Sara Lindsey - [Weston 03]

by A Rogue for All Seasons

  That might appease his joints, but a week here would do nothing for his bad humor. It was breeding season, there were upcoming races and horses to train, and the Marquess of Cheston’s mare would foal any day now. He hated being away, even though Bar was perfectly capable of managing the place. Very few things could have brought him to London.

  He ran his fingers over the folded piece of paper in his coat pocket. He’d been shocked to receive his wife’s letter. Shocked was an understatement. He gave in to temptation and pulled out the letter, his eyes drinking in the graceful script of Linnet’s hand. He lifted the paper to his face, certain that he could detect a whiff of lavender. The scent raked talons across his heart, but he would bear the pain, gladly, for that little taste of her.

  For his children, Thomas would do anything. He’d given his daughter up so she could have a life where viscounts’ sons courted her. He didn’t know if she’d ever understood his motives. She’d not forgiven him, not for that or the rest. He didn’t blame her. He would never forgive himself for what he’d done.

  The moments, the times one wished to remember least, were often those that remained in perfect clarity. The happiest moments in his life—the births of his children, making love with his wife—those memories were blurred at the edges. He only wished he had some relief from that day. He didn’t deserve to forget what had happened, but everything remained in such damned sharp, horrifying detail…

  Linnet had fled to her parents, taking both children, since Diana had refused to leave without her brother. He’d lost his mind about three minutes after they’d left. He drank until he was numb. Bar could run the stud without his direction, but the place could go to rack and ruin for all Thomas cared. His butler, Ingham, ran the household and, as long as he provided copious amounts of liquor, Thomas found no complaint.

  After about three months, Bar had had enough of his wallowing and drunken outbursts. He’d taken the key to the wine cellar from Ingham, and then informed Thomas that there would be no more spirits forthcoming. Infuriated, Thomas had fired both him and Ingham, along with everyone else he’d encountered on his way to the public house in Newmarket.

  Once he got there… He’d been so damned angry. With Bar. With Ingham. With Peckford. With the duke and duchess. With Linnet. And with each drink, his sense of outrage and betrayal grew. They had all conspired against him. They had made a fool of him.

  The main room began to empty. The men here had to wake up and work come sunrise. He couldn’t face going to sleep, knowing that nothing would have changed tomorrow. He’d wake in his too empty bed in his too empty house. He drained his glass and waved the serving girl, Marjorie, over for more.

  Walt Crofter had been a good trainer, but his recklessness had killed him, and he’d left his widow with nothing. Marjorie appeared to do well enough without him. She always had a smile on her face whenever Thomas took a meal here. She wasn’t smiling as she came to him now.

  “Do you intend to drink yourself into a stupor, sir?”

  “That is none of your business, Mrs. Crofter.” The words emerged slightly slurred.

  “Marjorie, please. Mrs. Crofter will always be my mother-in-law.”

  He inclined his head. “Bring me another drink, Marjorie.”

  “I think you’ve had enough, Mr. Merriwether.” She leaned in close and pried the glass from his hand. She smelled fresh and sweet, like the first hint of spring after a harsh winter. “Why don’t you go upstairs and sleep this off? I’ll ask for a key to one of the rooms.”

  As he watched her lips move, he remembered the other sure way to oblivion. He realized Marjorie hadn’t stepped away. He met her gaze and found a combination of desire, loneliness, and need.

  He had a brief recollection of kissing her on the staircase and stumbling into a room with her, and then nothing else until the morning when he woke to find himself alone in bed. He put all the money he had on his person on the table, and then hastily dressed and left. Whether it was the drink, the knowledge of what he suspected he’d done, or some combination of the two, as soon as he reached the street, he cast up his accounts.

  His head throbbed to the rhythm of the horse’s hooves as he rode home, stopping every mile or so to be ill. The physical discomfort mattered little compared to the agony tearing through his heart. He prayed he’d been too inebriated to do anything the previous night, but, whether or not he’d slept with the woman, he’d betrayed Linnet. He’d committed—or intended to commit—the very crime he’d accused her of, and now he wondered if he hadn’t made a terrible mistake in accusing her at all.

