Jody Hedlund

by A Noble Groom

  He would have to leave on Monday.

  What other choice did he have?

  Chapter

  18

  Carl leaned against the trunk of the maple and patted Sophie’s back. He liked to think she enjoyed being in his arms—at least she always came to him willingly.

  After the Sunday morning service, he’d wanted to take Annalisa and the girls home and spend the day with them alone. Since it was his last day, he longed to make the most of every minute with them.

  But unfortunately he couldn’t think of an excuse that would allow him to depart from their usual after-church dinner at Peter’s home. On the other hand, given the situation, it was probably wise for him to avoid being alone with Annalisa.

  He glanced through the doorway to the dark interior of Peter’s cabin, where Annalisa and her youngest sister, Eleanor, were finishing the meal preparations. If alone with Annalisa, he’d have to face her questions. Even if she didn’t speak them aloud, her eyes would demand to know why he’d proposed marriage but had so easily let her go once Dirk arrived. He’d already seen the question in her eyes on more than one occasion since then.

  The trouble was, he didn’t know if he could give her an answer, because he didn’t quite know how to explain it, even to himself. Part of him wanted to stay and fight for her. But the other, more realistic side screamed at him that he was a liar and urged him to move on as he’d planned.

  “The fires are too far away to bother us,” Peter said in explanation to one of Uri’s questions. Peter sat on a bench and rested his elbows on the table they’d moved outdoors.

  The unending heat made eating in the stifling cabin unbearable. At least outside—even though it was still hot—they had the strong breeze to offer some solace.

  Even so, Peter’s Sunday meeting clothes were wet with the splotches of sweat he always wore. He took a gulp of coffee, then glanced to the sky, which had gradually become hazier as the morning had passed into afternoon. The scent of woodsmoke had grown heavier too.

  “None of our farmers are such dummboozles that they would set fires under these conditions,” Peter continued.

  Dirk sat next to Peter and took a slurp of coffee. Across the table, Uri stared at Dirk with hard, cold eyes. It was apparent Uri didn’t trust the man and was prepared to make him work just as hard for his approval as he’d made Carl work.

  Eleanor and Annalisa exited the cabin and approached the shaded table, their hands loaded with steaming platters and bowls. Gretchen trailed after them, holding a bowl of what appeared to be baked apples. She walked slowly and held the bowl steady, watching Annalisa and trying to imitate her.

  Carl smiled, but it was bittersweet with the knowledge he wouldn’t get to see Gretchen grow up to be a beautiful woman like her mother. Annalisa, in her dark Sunday meeting dress and with her hair coiled into an elegant knot, was especially fetching. He couldn’t keep his gaze from straying to the creamy stretch of her neck, the delicate shape of her ear, and the tantalizing curve of her chin.

  As if feeling his eyes upon her, she lifted her face to him and gave him a shy smile. Admiration gleamed in the bright blue of her eyes.

  His stomach cinched, and he was powerless to do anything but return her smile.

  Sophie gave a short cry. “Shhh,” he murmured against the baby’s fuzzy head, repositioning her so that she faced outward and could see Annalisa.

  “She’s getting hungry.” Annalisa slid the bowls onto the table.

  “She’s not as hungry as I am.” Her compliment from the dance came back to him, about how handsome he’d looked when he held the baby.

  She approached and held out her arms to Sophie, who gave a squeal and began to pump her legs in excitement.

  “I suppose I’m looking dashing again,” he said softly, ignoring the frown Dirk had shot him.

  Annalisa’s smile widened. “Ja. Very dashing.”

  He relinquished the baby, but not before his fingers met hers, the warmth of her hand begging him to caress it, hold it, and never let go.

  “When she’s done eating, you must give her back to me.” He tried to make his voice playful. “I have my image to uphold.”

  “This all looks very delicious,” Dirk called to Annalisa, in a way that demanded she turn her attention to him. “I can see you’re a good cook.”

  She nodded at him, but her smile faded, replaced with cool politeness.

