A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle

by Catherine Gayle

  “Of course I am. I’m always right. You ought to have learned that by now.”

  “Consider the lesson complete,” Quin said.

  Mother raised a single eyebrow. “And you ought to also realize that the same goes for Aurora, too. She is always right. You’ll save yourself years of heartache if you learn that one simple fact right in this moment.”

  Apparently it was a lesson Sir Augustus had learned many years before. The man did seem to let his wife take the reins far more often than was Quin’s inclination—but he also seemed to have far less conflict within his marriage.

  Damnation.

  They finished the dance, keeping up their playful banter as they did. Then Quin saw his guests out to their conveyances. Most of the house party seemed inclined to stay up enjoying themselves a while longer in the salon. That was more than all right. It was the final night of the house party, after all.

  But he missed his wife.

  After he’d seen to their comforts and made certain the staff would not work too late into the night, Quin excused himself and went up to their chamber. He half expected to find Aurora asleep on a settee in their sitting room, as had been her habit for the majority of their marriage. But she was not there.

  Then he went into her chamber, thinking she might have been too exhausted and fallen asleep in her own bed. Again, she was not to be found.

  Finally, Quin went to his own chamber. Instead of his wife, however, he found her journal. It lay carefully positioned on his pillow, open to a certain page a little past the halfway point. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took the journal into his hands gingerly, almost as though it would disappear in the same manner Aurora seemed to have done. He held it to the candlelight and read.

  We, neither one of us, wanted what we now have: a marriage full of more silence than laughter, of more pain than joy, of more secrets than truths. Even just tonight, I learned yet another truth that has been hidden away from me for these last months—the truth of why you refused to honor your agreement with Lady Phoebe.

  Which led me to another truth: no matter how much I may wish otherwise, no matter how much I love you and want the best for you, no matter how many years have passed, you are still the boy whose father beat him when he couldn’t handle his own grief. Perhaps you will always be that child—lost and hurt and seemingly alone in the world.

  There is a truth about me which you should know. However much you believe yourself to be like your father (and mayhap you’re right), that is also how much I am like my mother. I had hoped this would not be the case—that her problems with bearing healthy, living children would be hers alone and would not pass down to the next generation. Alas, they are not. Her problems are now my problems.

  Which means, as my husband, they are yours as well.

  The babe I carried is gone. Indeed, it is doubtful I can ever carry a child long enough for it to survive. Out of my mother’s countless attempts, I was her only success. And what a success I have been, earning the scorn of the ton, whilst failing in the one task you had set for me.

  I cannot bear the thought of continuing along my mother’s path—of trying and failing again and again until all that is left of my soul is an empty shell, all that is left of our marriage is the memory of love with the reality of heartache. And if there is one thing I have learned about myself through our marriage, it is that I am, generally, a selfish person. I wish for what is best for me, rather than what is best for my acquaintances. I wish for what is best for me, rather than what is best for my dearest friend. I wish for what is best for me, rather than what is best for you, my husband. I had thought I might change, but now I am not so sure.

  What is best for me right now is to be alone.

  By the time Quin came to the end, he was baffled. The baby was gone. Aurora was gone. But where could she have gotten off to? Mrs. Marshall hadn’t said anything about Aurora leaving, so she must still be in the abbey somewhere.

  He had to find her. He couldn’t allow her to be alone. Not now. Not after losing the baby. She needed comfort. She needed to know that he loved her, regardless of whether they had a baby or not. That he didn’t care about Rotheby’s blasted edicts. That he needed her more than brandy, more than gambling or boxing or any of his other pursuits, even more than air.

  Quin rushed from his chamber down to the salon. “She’s gone,” he said as he burst through the door. “Aurora is gone. She’s lost the baby and she is gone.”

  The house guests leapt to their feet, all talking at once.

  “The baby? What baby?”

  “Where on earth could she have gone?”

  “It’s the middle of the night. Surely she couldn’t have gone far.”

  Quin shook his head. “There’s no time for explanations. We have to find her.” He sat in the nearest chair, eyes wide, with Aurora’s journal still in his hands.

  “Let’s all work together,” Jonas called out over the general commotion. Every eye turned to him, including Quin. “We’ll break into pairs to search the abbey and the grounds. The servants are still setting things to rights after the ball, so we will gain their assistance as well. Question everyone—Cook, the grooms in the stables—everyone you run across. Find out if they’ve seen her this evening. We will all report back here, to the salon, in thirty minute increments as to where we’ve searched and what we’ve learned. Lady Aylesbury and Lord Rotheby will remain here to keep track of our efforts.”

  Thank God for Jonas. Lord knew Quin’s head was anything but level at that precise point in time.

  Within moments, pairs formed and cleared out of the salon, beginning their search.

  Quin left alone. He couldn’t sit and wait for someone to find her. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her when she was alone, when he wasn’t there to protect her.

  He had to find her.

  ~ * ~

  Zeus hadn’t stopped licking Aurora’s face since they had arrived at the hermitage hours before, other than a brief stint where the pup was too tired to keep his eyes open and he fell asleep on her lap where she sat in the leather chair. But then her sobbing had started anew, and Zeus returned to his vigil.

