by Darcy Burke
“Well, we must listen to our mothers.” Thomas gave her an apologetic nod.
It was past time to save the gracious Thomas from her son. Verity couldn’t help but be impressed with how he’d interacted with Beau, and she looked forward to having him on the estate. Perhaps he would be able to provide Beau with some of the fatherly direction he was lacking. “Come, Beau, we should be on our way. It’s nearly time for your luncheon and then afternoon lessons with Mr. Deacon.”
His nurse moved toward the coach and nodded toward the door. “Come along then, your lordship.”
Beau waved to the Entwhistles. “Good-bye!” He lingered briefly at the goat pen before clambering into the coach with the nurse’s help.
Verity turned to Thomas, who’d risen to his normal height, which was a bit taller than her five feet seven inches. “Thank you for your kindness to my son. I daresay he will enjoy having you on the estate.”
“It will be a pleasure. He’s a charming boy.”
“In need of a fatherly figure,” Whist put in as he looked between them with a half smile.
Thomas threw his grandfather a scandalized look. “I wouldn’t dare to presume.”
“Your grandfather vocalized what I’d been thinking,” Verity said. “Beau is in need of someone to show him some things, such as how to care for a baby goat. Several members of my staff assist however they can.” She thought of her butler, Kirwin, who doted on Beau. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that part of your job will likely include instructing Beau in the ways of the estate.” She’d mentioned this to Cuddy when Beau had turned six in January and she’d hired his tutor, Mr. Deacon, but the steward had done what he always did—put her off.
“I would be honored to teach him,” Thomas said. “And as you know, I learned from the very best.” He shot a smile toward his grandfather, who laughed before moving forward to clap his grandson on the back.
“You were an easy student, my boy. Truly, Your Grace, the estate won’t be in better hands.”
“I think so too.” She nodded toward them. “I’ll see you both soon.”
She went to the coach, where the coachman helped her inside, and a moment later, they were on their way.
Beau scooted close to her side, his warm body tucked against hers. “Mama, can I come back to visit the goats tomorrow?”
“I don’t know about tomorrow, but soon. And I will see about having a goat herd closer to the house.”
“That will be ever so nice,” Beau said with a sigh. “I’m going to be a good duke someday, Mama, because I will know how to care for all the animals and all the people at Beaumont Tower.”
She dropped a kiss on his head, inhaling the sweet scent of boy. “Yes, you will. You’ll be the best duke Beaumont Tower has ever known.”
The castle—Beaumont Tower itself—was situated on a hill with lower and upper courtyards, both of which were ringed by the castle proper. The main part of the castle that contained their living quarters encircled the upper courtyard. It had been a medieval stronghold and had since undergone several refurbishments in an effort to modernize. It was large and drafty and beautiful. To her, it was home.
A few minutes later, the coach drove through the entrance tower and into the lower courtyard, where it stopped at the base of the steps that led to the upper half of the castle. They stepped down, and Verity leaned down to hug and kiss Beau. “I’ll see you after lessons.”
“But first to luncheon,” the nurse said. “I am famished! Shall we race upstairs? Carefully,” she added, with a glance toward Verity.
Beau was already tearing off toward the upper gateway of the castle. “Try to catch me!”
Verity smiled after them as the spring sun warmed her head and shoulders. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head up to the sky and let the rays wash over her, basking her in the promise of a new beginning.
Ever since her dear cousin Diana had come to visit five months ago, Verity had been unsettled. Diana had come with her husband, though they hadn’t yet been wed—Verity had the pleasure of attending their wedding at Gretna Green. It had been the most romantic event she’d ever beheld. Their love and passion for each other was palpable, and Verity couldn’t have been happier for her favorite person.
And yet, it had only served to inform her that she was lonely, that she was without love or passion. Oh, she had Beau, and for him, she would be eternally grateful. For six years, she’d convinced herself that she didn’t need anything more. Until she’d realized she did.
Perhaps she wouldn’t find love or passion, but she would take charge, and she would make it possible for herself to find those things, if she were lucky. But she’d already been lucky, she reminded herself. She had Beau, and she didn’t have Rufus. Fate had been quite kind, and she really had no reason to complain.
Not that she was complaining… She shook her head as she walked up the steps to the wide path and veered to the right side of the garden that flanked both sides of the stone walkway. How she loved the gardens—three of them—at Beaumont Tower. These were the places where she’d reigned, and they never failed to buoy her spirits. She searched now for the courage she needed to take the next step, to let Cuddy go and get Beau used to the idea that his father wouldn’t be coming home.
She had leaned down to smell the budding bloom of her favorite rose when the sound of a horse coming into the courtyard drew her to turn her head. The lone rider was large, broad shouldered, with a hat that shielded his face.
Verity walked back to the path and retraced her footsteps to the stairs. The rider steered the horse to the base of the steps and swung himself from the animal’s back. The hair on Verity’s neck stood up, and the warm spring day turned suddenly cold.
The man put one foot on the first step as he swept his hat from his head. Faint recognition was quickly chased by dread as his gaze found hers.