  Carl couldn’t begrudge Dirk for at least making some effort with Annalisa. So far he’d been kind to her and polite. If she must marry a stranger, then perhaps Dirk would be sufficient. He didn’t seem to be the type of man who would harm her.

  Even as Carl’s entire being rejected the thought of her marrying anyone else, he pushed aside the objection and lowered himself next to Uri.

  Dirk’s eyes followed him and warned him. The warning was the same one Dirk had been holding over his head since they’d hoed the potatoes the previous afternoon—that he had the power to reveal his true identity to Annalisa and Peter and would do so if and when he wanted to.

  The resentment in Carl’s gut had been growing until now it ate at his insides like acid. Instead of distancing himself from Annalisa, he reached for her hand as she stepped away from the table. He captured her fingers in his, preventing her from retreating with Eleanor to the cabin, where they would eat apart from the men.

  She stopped short, sucked in a breath, and stared down at his hold on her.

  He knew he was overstepping the bounds of propriety, especially in front of the others, but at the moment he didn’t care. He was tired of Dirk’s threats.

  “Why don’t you stay and eat with us today?” Carl tugged her so that she had little choice but to move closer to him.

  “Nein—”

  “Please?” He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, letting the smoothness of her skin ease the ache that had been in his chest since he’d decided he must leave on Monday.

  She looked at the other men, as if to gauge their reaction to his odd request.

  Her father was busy loading his plate with krautsalat and schweinsbraten, already mesmerized by the strong scent of the garlic and caraway seeds that rose from the pork roast. Uri was lifting the caramelized onions from the beer-soaked juices.

  Only Dirk seemed to have noticed Carl’s touch and request. His thin face lost its pallor and turned a reddish brown like one of the baked apples.

  Annalisa shifted Sophie. “I don’t know . . .”

  “If you join us, you’d make me a very happy man,” Carl said with a smile.

  Her expression softened. And suddenly Dirk’s threats and jealousy didn’t matter. All he could think about was having the chance to sit next to her, brush his shoulder against hers, and feel the loose wisps of her hair against his face.

  “Ja. Join us.” Dirk’s voice was laced with annoyance. “Then Carl will be able to tell you about his plans to leave tomorrow.”

  Annalisa jerked her hand away and stepped back. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

  Carl shot Dirk a glare. He’d planned to tell Annalisa about his leaving, but not now, not in front of everyone.

  Dirk’s lips curved into a smirk.

  At the edge of the table with the bowl of apples, Gretchen froze. Sticky apple glaze surrounded her mouth, the telltale signs of her dipping her fingers into the sugary treat. “You can’t leave . . .”

  Carl pushed down the sudden urge to get up and run away. If he had to choose, he would have taken the guillotine rather than having to try to explain to Gretchen why he must go.

  “I thought you were staying to help harvest the corn,” Annalisa said.

  What harm could come of him staying another week or two to help with the corn? He lifted his brow at Dirk.

  But Dirk’s eyes remained dark with warning.

  Carl sighed. He’d promised to leave on Monday. If he stayed, he’d only put off the inevitable and risk the possibility that Dirk or Ward would reveal his identity.

  “Now that D
irk’s here,” he said, “you won’t need my help.”

  “Ja, we will.” Gretchen spoke before Annalisa could. “We’ll always need your help.”

  “Dirk’s a strong man.” Carl forced out the words he knew he must say. “And he’ll help you and your mama just fine.”

  “But I thought you wanted to be my papa?” She peered up at him, her beautiful blue eyes alight with confusion.

  Carl wanted to groan with the agony of having to say good-bye. He turned to Annalisa, beseeching her to help him. How could he explain the complexity of the situation to Gretchen?

  But Annalisa pressed her lips together, and her eyes told him she wouldn’t be of any assistance to him, that if he wanted to leave, he would have to figure out a way to soothe Gretchen all on his own.

  “You know I’d be honored to be your papa.” He laid his hand on the girl’s head. “I couldn’t imagine a better daughter than you.”

  “Then you’ll stay?” Her face sparked with hope.

