by Anna Bradley
Hugh watched as the coach made the turn toward Huntington Lodge and disappeared up the drive. “Yes. He’s anxious to see his betrothed, no doubt.”
“His betrothed?”
“Miss Ramsey. Lord Sydney and Miss Ramsey are betrothed.” Hugh’s voice was a dull rasp, and though he tried to hide his anguish, he suspected from the measuring look Lady Juliana gave him that he’d done a poor enough job of it.
“Miss Ramsey and Lord Sydney.” Lady Juliana tapped her gloved fingers against her lips, her gaze still fixed on his face. “They make a lovely couple. Don’t you think so, my lord?”
“Yes, of course.” Hugh nearly choked on the words. “Lovely.”
She studied him for another moment, her brow furrowed, but then she wheeled her horse around. “We’ve been out for more than an hour. Shall we go back and see what Grace and my father have got up to?”
She didn’t wait for an answer but turned her horse’s head toward the house.
Hugh followed her, his heart as heavy as it had been the day he’d said goodbye to Isla.
* * * *
“Oh look, Uncle Hugh!” Grace ran to meet them as soon as Hugh and Lady Juliana appeared in the drawing room doorway. She had something clutched in her hand, and she was waving it over her head.
“What have you got there?” He bent down, scooped her up into his arms, and took a seat on one of the settees. He settled her onto his lap, and Grace opened her fist to reveal a tiny silver teapot in her palm.
“The handle broke. See?”
Hugh bent over her hand and spied a sliver no wider than a thread that appeared to have come detached. “So it has. Never mind it, Grace. We’ll get you another teapot.”
Lord Graystone gave him a disapproving look. “You’re spoiling that child, Lord Pierce. She’ll become intolerable, and you’ll have no one to blame for it but yourself.”
Hugh shrugged. Grace already had him wound around her finger, and he didn’t care a whit. He couldn’t look at Grace without also seeing Emma, and he lavished all the love and affection he had for both of them on his niece. She’d been here less than a week, but he already adored her, both for her own sake and for her mother’s. Nothing could console him for losing Isla, but his heart felt lighter when he was with Grace.
“You’re one to talk, Papa.” Lady Juliana gave her father an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “That scold would be far more effective if you hadn’t spent all morning playing dolls.”
Lord Graystone’s frown dissolved, and he gave his daughter a sheepish look. “Well, someone had to give them their tea.”
Lady Juliana laughed. “Have you? Are they quite refreshed?”
“Yes.” Grace slid off Hugh’s lap and ran back to the dollhouse. “But we broke the teapot. Grandfather dropped it on top of Lady Shufflebottom, and the tea spilt.”
“Oh, dear. I’m afraid Lady Shufflebottom must have been quite put out.” Lady Juliana traded an amused smile with Hugh.
Grace nodded gravely. “She was, but it’s all right now.”
“Well, now that Lady Shufflebottom has been set to rights, I think you’d better have your own tea, Grace.”
“No, I don’t want it.” Grace was kneeling in front of the dollhouse, clearing the tiny tea things from the dining table, a look of utter absorption on her face. “I want to play.”
Hugh hid a smile. Emma had been the same way. Once she settled herself in front of that dollhouse, nothing could distract her. Certainly not something as dull as tea.
“Oh, you’d rather play?” Lady Juliana raised an eyebrow. “Very well, if you choose. It’s a shame, though, because if you don’t have your tea, I’m afraid you’ll be too tired to take a ride with your uncle and me this afternoon.”
That got Grace’s attention. She abandoned her tea things and turned a pleading look on Lady Juliana. “Oh, no, I’m not too tired! I promise!”
“Hmmm. Well, perhaps we can still go, then, but only if you come and sit nicely at the table and have your tea.”
Grace scrambled to her feet and slid her little hand into Hugh’s. “Yes, I will.”
As it turned out, tea was a rather magnificent affair. Mrs. Babcock, who was delighted to have more people to feed, had coaxed the cook to reach new culinary heights since their guests had arrived at Hazelwood.