“I’m home.”
Chapter 2
Verity stared at the man—her husband, apparently—and felt an overwhelming urge to run into the house and bar the door against him. Could he really be here? After all this time?
A groom rushed toward them, alleviating the need for her to speak. In any case, she wasn’t sure she could.
Rufus turned toward the approaching retainer, who came to a dead stop several feet away. Even from this distance, Verity could see the shock register in the groom’s expression as his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
The groom fumbled a bow. “Your Grace.” He sounded as disbelieving as Verity felt.
“Would you, ah, mind tending my horse?” Rufus sounded uncertain. And not at all like the man she remembered. Did she remember? It had been so many years, and she’d long ago forgotten the cadence of his voice, let alone the planes of his face. “And please have the saddle bags sent to the house.” Please?
The groom nodded, then took the horse toward the stables. Rufus watched the animal go before pivoting back toward where she stood near the top of the stairs. Then he slowly climbed toward her, each step a definitive click of his boot against the stone.
As he neared the top, Verity took a step back. Then another. When he reached the path, she had to lift her gaze to his face. Was he taller than she remembered? Again, she wasn’t sure she could rely on her memory at all, and yet that was all she had.
What did she remember? His light brown hair, his piercing hazel eyes, his firm, sometimes cruel jaw, his slender, aristocratic nose, his wide shoulders, and his long fingers—yes, she remembered those biting into her skin when he grabbed her.
She shuddered as the air around her turned colder still. “Where have you been?” It was the only thing she could think to say. And the question came out low and strained.
He took another step toward her, and she edged backward once more. “I beg your pardon?” he asked in a polite tone she would never have imagined him using.
She cleared her throat and willed herself to have courage. “Where have you been?”
“That is, ah, a long story, as
you can probably guess. May we go inside?” He stared past her at the castle, and the look in his eyes was one of longing and perhaps…disbelief.
Well, that was one thing they had in common then. Good Lord, her husband was standing in front of her.
He’d asked to go inside. She wanted to scream that no, he couldn’t come inside, that he couldn’t come anywhere near her or Beau, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. This was his house. The fact that he was asking her was…odd. The Rufus she’d married would’ve stamped past her and expected her to fall in step behind him. If she didn’t, he’d simply go back, grab her by the arm, and drag her along.
She folded her arms across her chest and wrapped her hands around her biceps, as if she could ward off his touch, should he try to thrust it upon her. “Of course.” She turned and walked along the path, leading him toward the upper gate. Her back tingled as she expected him to do something untoward—make a denigrating comment or seize her in some way. But she made it all the way to the upper gate, where she paused and looked back at him. He was several feet behind her, moving quite slowly, it seemed, as his head swung this way and that, taking in every bit of his surroundings. It had to be quite strange to be home after all this time.
Where had he been? For the first time since seeing him, an emotion other than shock and fear crept over her: curiosity.
She continued through the upper gatehouse and across the upper courtyard to the back of the castle. She climbed a small set of rounded stairs and opened the door to the King’s Hall. With the family crest hanging over the wide hearth, the room was the most formal in the castle. Suits of armor stood in the corners, and an impressive array of medieval weapons hung from the walls amidst portraits of Beaumonts from eras gone by.
There was no formal portrait of Rufus, just the small painting that hung in Beau’s room. It had been commissioned, along with one of her, after their wedding, and had been completed after Rufus’s disappearance. Because of that, she’d never thought it was a true representation. The artist had made him look far more affable than he was.
She moved to the windows that looked out over the back lawn. He went directly to the portrait of the former duke—his uncle—and stared up at Augustus, for whom Beau was named, captured in his thirties. She hadn’t noticed before, or perhaps she’d forgotten, but Rufus bore a striking resemblance to the man.
Except Rufus was bigger. In fact, he seemed bigger to her than he had seven years ago, and back then, his size had frightened her. Now, however, his shoulders were broader, and he was taller than she remembered. But perhaps her memory was faulty.
When he finally turned from the portrait, his gaze traveled the room, looking a bit as if he’d never seen it before. But that was absurd. Perhaps his memory was just a bit hazy.
“Do you want refreshment?” she asked. “I’ve no idea how long you’ve been traveling.”
“You deserve to know where I’ve been. Will you sit?” He gestured to the seating area in front of the hearth.
Again, he asked politely. In the past, she would’ve done as he instructed without thought, but that was a long time ago. Still, she couldn’t suppress the tingle of apprehension that danced along her flesh.
Summoning a bead of courage, she went to the seating arrangement closest to her that overlooked the back lawn. She perched on the edge of the settee and waited to see what he would do.
He walked slowly toward her and sat in the chair angled to her right. He set his hat on the arm of the chair. “You look well.”
“Thank you.” She ought to tell him the same, but it was hard to make idle conversation with a man she regarded as a beast. She managed to say, “You do too.” Which only made her imagination run wild. Why had he come back now? Why couldn’t he have stayed gone? Her insides clenched with a distress so fervent that it bordered on pain. What she wouldn’t give for him to disappear again. Everything had been so perfect—
He interrupted her thoughts. “You will likely want details, but I won’t provide them. I prefer to put what happened behind me.” That sounded more like the authoritarian she knew.
