“No, you’re probably right,” Rebecca said, “but I just . . . well, I imagine it must have been a very lively home at one time. It’s perfect for hosting dinner parties and such. Whereas now . . . well, it is rather empty since we’ve yet to hire more staff. I suppose I was just trying to catch a glimpse of what it might be like when it’s filled with people.”
“Noisy,” Hawkins muttered as he spooned more soup into his mouth.
“And busy, I would imagine,” Molly said. “Wolvington House is like a beehive, with everyone coming and going as often as they do. It’s impossible to enter a room there without finding a maid dusting or a footman polishing silver. It’s quite a relief to have a bit of peace and quiet here even though it means a few more chores.”
“I agree with you there,” Madame Renarde said. She hesitated before setting down her spoon and dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “There has never been quite as large a staff here as there is at Wolvington House. Mind you, this house is also much smaller, so there’s no need for it, but I will say this—we were all very well cared for by Lord and Lady Richard Avern, and we were happy with our situation until . . . well, I never heard anyone voice a complaint.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Rebecca said. They resumed eating until the soup was done and the pie, ham and cheese had been brought out. Rebecca accepted a slice of freshly baked bread from Molly, who’d just been to fetch it from the oven. “I think I’ll take a look around the third floor later,” Rebecca eventually added for the sole purpose of saying something. “I haven’t been up there yet.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Madame Renarde muttered. “Or rather, I believe you ought to discuss your intention to do so with your husband first.”
This surprised Rebecca. Whatever did the cook mean? “But it’s my home too, madame. I don’t see why Mr. Neville would take issue with me looking around a bit.” She paused, considering how reluctant Daniel had been to venture further upstairs, as well as the look of relief that had washed over him when Hawkins had cut his tour of the home short right after their arrival. “Unless of course you know something that I do not.”
Madame Renarde stiffened, Molly started picking at her bread, Hawkins looked just about ready to flee the room and Laura was being of no use whatsoever; she sat mutely at Rebecca’s side as if she wished to ignore the conversation entirely. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” Rebecca said, looking to each of them in turn. “Clearly you are all aware of why my husband would rather avoid the third floor of this house, and I would be much obliged if I am not the only one kept in the dark.”
“It is where the nursery is,” Madame Renarde said, as if this explained everything.
“And?” Rebecca pressed, determined to get all the information out of the stubborn woman.
“And it is where Mr. Neville found the parting note from his mother the day she left.”
“Oh.”
“Exactement.”
Rebecca considered the implication. She’d known about the note from Daniel, of course, but she hadn’t considered where he might have been when he’d found it. The thought that they were living in a place that held such painful memories for him was difficult for her to bear. He probably saw ghosts everywhere. “I know what it is to lose one’s parents,” she said with a knowing look to Laura, the only person present who truly understood what it had been like to watch her home go up in a blaze, knowing her parents were still inside. Rebecca had never returned there after the fire, and although this had not been by choice, she was aware that she wouldn’t have gone back there regardless. Seeing the estate again would be far too painful an experience and one she’d rather avoid. She could not imagine how awful it had to be for Daniel to have to live in a place that represented so much loss for him. “But at least my childhood was a happy one.”
The edge of Madame Renarde’s mouth tilted upward. “Oh, I assure you that your husband’s was too. His parents loved each other dearly, and they loved him even more.” Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but the cook pressed on, shaking her head and saying, “Non, it was not his childhood that was unhappy, for I have rarely seen a child so cherished by his mama and papa.”
“But then, as if from one day to the next, his mother decided that she loved someone else more,” Rebecca muttered. The devastation had to have been intense, followed swiftly by his father’s departure and death. The love and devotion that his parents had showered him with from the day he’d been born had been snatched away in an instant, and as she sat there staring at the food on her plate, she felt her eyes prick with the onset of tears for the boy who’d so undeservingly been spurned by those closest to him. She suddenly had an urgent need to see him and talk to him, to tell him how she felt about him. It no longer mattered if he didn’t feel capable of returning her love; she knew she could not deny him hers any longer. “If you will please excuse me,” she said, pushing herself away from the table, “I think I will go and wait for him upstairs. I expect he’ll return at any moment.” She turned toward Madame Renarde. “The meal was lovely. Thank you.”