  Slowly he shook his head. “I can’t—”

  “I promise to be a good girl.”

  “You’re already a good girl.” He swallowed hard past the ache in his throat. “And I know you’ll continue to be a good girl for your mama.”

  Her lower lip trembled.

  He could sense the smugness in Dirk’s expression. The man seemed to be taking pleasure in the pain of their parting. He supposed Dirk had every right to be upset at him for winning the affection and allegiance of Annalisa and her daughter. Still, he ought to allow him the chance to say good-bye privately.

  At least Peter and Uri had the kindness to go on with their meal, licking and chomping noisily as if doing their best to ignore the situation.

  Carl stroked Gretchen’s head and spoke softly. “I’ll miss you very, very much.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes.

  The knot at the base of his throat burned.

  Sophie began fussing loudly, echoing his pain.

  “Then you won’t stay and be my papa?”

  Oh, God, his heart cried. Won’t you help me? He’d never expected leaving Gretchen would rip his heart into shreds. And if leaving her hurt this much, how could he possibly say good-bye to Annalisa without ripping out his heart altogether?

  A tear rolled down the little girl’s cheek.

  He couldn’t squeeze any more words past the tightness of his throat. Instead he shook his head.

  She gulped out a sob and spun on her bare feet, away from the table. Leaving a trail of sobs in her wake, she dashed across the long, dry grass of the farmyard and headed in the direction of the barn.

  Annalisa’s expression was tight, and she silently berated him for hurting Gretchen. She handed the baby to Eleanor and started after Gretchen.

  With a shaky sigh, Carl started to rise.

  “Sit down and eat,” Peter boomed. “You’ll only make matters worse if you go after her.”

  But Carl climbed off the bench and jogged toward Annalisa. He had to figure out a way to offer some solace to Gretchen.

  “Let them go,” Dirk called after him.

  Carl ignored Dirk’s words. He reached Annalisa, circled her arm and tugged her to a stop.

  “Let them go and come back here!” Dirk’s voice grew harder with anger. “Or else—”

  “Or else what?” Carl spun around. He’d had enough of Dirk’s threats. Who did the man think he was, anyway, lording over him? Did Dirk relish the fact that for once in his life he had power over a nobleman? “What are you going to do?” he shouted. “What?”

  Dirk rose from the table. His glare sparked with jealousy.

  “Are you going to tell them the truth about who I am?” Carl said. “Is that it?”

  Annalisa stiffened. Peter and Uri stopped eating, their greasy fingers suspended over their plates.

  “Well, why don’t I save you the trouble?” Carl continued. “I’ll tell them myself.”

  Dirk’s eyes widened, and then a cough burst out and bent him over with the force.

  Suddenly Carl knew that telling everyone the truth was the right thing to do—the thing he should have done from the very beginning but had been too afraid to do.

  “Herr Bernthal, Uri . . .” He nodded at them, then turned and looked at Annalisa. “Annalisa . . .”

  She shook her head, as if she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

  He took a deep breath and spoke before he lost the courage. “I’m not Carl Richards. There’s no such person. It’s just a name Matthias gave me when he was helping me escape from prison.”

  “So you had to take a false name to hide from the duke,” Peter said. “So what? That’s understandable.”

  Annalisa’s hands began to tremble.

  “And Matthias wasn’t just my friend.” The words stuck in his mouth, but he pushed them out. “Matthias was my manservant.”

  “Manservant?” Peter said. “My brother wasn’t your manservant. From the time he was a lad, he worked as a household servant for the cursed Baron von Reichart.”

  Annalisa’s eyes filled with sudden understanding. She jerked away from him, a cascade of emotions flitting across her features—first revulsion, then hurt.

  She knew. His heart tumbled into a rapid fall.

  “I told Matthias year after year that the baron didn’t deserve a servant like him,” Peter went on. “That he should leave the baron’s household and find work somewhere else. The baron didn’t pay him well and treated him no better than a slave.”

  Annalisa took a step away from Carl.

  “Please, Annalisa . . .” he whispered.