They were served jam-filled cakes, dainty bread-and-butter sandwiches, cheese, and a selection of curd tarts that made Lady Juliana exclaim with delight. Lord Graystone looked as if he didn’t know quite what to do with so many fussy treats, and Grace was so excited for her ride they only managed to get a few cakes into her before she declared herself full and ready to go out.
Hugh leaned back in his chair, sipped at his tea, and watched the scene unfold. Lady Juliana would make as lovely a wife as any man could ask for. Grace was bright and clever and affectionate—one couldn’t see her without breaking into a smile. Even Lord Graystone, softened by his recent illness, wasn’t the formidable despot Hugh remembered. It was easy to see how a man could be contented with such a life.
If he were any other man, he would be.
But as he sat there, half-listening to the cheerful chatter around him, his mind drifted to Isla, and Lord Sydney’s arrival at Huntington Lodge. Isla would be overjoyed to see him. She might not love Lord Sydney in the same way she did Hugh, but she cared deeply for him and no doubt would have been frantic when she learned of his injuries.
As soon as Sydney arrived, she would have taken him into her arms and told him she’d missed him. Perhaps Lord Sydney would kiss her forehead, or her cheek. Now he was at Huntington Lodge at last, they’d be planning their nuptials.
Hugh squeezed the fine porcelain teacup between his fingers until the handle was in danger of snapping off, just as Grace’s teapot had done. Christ, he wished he’d never seen Lord Huntington’s traveling coach coming down the road. He wished he didn’t know Lord Sydney was with Isla right now, talking to her and enjoying her smiles, touching her—
“Uncle Hugh?”
Hugh jerked his attention back to the table. Grace was standing beside his chair, tugging at the sleeve of his coat. “Are you done with your tea?”
Hugh blinked down at her. “My tea?”
“Yes. Aunt says we’ll take our ride once you’re done with your tea.” Grace stood on her tiptoes and tried to peer over the edge of his teacup. “You’re done, aren’t you?”
He’d been a thousand miles away just now, and when his guilty gaze met Lady Juliana’s over the top of Grace’s head, he saw at once she knew it. There was no anger in her expression, and no blame, but her green eyes were shadowed with worry. She didn’t say a word about it, however—only nodded at his teacup and asked softly, “Lord Pierce? Have you finished with your tea?”
Hugh’s chest went tight with guilt and grief, and he had to look away from her. He set his teacup in the saucer, then turned to Grace with a smile. “Yes. Shall we go?”
Lord Graystone decided against a ride and retired to his bedchamber for the afternoon. Grace, Lady Juliana, and Hugh made their way to the stables, and Hugh chose a sweet-tempered mare for Grace to ride. Then the three of them rode out together, with Lady Juliana leading the way toward the main road, where they’d seen the tender green shoots poking their heads up from the ground.
Hugh closed his eyes and turned his gaze up to the sun. He tried to concentrate on the soft warmth caressing his face, to stay in this moment. He would do better. He’d try harder. Lady Juliana and Grace deserved all his attention, and he’d do whatever it took to give it to them.
“Ah, here they are. See, Grace? Just there.” They’d been having a lazy wander along the tree line, but now Lady Juliana swung down from her horse. She reached her arms up for Grace and helped her dismount. “Come see. They’re very tiny still, but in the next few weeks or so, these little green plants will become flowers.”
“What kind of flowers?” Grace asked, crouching down to study the shoots with interest.
“It’s difficult to tell now, but daffodils, perhaps, or crocuses. What do you think, Lord Pierce?”
Hugh dismounted and strolled over to the two of them. “I think they’re definitely going to be daffodils. Or crocuses.”
Grace giggled. “That’s cheating, Uncle Hugh.”
“Is it? Well, I beg your pardon, Miss Grace. Daffodils and crocuses are all very well, but what you really want to see are the bluebells.”
“Bluebells?” Grace’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen those. What are they like?”
Hugh tugged on one of her long braids. “Blue.”
Lady Juliana laughed. “Well, they’re more of a purple color, wouldn’t you say, Lord Pierce? You’ve seen bluebells, Grace. We have them at home, but we haven’t very many, and they’re most extraordinary when there are large swathes of them. They cover the ground like a thick, purple carpet.”
