Dear God, it was true.
“She makes me strive to be worthy of her and she is such a loving mother. For Sophie, if not for me, please God, save my wife. Please, dear Lord, bless our child, the child we lost today. Let our child know how much he or she is loved.”
For the first time in a very long time, Tristan MacAlistair believed in a higher power. He also believed in miracles.
When his wife recovered, they would have much to be grateful for.
Chapter 19
Victoria had been strong for far too long, so much so that she contemplated when she would break. As it turned out, all she needed was her good friend opening his own front door.
“What on earth?” Oliver gasped.
It was as if a dam had broken. Tears spilled from her eyes as she admonished him. “Why are you answering your own front door?”
“I saw your procession walking from your carriage and was concerned,” Oliver paused long enough to glance from Victoria’s face down to that of the child she cradled.
“Oliver, this is my daughter, Sophie,” Victoria thrust the little girl into his arms. “I can’t let her see me like this. I’m sorry.”
She knew this estate as well as her own and rushed into the study, a stuffy room with ornate paintings adorning the walls, gilded sofas, and gargoyles above the stone fireplace. She had often chided Oliver about this room, how its personality didn’t match his one bit.
It was now her sanctuary.
“What in bloody hell has happened to you?” he stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him.
Victoria stared out the window, the vast, ominous sky swirling above a foreshadowing of her own emotions. “Where is Sophie?”
“With my maid, Mrs. Firth – someone far more suitable to care for her than me, I can assure you.” He approached her from behind, “You are aware that I do not know one thing about children. I would have read her something frightening at bedtime or offered her whiskey for breakfast.”
Succumbing to her friend’s attempt at humor, Victoria managed a slight grin.
For the first time since her trip began, Tori realized how inappropriate her visit truly was since she was married and Oliver was a bachelor.
“I shouldn’t have come.”
“Tori,” Oliver’s stern tone sliced through the air. “What the hell did he do to you and who is that child?”
“Tristan did nothing to me and the child is his illegitimate daughter, at least everyone believes her to be, though she isn’t. Tristan and I are raising her as our own.” Victoria shook her head, “Did you not know this? Everyone in London has been gossiping about it for weeks.”
“No, I did not.” Oliver released a long breath. “Hence your daughter … ah, I see. For a moment, I thought you had gone stark raving mad and abducted some unsuspecting cherub from Hyde Park.”
A nervous laugh escaped her throat. Then, somehow, her laughter turned to choked sobs.
Oliver enveloped her in a tight hug. “Cry it all out.”
Victoria did so. She wept for the loss of her unborn child, for the husband who wanted their child so desperately, and for the child she thought she was rescuing. For the first time, Victoria wondered if Sophie would have been better off without her.
“I’ve made so many mistakes, Ollie,” she sobbed onto his now wet vest.
Oliver patted her back in a soothing gesture, “We all have. Trust me, I speak from experience.”
“What is wrong?” she asked, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinked back tears.
Her friend tipped her chin up with his thumb. “I will not allow you to change the subject. Why are you here? And why these tears? As long as I’ve known you, I’ve only seen you cry once and that was after your mother’s death.”
How Victoria wished her mother was still with them. She needed her now more than ever.
“Talk to me, Tori,” Oliver urged. “Does your husband know you are here?”
Victoria shook her head. “Nor do I want him to. I need some time to myself, Oliver. Please promise not to tell Tristan—”
“Shush,” Oliver placed his finger over his lips. “Your secret is safe with me. Why are you here?”
“I lost our child,” she wrung her hands in an attempt to get them to stop shaking.
Oliver seemed confused. “But she’s down the hall,” he paused, comprehension dawning. “Oh, Tori.”
“I’m an absolute mess, Ollie. My emotions are all over the place. I’ve been kept sedated over the course of the past few days yet every time I have awakened, Tristan hasn’t been there.” The realization had all but killed her. She lost his child, and she feared that he couldn’t forgive her for it.
“It is all my fault, Oliver,” Victoria paced the room. “I had one responsibility, to keep our child safe, and my own body failed me.”
“None of this was your fault. As for your husband, I would be happy to shoot him if you so desire.”
A laugh lodged in her throat. “You sound like my maid, before she fell for my husband’s charms.”
Oliver grinned. “Unlike Meg, I will make good on my threat. All you have to do is ask.”
Tori pulled away from him, wiping her eyes with her fingertips. “Thank you, but no. He doesn’t deserve to be shot,” she managed a slight smile.
“Don’t say I never offered.” Oliver shrugged.
Her eyes scanned the room, choosing to follow his lead of levity. “You’ve done absolutely nothing with this place.”
“Why should I when it attracts so many damsels in distress?” He reached for her shoulders. “Take off your cape and sit. You have had a long journey and I require a stiff drink. I’ll ring for tea for you and instruct that your rooms be prepared.”
Victoria shrugged out of her cape and collapsed on the velvet sofa. “I was heading to Sebastian and Gwen but Sophie and I were just too exhausted to travel any farther tonight. I apologize for the intrusion, Ollie, but I am so relieved that you are here, instead of in London.”
