Summer's Distant Heart (Seasons Book 3)

by Laura Landon

Lia watched as Hunter moved to the doorway and took the babe from his nurse’s arms. He turned toward the room to a chorus of startled gasps.

  “Allow me to introduce George Hunter Montclaire, Earl of Atherton.”

  “No!” Trentridge cried out and staggered backward.

  “Look into his face, Father, and tell me you don’t recognize his features. His likeness to Evan is uncanny, is it not? His likeness to yourself is equally unmistakable.”

  “No!” his father uttered, shaking his head as if to deny any family resemblance.

  Hunter turned with little George and faced the group of people in the drawing room. The babe was awake now, but focused on the people in the room as if they were there for his amusement. He was quite content, until he saw Lia. Then his little face scrunched and he held out his arms to be held by her.

  Hunter stepped to her and handed the babe over, then he turned to face his father once again.

  “I am sure you’re wondering why I’ve chosen this occasion to introduce you to my nephew, the true Earl of Atherton.” He drew a long breath as if it might be laced with courage. “It’s because my father has left me no choice but to do it in this manner. As you’ve seen and heard, he has no intention of accepting his heir. Nor does he have any intention of introducing him to Society when he comes of age. But I want those of you gathered here tonight to know of young George’s existence.”

  “How dare you,” Hunter’s father hissed. “What are you trying to do?”

  “I am attempting to thwart your plan to pretend to the world that my brother’s son does not exist. I am making sure that any more attempts on his life or my own will not be ignored.”

  The group of people in the room gave a collective gasp.

  And so did Trentridge. His face paled and he staggered back a step.

  “I would never…”

  “But you did.”

  “Never! How can you think that?” Trentridge sank into a chair, his legs clearly having given out on him.

  “It was the five men who kidnapped my nephew and abused his nursemaid who make me think that’s exactly what you intend to do. Make your grandson disappear.”

  A hush fell over the room, a deeply uncomfortable silence.

  “That’s absolutely diabolical, Trentridge. You sent men to take the child?” the Duke of Palmery asked.

  “No. Yes. It wasn’t like that,” Trentridge sputtered.

  “Wasn’t like what,” Hunter asked.

  “I didn’t send men. I…maybe I gave the impression. Bloody hell. I didn’t know they’d actually do it.”

  The Duke of Palmery asserted himself at Hunter’s side. “You’d best explain.”

  The Marquess of Trentridge heaved a mammoth sigh and swept a hand across his brow. “I’d been drinking. With some of the tenants. I said…” He paused, the look on his face showing his sickening realization of what he’d done.

  “You said?” Hunter growled, not wanting to hear the explanation and at the same time desperate to know it.

  “One of the hands asked when they might meet my grandson. Of course I said there was no grandson. Still, he…he seemed so sure. The bloke’s own brother was married to a woman who swore she’d given midwifery services to birth the future Earl of Atherton. Over in Middlechurch. It was impossible, don’t you see? Evan had just died. I was…I was angry that he’d left me without…” He looked at Hunter. “Without a suitable heir.”

  Lia felt the room’s scrutiny as if it were she herself at whom every gaze was directed. But Hunter didn’t flinch.

  “And?” Hunter prodded.

  “I said as much. And I said it would be worth a hundred quid to me if that babe had never been born.” He dropped his chin. “That’s all I said.”

  “That was enough,” Hunter groaned. “Enough to send five men to make an innocent babe disappear.”

  Hunter stepped forward until he was just a pace from his father.

  “Hear me now, old man,” Hunter said, his tone communicating the full measure of condemnation he intended. “Your careless brutality with words flogged me my whole life and nearly got your grandson killed. I had no choice but to believe you meant it.” He moved a half step closer and enjoyed the way his father shrank away. “In future, should anything happen to either the babe or to me, I would beseech these good people present tonight to seek out the cause of our deaths.”

  “Surely you’re not insinuating that your father would intentionally harm you or his grandson?” the Duke of Natchess asked in disbelief.

