Earl Power: A Modern Aristocracy Billionaire Romance (Endowed Book 2)

by Sara Forbes

  “Twins often arrive early.”

  “Twins?” I squeal. Seb is going to be a double uncle. Then a thought strikes me. “Are they okay?”

  “We hope so. The neonatal unit there is the best in the country.”

  The word neonatal strikes a note of fear in my heart.

  “Oh, no,” I mutter.

  William hastens to reassure me that everything is going to be fine, although from the bare facts, I’m not at all convinced there’s cause for celebration—and truth is, I’ve seen William downplay things before.

  After the call, I rush to find Hayley. I eventually find her working in her gallery downstairs. I ask her the quickest means of getting to the hospital.

  She puts down the crazy blue abstract painting she’s taken off the wall. She can see I’m not asking out of idle curiosity. “George’ll drive you.”

  I’m on the verge of asking if she wants to join, but as she’s not offering, I don’t push it. She’s clearly too busy.

  George arrives in the gallery to drive me down to London. He’s a taciturn gentleman who speaks only when spoken to, so the only sound on our journey is the occasional cheerful voice from the sat-nav system. And I’m grateful for the quiet. I’m too worked up, thinking of Seb, debating what to say to him, imagining the future moment when we’ll meet, and how that will all pan out. I miss him so much.

  How will I ask him what I need to know? Is he really in love with Liv? Has he given up on me? I know he has other worries right now and it’s not right to hijack him and dump my questions on him, but when else am I going to have the chance? It’s now or never.

  27

  SEB

  THE AGONY OF LIFE, holding on by a sacred thread. I stare though the glass of the ward’s door at Orla. She’s obscured by doctors and nurses hovering around her bed with their white coats, trollies, instruments, and insufferable air of cheerful normality.

  “Come on, get through this,” I growl. Suddenly the lives of my half-sister and her babies are the most important things in the world to me. I’m angry, livid, with the situation, and with life in general. I badly want to blame someone. Clearly, I can’t blame the staff or the facilities on this ward; it’s top-notch here on the specialist second floor.

  Rachel has wandered up beside me, and catches my gaze. All the worry of a mother is written across her face. It’s too much to deal with right now. I turn away and walk over to the seats by the wall, slump down on the seat furthest from where Rachel is standing, and fold my arms. I know she’s watching me. She can’t seem to overcome her fascination.

  “Sebastian.” Rachel slides a look across the three empty seats separating us.

  Politeness forces me to answer. “Yes?”

  “This brings me back to the day you were born.”

  I inhale sharply and look down at my hands clasped together. Not this. Not here. Not now.

  “Sebastian, please.”

  “Is that what you called me?” I blurt. “Did you give me that name or was it someone else’s idea?”

  “That was my choice.” Her tired eyes soften. “Probably the only concession I got.”

  And then, without warning, she launches into her tale. “You’ve no idea how hard it was for me to give you away to your father and Amelia. I don’t expect you to understand that. Nobody can. But I was poor and deeply shamed, desperate and lonely, with no options.” She spits out these words.

  “Word got around that it was intentional, that I was trying to steal your father. But it was just one night of passion after a ball. I went back home and discovered in the third month. Your father didn’t know I was pregnant until I told him—five months into his courtship with Amelia, by which time his heart was totally set on her. He…”

  Her voice trails off but she doesn’t have to say it. He wanted to get rid of me.

  “And my mother? I ask, my desire to know topping all else. “I mean, Amelia?”

  “It was out of her hands. The duke—your paternal grandfather—insisted that you be taken into the family and looked after by a paid nurse. Before a year had passed, Amelia had taken a shine to you and adopted you as her own. I was completely out of the picture. I only know this because the nurse kindly contacted me several years later, after she’d been let go. To anyone looking in from the outside, it looked like the newly married couple had simply got their heir the usual way. And that version of the story suited everyone.