  If Linnet had gone to another man’s bed, she must feel at least some of the wretchedness clawing at him, but she hadn’t acted the slightest bit guilty when he’d confronted her. Oh, God, what had he done? He’d allowed his fear of being unworthy of Linnet to transform him into a man who was unworthy of her.

  He didn’t know how he would go on without her and the children. He certainly couldn’t go on the way he had been. If Linnet could see him now, she would be disgusted. He didn’t imagine Linnet could ever forgive him—hell, he would never forgive himself—but perhaps if he threw himself at her feet and begged…

  He lost count of how many times he fired Bar and Ingham over the next fortnight, as he fought off the craving for drink. The early days were the hardest, especially since he refused to take laudanum to dull his senses. As he paced the grounds on sleepless night after sleepless night, he told himself that this was but a small part of his penance. He would pay any price to have his wife and children—Diana, Alex, and the tiny one he’d yet to meet—back home with him.

  At last, the day came, and Thomas arrived at Lansdowne House prepared to reclaim his family. He elbowed aside Snellings, who looked as sour and scrawny as ever, and stood in the marble entrance hall bellowing Linnet’s name. The duchess arrived first.

  “Go home to your horses, Thomas,” she commanded. “You have no business here.”

  “My wife and children are here. I will not leave without them.”

  “They do not wish to go with you.” The duchess’s voice was like ice.

  “Bring them here and ask them,” he challenged her with more bravado than he actually felt. “This won’t be the first time Linnet has been forced to choose between us. Given the choice to stay here—”

  “Stay here?” The duchess’s barked laughter chilled his blood. “After she allowed to you ruin her? His Grace and I cast her out.”

  Thomas’s head spun as he tried to make some sense of the duchess’s words. “Linnet told you I ruined her?”

  “Oh, yes, she came to see us after it happened. Very contrite, she was, weeping and begging our forgiveness. She assured us the two of you meant to marry. I tried to persuade His Grace to send Linnet away for a time while we waited to see if any lasting misfortunes would result, but Lansdowne would not hear of it. You say you were Linnet’s choice; in truth, she had no choice once you ruined her.”

  “No,” he whispered, and then louder, “I didn’t ruin her.”

  “Come, there is no need to shout. The past is in the past. His Grace and I have forgiven Linnet.”

  “She lied! I swear to you she was untouched on our wedding night. Linnet!” he yelled again.

  She appeared at the landing at top of the stairs but made no move to come any closer. She was too thin and too pale, and she was still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

  “Why have you come, Thomas?” Her voice was exhausted, pained almost. She gripped the banister with one hand; the other rubbed at her lower back.

  “I came here for my family,” he told her. “I convinced myself you were telling the truth. I told myself there were no lies between us—” His voice cracked. “Why? Why would you tell your parents I ruined you?”

  She moved slowly down the stairs toward him, tears streaming down her face. “I was afraid they would come after us. If they believed me ruined, they wouldn’t have bothered. I chose you,” she yelled, then swayed and clutched
the banister as if the act of raising her voice had sapped her strength. “I chose you. I gave up everything to love you, be with you, bear your children, and—”

  “You never gave them up,” he spat out, striding to the base of the stairs. “You told them lies so they would give you up. When they came back into our lives after Alex was born, you welcomed them without a word of reproach. Whenever they send word, you run off for weeks at a time to dance attendance.”

  “I do it for the—”

  “Don’t tell me you do it for the children because they don’t give a damn about any of this. You are the one who misses this life.”

  “No!” she insisted.

  “Then come away with me right now.” He started up the stairs. “Prove to me once more that you love me as I love you. We’ll take the children, go home, and put them out of our lives forev—”

  “They are my parents,” she sobbed.

  “I am your husband!”

  Movement above Linnet caught his eye. A frantic maid reached for— Christ, Diana and Alex sat on the upper landing, their arms around each other. He only caught a glimpse of their terrified faces before the woman began hurrying them away. He had to get to his children and ease the fear in their eyes.