  She oughtn’t to have brought him with her. She ought to have left him at the abbey, where he could be petted and played with and loved by all the young ladies after the ball had finished.

  But as was her wont, Aurora had taken the self-serving path.

  Zeus had just moved to lick dry the salty tears on the other side of her face when the hermitage’s door flew open with Quin on the other side of the threshold. He stood there gasping for breath, with his eyes ablaze and hair flowing free about his shoulders, unmoving.

  For long moments, they merely stared at each other. Why had he come? There was nothing he could do, nothing that could repair what had been lost.

  Zeus left her and waddled over to Quin’s feet, barking and jumping up for affection. How lovely it must be to be a dog. They were always free to show their love, leaping into a lap or licking a face whenever the mood struck. A simple nudge or a bark was all it took to receive love.

  How much more complicated to be a man or a woman.

  Quin reached down and scratched behind Zeus’s ears. “I wondered if you might come here,” he said into the stillness.

  With each word, another piece of her heart broke off.

  “Everyone has been looking for you, you know. You’ve given us all quite a fright.”

  Aurora nodded. She couldn’t trust her voice yet, couldn’t speak without fear of falling completely apart at his feet. That just would not do. She could not become a weak ninny, crying and begging him to love her despite her failings.

  When Zeus wouldn’t stop stretching up Quin’s long legs to nudge his hand with his wet nose, Quin finally reached down to scoop the pup into his arms. “May I come in?” he asked. His voice was calm. Measured.

  Again, Aurora nodded.

  He stepped into the hermitage, his massive frame nearly filling the
small room, and took a seat in the chair opposite her.

  “I love you,” he said. “I love you more than I know how to”

  Aurora raised a hand to stop him. Tears welled in her eyes again. She couldn’t listen to this—couldn’t bear knowing how much pain he was in. Her own pain was more than she was prepared to carry. The added weight of his would suffocate her.

  Taking her hand into his own, he lowered it to her lap. “Yes, I have to tell you this. And you have to listen.” Quin closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. “I love you more than I know how to handle, and I can’t live without you. I can’t exist without you. Do you realize what you’ve done for me? I have a reason to enjoy life again—a reason to be the man my father never managed to be.”

  It wasn’t enough, though. It could never be enough, as long as she couldn’t give him the heir that his grandfather required. “But Lord Rotheby”

  “Rotheby can go straight to the devil without a backward glance,” Quin said.

  “But the baby. The baby is gone, Quin. I’ve miscarried. Did you not read my journal?”

  “I read it and understood perfectly well. That doesn’t matter. If marrying you and learning to live a proper life isn’t enough for him, then he can have the abbey. I’ll take up a profession. I’ll do whatever it takes to support you, Aurora. Because I can’t be without you. And it doesn’t matter to me if we never have children, if we never provide an heir to become Rotheby after me, as long as I have you. After all, once I’m in the ground, I won’t give one whit who holds the title. It could go to Norcutt or Jonas, or anyone else under the moon, for all I care.”

  He dragged a hand through his shaggy hair, which looked as though he had done just that countless times already that evening. “Do you understand what I’m saying? There is nothing—absolutely nothing—I won’t do to convince you of my love. To convince you that you mean more to me than anything else in the world. Please, love. Please tell me you love me too. I need to hear the words.”

  “Words? Words can repair nothing,” she said. “Words are fleeting, impermanent—gone as soon as they’re uttered. I said them to you earlier this evening. Not that it matters. Love can’t solve everything. It couldn’t restore my parents’ marriage, not once it was filled with such distress and suffering. Why should ours be any different?”

  Quin stood and paced through the small room, causing Zeus to leap down from his arms and regain a perch on Aurora’s lap. “How is it that you, who cannot go a day without writing her every thought in a journal, you, whose writings have been the cause of such scandal and turmoil, believe words to be so invaluable? Do you not recognize your own power, Aurora? Do you not see how the world reacts to your words?” He faced her, searching her eyes. “Your father has spent the past fortnight hoping to catch a smile and a word from you. Nia, whom you had never met before she arrived here, has hung upon your every word as though it is the gospel, to the point that she has actually tried to act upon some of your half-witted suggestions. Lady Rebecca, while she might not have valued your opinion about Lord Norcutt as much as her own, still seeks you out for conversation at nearly every point in the day, forsaking the conversation of all others including her betrothed. And they are far from alone, Aurora. I could go on all night. Even the blasted dog on your lap is drawn to the sound of your voice, coming to you when you call, all the while ignoring anyone else. Why, in God’s name, is it so difficult for you to understand that I need to hear some simple words from your lips?”

  “Simple?” she replied. “Love is the furthest thing from simple.”

  “Precisely!” he said. “Love is complex and twisted, and it is different every time it occurs. Who is to say that our love will wind up in the exact manner your parents’ love did? That is about as unlikely as the idea of me becoming a replica of my father. You happened to tell me once that I am not him, though we may be alike. Do you recall that?”

