Come Midnight

by Veronica Sattler

  "Are you surprised, Papa?" The child drew nearer, laughing. "Caitlin said maybe we should tell you, but I wanted it to be a surprise. Look at me, Papa—I don't need that silly Bath chair anymore!"

  "No, son ... you don't." His voice choked with emotion, Adam took an unsteady step toward him.

  "Stay there, Papa! 'Cause I can come to you now. See? It's not hard at all, and when I get there—would you like a hug, Papa?"

  Not trusting his voice, Adam dropped to his knees and held out his arms. Aching with love for the child he'd believed hopelessly confined to the silly Bath chair. "I'd like that above all else," he managed finally, blinking back fresh tears.

  Andrew came. Wielding the crutches as though he'd been born knowing how to use them. Reaching his father, laughing, he let them drop and flung himself into Adam's arms. "See, Caitlin?" he cried. "Papa knows how to catch me!"

  "Sure and he does, boyo! And he knows how t' hug ye, too, I'm thinkin'!"

  Adam heard the lilting brogue, heard the wealth of love and laughter in her voice. He was able to gather his thoughts for the first time since the sight of his son had moved him to tears. Holding the child to him in a fierce embrace, he lifted his gaze to the woman who'd arranged this wonder.

  She stood on the path, framed by myriad roses, their heady scent lacing the soft spring air. She didn't move: a cameo caught in a pool of sunlight. It glinted like copper pennies on her hair, on the tears brimming in her eyes.

  In an instant everything fell into place: He knew exactly where the enigma fit, he realized with a mix of relief and sheer terror.

  He loved her.

  Chapter 10

  "You can put me down now, Papa." Andrew wriggled In Adam's grasp, oblivious to the stunning truth that had just struck his father like a blow.

  Caught up in the shattering realization, Adam didn't respond. Caitlin . . . why didn't I see it? She's the dream I once pursued. The forever love I abandoned hope of ever having. And must still abandon. Even if, by some strange twist of fate, she came to love me in return, it's too late! Appleby, you bastard—I smell your hand in this! Who else would damn me to this living hell? This teasing glimpse of a soul mate when 1 no longer have a soul to share!

  "Papa?" Andrew was still squirming to be set free. "I need to get down so I can practice my turns. Will you help me get my crutches?"

  "Crutches ...?" He realized the child was speaking to him. "Yes .. . yes, of course." Setting him down, he supported him about the waist, reaching for a crutch; but Caitlin was already there.

  "Here, lad." She handed it to Andrew. "Weight on the good leg, now, just as ye did when we practiced."

  Andrew nodded, wobbling as he shifted his weight. His father quickly steadied the injured leg with his free hand while the boy tucked the crutch under the opposite arm.

  "What the devil ... ?" Adam ran his hand over the injured leg as Caitlin handed the child the other crutch. "But... this is amazing!" he cried. "This leg feels ... well muscled." His incredulous gaze went to each of them, then to the limb he was testing. "It feels twice as sturdy!"

  Andrew giggled and threw Caitlin a conspiratorial glance. "That's 'cause Caitlin 'saged it! She rubbed goop into it, too—it's made from leaves and things, and it smells odd, Papa, but it's not too bad. An' we did exercises! 'Course, the smith's weights made them ever so much easier than those clumsy books, didn't they, Caitlin?"

  "Books?" It was becoming too much to digest. Adam felt battered by an emotional storm. First, Andrew on the crutches; then the bittersweet discovery of his love for Caitlin; now this.

  With a laugh, Caitlin explained about the weights.

  Was there ever such music as her voice when it's laced with laughter? Adam wondered. "Caitlin...," he began when she'd finished. In the wake of his newly identified feelings, just saying her name tapped a wellspring of emotion he could barely contain. He had to swallow, begin again. "Caitlin, I ... I don't know where to start. Or how to thank you ... except to say I'm grateful.. . most humbly grateful."

  Suddenly tongue-tied, Caitlin flushed. Would she ever really understand this man? She'd hardly recovered from seeing him moved to tears; this touching gratitude threatened to undo her completely. Both spoke of his love for the child, and she loved the man all the more for it. " 'Twas—'twas what any healer would have done, milord," she stammered.

