It was possible, Diana thought. Her father did have a younger brother who’d joined the army. They’d sent him to fight in the American Revolution and, as far as she knew, that was the last anyone had heard of him. It was possible he’d survived and come back to England, but as she regarded the girl whose tall, coltish body and wild red curls were so like her own she very much doubted it.
The girl braced her hands on her hips in a defiant stance. “Who are you?” she challenged.
“Claire—” Diana’s father began.
“I’m his daughter,” Diana shot back, then her voice softened as she added, “and unless I’m very much mistaken, your sister.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I thought you would wish to know as soon as possible—your wife found the letter in your desk from Merriwether. She says she is going to Suffolk and, unless I wish to deal with a hysterical woman, I will not stop her. I knew I would deal with difficult fillies when I took this job, but I thought they would all be horses! I will take her myself and keep her safe, of course, but this reminds me why I never married…
—FROM GEORGE KINGSLEY TO HIS EMPLOYER HENRY WESTON
WHEN THE BUTLER INFORMED LINNET that her son-in-law was waiting in the Small Library, she didn’t imagine he’d come to pay a social call. A knot of worry began to build in the pit of her stomach as she hurried downstairs. Henry rose as she entered the room. With growing concern, she noted the dark circles beneath his eyes and the weary, wretched air about him.
“Is she refusing to see me?” he asked bluntly.
“I beg your pardon. Did you wish to see my mother? She is—”
“Not the duchess,” he cut her off. “Diana.”
Linnet shook her head. “Diana isn’t here. I haven’t seen her since your wedding day.”
He raked a hand through his blond hair, already windswept and disheveled from hours spent in the saddle. “I was in London on business when I received a message from Ravensfield that Diana had left for Suffolk. I thought she must have come to you. We… we fought before I left.”
“Please, won’t you sit down? You look like you’ve been riding all night.”
“Since dawn,” he mumbled as he sank down wearily into a chair, but he was on his feet again before she had seated herself. “My God,” he exclaimed. “If she’s not here, then she’s with him.”
“Who?” A thought crossed Linnet’s mind, a face flashed across her memory, but she dismissed the outlandish notion. There was no reason to think Diana was with…
“Her father.”
“But why would she go to him?”
Henry met her eyes, and the grief and regret Linnet saw staggered her. “Your husband sought me out before Diana and I wed. He offered me his champion horse if I would bring Diana to see him after we were married. I refused, but he went ahead and sent her. The mare is breeding so there was no way for me to send her back safely.
“After my business in London was finished, I meant to go to Swallowsdale and purchase the mare. I didn’t want your husband to think he had any hold over either of us. While I was gone, Diana discovered that her father sent the mare, and I’m afraid she believes that’s why I married her.” His expression was bleak. “I told her to trust me. I told her to trust me, but I didn’t have enough faith in her to tell her about this. Now she’s hurt and alone, and I’ve sent her running to him. I’ve got to get to her and explain.”
“You’re going after her?”
He nodded. “I’ll need a fresh horse.”
“I’m going with you.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying, but somehow she knew this was right. “I expect we’ll be there overnight. It’s more than thirty miles from here to Swallowsdale. Will you order the carriage readied while I pack?”
“Lady Linnet—” he began to protest.
“Please, Diana may need me.”
He acquiesced at that, but she could tell he wasn’t happy. He slept for most of the journey, waking when they changed horses to make certain he hired the fastest teams available. Upon reaching Bury St. Edmunds, their final stop before Swallowsdale, he took her hand. “I’ll get to her faster if I ride. Will you be all right with only the coachman?”
“Go,” she told him. “I will be fine.”
He was out of the carriage before she finished speaking. Nearly two hours later, when her old home came into sight, Linnet realized she’d spoken too soon. She fought the urge to pound on the roof of the carriage and demand the coachman turn around. She was alone. Flight was possible, even practical. There was no good reason for her to have come.
Despite what she’d told Henry, she wasn’t worried that Diana needed her. Her daughter had a husband who loved her, and they would sort through their problems together. Linnet wouldn’t let Diana run away and repeat her mistakes.
That was why she had come, she admitted to herself. She was tired of living with regrets. No, she wasn’t living; she simply existed. With both of her children grown and on their own, she needed to learn if there was any living left for her.
She caught her reflection in the glass and straightened her bonnet. She pinched her cheeks, disliking the pale, tired face that stared back at her. She could do nothing about the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes or the strands of silver threaded through her dark hair. She knew, of course, that Thomas had aged as well, but she doubted the added years would diminish his looks. The realization that she would soon find out made it difficult for her to breathe, and she needed all her courage to knock on the door.
“Mrs. Merriwether.” The butler’s eyes widened at the sight of her.
“Good day, Ingham.” She stepped past him into the entry hall. Nothing had changed, but everything was faded and slightly shabby in a way that would only bother the mistress of the house. Relief swept through her at the thought. Thomas could not have remarried, of course, but she’d wondered so many times if there might be a woman in his life.
She untied her bonnet and pulled off her gloves, then handed them to the butler with an uncertain smile. She didn’t know what her reception would be in her old home. “It has been a long time.”