  “You have to understand, I came from a strict Catholic family up north who would have disowned me had they known. To this day, they never did find out. I was penniless. The deal we struck was that I’d give the baby—you—up and disappear to London with a basic allowance from the Belgrave coffers. I was totally helpless and didn’t see any other way to survive, though I cried and wailed against it when they came to take you away.”

  She heaves a few breaths before she continues, “I lived a non-life until I couldn’t stand living in this country anymore and eventually moved as far away as I could get—Australia. Soon after that, I met Rory, and the following year, Orla was born. That was a new beginning for me.”

  I know it’s the truth and at some level, I do understand. But I can’t forgive. It’s like a monumental boulder blocking my path, too heavy to shift aside.

  We sit like this for what feels like hours, breathing the sterile air. Hospital staff walk past us on the impossibly shiny floor. I’ve lost all concept of time under this relentlessly cheerful lighting that glints off polished surfaces. At the back of my mind I know I’ve neglected the farm, and they’ll be wondering where the hell I am, but they’ll just have to get on with things in my absence. I have no intention of sharing what’s happening here with any of them.

  I debate the wisdom of getting another coffee from the machine in the lobby downstairs vs. just sitting here, not knowing what to say to Rachel to make the situation better for her. Because, now that I’ve stopped feeling sorry for myself, I feel her pain. She’s lost me, and she fears she might lose the daughter who redeemed her. Not to mention two unborn grandkids. I’ve never felt so helpless. Plus, I’m so tired and confused from barely sleeping for four nights in a row that I feel barely conscious.

  Which is why, when the double doors swing back and Mara comes walking through, I assume it’s just a hallucination.

  She breezes in, fresh as a daisy, red hair aflame under the lights as her head swings left and right, looking for something. There’s an air of otherworldliness about her, just as you’d expect from a mirage. The jade green jacket hugging her curves reminds me of the dress she wore at the wedding.

  I don’t move a muscle as she approaches, still not seeing me. But then she stops midstride and her hand flies to her mouth. The gesture wakes me from my trance, tells me she’s a living human being.

  Shakily, I rise. “Mara?” is all I can say.

  Then she’s crashing into my chest with a whump that’s real as fuck. Instant life springs to parts of me I thought had died forever. I wrap my arms tight around her and breath in her unique scent of coconut, lime, and something uniquely Mara. I will never let her go again. My world rocks back into a better place. I smooth my hand down her soft hair, an inch longer now.

  God, I’ve missed her so much.

  “You came back.” I pull back to look at her face. There’s a smudging of her mascara under her lower lashes that suggests she’s been crying. I’ve never seen her cry.

  “Yes.” Her gaze roves over my face and she frowns. “Seb, you look awful.”

  I suddenly remember where I am, and why I’m here. “Mara, this is Rachel.” I point to my mother, who’s watching us with undisguised interest. I’m glad she’s found distraction in her hour of need.

  “Hi,” Mara says with an empathetic smile, scuttling over to her. “Oh my God, I heard about your daughter and came as fast as I could. Is she okay?”

  Her courtesy warms my heart and a little of the tension coiled tight in my gut relaxes.

  Rachel gestures towards the ward door. “That
’s what we’re waiting to hear, dear. The twins haven’t come out yet. It’s…” She shakes her head, not knowing the right expression.

  “Hell?” Mara offers.

  Rachel nods.

  We all sink down on the chairs again, Mara’s hand clasped in mine. It feels so right, so instinctive that she’s here with us. Even with this horrendous uncertainty eating away at me.

  When Rachel goes off to the loo, I turn to Mara.

  “Mara, why did you come?” I ask urgently.

  “I … had to see you. I heard you’d run away. I was worried.”

  “I didn’t run away. But it’s crazy. I’ll end up with nothing … especially if these babies die and Rachel decides England is cursed, which is what she’s saying already.” I nod to the chair Rachel has vacated.

  “They won’t die.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  She flinches back. And then Rachel’s feet come clipping against floor. The moment has passed.