  She shook her head and took a few more steps, adding to her distance from him.

  “But Matthias stayed anyway.” Peter took a bite of pork. “I couldn’t figure out why, except that he always had an affection for the baron’s son.”

  Carl turned to face Peter. He straightened his shoulders and tried to calm the quaking in his stomach.

  Peter stopped chewing and stared at Carl.

  “I’m the baron’s son.”

  For a long moment, the only sound was the wind rushing through the brittle grass, bending it low and beating it down.

  Peter finally let the piece of pork drop onto his plate with a splat. Understanding rose in the man’s eyes as sure and hot as the afternoon sun.

  “I am Gottfried Charles von Reichart the third, the eldest and only son of Baron von Reichart of Saxony.”

  Peter pushed his plate away and slowly began to rise. His expression was dead cold.

  The man was going to kill him. Carl could see it in every determined movement.

  “I gave you my kindness, my shelter, my food, and almost gave you my daughter.” Peter’s voice shook. “And you willingly took it all. Even though you knew you were the son of my sworn enemy—the man who murdered my Erik.”

  “I was wrong to deceive you.” Carl spread his feet, bracing himself. What could he say to defend himself? There was nothing he could do to make reparation for the pain of his betrayal. He deserved whatever punishment Peter wanted to give him.

  Peter’s face hardened into what looked like chiseled marble, the same as one of the statues that lined the hallways of his father’s schloss. Peter stared at Carl as if seeing the baron himself, as if remembering every detail of Erik’s death and the pain of his father’s words as he dismissed him, and his father’s refusal to show any compassion—not even the smallest speck.

  The man’s eyes burned with years of hate and hurt. Without a word Peter stalked across the yard, his footsteps heavy against the dry ground. He disappeared into the cabin, into its dark interior.

  Dirk heaped a spoonful of krautsalat onto his plate, banging the spoon against the tin. His lips twitched with the beginnings of a grin, and from the gleam in his eyes it was clear he declared himself the victor.

  Carl conceded, letting his shoulders slump. Dirk had indeed won.

  Annalisa glanced between them, her eyes darkening with loathing.

  Carl k
new there was no way she would have him now, not even if he’d gotten down on his knees and begged her.

  She hated him. And he didn’t blame her.

  “I’m sorry, Annalisa,” he said.

  “Don’t say anything.” Her voice was low and radiated pain.

  “I know I should say I’m sorry that I ever came here in the first place. I knew from the moment I stepped foot on your father’s farm that I shouldn’t stay. But meeting you and Gretchen and Sophie—it was the best thing that’s ever happened in my life.”

  She turned her head away so that he couldn’t see her face.

  He wanted to reach out for her, to hold her, make her look him in the eyes. But he had no right to demand anything of her. He didn’t belong in her life and never had.

  Just then Peter stepped out of the cabin. The clicking and cocking of a rifle echoed in the air, followed by Annalisa’s soft gasp.

  Carl didn’t have to look to know that Peter had his hunting rifle and had aimed it at him.

  “I wonder what your father will say when I have Herr Pastor write and tell him I killed his son? Do you think he’ll finally apologize for killing mine?”

  “Nein, Vater.” Annalisa shook her head wildly. “You can’t do this.”

  Peter lifted his rifle and closed one eye, centering the barrel squarely on Carl’s heart.

  Carl braced himself for the power of the hit and pain of the bullet entering his flesh and tearing through his bones. Strangely he wasn’t afraid. For once in his life he’d done the right thing by staying and facing the consequences of his mistakes, instead of running away and expecting his father’s money to bail him out of trouble.

  “You’re a lying, cheating, lazy nobleman.” Peter’s finger tightened against the trigger. “And the only good nobleman is a dead one.”

  “Nein!” Annalisa screamed the word. Before Carl could stop her, she threw herself in front of him, her arms outstretched, her body blocking and protecting him from her father’s deadly intent.

  “Get out of the way, Annalisa!” Carl tried to step around her and push her out of the line of Peter’s fire.