“I’m glad I could be your second choice,” Oliver tossed her cape onto an empty chair then sat in the chaise opposite her. “So, what made you decide to adopt that little cherub, the one entertaining my maid as we speak?”
“Shortly after we married, I discovered that Tristan was suspected of fathering his former mistress’s child. He wouldn’t confirm or deny it—”
“Why would your husband not answer the claim?” Oliver asked.
She should have expected that her friend would want all the appalling details. Now that the danger had passed, Victoria was free to explain and she did so, ending with “my husband behaved nobly, sacrificing his reputation to save the child and her mother from an abusive aristocrat.”
“Bloody hell,” her friend cursed as he shook his head. “I dare say this news may cause me to reconsider my dislike of the man.”
Victoria arched her brow.
“In all seriousness, how did you adopt the supposed product of said liaison?” he asked.
“I purchased her,” she admitted without apology.
“Look at you! Ever the defiant wife and advocate for the less fortunate.” He crossed his arms over his chest and reclined in the overstuffed chair. “I take it your husband was angry with you?”
She considered Tristan’s initial reaction, then his support in front of the ton. “No, he was proud of me.”
“Why exactly did you leave him?”
What a simple question that led to an extremely complicated answer. Victoria left because she couldn’t protect the life growing inside of her. Because she awoke without her husband by her side. Because she failed him. Because she lost their child and she was overcome with grief and fear … terrified that Tristan would never again love her, never again kiss her forehead in that act of gentle possession she had grown accustomed to, never hold her in his tight embrace. The overwhelming anguish that came with the knowledge that she might have lost his devotion, along with their child, was too much to process.
�
�I didn’t leave him as much as I needed time alone, to adjust to losing the baby. We both wanted that child, Ollie,” Victoria lay on her side, resting her head against the velvet pillow of the sofa. “Dr. Danbury said there is a possibility I may never give birth and ever since I heard my prognosis, I can’t stop my feelings from reeling. What if I am barren? Will Tristan still love me then?”
“Dearest, I think you are far too emotional right now to be entertaining any of these thoughts, especially without your husband to answer you.”
Victoria again remembered with a sharp pain of remorse the fact that Tristan wasn’t at her side when she awoke. A piece of her died within her each time she remembered.
What if Tristan ceased loving her because of their loss?
“I am emotional, far too much so and I’m not thinking clearly. Tristan wants a family, an heir. What if I can’t give him one? I can’t lose him, too. Not after the baby.”
Their baby. God how she missed that precious life growing within her.
“I know how much you want a family, as well.” Oliver’s tone was brimming with compassion.
Victoria was certain that not even her dear friend could understand the magnitude of her loss, of her emptiness.
In a society where women can’t vote nor own property, the one task Victoria was given – to bear her husband an heir – is the same task at which she failed miserably. Her own body failed to protect their child and the grief she felt was too much to endure.
Oliver patted her back. She hadn’t heard him approach, let alone lean beside her. “I am truly sorry, Tori.”
Again her eyes blurred with previously unshed tears. She mourned her child, the possibly that her marriage might be next to suffer and for the loss of all of her dreams of a large family with Tristan.
Her heart shattered, one piece at a time, with each tear shed. Selfishly, Victoria couldn’t stop herself. She would pick up the pieces tomorrow.
Tonight she would allow herself to feel.
Victoria loved Tristan and would do so until the day she died. Did he still feel the same about her?
She feared the answer and was desperate to avoid the inevitable until she felt strong enough to face her future.
* * *
Tristan hadn’t slept, searching for his wife and daughter to no avail all night. After being sedated for days, Victoria had awakened when Tristan was at church. From what he discerned, his wife had conversed with Dr. Danbury then took Sophie without a word to anyone, including Meg. The fact that she left Molly behind heightened his fear for her as Victoria would never have done so with a clear mind.
Meg assumed Victoria’s erratic emotions were caused by a combination of the miscarriage and the fact that she may not be able to carry other children. “Loss makes people behave irrationally,” Meg had told Tristan as he read the missive Victoria left for him:
I’m so sorry about our baby, Tristan. It’s
my fault. My body was supposed to protect that fragile little life growing inside of me. The fact that I didn’t is too much for me to endure.
So many of our hopes and dreams rested on that precious child we created and the loss is suffocating me. As is the fact that I may never again be able to carry your child.
Don’t worry about me or Sophie. I just need some time to grieve. Please take care of Molly for me.
I love you.
Victoria
Victoria being overly emotional is what concerned him the most – she wasn’t acting rationally and he feared for her safety and Sophie’s.
In addition to searching all of London last night, he’d written to Victoria’s brothers to receive replies this morning that she wasn’t with Gwen and Sebastian. He then learned that Colin and Eve had arrived in London this morning.
Tristan entered their brownstone in time to find them at the breakfast table. Exhausted and worried beyond reason, his nerves were stretched taut like muslin about to rip in two.
Though it wasn’t easy humbling himself by admitting that Victoria had left, he found himself praying that Victoria was with one of their families. The thought of not finding her was too painful to consider.
