“Then will you allow me to start a correspondence with you, until we meet again in June?” he asked hopefully.
Mary pulled her hand out of his. “To what purpose? I’m merely the daughter of a sailor. Not fit for the proper company for an earl.”
“I believe that is for me to decide. Besides, you said that your father was a sailing master on a sixty-gun frigate. An important position. You were not poor.”
She scoffed. “Until he died at sea and left us with nothing and I had no choice but to head into service.” Mary smoothed her skirt. “At age fifty-five, I’ve seen plenty. Though I have not been intimate with a man in decades, I recognize…I…” Mary stammered. “Oh, blast. I’ve tried to hide how flustered I am when I’m with you, but it’s to no avail.”
Oliver stepped closer. “Only flustered?”
Mary smiled. “No, blast your beautiful blue eyes. Much more than that.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. Mary froze, but for only a moment. Then, as if remembering what to do, she met his kiss with decided enthusiasm. Oliver deepened it, plunging his tongue into her sweet, hot mouth and taking complete possession.
A soft moan escaped the corner of her mouth as the exploration continued. Mary rubbed against him, turning up the heat sizzling between them. Slowly and reluctantly, Oliver ended it. She had to leave. Someone could walk in on them. He cradled her cheeks with his hands, gazing into her eyes. “We are too far along in years to play games. I want you, but I can be patient. We will write each other. Deepen the friendship that already exists…you agree one exists?”
She nodded, her eyes glistening with emotion.
“Come June, the school term ends and you will all return here. By then we should be certain of what we both want.” He stepped back. “Goodbye, Mary.”
She blinked, her lower lip trembling. “Goodbye…Oliver.”
With a swish of her skirts she was gone, leaving an alluring scent of vanilla lingering in the air. Like a lovesick schoolboy, he moved to the large window and watched as the footman assisted Mary into the carriage. Before she entered it, she paused, looked up, and caught his gaze. Her warm smile made his heart stutter in his chest as it hadn’t done since he first met the love of his life, his second wife and Garrett’s mother, Moira, so long ago.
Once the door closed, the driver gave a command and the horses whickered in response. The carriage was off. Oliver stood at the window and watched until, at the bottom of the long drive, the carriage made its turn and disappeared.
He’d made his peace with the fact that he would never have deep feelings toward a woman again. Never imagined that he would experience it at this late stage of his life. He had no right to pursue the lovely Miss Tuttle. He already had three wives and a baby daughter buried in the family cemetery. Why place another woman in harm’s way? The curse had played a huge part in his life—how could it not? Caution would be needed. Even though Riordan had decided love would triumph over all, Oliver knew it had not been enough to save his true love.
Well, he had the next several months to decide how to proceed with Miss Mary Tuttle. Taking a seat by the fire, he stretched out his long legs and started to nod off. Forgive me, Moira.
“Da, wake up.”
Oliver woke with a start. God, he’d fallen asleep. Rubbing his eyes, he looked up. “Garrett. I did not expect you for at least a couple of days. What is it?”
His younger son had spent a large segment of his life tucking away outward emotions, but they often broke free when least expected. Or they blazed in his hazel-green eyes, as they did now. Oliver knew how to read his son’s often shuttered expressions.
“I’ve sent Gordon along to collect Julian. I have news on Aidan. Did I miss Riordan?”
Oliver glanced at the mantel clock. Three hours had passed. Well, he did not get much sleep the previous night. No wonder he was exhausted. “He left hours ago; he must be close to home.” Oliver stood and stretched his back. “What about Aidan?”
“Damn,” Garrett said softly. “I should’ve returned sooner.” He shook his head. “Let us head to the main library. I instructed Martin to pour us generous tumblers of whiskey.”
“That bad?”
“Yes. Come. Julian is no doubt awaiting us.”
As they headed to the library, Oliver found it strange that the footman, Gordon, was not standing in his usual place. Was he still looking for Julian?
Yet when they stepped in the room Julian was already seated, whiskey in hand. Martin, their venerable butler, efficiently served their drinks, stirred the fire to life, then left them alone. Oliver had a terrible feeling of foreboding. Glancing at Julian, he could see his oldest son felt the same.