  “I am only asking for your assistance should anything suspicious happen to either of us.”

  Lia watched the remaining color leave the Marquess of Trentridge’s face and his eyes widened in shame. Even so, he still managed to direct a goodly amount of scorn at his son. A lump formed in her chest and pressed painfully against her heart. No child should ever see that look from their parent.

  With a jerk of his shoulders, Trentridge seemed to rally. “By God, how do I know this is my grandchild?” he blustered. “For all I know it’s some brat you stole from an orphanage.”

  Such hateful words. Lia listened to Trentridge deny the existence of his own grandchild when it was obvious to anyone who knew the babe’s father that this was his son.

  “This is your grandchild, Trentridge,” the dowager Viscountess Collinson announced. “I was witness to his birth, and to his mother’s death. She lived only long enough to see her son for the briefest of moments and bestow his name. You can be immensely grateful that his mother’s sister, my niece here, has cared for him like her own.”

  Several of the women in the room dabbed at their eyes.

  “If this is my grandchild, then I will take him.”

  His words struck like a knife, and Lia felt her world crash around her. No, he couldn’t take the babe. That would be like signing his death warrant. She stepped close to Hunter and he put his arm around her to steady her.

  “No, Father. You will not take the child. I have in writing from both his father and his mother that he is not to be raised by you, but by us.”

  Spittle dripped from the corner of the old man’s mouth as he spat back. “Who? You? I’ve seen to it you don’t have a penny to your name. How the devil could you possibly raise a child worthy of carrying a title?”

  “Now hold on, Trentridge.” Sir Henry Panden stepped forward from the fireplace where he’d been observing and commanded the attention of the room. “Rainwood is one of the most profitable estates in my valley. Why, Montclaire here has built an enviable success, and in just a few years, I might add. To my way of thinking, the boy couldn’t do better.”

  Trentridge looked confused. “Rainwood? Never heard of it.”

  “You will now, Father, because Rainwood is my home.” He turned to Lia. “Our home. Miss Amelia Halloway and I intend to marry and raise Evan and Janice’s son as our own. You see, my experience growing up in your care is far from recommendable. As you have refused to acknowledge me as your son or treat me as any loving father would, I have no doubt that you would do the same to Evan’s son. I will not permit you to have any hold over the boy.”

  “How dare you,” Trentridge hissed. “This is not over. I intend to take whatever legal action is needed in order to gain control of the boy. You are not worthy of having him.”

  Lia watched as the Marquess of Trentridge realized the guests were staring at him with revulsion and disbelief on their faces.

  “Surely you know I’m correct,” he said to the room. “Surely one of you will assist me in my quest to gain custody of my grandson?”

  The Duke of Palmery stepped forward, his hands clasped thoughtfully behind his back. “I’m afraid your attempt—whether intended or not— to take the boy away from those both his mother and his father requested as guardians before they died will be met with disappointment, Trentridge. I believe I speak for everyone here when I say we will stand with your son should you attempt any further action, legal or otherwise.”

  Trentridge s
agged. “Damned traitors, the lot of you.”

  “That may be, in your estimation,” Palmery said standing up to Hunter’s father, “but we’re only doing what we think is in the boy’s best interest.”

  “You all feel this way?” Trentridge asked.

  “We do,” they answered in unison.

  Without another word, Hunter’s father staggered in disgrace from the room, flinging epithets every step of the way.

  No one spoke for a long moment until the Duke of Natchess turned to Hunter. “The truth is out now, Montclaire. The boy is no longer in danger.”

  He reached out a hand and Hunter shook it.

  “Thank you.”

  “And Montclaire? Miss Halloway?” Palmery laid a hand on Hunter’s shoulder as he shook his hand. “I’d be honored to take a seat at your wedding.”

  Lia blushed at the kind words of a man asking for an invitation to a wedding that Hunter had drawn from thin air. How she was going to deal with explanations that no such wedding was planned—though perhaps in a corner of her heart it had been pondered—was too much for her brain to consider at the moment.