Weeks ago, he hadn’t prayed nor would he. Now, he found himself praying to God continually for Victoria’s health. With each day that she was unconscious, he went to that church, begging for a miracle. In response, his wife awoke and promptly disappeared.
If that weren’t divine intervention or some sort of biblical retribution for his sins, he didn’t know what was.
“Tristan, are you all right?” Colin asked as Tristan bounded into the dining room.
Fiona gasped before adding, “Tristan dear, you look terrible.”
Tristan scanned the room, his shoulders slumping when there was no sign of Victoria or Sophie. “They’re not here.”
“No, darling, they’re not,” Fiona said in her angelic voice, gray curls bobbing about her heart-shaped face. She then reached for a plate, offering it to him. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast? We have plenty of bacon and bacon always makes me feel better.”
Blame it on the lack of sleep, but a nervous laugh escaped his throat.
“Bacon?” he repeated, plopping into the chair next to Fiona. “I have loved my wife long before she ever consented to marry me. Hell, I’ve loved her all along. She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved, no offense to you, Eve,” he turned to Eve and she offered him a slight smile. “But, I was too bloody cowardly to admit that to Victoria. When I finally did admit it, she didn’t believe me. I admitted it again and she did believe me. I thought our lives were charmed but now she’s run off because she blames herself for the loss of our child. But, I have bacon.”
Fiona patted his hand. “And porridge.”
Tristan blinked, attempting to follow the kind woman’s logic as he turned to Colin. “Please, tell me you know where Victoria is.”
“Grandmamma,” Eve placed her napkin on the table. “Would you mind checking on Abigail? She is upstairs with Nanny.”
“Of course, darling,” Fiona rose, patting Tristan’s hand again. “It’s always darkest before the dawn,” the Dowager Viscountess whispered as she exited the room.
Tristan rubbed his eyes, aware that he was now being preached platitudes about darkness and dawn by a sweet, gray-haired woman resembling a cherub.
“We arrived in London early this morning,” Eve explained. “Victoria is not here, nor have we seen her but we have received word that she is safe.”
“Where is she?”
Eve turned to Colin. Tristan followed her line of sight. “Colin, tell me where my wife is.”
“Keep in mind that she’s extremely emotional, Tristan.” Colin’s tone was tinged with regret.
“How can she not be? We lost our unborn child.” Tristan managed in a raspy whisper.
His emotion must have been too raw, for Eve averted her eyes before tracing a seam in the snowy white tablecloth before her.
Colin sat beside his brother, placing his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Tori explained that she requires some time alone.”
“No, she needs me. Please, tell me where she is,” Tristan couldn’t believe he was groveling.
Well aware that Colin was contemplating what to say next, Tristan began to speak and could no longer prevent the torrent of confessions.
“I’m living for Victoria, now. I’ve even begun speaking to God again, something I haven’t done in years. I went to church the night she lost our child and prayed for him to spare Victoria. I have been going to that church every day since. If that doesn’t prove to you how much I’ve changed, how much I care for her …”
Tristan’s vision blurred. He blinked back the tears threatening to fall. Victoria wasn’t the only one feeling emotional from their loss. He had never cried, never knew he could until he almost lost Gwen. Then he and Victoria lost their child and he almost lost his wife.
He was no longer afraid to cry.
“Oh, Tristan,” Eve placed her hand over her mouth.
Colin squeezed his brother’s shoulder.
“I prayed for her because I love her and I can’t live without her,” Tristan whispered to his brother.
“Honestly, Tristan, we don’t know where she is,” Colin muttered.
It couldn’t be true.
“Victoria sent us a missive,” Eve admitted. “She didn’t reveal where she was. Just that she was in seclusion.”
Tristan studied Eve’s expression, it was one of compassion mixed with apprehension.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.
Eve shot her husband a knowing glance. Colin nodded, as if to encourage her to speak the horrible truth.
“Grandmamma explained that Victoria’s letter was delivered by a coach emblazoned with the Wainright family crest.”
“We don’t know that they’re together, mind you,” Colin added. “Oliver may not even know where she is. Victoria didn’t mention him in her missive nor did she specify what aid he provided her. Fiona may have been mistaken.”
Anger, pure and primal, pumped through Tristan’s blood. His racing pulse hammered like an anvil against his temples. “That bastard.”
Tristan had gone to Wainright’s London townhome last evening. It was one of the first places he’d looked for his family. The staff was at a minimum. Had they lied? Or had he returned to London since then? He clenched his hand into a tight fist as he tried to control his mounting temper.
Wainright knew where Victoria was, damn him. Worse yet, he was possibly hiding her from Tristan.
In a deliberate effort to remain calm, Tristan exhaled a deep breath. “Thank you for the information,” he said as he stood.
“Where are you going?” Colin asked.
Tristan clenched his jaw so tight that he could feel a vein begin to pulsate in his neck. “To find Wainright.”
“I’m coming with you,” Colin stood but Tristan shot him a murderous look. It stopped his brother dead in his tracks.
The Skilled Seduction Page 33