The hours ticked by and there was still no sign of Daniel. Rebecca, who’d seated herself in the parlor with her watercolors, kept going to the window at ten-minute intervals, hoping she’d find him strolling toward the front door with that cheerful smile of his, but there was no sign of him at all. It started to grow dark, and Molly and Laura arrived to light the oil lamps and to put more wood on the fire.
“Would you like to have some tea brought in?” Molly asked. Her chirpy voice sounded forced. “Perhaps some sandwiches too?”
“Thank you, but I think I’m more inclined to have a glass of brandy,” Rebecca said, her watercolors once again forgotten as she stood gazing out the window. It was more difficult to discern the faces of those passing by now, but if Daniel arrived . . . when Daniel arrived . . . it would probably be by hackney anyway.
“He will return, my lady,” Laura said, sounding very confident indeed.
She didn’t know what had happened the other night or what Starkly had said about Grover, though, and Rebecca couldn’t help but worry that something terrible had occurred. In fact, she was certain that it must have, or Daniel would surely have sent her a note to inform her of his delay. The unbidden notion of him enjoying the afternoon in the company of another woman entered her mind. She tamped it down, for she knew in her heart that this wasn’t what had happened. He’d promised to be faithful to her, and she knew that he had meant it. It would do her no good to allow irrational fears to gain a foothold.
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Laura,” she said. “All the same though, I do feel as if I’m in need of something a little stronger than tea.”
Laura did the honors and poured a glass at the side table, while Molly took her leave of them. “I didn’t realize that you liked the stuff.”
Rebecca turned to look at Laura. “I can’t say that I do.”
Laura chuckled as she handed Rebecca the glass. Taking a small sip, Rebecca winced and set the glass on the table.
“I doubt I’ll live long enough to acquire a taste for that particular stuff.”
“Would you like a sherry instead?”
“No, thank you. But I would like you to take a seat and keep me company the way you used to.” She could feel her agitation growing by the second, and attempting to paint had become impossible when all she could think about was Daniel and what might have happened to him. “If he’s not back within the next half hour, I’m asking Hawkins to call the runners.”
“Surely he will return soon,” Laura said. “I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t.”
Rebecca could, and she was now beside herself with worry because of it.
Chapter 22
Opening his eyes, Daniel squinted up at the darkened sky, or what little he could see of it from between the buildings that towered over him. Raw pain pierced his insides, and his eyes slid
shut once more. Dear God, he was going to die. A groan escaped him and he grasped at the spot that pained him, only to be met with the warm wetness that saturated his shirt. He was going to die here in this alleyway with his back pressed against the ground, and not a soul would be there to bear witness.
What a spectacular ending to a perfectly unremarkable existence. He groaned again and wondered if he would be missed. Not bloody likely. On the contrary, there were probably those who would happily dance on his grave and celebrate his passing. He would no longer pose a threat to those unmarried daughters that everyone always expected him to seduce, and as far as his uncle went . . . well, he’d probably find someone more suitable of bearing the Wolvington title. Daniel winced. Nobody wanted him around, so why the devil should he even bother to try and stay alive?
Rebecca.
Her face appeared before him like a vision and his heart filled with despair. She would miss him, of this he was certain, and the more he considered how much his death would probably affect her, the more he realized that she was the only one who truly mattered. He thought of her smile, and then he thought of her not smiling and all dressed in black. The image greatly disturbed him. Who would care for her once he was gone? She would have her dowry, of course, as well as the freedom that came with being a widow, but her money wouldn’t last forever. Perhaps she would sell the house, he thought, which would be just as well really. He ought to have sold it himself years ago.