He bowed. “Too long, madam.” As he straightened, he met her eyes. His gaze was warm, but she sensed his discomfort. She supposed there was no clear etiquette for dealing with a visitor in her own home.
“We are all the rage today, Ingham. Claire tells me my son-in-law has come to retrieve his wife. Who is here now?” called a voice she hadn’t heard in sixteen long years, except in her dreams. “One moment, I’ll come see for myself.”
Linnet tried to brace herself for the sight of her husband, willing her heart to stop its frantic gallop. She failed miserably.
“Linnet,” Thomas croaked. “What are you doing here?” He looked as though he’d seen a ghost.
Her voice only wobbled a bit as she said, “I came to make certain Diana was all right.”
It wasn’t a complete lie, but she couldn’t tell him the truth: that she’d seized the excuse to return to Swallowsdale one last time. She’d thought if she could just see Thomas again, she wouldn’t live so much in her memories; perhaps in the one place she’d known true happiness she could find the measure of peace she needed to face all the long, lonely years ahead.
The second she saw him, though, she knew she’d erred. He looked older, leaner than she remembered, but her heart still leapt, and every cell in her body strained toward him. It had always been that way between them. She guessed it always would. Her love for him wasn’t something she could control. Short of cutting out her heart, she was stuck with the feeling.
“Will you not welcome me?” she asked softly, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear herself.
“You are always welcome here.” He glanced behind him into the library. Linnet followed his gaze. Diana stood in the doorway— No, that wasn’t Diana, but the girl was very like Diana at that age, and Diana was very like her father. Thomas had another child. Another woman. Oh, God, she c
ouldn’t bear it.
“Please, excuse me,” she gasped. She was going to be ill. She stumbled forward, heading for the door to the small parlor that lay behind the more formal dining room. She hurried inside and locked the door. Oh, thank heaven the pot cupboard was still in the same place. She pulled out the chamber pot, blessedly empty, and retched.
There was a knock at the door. Thomas called her name.
“Go away,” she managed, before she was sick again. She sank to her knees, heaving over the porcelain dish.
He rattled the door handle, and she was grateful she’d had the presence of mind to lock the door.
“Let me in, Linnet. I must speak with you.”
What did he think he could say? She had nursed a broken heart, while he’d moved on with his life. He’d found another woman, conceived a child with her. She wiped the back of her hand against her clammy forehead, bitterly regretting the impulse that had brought her here. Before, at least, she’d been able to imagine that he had missed her, too.
Her head jerked up as the door at the other side of the room began to open. The door led to Thomas’s office, but the only way to that room was through this one. He’d often complained that it was impossible for him to get work done knowing she was so nearby. He’d made excuses to go in and out of the room, especially after she’d claimed the price of the toll was a kiss. The door to the office opened and he stood in the doorway, her memory come to life.
“I had a door built between my office and the drawing room,” he told her. “Cutting through a wall was easier than passing through here every day.” A sad smile tugged at his lips, then vanished when he took in her position, the pot clutched in her hands. He paled and started toward her.
Linnet scrambled to her feet and hurriedly replaced the pot in the cabinet, but it was too late. He had seen just how much he’d upset her. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. She held out her hand to take it from him, but he ignored her. He wiped her brow, gently cupping her jaw with his free hand. Linnet trembled at his touch. It felt so right, even after all this time. She began to relax into him, and then she remembered and wrenched herself away from him.
His face tightened. “Wait here. I’ll return in a minute.”
“That’s not necessary. As soon as Diana has collected her things, we’ll be on our way.”
“We need to talk,” he insisted. “You must allow me—”
“There is nothing to talk about,” she snapped.
His voice was gentle as he asked, “Why did you come, Linny?”
She closed her eyes, fighting tears at hearing his pet name for her. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she whispered. There was no response, and when she opened her eyes, she saw she was alone in the room. She unlocked the door to the hall, as there was clearly little point in leaving it locked, and then sat on the needlepoint-covered bench beneath the window. She’d worked the piece herself in the first year of her marriage. Everywhere she looked, memories assaulted her. What had possessed her to come back to this place?
Thomas reentered the room, an apple in his hand. Without saying a word, he took a penknife from the escritoire, deftly sliced the fruit, and then walked over to hand her a piece. She thanked him and ate it, glad to remove the bitter taste of being sick. He’d done this for her every morning when she’d been sick in the early months of being pregnant with Diana and Alex. She hadn’t suffered from morning sickness during her last pregnancy. That should have been her first sign that all was not as it should be.
Her heart ached fiercely as it always did when she thought of the child she’d lost. The doctor had warned her that the baby was small, that the heartbeat was too fast. Strain on the mother’s body, he’d claimed, would weaken the child within her. She must keep her appetite up and not let herself get overexcited. She’d tried. She’d tried so hard, but she’d failed, and that failure had cost Linnet both her child and her husband. Her stomach churned, and she shook her head when Thomas offered her another apple slice. Had he done this for Claire’s mother, she wondered?
“How old is she?” The question slipped out of her mouth before she knew she was going to ask it.