  As if sensing her discomfort, Georgie squirmed in her arms and she made her excuses to leave the room.

  Hunter led her across the foyer to transfer the babe into Frannie’s arms.

  “It’s over,” he said, drawing Lia to him. “The Earl of Atherton is safe now.”

  Lia wound her arms around Hunter’s neck and stood on her tiptoes. His mouth came down over hers and he kissed her tenderly.

  How she loved him. It was impossible to think that she had ever thought any feelings she had for Hunter were wasted. It was impossible to believe that he could love her as much as she loved him. But he did. She knew it in the way he held her. In the way he kissed her. In the way he cherished her. It was a feeling she never thought she’d experience. An experience that had set her blood tingling.

  “What, pray tell, was that folderol about our getting married?” she asked with a coyly innocent grin.

  “Folderol? I meant every word! If you’ll have me, that is.”

  And then his face fell.

  “You will have me, won’t you?” The hint of a plea made his voice crack unexpectedly. He swept a hand across his forehead, pushing his thick dark hair from his brow. He grasped her hands. “It’s the only way, Lia, don’t you see? If you won’t have me I’ll wander the world half a man, I’ll—”

  Lia laughed with an unrestrained delight that welled up from a place within her which a moment ago had seemed impossibly distant. She thrust her hand up to cover his lips and rob him of speech.

  “Half a man, is it, Hunter Montclaire?”

  He gave her a sheepish smile. “Nearly half, I should say. Bordering on three-quarters on a good day, though.”

  He lowered his head to catch her lips in a tender kiss. Rightness flooded her veins, and a moment later she forced herself to pull away to catch her breath.

  “At half a man, my love, you are head and shoulders above any other. Now kiss me properly.”

  With her hands on his chest Lia allowed him to crush her. As his kiss began to ply her eager lips, she knew this was the only distance she could ever allow between herself and the man who filled her heart with such joy. But long before she was ready to let even the smallest space come between them, Hunter reared back.

  “Does this mean—?”

  His eyes drilled hers as if he could ferret out her answer to his proposal merely by looking deeply enough.

  And then his boyish hesitation set her laughing. Lia strove to offer her answer with a modicum of decorum, but he would not allow it. With a rakish wink he coaxed the words to gush from her.

  “Yes, my Lord Atherton. I shall indeed have you.”

  No sooner had she breathed the words than he took away the remainder of her breath by twirling her right there in the grand foyer.

  “Then we will marry as soon as I can procure a license.”

  He set her back on her feet, though he seemed unable to let her go.

  “Wait, my love. Would it be possible to wed while we’re still in London? Might we marry here, at Aunt Mildred’s house?”

  She prayed that the hopeful look in her eyes would prove to him that she was as eager to become his as he was to become hers.

  “Of course we can. Nothing would please her more, I’m sure. We shall ask her this very moment.”

  Lia’s heart burst with joy. With his heroic care and his eager, heartfelt proposal, Lord Hunter Montclaire unleashed in her the confidence that a wish she thought had been a distant impossibility would now become reality.

  . . . .

  A whirlwind of special licenses, nuptials, and private celebrations consumed the following weeks. Hunter often found himself standing apart from the groups of well-wishers, simply watching them interact with his beautiful bride. She charmed. She cajoled. She employed a clever wit that kept them supremely entertained. And inevitably, it was she who would draw him back into the group with a teasing look or a melancholy gaze.

  Hunter found it impossible to remain far from her. His solitary nature had swiftly crumbled—at least when it came to her. He went to ingenious lengths to manage his business matters in ways that allowed him to indulge his need to remain near Lia. As he was tonight.

  “Are you happy,” he asked, after they’d loved one another more than once.

  “I’ve never been happier in my life. I can’t wait to return to Rainwood and put everything back to normal.”