“Edwin Seward contacted me, stating he’d located Aidan. It is why I journeyed to London,” Garrett said. “Well, that and Durning’s court hearing.”
Julian’s face turned thunderous. “And you thought not to inform us? He’s my son.”
“Hold in your anger and hear me out,” Garrett replied. “Edwin suggested that we not descend on Aidan. Once I arrived and found where he had been holed up for the past several months, I agreed with Edwin’s assessment.”
Garrett, not one for long, drawn-out conversation, proceeded to paint a horror-filled narrative of invading a St. Giles rookery in the early morning and finding Aidan with a group of thieves, prostitutes, and other deviants in a filthy doss-house. How, along with Edwin’s men and a few hired toughs, they had snatched him up and made their escape.
To Hertfordshire, of all places. As he described the clinic and the Welsh doctor who ran it, Julian’s face crumbled and all anger vanished. “Opium? Gin? How…how did he look?”
“Ghastly.” Garrett answered in a quiet voice. “He’s lost weight; the doctor claimed that it could be two stone or more. His skin is an unhealthy gray shade. He’s malnourished, dehydrated, and sick to his very core.”
Oliver’s insides twisted at the news, but in shrewdly watching Garrett he had the feeling that there was more to Aidan’s injuries than his younger son let on.
“It will take months for him to recover, weeks to come out of the worst of the withdrawal. And before you demand that we head to Hertfordshire, Dr. Bevan recommended we all stay well clear until Aidan wishes to see us. The doctor said that his recovery will move ahead at a more rapid pace if family is not around to add to his guilt and shame.”
“I would never admonish Aidan, not in this condition. He’s ill,” Julian said, his voice shaking.
“Yes, precisely. He is ill. The doctor suggested that we not blame ourselves for how low Aidan has sunk,” Garrett replied.
“And how does this damned doctor propose we do it?” Julian snapped. “All I did was reprimand and lecture him. It never even crossed my mind that his behavior was a call for help.”
Oliver stood and laid a hand on his oldest son’s shoulder. “None of us recognized the signs. Why would we? He was always a little wild. Never liked being told what to do. Bucking us at every turn. I thought him merely rebellious, as many young heirs are. I believed that he would grow out of it. There is enough blame to go around, but I agree that it is best we avoid such self-indulgence.”
Julian glanced at Garrett. “I am his father. You should have told me. I should have been there when you extracted him. I will not forget this.”
“Julian,” Oliver said. “Enough. I know you are upset…”
“Upset? Try devastated. I have failed my son. Failed as a parent,” Julian barked.
“You are not thinking clearly,” Oliver replied, his voice gentle. “Garrett did as Edwin instructed, and hearing the circumstances, it was for the best. Think how distressed Aidan would have been if you had seen him in such a condition. It would not help his recovery. I truly believe this.” He squeezed Julian’s shoulder. “We wait for word. The doctor will be keeping us apprised?”
Garrett nodded. “Regular updates. He promised.”
“Julian, you are the farthest thing from a failure as a parent. When Fiona died, when the twins were four years old, I observed how you bravely hid your grief from them and focused all your attention and love on them. Instilled in them a sense of honor, of service to one’s fellow man, and deep down, I believe Aidan embodies all that and more. He will prove it to you someday soon; I know it in my heart.” Oliver gave his son’s shoulder another affectionate squeeze.
Because of the many tragedies in their lives, the Wollstonecraft men shared an unshakeable and solid bond. Much like soldiers in a field of battle. They were trusted allies, confidants, brothers-in-arms, bound by the curse but more importantly by blood and mutual respect. They were close friends, and they supported each other no matter the crisis. More than anything, however, love cemented the connection. Enriched it. Enhanced it. Hearing of Aidan’s fate and witnessing Julian’s anguish reminded Oliver of how devoted they were to each other.
Julian buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving. Good God, he was crying. Oliver’s heart twisted with pain at seeing his son’s desolate grief. Oliver was about to comfort him when Gordon, the footman, appeared at the door.
