’s talking again, laughing as she plays. The woman would never take your place in their hearts, but they need her. And so do I.”

  “Can you forgive me, Augusta? For falling in love again? I didn’t mean to. Never intended to give my heart to another soul, but she snuck beneath my defenses and burrowed into my life before I realized I liked her there. What started out as lust has grown into something so strong that I cannot deny my feelings. I haven’t told her that I’d like to marry her. One day, when she trusts me enough to share her true identity I will see what she has to say to that. She makes me happy, Augusta. Just as you did. But it’s different. Does that make sense?”

  He faced the distant house, the manor where he was born, had loved and been loved in. The sight of it was no longer so bleak and cheerless, even with the absence of Augusta. Meredith was inside, the blinding presence that had turned his world upside down and brightened every dark corner. His heart beat for her. “I will never forget what we had. Please forgive me. Can you?”

  He faced the gravestone again and memorized the lines carved into the cold stone. He would never allow Augusta to be forgotten. He bowed his head, praying he was making the right decision for them all. That he wasn’t rushing the situation. He would convince Calista, Meredith, or whoever she might be to be his wife one day, no matter how long it took her see the sense of it. He would take care of her without smothering her independence. He would make her laugh, and even convince Cunningham to accept that her place was here.

  An icy blast blew his hat from his hands and he glanced around him. A light snow fell from the bright clear sky, growing thicker by the moment. The snowflakes swirled around the gravestones and him and then died as swiftly as they had come. The day brightened again, warming him with hope and a sense of purpose. Augusta had always enjoyed Christmas and this year he would too. She would want him to be happy. Constant
ine collected his hat from where it had fallen to rest against Augusta’s headstone and set it on his head. He brushed his fingers over the cold stone one last time. “Farewell, my love. I will never forget you.”

  He strode back to the Hall, eagerness almost making him rush. He and Meredith needed to talk about the past and the future, but first, he had something vital to do. Today was the birth of a new life. One filled with the wild passion of one tempting wench—a near stranger without a name.

  The return trip to the manor proved much faster and happier for him. He stepped onto the rear terrace to find Cunningham lying in wait for him just inside the doors. As soon as he was inside, he shrugged out of his greatcoat and hat. “Cunningham, would you by any chance know the location of Miss Clark?”

  “She’s in the nursery with the children, my lord.”

  “Hmm, very good.” He’d forgotten the time. Poppy and Maisy often rested at this time of day and Willow, too, occasionally would lay down for a quarter hour or more. He probably shouldn’t go up and interfere with Miss Clark’s routine. She might become testy and that would ruin the evening he had planned. Now that he had decided on a course of action, he wanted no setbacks.

  Cunningham raised a brow. “Should I have her fetched, my lord?”

  Constantine could imagine how little Miss Clark would appreciate such a summons. She’d been in an odd mood since Willow had smacked that ball into her head. Sitting with her for so many hours had stirred up talk among the servants. His actions, although perfectly restrained and chaste, had set her apart from them.

  Aside from her injury, he’d never enjoyed a day more. Yet Miss Clark had grown suspicious when he lingered in the nursery for any length of time. She much preferred to meet him on her terms, but that would change tonight. He grinned. “I think not, but could you send Mrs. Smith to my wife’s bedchamber and join us there? There is much to do.”

  Cunningham frowned but was quick to arrive upstairs with the housekeeper in tow. Mrs. Smith smiled hesitantly. “You sent for me, my lord.”

  “Yes, I’d like you to pack.”

  Her face filled with confusion. “Wouldn’t your valet be better suited for the task?”

  Constantine glanced around the bedchamber. “I would appreciate your help to pack the contents of this room. I don’t want anything thrown out or passed on to the other servants. I hope there will be no hard feelings among the staff about that, but I want everything left for my daughters for when they are old enough to choose.”

  Mrs. Smith took a moment to wipe a tear from her eye and then nodded. “That is a reasonable decision, my lord.”

  Cunningham, however, looked anything but happy. He’d been devoted to his late wife and had taken her death harder than any other member of staff. Loyalty to the family was important, but the family had to continue. Constantine had the perfect explanation that would make his butler bury his reservations. “I am in need of an heir, Cunningham, and I cannot contemplate another marriage without attending to this room first.”

  The struggle was clear on Cunningham’s face, but eventually he nodded. “Very well, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Cunningham. I trust I can depend on you to make any transition as smooth as possible.”

  The servants both blinked at him. But it was Mrs. Smith who asked the question. “Did you already have a lady in mind, my lord?”

  “Actually, I do. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  CHAPTER 19

  MEREDITH TUCKED THE covers tightly about Poppy and brushed the soft curls back from her forehead. The little girl grumbled a bit but then stilled as sleep pulled her into its grip. Meredith watched her for a space of time and then drew back. She’d grown to love the little imp. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she whispered softly.