  Andrew paused during one of his "turns" and nodded. "Mrs. Hodgkins says she's the Irish Angel," he told his father, " 'cause she helps people get better. She helps me lots, but I still call her Caitlin." He eyed the two adults with a pensive frown. "D'you know what I wish, Papa?"

  "I will, if you tell me," Adam said with an indulgent smile. "Perhaps, as a reward for all your hard work with these"—he indicated the crutches—"we might arrange it,"

  "I wish ... ," Andrew began shyly, "I wish Caitlin could be my new mama."

  Adam choked, hid it by pretending to cough. Caitlin turned beet red and ducked her head.

  A footman rushed from the house, saving them from comment. "Begging your pardon, your lordship," he laid. "I'm to inform you callers have arrived."

  Adam glanced at the first of a pair of cards the servant proffered and nodded. Andrew would be over the moon. He read the name on the second card and arched a brow. Ravensford? What the devil's he doing in Kent at the height of the Season—and with the vicar, no less? "Did they arrive together?" he asked the footman.

  "Yes, your lordship, and Master Jeremy as well."

  "Jeremy!" In his excitement, Andrew lost control of a crutch, tripping Caitlin in the process. "Oh, Caitlin, I'm sorry!"

  Adam grabbed her arm to steady her. The first he'd touched her in months. He couldn't avoid it; she'd have fallen if he hadn't. He heard her gasp, braced himself for her reproval—or worse. Her eyes flew to his, and their gazes locked. He felt her trembling. But it wasn't fear or reproval he read in her eyes. His heart began to hammer in his chest. Caitlin's feelings had always been as plain as the freckles on her open face. Could he doubt what he saw? Yet he could swear—swear it was there in her clear green eyes: all the love he thought he would never have.

  Caitlin thought she murmured assurances to Andrew he wasn't to blame, but couldn't be certain. She felt dizzy, light-headed. His father's touch ran like living fire up her arm. The look blazing in his eyes had her paralyzed with uncertainty. She had to be imagining—

  "Papa, do let's hurry!" Andrew was beside himself with excitement. "We need to introduce Caitlin to Jeremy . .. er, and the vicar."

  Adam gave himself a mental shake, reluctantly releasing Caitlin's gaze. If he got through this day emotionally in one piece, he'd call it a victory past anything he'd done in the Peninsula. "Yes, of course," he said, "and I'll introduce you both to another who's come with them."

  He glanced at the footman. "Inform Townsend we'll be there directly. He'll know how the vicar takes his tea. But you'd best alert him His Grace may prefer something stronger."

  "His—His Grace?" Caitlin gaped at him as the footman bowed and withdrew. "Sure and ye're not after takin' me t' meet a ..." Unable to complete the thought, she glanced at the house in panic, then back at him.

  She looked so adorably flustered, Adam ached to hug her. "Afraid there's no help for it," he said with a smile of sympathy. "You're about meet a duke."

  ***

  "Past time you showed your face in Kent, Ravenskeep." Brett Westmont, ninth duke of Ravensford, grinned as Adam handed him a brandy. The two had a private moment while Caitlin and Andrew conversed with the vicar and his son. Adam and Brett had been neighbors all their lives, but knew each other largely from London. As young rakehells, they'd scandalized the ton. Brett, with his startling turquoise eyes and chestnut curls, was as outrageously handsome as Adam. It was said prudent mamas hid their daughters when either was in evidence.

  "Huh," Adam muttered, keeping his voice low to avoid discomfiting the vicar. "The pot calling the kettle black isn't in it. Since when have you forgone the delights of the Season? Or begun ma
king tame country calls with vicars, for that matter?"

  "Since coming to my senses," Brett replied. "Haven't you heard? I'm married."

  "Married—you?" Westmont had always distrusted women in the extreme. Some said his grandfather, the eighth duke, had raised him to despise them. More than once, Adam had heard him vow to escape the parson's mousetrap, dukedom or no. "I confess, Ravensford, I'm shocked. I collect, like me, you caved to the inevitability of doing one's duty?"

  "Duty had nothing to do with it. I've set up my nursery, yes, but only because of the lady involved. If you knew my duchess, you'd see why. She's..." With a look in his eyes Adam could have sworn was fatuous, Brett smiled fondly and shook his head. "Ashleigh's like no other woman in the world."

  Bloody hell, he's besotted! "Ashleigh . .. have I met this paragon?"

  Westmont chuckled. "No, and I'm inclined to keep it that way, but my wife has other ideas."

