Sitting in this room next to his son, the rain coming down outside, Emily realized she’d forgiven him for his egregious transgression of marrying another while betrothed to her, even though she hadn’t told him. The weight of carrying a grudge burdened the aggrieved, and she felt remarkably light-spirited at the moment. George was safe. Hopefully, her reputation was intact, although it might not be after last night, depending on what servants might have seen or heard. She and Cardmore were in charity again. Not enough for her to give herself to him again. She was not a complete fool. But enough to solve this heinous mystery that put a child in peril.
She sighed and opened her book. A maid came in and refreshed the fire, then tiptoed over to peer at the sleeping child. The cat must have come in the open door because it jumped on the bed and settled at George’s side.
Emily reached over and stroked its soft fur.
“You, madam, are a hero. Do you know that? If we’d thought to look for you, we might have found George sooner.” If only cats could communicate. She must know who did this to the boy. The cat had no doubt seen the kidnapping because it spent all of its time in the nursery.
The light faded, but the rain was now a light drizzle. Emily rubbed her eyes and stood as Matilda entered. “Dinner is served, milady. I’m here to sit with the boy.”
“Thank you. I find I’m quite famished.” She paused. “Remember to lock the door.”
The woman nodded.
Emily made her way down the stairs. Andrew waited for her in the formal drawing room. He offered his arm, and they went in to dine.
“We’ll be able to put George back in the nursery. I’m going to seal off the door to the old servants’ stair. If some future owner wishes to unseal it, he can. But during my lifetime, it will remain unusable.”
She dipped her spoon into the savory broth. “When will you have the work done?”
“Tomorrow if the rain ends as I believe it will. In the meantime, he can sleep in my quarters as I promised.” He finished eating and gazed at her as they waited for the next course.
Emily was almost too hungry to talk, but there were questions she wanted answered. “Did you come to any conclusions about the staff?”
He waited to answer as the fish course was set in front of them. When the footman departed, he toyed with the food, moving his fork in swirling motions on the plate. “I discussed each person with Drake. He’s known most of them all their lives because he was born and raised in the village. Mrs. Townsend and Mrs. Evans have spotless reputations. Same with cook, who was here even during my father’s time. The footmen and the grooms are young, but nothing in their past makes them suspicious. We looked at all of them and found no person wanting.”
“What about Lester?”
“I hired him in London. He’s never set foot in the country.”
“Then it’s someone who holds a grudge from the past. Perhaps someone you slighted or inadvertently damaged in some way.”
“But only people from the village who have worked here know the layout of the house.”
“And over the years there have been many.”
He sighed. “Too many.”
Emily finished her fish and the vegetables served with it. The footman removed the plate, placing roast lamb in front of her. The sauce nearly made her swoon. Careful not to drink too much, she declined a refill of her wine. “What about the army? Did you offend anyone enough to want revenge?”
He set down his glass with a mirthless laugh. “If you knew anything about war, you wouldn’t ask such a question. Many died. But they were aware of the perils, as were their families. I didn’t knowingly put anyone in jeopardy greater than my own.” He looked away and frowned, as if some hidden pain momentarily assailed him.
“What about the duel you had years ago? Did you duel any others?”
“’Twas a farce. I deloped. Wentworth emigrated to America soon after.” He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “And I did not make fighting duels a habit. That was the only one.”
Then maybe it was a disgruntled husband. But she was too timid to ask such a personal question and certainly not with the footman hovering to remove their plates and serve the dessert. Andrew was a man with passionate tastes. He’d boasted of his early conquests as a lad, trying to make her blush, but always leaving out details.
I wonder if he has a mistress tucked away somewhere.
They finished dessert and took tea in the drawing room. Emily poured and handed Andrew a cup. “I’ll be going home tomorrow. My aunt will expect me. If the roads are too muddy for a carriage, I’ll borrow one of your horses. I assume there is a sidesaddle in the stable.”
He looked like a man who’d been given a death warrant. “Of course you must return. But I’ll miss you.”
She wanted to tell him she’d miss him, too. She decided to keep silent. Still, her last question needed an answer. She swallowed her pride and faced him. “There is one further possibility, Andrew. I did not want to voice it until we were alone. Could this be revenge from a cuckolded husband or an angry mistress you recently cast off?”
He slammed down his cup. “Absolutely not. I’m not a monk by any means, but I keep no mistress, and I’ve barely been back in England a month. If I wanted companionship, it would be discreet and strictly consensual. If this offends you, I apologize. But the question was improper.”
A willing woman, exactly like she’d been the previous night.
“Then we are out of leads.”
Chapter 24
Andrew let his gaze linger on the small form across the room. It seemed prudent to have the servants bring the cot from the nursery into his bedchamber. His bed, custom-made by some ancestor, was large enough to accommodate three persons and could certainly hold a man, a small boy, a cat, and a toy horse in comfort. But since the war, Andrew was a restless sleeper, occasionally having nightmares, and didn’t want to distress the boy further.