Verity braced herself, clasping her hands together and squeezing them in her lap.
“I was taken by an impressment gang and forced onto a privateering vessel.”
The tension pulsing through her stopped as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. “You were kidnapped?”
“That’s another way of putting it.”
“But you’re a duke.” Who would kidnap a duke?
“I told them that at every opportunity, but they didn’t give a damn,” he said wryly. He rushed to add, “Pardon my language.”
Who was this man? That bit of humor—both in his tone and in the tilt of his mouth—was perhaps more shocking than his revelation. And then he’d asked her to pardon his language? He’d said far worse in her presence. He’d called her far worse.
She struggled to take a deep breath as anxiety rolled back through her. “You’ve spent the last six and a half years on a ship?”
“For the most part. I fought in the war with America. It was horrific. I’d prefer not to get into the specifics, if you don’t mind.”
Again, he treated her with a deference she would never have expected. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him intently. He looked like her husband. Mostly. Except for his size. He had the same strong, square jaw, the same sandy brown hair, though she now realized it was a bit lighter, probably from spending so much time out in the open air on a ship. And the same nose, or so she thought. Damn, but it was difficult to summon an exact picture of him. If he yelled at her or bared his teeth in anger, then she would know for sure…
She froze for a moment. Did she think he wasn’t her husband? That was beyond absurd.
“No,” she finally said, recalling that they were supposed to be having a conversation, however bizarre after all this time apart. “I’d rather not know the specifics either. But how is it that you are now here? Did you break free of your captors?”
“Yes. The ship caught fire, and I was able to get away and find my way here.” He glanced around again, drinking in his surroundings as if they were water and he was dying of thirst. “Home.”
“You look as though you can’t quite believe it.” She wanted to bite the words back as soon as they left her mouth. They didn’t say such things to each other. He wasn’t…amusing or, God forbid, charming, and she wasn’t conversational.
“I can’t, actually. I never imagined I’d return to Beaumont Tower.” He said nothing of her. Or Beau.
Beau.
Verity’s heart sped until she feared it would catapult from her chest. What was she going to say to him? What was Rufus going to say? Did he even know? She should tell him, but couldn’t bring herself to form the words. She wasn’t sure she could expose her boy to this monster.
“I realize this is…awkward or strange or both. And probably many other things,” he said, again with that half smile that made him look as attractive as the day she’d met him at the house party she’d attended here with her father when she was just nineteen. As attractive as she’d believed him to be until their wedding night six months later.
She closed her eyes briefly and directed her attention to the window and the lawn stretching away from the house. “It is many things, yes,” she said softly. “I don’t know what to say or how to react. I am…shocked.”
“I can well imagine. It’s a bit of a shock for me to be here. And a relief.”
She heard it in his voice. He sounded almost vulnerable. She turned her head back toward him. “What happened to you?”
“I told you—”
“Yes, and I understand you don’t wish to speak of the specifics, but you are vastly different.”
He cocked his head to the side and took his time answering. “In what way?”
“In every way.” She stopped herself before she categorized his improvements.
Improvement? She couldn’t think like that. He was still Rufus Beaumont, the Duke
of Blackguard, as she liked to call him in her mind. “This is more than awkward or strange. I’ve spent the last six and a half years mourning you.” The lie came easily. “And moving on with my life.”
“You can’t have taken a husband?” he asked.
“No, but neither am I ready to welcome you as such. I can’t…” She was afraid to say what she wanted, but it had to be said. “Things can’t go back to the way they were.” She meant that in every sense and braced herself for his anger. Only it didn’t come.
He nodded easily. “I understand. Completely. I don’t wish to force you into anything. I’m looking forward to reacquainting myself with the estate. Is there a new steward? I should like to meet with him.”
“No, it’s still Cuddy.” God, he is here. She still couldn’t believe it and suspected it would be some time until she could. “Of course you can meet with him.” Except she’d been about to dismiss him. Her plans were going up in flames! Why did he have to come back?
She abruptly stood, needing to move so the nervous energy flowing through her could have an outlet. As she paced toward the hearth, she ignored the prickle of apprehension that danced along her nape. Would she never be able to turn her back on him without feeling a sense of dread?
At the fireplace, she turned and realized she’d had good reason to be concerned. He’d gotten up from the chair and prowled toward her on silent feet. This was different too. She’d always heard him coming, his heavily booted feet clomping over the floorboards with an impending doom.
He stopped a few feet from her, his brow creased with concern. Concern! “I’m sorry for this—for what you must be feeling. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be.”
She absolutely didn’t know what to do with his care. It was as if he was a completely different person. She kept coming back to that. Because what else would explain his utter change? She blinked at him. “Were you injured?”
“Many times.” He said this without inflection, and she wondered how he’d been hurt and to what extent.