  Adam arched a brow at him.

  "Come, Ravenskeep, we both know your appetites. Only a fool would trust you anywhere near his wife ... especially if she's a beauty, and mine is past beautiful, I do assure you. It's because I trust Ashleigh and want her happy, I'm making an exception."

  "Exception?"

  The duke sighed. "Fact is, she's set on having you for a visit. Nothing elaborate—she knows you're in black gloves. When the vicar called this morning and explained about ... your lad, she hatched this idea— well, it's complicated, and I'll explain if you'll find us a spot of privacy before I leave. But she hopes to include your son in the invitation. Will that suit?"

  Adam's gaze went to Andrew, who was showing Jeremy one of his crutches. The vicar's son was a bright child who must have had questions about all that had happened. Adam was thankful he was too well bred to voice them. "I don't know, Brett ..." He heaved a sigh. "Needless to say, Andrew hasn't been up to socializing lately. Young Jeremy's his bosom friend, yet this is the first—"

  "Ashleigh means to include the vicar's family. Fact is, when she learned Wells was on his war here, she sent me—my dear Ravenskeep, spare me that supercilious look! You cannot credit how ... agreeable I find, uh, pleasing my wife. In any event, old man, I'm to inquire when you'll be free to spend the day. If you agree, that is, and invitations will arrive forthwith."

  ***

  An hour later, Adam paced the drawing room while Caitlin looked on. Andrew was napping, and he'd sent for her the moment she was free. Before the guests left, he and Ravensford had adjourned here, where Brett revealed his duchess's particular reasons for hoping Andrew might visit. Adam had postponed his reply, saying he needed a day to consider it.

  Truth was, he wanted Caitlin's opinion. And hungered for her company. But after what had dawned on him earlier, he didn't dare see her privately without a practical matter to ground him. To anchor him to an unemotional plane, for his emotions were something he didn't entirely trust at present. He only knew he must protect Caitlin from himself. And that meant never letting her suspect his feelings. And hoping to hell I merely imagined hers!

  Heaving a sigh, he dropped into the chair opposite Caitlin's. "It's the damnedest hare-brained scheme I ever heard of," he told her. "Problem is, every time I'm about to send Her Grace my regrets, I begin to wonder if it doesn't make sense. What's your take on it?"

  Caitlin smiled to herself. Her take on it? 'Twas daft to be asking a poor colleen to judge the plans of a duchess. Still, she'd been apprehensive when first summoned here; there'd been that moment in the garden when she feared she'd given herself away. Talk of things daft! She could well imagine his lordship's "take" on the poor colleen losing her heart to him! By comparison, the duchess's plans were child's play. "Let's see if I have it right, milord. The duke and duchess have taken in a score o' children orphaned by the war in Europe, aye?"

  "Adopted them, yes. His Grace's mother started the project, but Brett says it's become an endeavor dear to his wife's heart. She loves these children"—recalling the rake he once knew, Adam gave his head a disbelieving shake—"and so does he, apparently."

  "And these wee orphans are all ... incapacitated in some way?"

  He nodded grimly. "Some are blind ... others crippled ... either from birth or maimed in the war."

  "Poor things. Yet lucky, too, t' have been rescued by such as Her Grace." Caitlin had been surprised to learn not all Sassenachs were as heartless as many back home believed. The handsome duke had been a surprise, too. She'd been needlessly intimidated by his title; he'd proved charming, kind, and not at all toplofty. "His Grace and his wife must be good people, milord. Sure and they've added deeper meanin' and enrichment t' their lives by savin' these unfortunate babes."

  "I suppose they have," Adam murmured, shaking his head again at the transformation in Brett Westmont. Was it his marriage made the difference? Appears that way, yet I can hardly credit it. Ravensford, head over heels for a woman!

  "Now, about this invitation, milord," Caitlin said. "I take it, when the duchess heard about Andrew from the vicar—"

  "Or the gossips," he said sourly. "Even in the country, news travels fast—especially bad news. You may depend on it."

  She ignored his cynicism. "And when Her Grace heard about Andrew, she thought perhaps he might benefit from playin' with ither children who are impaired?''

  "Exactly. She feels it can help him overcome a sense of being . . . different. Not to mention feeling"—he grimaced—"ostracized. Brett said they saw this happen with their own lot."

