Lily would be utterly ruined by his efforts to be free. In the eyes of society, it would be better if she really died rather than feigning it. There would be no acceptance or forgiveness for her, even though nothing that had happened was her fault.
He would try to make it easy for her. Even if she did not wish or expect it, he would see that she lived comfortably and wanted for nothing. But if she left him, she would live and die alone. No honourable man would want a woman who had been cast off by her husband, even if it was at her own request. She was probably right that the best way to deal with things was a faked death and a new start for both of them.
Damn it all, he did not want another man to want her. She was his. She belonged at his side. When he’d left for the war, he’d been a foolish, infatuated child. When that had faded, he’d thought to hate her. But even as he tried, she’d haunted his dreams. If he’d lain with another, it was always while thinking of her. Would it hurt her, as she’d hurt him? Would her kisses be sweeter? Would her body be more lush? What would it be like when he finally returned home to her?
What was it like? It was like taking another sword in the side: red-hot burning agony. That wound had healed, but this one never would. He had found the perfect woman: loyal, loving, stalwart in adversity and beautiful inside and out. He’d held the other half of his own soul in his arms. After that, no other woman could ever satisfy him.
And now, just as he’d feared, she was leaving him for another man. What sweet irony it was that his rival was a waist-high toy soldier who hated horses. He was not wealthy or powerful. The circumstances of his birth did not matter. While she might claim to love Gerry with her whole heart, she would walk through fire for her son, sacrificing herself without a second thought.
He could not cast her off without destroying her. He could not replace her without destroying himself. Which meant there was no choice for him but do nothing at all to end the marriage and accept the fact that he was the last true Wiscombe.
Lily was standing over his bed, her hand clutching her key to the connecting door.
He felt a rush of foolish hope. She had reconsidered. She had found some solution he had not thought of that could satisfy her conscience and was returning to his bed. He held out his arms in welcome.
Then the hope faded. Her face ghostly pale in the moonlight. She was trembling. But not from cold, for she was fully dressed with a shawl about her shoulders.
He sat up, instantly alert. ‘What is the matter?’
‘Stewart,’ she said in a tear-choked whisper. ‘He is missing. Miss Fisher cannot find him anywhere. Nor can I. We searched the house from top to bottom. I looked in all his favourite hiding places.’ Her trembling increased with the first shaking sobs.
‘I am sure it is nothing,’ he said. ‘The boy is always wandering about. I have seen it myself.’
‘In daylight, perhaps. But never at night.’ She shook her head, trying to deny the obvious. ‘He is outside. In the dark. You know the dangers of these woods. There are animals. Cliffs. Bogs.’
‘He would not get as far as the moor without a horse,’ he said. But that was hardly a reassurance to a worried mother.
She held out her hands in supplication. ‘I know that you hate him...’
‘Not hate, precisely,’ he said, stunned at the unworthiness of his feelings towards a harmless little boy.
She ignored his denial and continued. ‘Please, Captain Wiscombe, I have no one else to turn to.’
He swung his legs out of bed and pulled on his breeches, shrugging a coat over his nightshirt and tucking in the tails. ‘You were right to come to me.’ He was her husband. Who else would she go to in a time of desperate need? That she turned to him as a last resort pricked at his conscience. Even worse, he had become Captain Wiscombe again. Not her husband, but some near-fictional hero no more real than a news clipping.
If the hero of Salamanca was who she needed, that was who she would have. ‘Wake the servants and have them search the house again. He may have slipped by you as you looked. I will search the grounds and you will see that it is nothing.’ That was just as likely to be a lie as truth. He had grown up in this house and could name any number of things that a small child might wander into at night that were either dangerous or deadly.
But it did no good to alarm the child’s mother, or to brood on them himself. He gave her an overly confident smile. ‘I expect I will be back in an hour or less, hauling the little fellow by the ear.’
‘Thank you.’ Lily launched herself at him, pressing her body to his. ‘Thank you, so.’
She was clinging to him as if he were hope and salvation and instinctively his arms went around her, to protect her. He had failed her once by leaving her alone and at risk. He had failed her again when he could not overcome his foolish pride and see that he had asked too much of her. He would not fail her twice in one night. But her present need did not entitle him to hold her now.
Carefully, he set her aside. ‘I will take care of everything. Wait for me here. I will be back in no time.’
She sat down on the edge of his bed, pressing herself back into the headboard and hugging his pillow to her.
He felt her arms still around him. It was as if no time had passed and they had just met. His body ached for her. His heart craved her approval. And he knew he would ride to the end of the earth, if necessary, to see her smile again. He left her there and wasted no time, taking the back stairs to the servants’ quarters at a trot. Once there, he walked down the hall, rapping on doors as he went. As a line of heads poked into the hall, he issued terse instructions to Aston and the footmen for a systematic search of the house. Then he lit a lantern and proceeded out through the kitchen doors, towards the stables.
He doubted that the boy could have got far. But he could cover the ground faster on horseback. God forbid, if he should have to return with an injured child, speed might be of the essence.