  Today had been rather draining. The anniversary of the last Lady Grayling’s death had begun with long faces and ended just as quietly. There had been no festivities for the holiday, none at all to mark Poppy’s second birthday. Meredith had not wanted to let the occasion pass without marking it somehow. She had carried Poppy away to a quiet room and given her something she’d made with her own hands, a small cloth doll with lopsided braids and button eyes. Poppy hadn’t let it go for one moment since it had fallen into her hands.

  Meredith straightened and surveyed the nursery. The room was now an overflowing haven of entertainments and daily laughter. Nurse still came to sit with them each day and tell stories of their mother, yet Meredith was sure the woman loved them in her own way. She always had a kind word or soft touch to offer them. After weeks of soft rebukes and dismissals, Miss Cunningham had finally learned that she could not romp into the nursery at will simply because she was the butler’s niece.

  Everything had turned out how Meredith hoped. And that was the whole problem.

  She had made sure the girls were happiest here, yet she herself wasn’t entirely so. Meredith loved nothing more than to be woken by the sleep-tousled girls and did not even mind their cold feet in her bed. She loved them all, truth to tell, even if she found Maisy’s habit of hiding beneath tables, chairs, and beds somewhat exasperating.

  She turned to where Maisy should be, in the bed she shared with her sister, rather relieved that the little scamp was actually still in her bed and hadn’t disappeared beneath it tonight. Timid eyes stared up at her and she tweaked the girl’s nose, earning a giggle and contented sigh for her efforts. Maisy closed her eyes and hugged her pillow tightly. Meredith pulled the curtains closed around her side of the bed and walked around to the other side quietly.

  Gray’s eldest was still sitting up in bed, wrapping her dolly in a baby blanket so she’d stay warm for the night. Meredith sat beside the girl and brushed her hair behind her ear. “Time for bed, sweetheart.”

  Candid green eyes met hers. “Can we have sweet cakes again tomorrow?”

  The girl had a remarkable appetite for sweets. Another reason Meredith was so fond of her. “Of course, but I should think the Christmas Day feasts would have many more treats in store for you than just sweet cakes. Lie down now so you’ll be as warm as dolly.”

  Willow wriggled beneath her blankets, her eyes growing round. “Will you be at the feast tomorrow?”

  “Of course. All the servants will be, but there is nowhere else I want to be more than with you and your sisters.”

  That seemed to appease her. Meredith straightened her braids on the pillow. Occasionally, Willow asked if Meredith would be there when she woke up and she guessed the girl was occasionally beset by memories of her mother’s sudden death. Poor child. Meredith tucked her in snugly, brushed a kiss across her brow, and remained on the edge of the bed. Her heart, however, had clenched with anxiety.

  They needed her. They needed her to stay, and she didn’t like to consider what harm her eventual departure might cause. She’d never meant to become so attached to Gray’s girls, but their sadness had touched a part of herself she’d thought long buried. She missed having a family and this time with Gray was as close as she’d ever come to that perfect situation.

  If only perfection were possible.

  When Willow’s breathing evened out and Maisy stilled, she pulled the bed curtains tight to keep out the drafts and considered what she was going to do when the time came to leave. It had been almost two month since she’d come to Stanton Harold Hall for a temporary stay. And even longer since she’d lain sated in Gray’s arms. She missed his warmth more and more each day. And Gray had made the yearning hard to ignore by constantly being underfoot.

  According to nurse, he’d never spent so much time in the nursery. The children had thrived with his constant presence. Yet there were times when even she forgot he was her employer.

  As if summoned by her thoughts, Grayling appeared at the door. “Am I too late?”

  Meredith couldn’t fight the smile that spread over her face. “I’m sorry, but I believe you are out of luck.”

  Gray squeezed her shoulder as he snuck past and she noticed he walked softly.
She glanced down and saw he’d removed his footwear and was padding through the Hall barefoot. The sight of his bare skin, close on the heels of her wayward thoughts, made her breath catch in her throat. She hadn’t seen him improperly dressed since she’d come here. The memory of his taut flesh brushing against her own had her pulse skipping a beat.

  He threw cheeky grins in her direction as he went from daughter to daughter. The girls didn’t make a sound, so she assumed they had fallen deeply asleep very quickly. A pity. They did enjoy his nighttime visits and it had been an up-and-down day for them. The servants’ long faces they likely didn’t understand, and the mood in the Hall was palpable with grief.

  When Grayling had trudged out into the snow to visit his wife’s grave, every servant had pressed their nose to the glass to watch him go.

  Meredith moved to the lamp and as Gray approached, she extinguished it, plunging them and the room into darkness. After a moment, her eyes adjusted and she made her way to the door. Grayling could find his own way out.

  Yet when his fingers tangled with hers, Meredith did not pull away immediately. His grip firmed as he tugged her closer, and together they moved into the playroom. He pulled the bedroom door closed, and when Meredith attempted to withdraw her hand from his, although she wanted nothing more than to keep his warmth for herself, he held on. “I’d like a private word if I may?”

  “Of course, my lord. Is it about tomorrow?”

  He shook his head. “Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.”

  Meredith frowned. “I’m not sure I understand you.”

  He glanced around. “This isn’t private enough for our conversation. Come with me. Please.”