Lester was appalled. Children hadn’t slept in their parents’ rooms in the households he’d worked in. George, who was still terrified by his ordeal, needed to be in a place he felt safe. Until Andrew could determine who had tried to kidnap him and to what end, the child needed constant supervision. Besides, he’d promised Emily he’d keep watch over the boy. Not a hard promise to keep.
George stirred and whimpered in his sleep. Andrew climbed down and slipped quietly next to the child’s cot. Reaching over, he stroked the boy’s fair hair, careful not to wake him. “You’re safe, lad. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
An odd protective feeling warmed the pit of his stomach. George was his son, perhaps not biologically, but in every other sense of the word. He would not fail him. Nor would he give Emily any further reason to worry.
Emily. Why must you leave?
It was improper for her to be here, and he was glad Mrs. Evans had agreed to move to this floor during Emily’s visit, even though her chamber was two doors away. If asked, Emily could at least claim to have been chaperoned. Odd she didn’t even seem to care. Surely she could still marry respectably, even if she didn’t want him.
Her body wanted me, and I believe her heart wanted me, too.
If only he could earn her trust. Maybe having the child in his room polished a bit of the tarnish off his past behavior.
He looked down at the boy, curled up with his thumb in his mouth. The cat snuggled at his feet, and the toy was next to his pillow. He looked angelic and had proven himself to be quite well-behaved. Too obedient to be normal. Did not little boys run and play and shout? He had at that age. Mama had been alive then, and the world had smiled nearly every day. He remembered picnics and stories and laughter. Even Father had been kinder. When Mama died, she took the sun with her, and after Father’s mourning period ended, he’d turned to religion, having decided if he’d lived a life of piety, G
od might have let his wife live.
Andrew gritted his teeth. It was then Father decided to make sure his only son, who got into mischief and ran amok at times, had the demons beaten out of him. Escape finally came when he was sent away to school. Eton, a torment for some, became his salvation.
George, his responsibility and, in the eyes of the law, his heir, would not be raised in such a manner.
He reached over and snuffed out the candle. Emily was leaving in the morning. The muddy roads would soon dry, but he’d agreed to lend her a horse. She could return it on another day.
He closed his eyes and thought back to last night, when he’d made her his—not completely—but in all the best ways. He’d given her pleasure, and because she’d been responsive, he’d pleased himself as well. He’d wanted to come to her again tonight, but when he’d broached the subject again after dinner, Emily had declined. Firmly. Wine and fatigue had trampled her defenses, she’d said, allowing her to satisfy a long-held curiosity. She’d wanted to experience certain activities with a man, and now she had, or at least in part. Besides, he couldn’t leave George alone. Not for one second.
Her back straight as a post, she’d primly delivered this speech after dinner while he’d tried not to let his lips twitch in a smile. He suspected he only had to touch her, move in slowly, holding her gaze with his own, and she might weaken. But he honored her decision, allowing himself only a brief kiss on her upturned wrist. She’d snatched her hand back with a gasp, excused herself, and run up the stairs.
His groin tightened whenever he remembered the night spent in her bed. If it was the same for her, they were in deep trouble. He could still feel her softness on his tongue and hear the whimpers she’d made as it stroked her into release. Damn. He was getting hard thinking about it.
He put on his dressing gown and wandered into his sitting room. The fire had not yet died in the grate, and the room was warm. He sat in his chair, poured himself a brandy from the bottle he kept within reach, and stretched out his bare feet toward the fire. How was he to get her back?
Even if he could convince her he’d changed, people would be unkind if they wed. They’d call her a half-wit for taking back a man who had cruelly abused her trust and carried on with another woman even after their betrothal had been announced. Her family hated him—well perhaps not her aunt—but her mama and papa and her siblings. If they found out she’d remained here during the storm, they’d have apoplexy.
He finished his brandy and must have dozed in the chair. He awoke with a pounding headache and pain in his shoulder. The fire had gone out, and the candle had burned down. He needed to find his laudanum bottle. Groping in the dark room, he touched the spoon but knocked over the bottle, which fell on the floor. Crawling on the carpet, he slapped his hand along the floor until he found the bottle. Swallowing his panic, he turned over to sit down, jerked out the stopper, and swallowed the contents straight from the bottle. Sighing, he leaned back against the table leg, his breathing heavy.
How is it I have come to this? Will I seek an opium den next when laudanum no longer takes away the pain? His medicine was only ten percent opium, but in the quantities he was using, he could soon be classified as addicted.
He lay on the floor, curled in a position similar to the one the boy was in. A sharp thud in the next room alerted him, but not enough for him to rise. In a few minutes, the cat brushed against his curled body. He reached out to stroke it.
“Looking to go downstairs to find a mouse, are you?”
The cat purred, licked his hand, and departed through the partially opened door.
Everyone left him. His mother when he was six, his siblings the minute they had an alternative, men on the battlefield whose screams still shattered his sleep. And Emily, his best friend, his only love.