Or perhaps he would not have to look far at all. As he approached his stallion’s stall, Gerry could hear Satan raging over something. The sharp cries of an angry horse tore the stillness of the night, punctuated by iron-shod hooves slamming at the back wall of a stall, as though the occupant meant to kick it down.
He quickened his pace, yanking the door wide open and holding his light high so that he might see. There, at the back of the dimly lit enclosure, was Stewart, huddled in the corner, arms over his face waiting for the inevitable.
Gerry hung the lantern on a nail in the wall and stepped forward, grabbing a bridle in one hand and swinging the crook of his other arm over the rising and falling neck. He pushed with his full weight into the shoulder, sending a steady string of curses into the pointed black ear. In response the animal backed away from the boy and ceased his plunging. When Gerry felt he was calm enough, he fastened the harness and looped the reins over a ring in the wall.
Then he turned his attention to the boy, grabbing him by the collar of his coat and lifting him bodily from the stall. ‘What the devil was the meaning of that?’ he shouted into the small white face before him.
He had used a tone that had terrified more than a few grown men. But the child dangling in front of him glared back and said, in a cold, clear voice, ‘You cannot talk to me in that way. You are not my father.’
Gerry set him on his feet with a thump and reached for the lantern, holding it up to get a better look at the boy. He was dirty and trembling, but uninjured. But the look in his eyes was more than fear. Gerry had seen that mix of anger, betrayal and despair in the face of his enemies, just before the end. He had not let it stay his hand then and he showed no sympathy now. ‘I will talk to you any way I choose, especially when you do something so foolish as to frighten your mother by running off in the middle of the night. Now what in blazes makes you think I am not your father?’
‘Uncle Ronald told me, before he left. He said my
father was a drunkard and a wastrel. He was a bad man and I would be a bad man, too.’ The boy gave a sniff and his shoulders shuddered. But he did not cry. He was staring up at Gerry, as if waiting to be corrected. ‘Uncle Ronald said Mama was ashamed to have me and that was why she lied. And that is why you hate me and want to send me away.’
It was not all true. But it was true enough that he could not just deny it. Even if he did, the child would never be free of the doubt. ‘Why did you come here, instead of to me or your mother?’
‘If Mama lied to me before,’ he said, ‘she would lie to me again. And you do not want me.’
‘But why here?’ Gerry repeated, more gently.
The boy’s voice dropped to a whisper.
‘Uncle Ronald said that no son of yours could be afraid of horses. And I am. So that would mean...’ There was a long, dangerous pause. ‘But maybe, if I could learn not to be afraid...’
‘So you decided to lose your fear in the middle of the night, with a horse that has killed almost as many men as I have?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Do you know what might have happened if I had not come along when I did?’
‘He... He would have killed me.’ The boy was whispering again. ‘Because he knows I don’t belong here.’
‘He would have killed you because he has been trained to kick and bite at anything in front of him,’ Gerry corrected. ‘Satan is no ordinary horse. A dragoon’s mount must be as ferocious as he is. Fearless of the carnage around him, the smell of blood and the beasts like himself dying on every side. He is ready to kick, bite and trample the enemy, if called to do so. He would have made short work of you, had I not come along.’
And thank God he had. If he had decided to search on foot, he’d have never found the boy. The next morning, the stable boys would have discovered the broken, bloody body at the feet of the stallion. That thought had him more frightened than he’d been since Waterloo.
‘If he is just a mean horse, then it is not me.’
‘It is not you,’ Gerry agreed. ‘And a love of horses is not something that appears magically in the blood. I did not always like them. When I was your age, I preferred to hide in the conservatory and pretend I was hunting tigers.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Of course, I do not like hunting either.’ But he’d thought, perhaps if he tried hard enough, he could change.
‘You hid in the conservatory? That is what I do. Does that mean I am yours after all?’ Stewart was staring at him with such desperate hope that the lie was almost out of Gerry’s mouth before he could stop it. Was this how it had been for poor Lily? When faced with an innocent child who had no share of blame in all that had happened, where was the virtue in honesty?
At last, he shook his head. ‘Your father was a bad man. But so is your Uncle Ronald for telling you something your mother did not wish you to know.’
The first tears were streaking through the muck on the boy’s cheeks. ‘Who was he? And why didn’t she tell me? How can I be someone else’s, if she is married to you?’
What was he to say to this? The more questions he answered, the more there would be. He thought for a moment. ‘It was something that happens sometimes, when a man is very bad and a woman is very beautiful. It happened because I was not here to stop it. It hurt your mother and frightened her badly. I suspect she didn’t tell anyone, not even you, because she was still frightened, even after all this time.’
‘She needn’t be,’ Stewart said, a little of his spirit returning. ‘I was here to protect her.’
‘You did a good job,’ Gerry agreed. ‘But now that will be my job.’
‘And that’s why you will send me to school,’ Stewart finished for him. ‘Because Mama does not need me, now that you are here.’
‘Your mother still needs you,’ he admitted. ‘She told me so. But I think she might need me as well. Perhaps it would be better if we remain together, so that your mother can be safe and happy.’ When one considered it, it was the only logical answer.