He took a gulp of air, and his chest heaved while his wound burned. She should have had children, he thought. Rebecca would make an excellent mother. A thought struck him. What if she was already expecting? It was certainly possible, considering the number of times they’d been intimate and, in the end, all it took was one. And then a new image flickered through his head, one of Rebecca holding a dark-haired infant in her arms, and he was quite suddenly overcome with dread. How could he die and miss the chance of seeing his child? What sort of existence would such a young being have without a father? Unless of course . . . Bloody hell! What if Rebecca chose to remarry? The very idea of her in another man’s arms ignited such a fury within him that he became momentarily oblivious to the pain he was in. He couldn’t allow that to happen—he simply could not.
With a groan, he moved to sit up. He winced again. Christ, it hurt! But he was determined now, determined to see Rebecca again and to stop her from marrying someone else, determined to start a family with her and to laugh and play with his children. He would not abandon them the way his parents had abandoned him. No, he would love them and cherish them, and he would tell them that he did so every second of every day until they were sick of hearing it.
Staggering to his feet, he leaned against a brick wall and gasped for air, his hand clutching at his wound. Was this how bad it had been for Rebecca when she’d been shot? He shook his head with disbelief. What a remarkable woman. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought so, for there were many things about her that he admired, but it was the first time he allowed himself to analyze his feelings for her, and he was stunned to discover that what he felt didn’t terrify him nearly as much as the thought of never being able to tell her did.
He loved her.
Such a simple and uncomplicated thing, really. He shook his head in amazement and wondered how long he’d loved her. The answer surprised him more than the acknowledgement itself. It had happened quite suddenly really on their way to Scotland, when they’d sung that silly song together. Daniel blinked. He’d always had an innate fear of loving a woman who would do as his mother had done—love him back until one day she simply didn’t. But perhaps he hadn’t seen things for what they really had been. Perhaps his parents’ marriage had not been as happy as he’d always thought it to be. They might have had problems that he, as a child, had been unaware of. One thing however was certain—his mother’s departure had been extraordinarily selfish, not just because she’d left her husband for another man but because she’d left her child with no more than a simple sentence. Forgive me. She hadn’t even had the courage to face him.
And in that instant, Daniel knew that whatever future he might be able to have with Rebecca, she would never do what his mother had done, for she possessed the characteristics his mother had lacked—bravery and selflessness. He had to see her.
Using the wall for support, he managed to make his way out into the street. He felt light-headed, but somehow he kept himself upright, his arm rising to signal an approaching hackney. The vehicle slowed to a stop and the driver stared him up and down for a second before saying, “Where to?”
“Number ten, Bedford Square,” Daniel said, hoping his voice wasn’t quite as weak as it sounded to his own ears. The driver nodded, so he must have heard him, and Daniel gathered what little strength he had left and climbed in.
“A carriage,” Rebecca muttered as she stared out of the window for the hundredth time. And then, with more force behind her words, “A carriage! Laura, there’s a carriage!” She flew to the parlor door and out into the hallway, where she almost ran right into Hawkins, who was presently opening the front door.
Side by side, they stood in the doorway and looked out at the hackney that stood parked in the street. “Where is he?” she asked, not caring how urgent her words sounded. “It has to be him, right? But why doesn’t he alight?”
“Wait here,” Hawkins said, his words firm and decisive.
Rebecca watched his back as he strode down the front steps toward the awaiting carriage. He greeted the driver, then knocked on the door. The driver said something, but Rebecca couldn’t hear him. What on earth was going on? Where was Daniel? She stepped forward, intent on finding out for herself, but was stopped by a staying hand upon her shoulder.
“Let Hawkins help if help is needed,” Laura said. “Whatever has happened, I suspect the last thing you’ll want to do is cause a scene.”
“What are you talking about?” Rebecca asked, angry that Laura would prevent her from going to greet her husband. “I hardly think my presence on the pavement in front of my own house and in my husband’s company will result in a scene.”