“Master Garrett, Mrs. Eaton has arrived.”
Alberta Eaton stepped into the room, her gaze falling to Julian. “Tensbridge.” Without hesitating, she ran to his side, fell to her knees, and embraced him. Julian held her close, his face buried in her neck. She smoothed his hair, whispering what Oliver supposed was words of comfort, though he could not make them out.
Garrett took Oliver’s elbow and they both left them alone. Gordon closed the door and resumed his position in the hallway.
“Very shrewd, Garrett. For a man who claims women are nothing but a complication in a man’s life, you’ve showed acute instincts. Well done,” Oliver said, proud of the way his younger son handled this difficult situation.
They strolled toward Oliver’s study. “It’s obvious he has a tendre for her. And since I’ve been helping with her renovations, I’ve come to know her. I believe that she is what Julian needs at this moment.”
Oliver arched an eyebrow. “And the curse?”
“Oh, I still believe in it, and Julian would be wise to avoid anything long term.”
A short bark of laughter left Oliver’s throat. “By God, you are as stubborn as your mother ever was. Have you even entertained the possibility that you are wrong about it all?”
Garrett shook his head. “Never. The proof is clear, as well you know, Da.”
Oliver frowned. He didn’t like being reminded that he had suffered more losses than any man in the family. But a part of him still hoped there was a way to end the blasted curse.
“Riordan wouldn’t listen, and if Julian wants to take another chance at possible tragedy, that’s his decision,” Garrett continued. “I plan on staying clear of any emotional or romantic attachments.”
Oliver nearly snorted aloud in disbelief. Yes, his son was obstinate and unmovable on this subject. This was not the life that he had wished for Garrett, or for any of them for that matter. His youngest son had lots of love to give, like his late mother. What a complete shame to waste it. Only an extraordinary woman would be able to pull down the persistent and protective wall Garrett had constructed around his heart.
Chapter 4
Ten days later
“Megan, don’t sulk. It doesn’t become you,” Abbie admonished gently.
Her daughter’s lips pursed further. “How else am I to feel considering what you’ve told me? I should have stayed at school. Never should have agreed to this trip.”
Megan had been furious for days, the atmosphere between them chilly and fractious. Abbie would have to endure hours of watching her daughter pout. But she could hardly blame the girl considering the shocking news that she’d relayed to her.
The carriage lurched in a deep rut on the road, sending them reeling across the bench seats. Abbie sat up straight and adjusted her bonnet. She’d taken the extravagance of hiring a private coach. Granted, it wasn’t exactly lush and comfortable, but at least they were alone for the journey. It would take several hours to reach Kent, a change in horses, a meal at an inn.
Megan crossed her arms defiantly and gazed out the carriage window. A frown replaced her pout. “I will not call this man ‘Father.’ I utterly refuse. I had a papa, and he died.”
“Elwyn was your papa in every sense. He loved you as if you were his own,” Abbie said gently.
“You have ruined my life,” Megan accused as her lower lip quivered. “Why tell me at all? And don’t say because you and Papa agreed to wait until I was older. You could have kept this horrible secret once he passed and I never would have been the wiser. Please turn the carriage about and head home.”
“No, Megan.”
“You want to see this man again, and you are using me to reopen the acquaintance,” she snapped irritably.
This lay close to the truth. Too close. But it wasn’t the entire truth. “Yes, I want to see him again. I’ve had sufficient time to move past most of my anger. But more importantly, what your father told me more than once in years past holds true: Garrett Wollstonecraft deserves to know.”
“He truly doesn’t know about me?”
Abbie shook her head. “We had already gone our separate ways when I found I was with child. Our parting was not under the best of circumstances.” A decided understatement.
Megan glared at her. “Why didn’t you tell him then? If he was any kind of gentleman he would have married you. You said that he’s the son of an earl.”