Em didn’t leave you. Your inattention, your fondness for spirits, and your cowardice when it came to standing up to your father caused the breach.
If he didn’t get up and take himself off to bed, he’d be a blubbering mass of sorry-arsed contrition by morning, and some housemaid would find him here on the floor. Because he’d taken too much medicine on top of his brandy, his eyelids drooped and his body felt like mush. With sheer will, he forced himself to get up and stumble into the next room. He sprawled on top of the covers and let oblivion wash over him.
His last coherent thoughts were of the woman across the hall and the boy sleeping peacefully nearby.
~ ~ ~
Emily opened her eyes to bright sunlight. The trees outside her window dripped moisture, but the drops sparkled like crystal as they fell from the leaves to the ground. She rang for Matilda, who’d been assigned to see to her needs, and completed her morning ablutions. She hadn’t brought a riding habit with her, but the gown her aunt had sent was practical and would allow her to mount a horse with modesty intact.
She wanted to look in on George before she left, but it wouldn’t be appropriate for her to rush across the hall and open the door.
“Do you know if the lad was taken back to the nursery?”
The young maid shook her head. “I don’t, milady. When I was belowstairs getting your chocolate, I saw a tray being prepared which looked like it might be for the child.”
“Then I’ll go to the breakfast room and see if Cardmore can tell me.”
She finished her ablutions and hurried down the stairs. The small dining room used for breakfast had a complete layout of food, but no Cardmore.
She filled her plate from the sideboard and sat down while the footman brought her hot tea. “Has Lord Cardmore been down yet?”
“No, milady.”
“Can you find out if Master George has returned to the nursery?”
He left the room, and she stared at her plate. She hadn’t slept well, and now she found she wasn’t hungry. How many times during the night had she tossed and turned, remembering the pleasures of the night before? Too often. Despite her prim speech after dinner, she longed for Andrew. At one point she almost got up to see if there was a light under his door, then remembered the child was with him.
One night of secret pleasure, and I am lost to decency.
Instead she’d brought the candle closer and picked up her book, determined to read until she fell asleep. She’d finally blown out the light and closed her eyes. Morning would come all too soon, and she would have to go home, leaving Andrew to solve the mystery of the kidnapping. If only she could take the child with her. But he was right. George would be safer in his own home than with two women.
She sipped her tea and set aside her musings of the night before as the footman returned. “The child is with his lordship and will be down shortly. Both wish to say goodbye before you depart.”
“Thank you.”
Her valise was in the hall when she left the breakfast room, having finished her tea and nibbled half her toast. Cardmore, carrying George, descended as Matilda fetched Emily’s outerwear.
“A sure-footed horse has been brought to the front of the Hall. A groom will ride with you. I’m told the roads are still unsafe.”
“Thank you, Cardmore.” She smiled at the child. “You seem much better this morning, but don’t overdo. Papa will take care of you now, and I shall return when I can for a visit.” She kissed his cheek. “Be a good boy and mind Mrs. Townsend.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Not today. But another time.”
She ruffled his hair and looked longingly at Andrew. Much had transpired between them. But they couldn’t go back. Not yet.
“Take care of yourself and send word when you discover who perpetrated this monstrous deed.”
“I shall.”
Andrew and the child came out to the front of the house, remaining on the steps as Emily mounted the horse. She waved at them as she left, forcing herself not to look back.
<
br /> She had a difficult ride ahead and must concentrate. And she must prepare what she would tell Aunt Lily when she arrived. The woman had a penetrating stare that could almost read a mind. At times Emily thought her aunt had second sight. While she was the least judgmental member of the family, Emily was still her charge.
St. Nicholas Day was coming, and it would bring Mama and Papa to Langston Grange for the holidays. Then she would have to be on her best behavior. If she was to visit George, she would have to sneak away like a thief in the night. The thought gave her pause.
No. I’m a grown woman, and ’tis long past time for me to make my own decisions.
With Mama, she would be polite but firm. Stand her ground. For too long she’d allowed herself to submit to her parents’ wishes when she longed to be her own person. Mama thought of her as her little girl when she was now a woman, a spinster, forever on the shelf.
She sighed as the horse slowly trotted through the mud.
Brave words. Hopefully, she would not lose her resolve.
Chapter 25
The weather held during the short ride home, but the cold bit through her woolen cloak, chilling her to the bone.
She found Aunt Lily in the drawing room.
“Emily? However did you get here? The roads are still clogged with mud. I didn’t expect you home today.”
“I borrowed a horse and used Bronwyn’s old sidesaddle.” She took off her bonnet. “The roads were muddy, but the horse plodded through it. I sent the groom to the kitchen for a hot cup of tea before he returns to Cardmore Hall.”
Aunt Lily took her heavy cloak. “At least the rain has stopped.” She peered in her face. “Are you all right? Your note worried me. I hate sounding like your mother, but did you have a care for your reputation? Who knew you were there?”
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