“Perhaps not ordinarily, but have you taken a look at yourself in a looking glass lately? You’re hysterical. If anyone sees you in such a state, they’ll think the worst, not of you but of your husband, given his reputation. You must protect him and let Hawkins deal with this until they’re both inside the house.”
On a quivering breath, Rebecca nodded. Laura was right. If she ran frantically into the street to greet her husband at such a late hour, people would be inclined to believe that she’d just found him guilty of adultery. She couldn’t allow that to happen, not even if it might be true. It wasn’t a thought she wished to entertain and it tore at her heart to even consider it after all the promises he’d made, but there was still that little piece of doubt demanding to be heard: what if?
But then she saw him, and whatever fears she’d had of him being with another woman flew right out the window. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! “We’ll need supplies, Laura,” she said with a calm that belied her thumping heart and quaking nerves. “Hot water, towels, linens, brandy . . . and whatever else you can think of. Go.”
Laura departed with quick efficiency and Rebecca flung the front door wide to make space for Hawkins, who was helping Daniel up the steps, his arm flung around his valet’s shoulders for support. That was when she saw just how bad it was. There was blood, and it seemed to be everywhere—smeared across Daniel’s left cheek, on his cravat, and most notably on his shirt and hands. Dear God! What had happened? More importantly, would he survive it? She dared not think of such an outcome and tried to ignore the tightening in her throat and the welling of tears in her eyes. He needed her help, not some useless female who was going to cry over his injuries.
“Are you able to get him upstairs?” she asked Hawkins, who was doing his best to keep Daniel upright but having a difficult time of it. Hawkins was a tall man, but
so was Daniel, and right now he appeared to be dead weight as he leaned against Hawkins.
With a stiff nod, Hawkins started toward the stairs, half dragging, half carrying Daniel along with him. “I’ll manage,” he muttered, and to Rebecca’s amazement, he did, though he looked as if he was at death’s door himself by the time he hauled Daniel onto the bed.
“Thank you,” Rebecca said, her hands already pulling Daniel’s jacket aside so she could get a better look at the wound.
“Let’s see the damage,” Hawkins muttered, still breathless from the ordeal of getting Daniel up the stairs and into bed.
With trembling fingers, Rebecca reached for one of the buttons on Daniel’s shirt, but as much as she tried, she couldn’t seem to push it through the buttonhole. She cursed herself for her inability to help. She was useless—utterly useless.
“Here, let me try,” Hawkins said, stepping closer and nudging her gently aside so he could gain access. She allowed him his request and watched silently as he unbuttoned the shirt and pulled the fabric aside. It caught, and he slowly eased it away from a patch of congealed blood, revealing a great deal more blood at Daniel’s side.
Rebecca felt ill and was relieved with the distraction of Laura’s arrival. “Molly will be up in just a moment with the water and the brandy,” she said, setting down a stack of towels and linens on the dresser. Rebecca noticed that she’d brought a small bottle with her as well. Laudanum. “In the meantime, let’s wipe away as much of that blood as possible so we can get a proper look at the wound.”
“If you can manage without me,” Hawkins said, “I’ll run and fetch the doctor.”
“A very good idea indeed,” Laura said as she grabbed one of the towels and walked across to the bed. “Thank you, Hawkins.”
But the valet had already exited the room, and a moment later, Rebecca heard the front door open and close. All she could do was stand there like a trembling fool while Laura wiped away the blood from Daniel’s wound. She should have been doing that, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to move; it was as if her shoes had been nailed to the floor. She opened her mouth to say something instead, to ask if there was something that Laura might need, but all that came out was a strangled croak. What if he died? Good God, what if he died without knowing how much she loved him? She’d been through hell, losing her parents in that tragic fire at such a young age and then having to live under her aunt and uncle’s roof, yet none of that compared with what she felt as she stood there staring down at the face that had become so dear to her—a face that was meant to be filled with expressions of mischief and merriment but that now looked pale and somber. How was she to go on without him?
The Scandal in Kissing an Heir Page 23