  “Not any—” An anguished cry broke from her lips as she doubled over, clutching her abdomen.

  “Linnet!” He lunged for her, catching her just as she collapsed. Thomas cradled her against him as she moaned and writhed in pain, and then her body went limp. He looked around helplessly, his eye catching on the duchess. She stood utterly still and as white as the marble statues decorating the entrance hall.

  “Do something!” he demanded.

  With a tiny shake, the duchess moved into action. “You, fetch the doctor. You, bring linens to Lady Linnet’s room.” She doled out orders to the group of servants who had gathered at Linnet’s scream. Then, imperious as ever, she marched up the stairs and gestured to him. “You, follow me.”

  Thomas shifted his wife into his arms and followed the duchess up another flight of stairs to a bedchamber, which he supposed belonged to Linnet. The counterpane lay on the floor beside the bed where maids spread clean white linens over the mattress.

  “Lay her on the bed,” the duchess instructed.

  Thomas hesitated, not wanting to let his wife out of his arms. He had the terrifying notion that if he let her go, he would never get her back. Linnet twisted in his arms as a spasm wracked her frail body. A rush of wetness soaked through his coat on the arm that hooked under her legs.

  Thomas’s heart turned over in his chest. “She’s losing the babe, isn’t she?” He looked to the duchess for confirmation.

  “I believe so.” Her voice was eerily flat, emotionless.

  Thomas gently eased his wife onto the bed. Her face had little more color than the snowy sheets upon which she lay. He knelt beside the bed and clutched her hand, but it was cold and limp in his grasp.

  Two maids removed her shoes and stockings. Another untied the wide ribbon sash at her waist.

  “You can go now, Mr. Merriwether,” the duchess informed him.

  Thomas shook his head, never taking his eyes from Linnet. “If you try to make me leave, you’ll live to regret it.” He released Linnet’s hand only long enough for the maids to draw her arm through the sleeve of a clean shift.

  “I feared this would happen,” the duchess continued as she smoothed a sheet over her daughter. “She has not been taking proper care of herself.”

  Linnet whimpered as her body arched in pain. The hand that had lain lifeless in his suddenly gripped him with inhuman strength. Her eyes opened and focused on his face.

  “Thomas?”

  “I’m here, my love.”

  Her gaze moved beyond him, taking in the worried faces clustered around her bedside. “Am I dying?” she whispered.

  “No!” He squeezed her hand. “Listen to me, Linnet. You’re not going to die.”

  Another contraction wracked her body, leaving her sweaty and weak. The duchess dabbed at her brow with a wet cloth. One of the maids gasped. Thomas followed her line of vision and saw with horror the crimson patch that had blossomed on the sheet between her thighs.

  Ages passed before the doctor and his nurse arrived. An elderly gentleman, he quickly took in the situation and ordered everyone from the room.

  “She’s my wife,” Thomas protested as the nurse urged him away from the bed. “I can’t leave her.”

  “If you stay, you will only be in the way,” the nurse explained patiently. “Come along, sir. The doctor and I will see to Lady Linnet.” She gave him a comforting pat on his shoulder as she pushed him out the door. “The doctor is very capable, but I will come for you if the situation worsens.”

  Numb with shock, Thomas allowed a footman to lead him to a small parlor. Small by ducal standards, that was. The sunny yellow room was larger than any room at Swallowsdale Grange. Unable to stand the sight of the cheery walls, he buried his face in his hands. He made bargains with God, the Devil, and every saint whose name he could remember along with some he couldn’t. He prayed, cursed, and wept.

  He knew his children were somewhere in the house, likely scared and confused, but he could not go to them. When he’d asked to see them, the footman brought a response from the duchess that she had calmed the children and, after what they had witnessed, his presence would only upset them. The old bitch might be lying, but another argument under this roof would help no one.