Grace clapped her hands together. “A carpet of flowers? I’d like to see that!”
“Then you shall.” Hugh took Grace’s hand and led her to the edge of the woods near the road. “They prefer dappled sunlight, so they tend to grow where there’s more shade. We haven’t a thick carpet of them yet—it’s a bit early for that still—but in the next week or so, we should see—”
He was interrupted by the familiar clop of horses’ hooves and the subtle squeak of carriage wheels rolling over the packed dirt road.
“Look! What a pretty carriage!” Grace dropped Hugh’s hand and darted forward to get a better look at the shiny black lacquered coach with its brass fittings and bright red wheels.
Hugh and Lady Juliana glanced at each other in surprise. It was Lord Huntington’s traveling coach again, heading down the road in the opposite direction from which it had come earlier this afternoon.
“How curious,” Lady Juliana said, watching it approach. “Lord Sydney only just arrived. Surely he isn’t leaving already?”
Hugh didn’t answer. He didn’t even hear her, because next to the coach was a lady in a dark blue riding habit, the long blue ribbons of her hat flying out behind her as she and Sophie trotted alongside the coach.
Isla.
She didn’t seem to notice them, or their horses—they were just far enough into the woods so the trees hid them from her view, but Hugh couldn’t take his eyes off her. He stood utterly still, drinking in the sight of her as she approached. He was aware of Lady Juliana’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Isla. He turned as the coach passed. He was helpless against the need to watch her until she was out of sight, but to his surprise the coach drew to a halt a little farther down the road.
Isla stopped beside it, dismounted, and then stood there for a moment, waiting. The coach door opened, and a man alighted. He was tall and dark-haired, and he moved with care, as if he’d recently been injured.
It was indeed Lord Sydney, and it looked very much as if he was leaving.
Lord Sydney reached for Isla and folded her into his arms. They remained clasped in an embrace for some time, until at last Lord Sydney drew back. He raised one hand to Isla’s cheek, leaned toward her, and…
Hugh’s heart rushed into his throat.
Dropped a chaste kiss onto her forehead. It was the sort of kiss a brother might give his sister, or a parent a child. It wasn’t a lover’s kiss.
They spoke a few words, and then Lord Sydney climbed back into the coach. The driver twitched the ribbons, and the coach drove away, leaving a little cloud of dust behind it.
Isla waited until it was out of sight, then she mounted Sophie, turned the horse’s head back toward Huntington Lodge, and rode in the direction from which she’d come. No more than ten minutes passed between the time the coach appeared and Isla rode away, but in those few minutes, everything changed.
Hugh stood there after she’d disappeared, his mind reeling with shock.
Lord Sydney was gone.
He’d remained at Huntington Lodge for a single afternoon only, and the encounter Hugh had witnessed between Lord Sydney and Isla just now…
It had looked like a goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-two
The journey back to Beaconsfield was interminable. Sydney shifted restlessly from one side of the coach to the other, crossed and uncrossed his legs, and tore at his hair in an agony of impatience. He huffed and muttered and sighed, but no matter how much he squirmed and flailed, he couldn’t make the damned coach move any faster.
Surely it hadn’t taken so long to make the journey this morning? Why, there weren’t more than twenty miles between Aylesbury and Beaconsfield. There was no reason in the world it should be taking such an eternity. Sydney was half-convinced the irate coachman was traveling in circles, just to torture him.
Lucas had been right about Lord Huntington’s coachman. He was a haughty devil, and he hadn’t been at all happy to find himself back on the box for a return trip to Beaconsfield. The only person who’d been less pleased than the coachman was Lord Huntington himself, who was more than a little startled to find the guest who’d just arrived that morning was already departing.
“What, you’re leaving?” Lord Huntington had glanced between Isla and Sydney with a baffled expression. “But you’ve only just gotten here!”
“Well, yes, but it’s an emergency, you see.” Isla turned big, pleading blue eyes on her brother. “Please, Finn. I promise I’ll explain everything later, but Lord Sydney must go at once. You’ll let him have your coach again, won’t you?”