For the first time that evening, Stewart smiled. And then, the smile faded. ‘But I am not your son.’
‘Not by blood, perhaps.’ The truth was forming in his head, even as he spoke. ‘On the day we met, you told me that you like mathematics.’
The boy nodded, confused.
‘You have not learned about them yet. But in mathematics, there is a thing called a proof. You can use a series of facts to prove another.’
The boy nodded again, trying to understand.
‘If you are your mother’s son, and I am your mother’s husband, then I am your father. Quod erat demonstrandum.’ His professors at Cambridge would have been appalled at the faulty logic. But the boy seemed satisfied with it. And much to his surprise, Gerry felt better than he had in days.
He stared down at the child again. ‘Now that we have settled that, I trust that there will be no more trips to the stables to prove your worth under the hooves of my horse.’
The boy shook his head.
‘And I suppose you are still afraid.’ He didn’t wait for an answer. The boy’s fear was still obvious.
‘To come here was not very sensible.’ Then he grinned. ‘But your mother will tell you that it was not very sensible for me to join the army. She thought I was going to die.’
‘But you were a hero,’ Stewart said, his eyes round.
‘I was lucky. Just as you were tonight.’
‘Wiscombes are lucky,’ Stewart said.
‘That they are,’ Gerry agreed. ‘Now stand out of the way.’ He gestured the boy out into the aisle and led the horse out of the stall. Then he mounted the bare back.
When he looked down, the boy had plastered himself to the wall. He leaned over and held out an arm. ‘Come here.’
Hesitantly, Stewart stepped forward into his reach and Gerry pulled him up to sit in front of him on the horse. ‘You are perfectly safe, as long as I am here. Now let us go back to the house and set your mother’s mind at rest.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lily stood alone in the hall, her face pressed against the window glass. Gerald was naïve if he thought that she would wait in the comfort of his bed while her son was God knew where. The house was awake. Every candle had been lit. And the servants had found nothing, just as she’d known they would.
Stewart was out there, somewhere. It was dark. So very dark. How could he see to avoid the hazards? Boars. Bears. Packs of wild dogs. All the creatures that roamed the forest at night could see better in the dark than a boy, even if he had taken a lantern. They could run faster as well.
But there were other things just as bad. If he was not found, someone would have to check the cistern. And the well. ‘God,’ she murmured aloud. ‘Do not let it be that.’
Then she saw a distant light approaching the house. It was swinging with a strange gait and seemed too high to be held by a walking man.
It was a man on a horse. She tugged the door open and shouted into the night, ‘Gerry! Did you find him?’
The horse galloped the last few yards to stop easily in front of her. Gerry smiled down at her. ‘I told you not to worry.’ Then he opened his coat to reveal her darling boy, astride a horse and nestled close to her husband.
She held out her arms and Gerry lowered him to the ground. And for a moment she was too relieved to speak. She could do nothing but hug him tight to her, until he squirmed in embarrassment. Then she let him go long enough to scold. ‘Do not ever do that to me again, running away in the middle of the night, frightening the life out of the whole household.’
‘I won’t, Mama. I promise. And Papa says that tomorrow he will buy me a pony.’
‘You are right you won’t, young man. You will not be able to...’ Then, her mind began to decipher what he was saying. His papa? A pony? He had arrived home in Gerry’s arms and on a horse. But that had t
o be from necessity.
She looked to her husband for the answer and he gave her one of his infuriatingly charming, lopsided grins, paired with half a shrug. And under it all ran a childish descant about how ponies were small and safe and gentle and no different from big dogs. And who was silly enough to be afraid of a big dog?
The spots began to appear before her eyes again. And as the world swayed, she heard the command to ‘Breathe, Lillian.’ As she obeyed, his hands caught her under the arms and lifted her to her feet.
‘Miss...’
‘Fisher, Captain.’ Aston supplied the name, sotto voce.
‘Miss Fisher. Wash this boy. He has been playing in the stables and smells like a pony himself. I do not mind. But others might.’
‘Yes, Captain.’
‘And I am sorry for the inconvenience to you all, as is young Stewart. He will tell you so in the morning. Perhaps a glass of warm milk will help him back to sleep.’
‘Of course, Captain.’ Mrs Fitz was there and ready.
‘And the rest of you? Back to sleep. Breakfast will be late tomorrow, since we will all be celebrating the quiet of an empty house.’
The staff gave a murmur of approval and one of the maids yawned and then giggled.
‘Night, Mama.’
Lily felt a tug on her skirt and a kiss on her hand, but by the time she turned to look Stewart was inside the house and halfway up the stairs. The servants were dispersing as well. By the time she’d caught her breath and regained her wits, she was alone on the steps with her husband, who was still grinning.
‘What happened?’
His smile faded. ‘He knows. Ronald told him before he left.’
She had thought that the night could not be worse. Her breath was gone again as she imagined her son’s shock and his anger at her betrayal.
The Secrets of Wiscombe Chase Page 21