  The light in the room faded away as night fell. A maid came in to light the candles and tend the fire. He began to wonder if the duchess had forgotten him. The other alternative, that no one wanted to face him with bad news, he refused to consider. When the candles had burned halfway down, he stood, ready to demand answers, but before he had taken a step, the duchess entered the room carrying a small wrapped bundle in her arms.

  “Linnet?” he croaked.

  “She is alive but weak. She lost a great deal of blood, but the doctor is hopeful for a full recovery.”

  He wet his lips. “The child?”

  She shook her head, then walked purposefully toward him. Thomas wanted to close his eyes as the duchess drew back the top layer of cloth, but he forced himself to see the babe.

  “Your daughter,” the duchess said tonelessly.

  She was impossibly tiny and beautiful, like a sleeping angel. In the candlelight, the barely formed crescents of her eyelashes and eyebrows glinted copper. There was no mistaking that she was his daughter.

  Thomas wasn’t a man of science. He did not know what held his heart together or caused it to beat, but he knew they failed at the sight of his baby girl, pale and lifeless. A sob tore from his throat, a howl of pain so intense he could not contain it. He reached out, but the duchess stepped back, drawing the cloth back into place.

  “Listen well, Mr. Merriwether. Years ago, you stole my daughter’s rightful place in society. Months ago, you broke her heart. She had finally found some measure of peace before your arrival. Are you so determined to ruin her life?” She sneered in contempt. “You should have stayed away. Today you took this innocent child’s life and very nearly Linnet’s as well. If you truly love her, you will leave now and keep your distance.”

  He’d fled, but he hadn’t been able to hide from her accusations. He’d had a glimpse of that small, perfect face, and the sight was forever impressed on his mind. He saw her when he closed his eyes at night, relived that accursed day countless times, and he could never escape the crushing grief and guilt that came with the memories.

  He’d done as the duchess had asked. He’d kept his distance. He’d kept his distance for sixteen long years. Linnet had been the one to break the years of silence between them.

  Thomas sighed as he refolded his wife’s letter and placed it back in his pocket. He would do as she asked, and not only for her sake. He had failed to protect one of his daughters. He’d protected Diana as best he knew how, by leaving her with her mother and putting as much distance a
s possible between them.

  “Mr. Merriwether, the gentleman you asked about is here.”

  Thomas looked up to see Old Tatt’s son, Edmund, who had taken over his father’s business after his sire’s death a few years ago. Edmund led him outside to the stalls.

  “There he is.” Edmund pointed a finger. “The tall, fair one, looking at Derby’s colt. Usually turned out a bit neater, I must say. Do you want an introduction?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll let you be about your business.”

  He made his way over to the young man. Weston’s attention was on the horse, which gave Thomas time to observe him. He saw nothing to allay his wife’s fears. The scamp’s hair was in rakish disarray, but not from a valet’s careful styling. He was still in his evening dress, rumpled and much the worse for wear, indicating that he’d come to Tattersall’s straight from the previous night’s dissipations. Henry Weston appeared capable of every vice known to man and then some.

  Thomas sidled up beside him. “Beautiful colt,” he noted appreciatively. “Sir Peter’s get, unless I’m much mistaken. If I were Derby, I wouldn’t let him go.”

  Weston turned to see who had addressed him.

  Thomas held out his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. Thomas—”

  “Merriwether,” Weston finished, clasping Thomas’s hand in a brief, crushing grip. “I know who you are. I daresay everyone here knows you. I saw your Penelope win the Oaks last year.”

  “Ah, Penny, my faithful girl. I hope you had the good sense to bet on her.”

  “Oh, I did.” He grinned. “And a pretty sum I made off her, too.”

  While gambling wasn’t a quality he sought in a son-in-law, Thomas found it difficult to judge the man too harshly when he’d wagered on his prize filly. “Word is, you’re starting your own stud,” he said casually.

  “I make no secret of it.”

  “I also hear you’re courting my daughter.”

  Weston shrugged. “I make no secret of that either. All of London knows.” The hand he ran through his hand looked a bit unsteady.