Lord Huntington had eyed Sydney with a suspicious frown. “You seem to have a great many emergencies these days, Sydney.”
“Please, Finn.”
Isla had clasped her hands under her chin, her lower lip trembling, and Lord Huntington had done what any brother would do when threatened with a beloved sister’s tears. He’d thrown his hands into the air in defeat. “Yes, yes, of course he can have the coach. But I don’t like this, Isla. I’ll expect a full explanation from you once you’ve seen Lord Sydney off.”
Sydney didn’t envy Isla the rest of that explanation. It was an affront to his gentlemanly conscience to leave her alone to excuse his actions, but…well, this was an emergency. He’d left the only person he’d ever loved behind, with no promise to ever return. These were dire circumstances, indeed, and Sydney couldn’t return to Beaconsfield fast enough.
He hadn’t had to explain this to Isla. No, the same lady who’d always insisted love was nothing but an illusion had seen into the depths of his heart, without him having to offer a word of explanation. She’d bundled him into the coach, ridden with him to the main road, and sent him off with a wish for his happiness and a sweet, chaste kiss.
Now Sydney was tucked once again into the back of Lord Huntington’s coach, with fresh horses in the traces and a very ill-tempered coachman on the box.
On his way back to Lucas.
Slowly.
What the devil was taking so long? He’d never before longed for Burke with such desperation as he did now. Burke would have made a much quicker job of it, but Sydney had been fool enough to send Burke off to Sydney Court, his country estate in Kent, with instructions to ready the house for Sydney and Isla.
It was odd, though. Now he thought of it, he’d never once envisioned himself living there with her—not even when he’d been certain they’d marry. His brain had refused to conjure that particular version of domestic bliss.
Or maybe it hadn’t been his brain at all. Maybe it had been his heart. Over this past week, Sydney had become convinced it was by far the more trustworthy of the two organs.
He leaned back against the squabs with a sigh. His shoulder had begun to ache from all his pointless fidgeting and wriggling. He’d donned his sling a few miles back, and now he was obliged to sit quiet
ly for the rest of the journey.
He let his eyes drift closed, but he didn’t sleep. His heart might have resisted the thought of Isla at Sydney Court, but if offered a ready enough image of Lucas there. He could picture him browsing through the massive library. Sydney had more than one book on Italy, some of them with very handsome plates. Lucas would enjoy those. In his mind’s eye he could also see the two of them wandering the grounds together, with Brute frisking about at their heels. Perhaps they’d get a half-dozen more Newfoundland dogs, to keep Brute from getting lonely.
It was dark by the time the coach crested the familiar hill that led to Brinkhill Farm. Sydney glanced out the window, and there it was, spread out below him. He squinted into the darkness, but he couldn’t discern even a glimmer of light in any of the windows.
For the first time since he’d embarked on his return journey, his heart gave an uneasy thump in his chest. He’d been so determined to get here, he hadn’t once considered the possibility Lucas wouldn’t want to see him.
What if Lucas didn’t love him in return? They’d never discussed it—the word love had never once passed between them. Sydney would have sworn he felt love in Lucas’s touch, but what if he’d been mistaken? There was a chance Lucas would scoff at the idea of spending his life with an arrogant earl and send Sydney off to Kent with a broken heart.
Sydney waited until the coach rolled to the bottom of the hill, then he rapped on the roof for the coachman to stop. They were close enough so the farmhouse was an easy walk, but not so close Lucas would hear them arrive. When the coach stopped and the surly coachman appeared, Sydney instructed him to unload the baggage onto the side of the road, then pressed a few coins into his hand and sent him on his way. He didn’t want that fellow hanging about, gawking at them.
Whatever was about to happen between him and Lucas was private.
He waited for the coach to leave, then walked the short distance to the front door of the farmhouse. Now he was closer, he could see there was a faint light shining in the kitchen window. He drew closer still, and through the window he saw Lucas sitting at the kitchen table. A lamp burned next to him, and he had a book spread open on the table in front of him.