  “And what,” he asked, “do you consider normal? I daresay we haven’t experienced a day that’s been normal since we met.”

  Hunter stroked her fair skin and nuzzled his cheek against the cascading tendrils of her hair. No, nothing about their time together had been remotely normal.

  He sighed. “I would give the world to have presented you with a family, dearest. At the very least, a doting grandfather for our children.”

  “Hush now,” she said as she laid a finger against his lips. She drew a breath as if to say more, but no words broke the tender silence.

  “What?” Hunter turned to see his wife contemplating the rich tapestry that hung over their bed. “Darling? What?”

  Now it was Lia’s turn to utter a sigh. “I wrote your father a letter.”

  Hunter drew himself up on one elbow, unable to reconcile the shocking effect her words had on him.

  “You wrote my father?” Hunter was incredulous. “After everything he did?”

  Lia turned to him. “Yes, husband. I wrote him a letter.”

  He started to speak but she shushed him and sat up. “I told your father that I understood the early breech that was allowed to fester between father and son until it seemed impossible to heal. I told him that even though he was unable to mature in his thinking, his son had. And for that reason I thanked him for bringing you into the world, a man so rooted in kindness that I knew my future and the future of our son would be not only secure, but blessed.”

  Her words drilled through layers of bitterness and seemed to open a festering vault in his own heart. As his feelings of resentment poured from it to disappear in a mist of forgiveness, he felt renewed. Cleansed. Her words had done that. Such a simple act, writing a letter. But how it had begun to free him from years of acrimony toward his father.

  An image of who he might become if he continued to harbor such thoughts loomed in his mind. He’d grow old and angry, bitter and defeated. Like his father.

  But she was saving him from that.

  Hunter wondered at this newly revealed dimension of his wife’s character—this compassion for a soul that deserved none. He looked up and saw apprehension on her face as she waited to see his reaction to her boldness in writing to his father.

  He reached a hand to take hers. “Come here, my love. You’re too far away.” She responded to his gentle pull and laid her head on his chest, but not before marking his heart with the softest of kisses.

  “I shall never be more distant than
this, my dearest love.”

  He felt her smile as her cheek tugged against his skin. And he agreed.

  “Never.”

  Epilogue

  Hunter paced the study floor waiting for Lia to present him with another son or daughter. He looked toward the door when it opened and saw Frannie enter with the children. Aunt Mildred was not far behind. She’d come to be with Lia for the birth of their third child.

  “Papa!” young George cried out as he ran to Hunter. He was four already and reminded Hunter more of Evan every day. His hair was the same burnt gold that had crowned Evan’s head and he’d been blessed with the same adorable curls that Evan had always hated, but all the females loved.

  Then, there was Charlotte, Hunter and Lia’s firstborn. She would be three in a few short months, born exactly nine months after they were married. She ran to him with her arms outstretched, calling out to him. Hunter scooped her up as he always did.

  “The children wanted to come down to see you before they went to bed. I told them you would have a surprise for them when they woke in the morning,” Aunt Mildred said, trying to keep up with the rambunctious duo.

  “Is it Christmas, Papa?” Charlotte asked. “We only get presents at Christmas and on our birthdays. And none of us have our birthdays tomorrow.”

  “No, it’s not Christmas,” Hunter said placing her on his knee. “But your present will have his or her birthday tomorrow.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” George said. “How can our present have a birthday tomorrow?”

  “Because your present will be born tomorrow,” Hunter answered. “It will be his birthday.”

  “Is it a puppy?” Charlotte asked, jumping from his lap to the floor.

  Hunter couldn’t help but laugh. “No, it’s better than a puppy.”

  “What’s better than a puppy?” Charlotte asked.

  “A new brother or sister, that’s what.”

  “But I’d rather have a puppy,” Charlotte said with a frown that puckered her sweet cherub lips.

  Hunter laughed, then gave his daughter a hug.

  “Is that where Mama is?” George asked. “Did she go to buy our new brother or sister?”