  Suddenly frowning, Adam leaned forward. "Caitlin . . . how much does Andrew understand of his condition? Does he comprehend he'll never ... ." Blood and ashes, I can't even say it!

  "Walk again? But he is walkin', milord . .. thanks t' a fine pair o' cr—"

  "Devil take it—you know what I mean!" Instantly regretting his temper, he shoved a hand through his hair and sighed. "Forgive me. Never think I mean to devalue what you've accomplished with those crutches. It's nothing short of astounding. But, Caitlin, does my son know he's not expected to walk again—unaided?"

  Ah! Caitlin studied the hands folded in her lap. "I'm not certain what he knows, milord. I've not discussed it with him, d'ye see. 'Tis not me place."

  "I collect you mean it's not your place, but mine."

  She met his eyes. "Aye."

  Under the strength of her gaze, Adam's own skittered away. He was at once conscious of the paradox that lay at the root of what Caitlin was: The steadfast wisdom in those green eyes was utterly incongruous with a face so sweetly callow; yet the contradiction made her wisdom all the more apparent. "You're right, of course," he said at length, then heaved a sigh. "I'll need some time to. . . think how to approach it. Deuced difficult, telling your child ..."

  "Aye," she said softly. Andrew's not the only one needs help here. Perhaps two can benefit from Her Grace's scheme. "In the meantime, milord, 'twould do Andrew a world o' good t' be with ither children. Whether they're ... different or no. I think ye'd do well t' take him."

  "Very well," he said after a moment. He met her eyes at last. "But you, my lass, are coming with us."

  ***

  "These biscuits are delicious, Yer Grace." Caitlin smiled at her hostess as they sat on the ducal terrace having tea. The two were alone at the moment, Brett and Adam having gone to the stables. His Grace was showing his guest a pair of high steppers he'd purchased at Tatt's. Her Grace, many months pregnant with their second child, had elected to stay and chat with Caitlin.

  "I shall tell Anna you said so." The duchess waved a slender hand at a Sevres plate piled high with biscuits. "The child made them herself. She remembered her mama making them, do you see. So when she expressed a longing to taste biscotti again, we turned her loose in the kitchens and—voila!"

  Caitlin laughed. "Sure and Yer Grace's cook must be an understandin' sort. His lordship's cook has made it known, whoever trespasses in his domain does so at his peril."

  Her Grace chuckled. "Ah, but he hasn't met our Anna! The child has a smile could charm the p
roverbial birds from the trees."

  The duchess was a petite woman, very close to Caitlin in stature. Caitlin thought her the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen. She had huge sapphire blue eyes that dominated a delicate, fine-boned face. The tiny mole high on her cheek was a natural beauty mark, calling attention to her creamy complexion. Complementing all was a luxuriant mass of shiny black curls. Caught simply at her nape by a narrow ribbon, they trailed down her back like a young girl's. Indeed, when she smiled, Caitlin was hard put to recall this was not some country lass from the village. Like her husband, she was not at all toplofty. Her next words furthered this impression:

  "My dear Caitlin, I beg you will dispense with all these 'Your Graces'! After all, with your young charge insisting we call you by your Christian name, how can I do less? Do please call me Ashleigh."

  Caitlin blushed, recalling Andrew's words when his father suggested he introduce Caitlin to the Westmonts. The little slyboots! If it please Your Graces, this is my governess, and her name's Caitlin. We must all call her by her Christian name, do you see, or she faints—dead away! "A-aye, Yer Grace," she stammered. "Ach, I mean, Ashleigh!"

  "Well, that's settled, then," said Ashleigh, her reply nearly lost amid the shouts of several children. Below, on a stretch of spacious, well-manicured lawn, a dozen youngsters played an unusual version of Blind Man's Bluff. Because two of the Westmonts' adopted children were truly blind, the other participants wore blindfolds—to even the playing field. Andrew had been invited to join them, but for now he'd prudently chosen to watch. Once I see how it's done, I'll know if I can do it on crutches. Caitlin was glad to see he wasn't alone. She had worried when Jeremy hadn't come, owing to a death in the family. Joining Andrew on the sidelines was a tall boy who stroked the shaggy head of an enormous black wolfhound; the boy was also on crutches, because of a leg that had been amputated at the knee.

  " 'Tis a grand lookin' Irish hound ye have there," Caitlin remarked.