  She nodded. Of course she did. Aurora could recall nearly every conversation they had ever had. She remembered every touch, every kiss, every tremble when he drew near. He consumed her.

  Quin dropped to his knees before her, taking her hands into his own. “You are not your mother. You may be like her, but you are not her.” He lowered his chin to their joined hands, eyes closed. “I know that you love me. If it wasn’t clear from the fact that you are here, in my special place, your journal would have made it abundantly obvious. You love me despite all your best intentions and against all odds. I hardly deserve your love, but I intend to spend the rest of my life trying to earn it.”

  Zeus spun around on Aurora’s lap to face her husband, now that they were eye-to-eye. The dog nipped his nose, earning Quin’s laugh. “Yours too, pup. But tell me, Aurora. Tell me you love me.”

  “I do,” Aurora said through a fresh wave of tears. “I love you so much it terrifies me. I might have loved you since before I met you, when you were just a pirate in my stories and not a real in-the-flesh man, but I love you more now. So much it hurts.” And therein lay their problem. “Love ought not to hurt—not like this. It seems rather contradictory, do you not think?”

  He had the effrontery to chuckle at her. She ought to swat him. It was downright churlish to poke fun at her distress.

  “I think,” he said once he pulled his mirth back under control, “that unless one has experienced the lowest of lows, one cannot truly appreciate the highest of highs. That one must experience pain and sorrow in order to appreciate joy. If love didn’t hurt like this, how would we know when we finally had it right?”

  Which was rather circuitous thinking, if one should ask her. But when had Quin ever been known to ask her for anything? Only just now, when he wanted to hear her say she loved him. The truculent boor. He ought to ask her for things more often.

  They would have to work on that.

  “So what will happen when we return to the abbey and inform Lord Rotheby about my miscarriage?” Aurora asked. “Do you think he’ll send us away immediately? If so, perhaps we could stay at one of Father’s estates, at least temporarily.”

  Quin took her hand and led her from the hermitage. Zeus ran along beside them, nearly tripping them with almost every step as he weaved in and around their feet. “We won’t know until we go tell him, will we? There is no time like the present.”

  Oh, dear good Lord. Would it not be better to wait until the morning at least? But she and Quin, they could face anything together. Even Lord Rotheby.

  Epilogue

  13 June, 1812

  If this child does not stop kicking me in the ribs, I swear I will not wait two more months for its birth. It is inconceivable to allow a baby that has not even been born yet to continue to abuse its mother. Quin will have to give this child a serious talking-to. Or else, perhaps, I will have to break out the Mother Voice. Minerva has been giving me lessons on how to use the Mother Voice to great effect. We’ve been practicing on Quin, of course, since he is the one who went and mucked everything up in the first place by impregnating me again, so he clearly deserves to be practiced upon. I daresay it will prove to be invaluable to me in future relations with him, too, not just with our child. For that matter, I might be inclined to use it more with him than with the babe. After all, he is a grown man of three-and-thirty. He ought to know how to behave by now, and to know how to refrain from annoying me. Sadly, it does not seem to be the case. Tomorrow morning and afternoon, we expect the remainder of our guests to arrive. Everyone who joined us for the house party last summer will be back, though there have been a few changes. Namely, of course, Rebecca being the new Lady Norcutt, and Miss Vivian Osbourne is no longer a miss, but is now Lady Tucker Flynn. How very wrong I was last year about the four of them.

  ~From the journal of the Very Pregnant Lady Quinton

  “Quinton,” Lord Rotheby shouted from the card table in the salon at Quinton Abbey. “Your wife is in need of assistance. Move your arse.”

  “I can manage perfectly well on my own, Grandfather,” Aurora said. Which was n
ot entirely untrue. She could manage to raise herself up from the settee upon which she sat without help, but only with a rather indecent amount of huffing and puffing and straining to raise her added girth from where it preferred to rest on her lap like Zeus always had. These days, there was no room for him. Her belly wasn’t the only thing that had grown by leaps and bounds, after all.

  She was not given the chance to prove her mettle, however. Both Nia and Sir Augustus were at her side before she had finished her objection, each taking an arm to help to pull her up.

  “I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if I get any larger,” Aurora said to them. “But thank you both very much for your assistance.”

  Quin rushed into the room then, looking around with an addled expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked finally, glaring at his grandfather as he did so.

  “Your wife needed help rising. You ought to pay closer attention to her,” Rotheby grumbled. “I will be rather cross with you if anything should happen to my great-grandchild. Or great-grandchildren, as the case may be. Are you certain there are not twins in there, Aurora?”

  It was touching how he had come to dote upon her in the last year. Indeed, after their first house party the previous summer, he had taken to calling upon them rather often. Not because he didn’t trust that Quin would maintain the new lifestyle he had taken upon himself—Rotheby assured them he was quite satisfied with the turnaround Quin had made in his deportment and so the abbey and its profits were theirs until such time as Quin inherited everything—but because he was an old and lonely man, and it was his prerogative to do as he pleased.

  Which, he claimed, it pleased him greatly to be in Aurora’s presence. Any chit who could convince his grandson to leave behind his wayward path had to be an entertaining young lady, to be sure.