He sighed, setting the apple and knife aside. “Claire is fifteen. After what happened at The Hall—” He rose and began to pace around the small room. “I went a little mad, I think. I drank to try to dull the pain. When that didn’t work, I drank more. I wasn’t drunk, Linnet. I was a drunkard. It was so bad that Bar took the key to the wine cellar from Ingham. I don’t know how I managed to ride to Newmarket without breaking my neck. Maybe it would have been better for everyone if I had. I went to the public house. There was a woman who worked there, a widow whose husband had been a trainer. Marjorie Crofter. She always smiled at me whenever I came in for a meal.” He swallowed before continuing in a broken voice. “I have no idea what I said to her. I know I kissed her, and I…” He took a deep breath. “I asked her to come upstairs with me—”
“Stop,” she begged.
“I didn’t want her, Linnet. I wanted to forget you, to stop hurting just for a little while. God help me, I don’t remember what happened next. I was alone when I woke up. I thought—I prayed—I had been unable and nothing had occurred.
“I was disgusted by myself, and even more horrified by what you must think of me if you learned what I had done, what I had become. I left what money I had on me in the room, came home, and vowed not to let another drop of alcohol pass my lips. And I haven’t, Linnet, I swear it to you.”
Linnet sat stiffly as he paced the small room, his expression tortured. She saw, in the lines on his face that had not been there before, how he must have struggled. Although he had hurt her, although he had rejected her, thrown away their marriage, she still ached to think of the pain he must have endured—alone. She had turned to her family, taken solace in Diana and Alex. He’d had no one. He had been slow to trust her, slow to trust his feelings for her, having been alone for so long.
“Marjorie left Newmarket a few months later. I avoided the place she worked, so I didn’t know until much later. I hadn’t heard from her for close to two years when I had a letter asking me to meet her in London. I knew—” He raked a hand through his hair, setting it on end. “Well, you saw her. There was no denying she was mine. I looked into that little face and knew I had a second chance. I offered to raise Claire, but Marjorie only wanted some money to leave London.
“With my help, she set up in Swaffham as my brother’s widow. I visited when I could, but when Claire was seven, Marjorie died of a wasting fever. I brought Claire here until I found a good girls’ school in Bury St. Edmunds where she could board. Everyone there—and most people here—believe she’s my niece.
“Claire knows the truth, and Bar must as well—my brother has been gone more than thirty years now—but they both understand the need for the pretense. She stays with a woman in Bury St. Edmunds and only visits here a few times each year. I never want to cause you hurt again, but I can’t regret her, Linny. She kept me sane, gave me something to live for. After what had happened at The Hall, I knew I had lost you—”
“You left me,” she corrected him in a shaky voice. “You left me, Thomas. I asked for you when I woke up and was told you were gone.”
“How could I stay?” he asked harshly, coming to stand before her. “How could I stay after—” His voice broke.
“I needed you,” she shouted, unable to control her anger. All the hurts of so many years had risen to the surface, and she couldn’t contain them any longer. She got to her feet, her entire body trembling with the emotion struggling to break free. “You were there. You knew what was happening, and you walked away. She was your daughter, too.” The tears spilled down her cheeks but she made no move to wipe them away. “Whatever you choose to believe, I swear by all that is holy, she was your—”
“Yes, she was my daughter,” he roared, a sound of such awful pain that Linnet flinched. “She was my daughter,” he repeated, this time in a choked whisper, “and I kille
d her. I killed her, and I nearly killed you as well. Oh, God, Linnet!” he cried, sinking to his knees. He pressed his face into her skirts and wrapped his arms around her as great sobs began to shake his big body.
For several moments, she was too stunned to move. She’d always believed so strongly that she was responsible for losing their baby. It had never occurred to her that Thomas might hold himself accountable. She couldn’t deny his anguish, though, or her need to soothe him.
“What happened was not your fault,” she said softly, stroking his hair as her own tears rained down on him. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She wept for the child they had lost. For shoulders that should have been cried on, but had stood apart, burdened with blame. For all the time she had endured without a single word from him. For the years she had needed him but had been too proud, too scared to try.
“Hush, now.” She leaned over to run her hands over his back, trying to calm him. “Don’t blame yourself. She wasn’t—” She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to remember the words she had used for Diana and Alex. “She wasn’t meant to be ours. I know it goes against what we’re taught, but I have to believe that her soul was born into another child, that someone needed her more.”
“If I hadn’t come— If I hadn’t upset you— Your mother was right to tell me to leave…”
She could barely make out the muffled words, but she understood his pain, and he was ripping her heart apart. “She was too small. I… I didn’t…” She faltered, not wanting to speak the words she knew would make him push her away. “I didn’t take care of myself as I should. I was too miserable, too weak, and I failed her.”
He raised his head at her words, his expression stricken. “No, Linnet!”
“I did. I failed her. I failed you. I failed Diana and Alex.”
He rose and enfolded her in his arms where she’d dreamed of being for so many long, lonely years. And now she was finally there, only to have learned that another woman had borne him a child when she had not been able. Had this other woman loved him?
Sara Lindsey - [Weston 03] Page 29