  At eight o’clock the ward matron, citing visiting hours, kindly asks Mara and me to leave. Rachel’s allowed to stay. I switch into Lord Belgrave mode and remind the matron of the seriousness of the situation and the utterly inhumane, not to mention outrageously insulting, nature of the request. I may even throw the queen’s name in there. It’s more like something Alex would do, but fuck it. They don’t need to throw this shit at us, not now.

  She listens impassively.

  Mara and I end up in the canteen downstairs anyway. Rachel comes with us, for the company as much as for the coffee, I expect. Orla’s resting, and I know Rachel needs a break.

  “Well, you sure told her,” Mara says.

  “I’m sorry. I lost my cool.”

  “It’s okay.” Rachel pats the back of my hand in an undeniably maternal gesture. “I appreciate it.” When she removes her hand, the atmosphere gets awkward.

  “I’m going back to Belgrave tonight,” Mara declares.

  “What?”

  “Yes.” Her mouth’s a determined line. “They need to know, Seb.”

  I exchange a look with Rachel, who seems as confused as I am.

  “I don’t see why,” I say carefully.

  Mara’s shaking her head, as if in disbelief, and there’s this steely undertone to her whole demeanor, like she’s ready to explode. “Trust me. I need to do this, okay?”

  Before I can find any privacy with her and kiss her as I so badly need to, and argue against this senseless move, she’s leaving me again. As we part with a weird, chaste kiss for Rachel’s benefit, all my instincts scream do not let her walk away from you again.

  But Mara seems dead set on going back to my family; her will is like a force of nature. She has to do what she feels she has to do. I’ve never been able to stop her before, so what makes me think I can start now?

  28

  MARA

  When George and I return to Belgrave Castle, I’m still shaking with emotion, and starving. Hayley greets us in the hall and kindly guides me to the kitchen for a supper of sandwiches, pear tart with thick cream, and a mug of strong coffee.

  “Tell us all so you don’t have to repeat yourself a million times,” she says. “We’re in the drawing room. Bring that coffee with you.”

  So here we are, Alex, Hayley, Ken, Letty, and I—sitting in the blue drawing room, arranged in a circle around the massive, clawfoot coffee table, like we’re going to perform some occult ceremony.

  My voice is creaky as I near the end of my tale. “So, we’re just waiting for the birth. Orla’s been in labor for sixteen hours already. And we have no idea how it’ll end.”

  “How awful for her,” Alex says, with some sympathy.

  Hayley nods, her eyes huge. I can tell she wants to ask more, but doesn’t feel she should.

  I turn to Alex. It’s his task to rouse the others and come up with a plan to get everyone down to London as soon as possible in a show of support for Seb. Maybe even tonight.

  “Liv wasn’t with Seb?” Ken asks. “You’re absolutely sure of that?”

  “No, he hasn’t even seen her,” I say, some of my impatience leaking out in my tone. But then I feel a pang of guilt when I remember Liv was my chief reason for flying over here—the same jealousy that Ken is now so obviously suffering from. Or had been; now he looks positively ecstatic with relief.

  “I wonder where she could be then,” Letty muses.

  As they ponder the Liv tangent in minute detail, with no sign of returning to the main topic, I can barely contain my impatience. What the hell is wrong with them all?

  I suppose I’m getting a blast of what Seb’s had to deal with all along, but how can they be so indifferent to the fate of his half-sister and her babies? This is more than the British stiff upper lip in action here. It’s like they truly have no interest in the matter. They’re only interested in Liv and the fact that she wasn’t with Seb.

  “My God, don’t any of you care what Seb’s going through?” I finally ask, voice shaking.

  There’s a stunned silence. Heads turn to me, mouths agape, almost comical in their similarity.

  The skin on the back of my neck prickles. This is his family, the ones he sticks his neck out for, day in and day out. They wouldn’t be sitting here in their fine castle only for him. They’d be a bunch of has-been aristocrats, living in crummy semi-detached houses in suburban London, most probably, riddled with debt, leading mediocre lives. Have they no feeling for what he’s going through?