“My dear, we were both eighteen years old. Barely four years older than you are now. We were children, and we fought before we parted. Hurtful words cutting deep on both sides. I never even told my parents who the father was.” Abbie gave her daughter a shaky smile. “I was scared, angry, and, yes, immature. I came to understand that I should have returned to Kent and informed him of my condition. You see, we had no business doing…what we did. We were too young and naïve to understand the consequences.”
“And I am the consequence.” Megan frowned. “Did you love him at all? Or was the encounter nothing but a scandalous affair?”
Abbie moved to the opposite bench and slipped her arm about Megan’s shoulder. “You were not a consequence, but a miracle. The happiest day of my life is when they placed you in my arms.” Megan’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I did love him, most desperately. Never think that you were not conceived in love, for you were. It was not cheap and tawdry. Ill-advised, perhaps, even scandalous, but the emotions were real.” At least on my end.
“I cried all night when you told me this. Papa, who I still love dearly and miss fiercely, is not my real father. Do you understand how devastating it was to hear? I feel like a part of me has been ripped away. How could you do this to me?” Megan pulled away from her. “I wish you had never told me. I also wish I hadn’t agreed to this. I don’t want to meet him. I’ve changed my mind. Please, please, can we turn about and go home?”
Abbie could hear the anger and hurt in Megan’s voice, and her heart tightened in empathy. Who wouldn’t be affected by such a revelation? The secret was indeed shocking. “No, Megan. We are already more than halfway there. Meet him, at least. If you choose, you never have to see him again. The decision will be yours. I promise.”
“I will hold you to your vow.” Megan gazed out the window for several minutes. “What does he look like? Is it because of him that I have all this red hair?” she asked. “I often wondered why I had red hair and you and Papa did not.” Her lower lip quivered. “I look nothing like Papa. I see it now.” At least the question showed she was a little curious about Garrett, though her tone displayed her annoyance. It also revealed her deep sadness at not being Elwyn’s biological daughter.
“Yes. Garrett is half Scottish on his mo
ther’s side. What does he look like?” Abbie sighed. “He was formidable at eighteen, well over six feet in height then, with broad shoulders and the most glorious head of silky red hair. Handsome beyond measure. I became smitten immediately.”
Telling Megan that she had seen Garrett in the village last week would not be prudent. It had opened an old wound, and as a result all her passionate emotions had escaped. Abbie believed she had conquered them and buried them deep. The sad truth is that she had never stopped yearning for Garrett. Not even when she lay in her husband’s arms. A lone tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly dashed it away before Megan saw it. She’d adored Elwyn and tried her damnedest to fall in love with him, but her heart belonged to one man only. The man who had broken it.
Abbie would not be able to move on with her life if she did not face Garrett one last time. Tell the truth about Megan. Find out once and for all if his cruel words were true. Or had he used them to distance himself from her, all because of his so-called family curse? “We will have a nice visit with Alberta and Jonas, and while we are there you will meet Garrett Wollstonecraft.”
Megan nodded, her expression still stony. “Very well, Mama. I will meet him. But I do not have to like him or accept him.” She paused, then said. “The only thing I am looking forward to is seeing Jonas. Truly, he is why I agreed to this. He’s the most beautiful boy that I have ever seen. Can a boy be beautiful?”
“Well, Jonas is twenty-four now, hardly a boy.”
Megan tapped her temple with her gloved finger. “He is a boy in here, a very sweet boy.”
“He always will be, Megan. And if a man could be categorized as beautiful, Jonas would fit, with his perfect features and golden-blond hair.” She sighed. “Do not become too attached, my dear. Nothing can come from it.”
Megan remained silent for several moments, as if digesting what Abbie said. “But he is a man; he would have all those desires men experience, would he not?”
Abbie sat up straight and stared at her daughter incredulously. “What are they teaching you at that school?” A frisson of alarm tolled in Abbie’s head. Five years past, when Alberta and Jonas had last visited, Megan had formed an attachment to Jonas that Abbie had found endearing, but with Megan on the cusp of womanhood? Already she was a well-developed girl for her age and too bold by half. Perhaps this trip was a mistake on more than one level.
Scandal with a Sinful Scot Page 4