  Nobody seems capable of looking me in the eye. Letty and Ken exchange glances, as do Alex and Hayley.

  But finally, as if she can’t bear the silence, Hayley intercepts my gaze and says, “Mara and I are heading up to her rooms now. We have a lot of news from Laxby to catch up on.”

  “Yes, of course, of course,” they all mutter in audible relief.

  Upstairs, Hayley flops on my bed and rests her head on her elbow, watching me.

  “What the fuck?” I begin.

  Hayley holds up a hand. “Look, I know what it was like down there, Mara. But I couldn’t discuss it within earshot of the mother next door and the housekeeper hovering around in the hallway. I swear, the walls have ears in this place. “But I do want to know about the babies. I do care. It’s just...”

  “It’s just what?” I demand.

  “Well, I’m married into the family now. It’s different. I can’t just trample over everyone’s feelings.”

  “Hayley, this is life and death,” I huff. “And it’s important to Seb.”

  This is the closest Hayley and I have come to falling out in years. I need her to get out of this room before I say something truly terrible.

  “Then it’s good he’s got you,” Hayley says, rising quickly as if she senses the mood I’m in.

  She’s out the door before I can retort. Not that I know how to answer anyway. I lie on the bed, not bothering to undress. I plug in my phone charger. I’m not going to be able to sleep until I know what the hell is happening down there in London. Looks like I should have stayed there.

  29

  SEB

  Someone’s shaking my shoulder. I’ve nodded off. The corridor outside the canteen is dimmer than before, quieter, colder.

  “Urrgh. What?”

  It’s the same matron I chewed the head off a few hours ago. I check my watch; it’s 2 a.m. Okay, six hours ago. Doesn’t anybody sleep around here? Then I’m fully awake with a sickening lunge of my stomach. “What’s happened?”

  “Come.” The matron’s firm expression tells me nothing. I’m filled with dread. Should I enjoy my last moments of not knowing? I follow stiffly behind her up to the door of Orla’s ward, my heart hammering madly. She pushes her way through the door.

  All I see is are huge white hospital gadgets, and three people blocking my view of the bed, talking quietly.

  Orla spots me first.

  “Seb,” she cries. And from her tone, I know there is no tragedy. Lightheaded with relief, I venture further in.

  Rachel and
two of the nursing staff turn around in unison. I’m greeted by smiles as they gesture to the two box-like things beside the bed. I move closer.

  “They came?” I gasp when I see there are two tiny, living humans inside those boxes.

  “An hour ago,” Orla says proudly.

  “Are they… all right?”

  The answer lies before me: they’re alive, anyway. Two mobile incubation units containing what must be the world’s smallest babies, little squiggly pink things that remind me of newborn creatures on tenants’ farms, although I don’t mention this.

  The new mother is beaming at me, propped up against cushions. “Two girls,” Orla says, before I even think to ask.

  I stare down in fascination again, unable to utter a word as my gaze hops from daughters to daughter to mother, the three generations.

  I’m an uncle. These are my nieces.

  “They’re stable. Doing very well, but of course, we have to be careful. The birth weights are more than expected, one point five kilos each,” a nurse says.

  I nod, dumbly. It’s an unspeakable emotion, this raw connection. All the money and power in the world is nothing compared to this. This is what a home is all about. It starts here. It doesn’t matter where they live as long as I can help them, and watch these little beauties grow.

  It’s about them now. That’s what got lost in all of this. I’ve been using them as a weapon, an excuse to build a castle larger than Belgraves to prove some stupid point about my worth as a human being. And that was just dumb. The only thing that matters is health and togetherness. I’ve complicated everything with my stupid ego. If I’d stuck to the original plans, the house would be ready by now. But now, of course, it’s a mess. My fault.

  I walk over to Orla and kiss her cheek. Straightening, I catch Rachel’s flushed expression of sheer relief and joy. I kiss her too and hold her shoulders.

  “It’s okay now,” I say. Because I know it is. This is the start of the rest of my life.