Her thoughts went round and round, circling back to the moment when Nicholas had kissed her. She had not expected it. But she had, undoubtedly, wanted it when it happened. He was an Earl! She was a commoner. Nothing could come of it, and she was foolish to even consider the possibility. But, said the still small voice in her thoughts, he is different, he does not treat you like most of the ton do.
She did not know what to think. And the turmoil in her thoughts was not good for her sewing – she looked at the uneven stitches with disgust, and put her work away. Perhaps reading would be a more efficient distraction.
It was not. And by the time that Jane went to bed that night, her thoughts were no clearer. But her dreams were full of kisses that left her heated and still tired come morning.
Chapter Seven
For the next few days, Nicholas did not go walking. The pull was there, the insistent feeling, nagging away at him, that he wanted to go and see Jane. He determinedly ignored it. The more he considered things, the more he berated himself for the worst kind of fool. He should never have spoiled their beautiful friendship by kissing her, especially at the point when it was already a fragile thing, as a result of their formal introduction.
What would she want with a man like him – still broken from the loss of his first wife, and afraid to ever love again, for that way lay pain. He could not offer her what a man should offer a woman, so he should not touch her at all. He should stay away for some time, allow the moment to fade in her memory (although he was not sure that it could ever fade in his), and try to go back to the way they had been before.
The hunt for Gervaise had achieved nothing more. There had been a moment of hope, when they had identified an Inn he had stayed at, a few nights into his journey, but the trail had gone cold from there.
Nicholas refused to give up hope, yet he had to admit that, with every day that passed, the chances of finding Gervaise alive, or finding him at all, reduced. Without the relief of his conversations with Jane, his state of mind verged ever more towards the blue-devilled state where nothing seemed good in the world.
~~~~~
Jane went walking through the gardens as usual, and spent time sitting at the folly, but Nicholas did not come to talk. That fact left her feeling out of sorts, and unable to settle to anything. The weight of loneliness, which had been lifted for a while by Nicholas’ presence, came crashing back down upon her.
After three days, Jane decided to go into the village, simply for company. As she walked down the lane, surrounded by spring flowers, now in full bloom everywhere, she thought about the changes that the last month had brought. All good, except for the fact that Nicholas’ son had not yet been found, and for the fact that she had not seen Nicholas for days.
In that strange way that thoughts have, of making connections from seemingly unrelated things, Jane remembered the village gossip about the injured man taken in by the woodcutters, and how, in her half-asleep state, many days ago, she had wondered if there was any connection to Nicholas’ missing son. The idea seemed far-fetched – after all, Lord Woodridge had been travelling a path far from Bridgemere.
Yet the thought nagged at her. There was only one way to find out.
She had told Mary that she might go and visit the woodcutters, just to see if they had enough, with the extra mouth to feed, after all. Jane flushed in sudden embarrassment – she had completely forgotten her words until now, and yet, what if they were in need? It was not like her to forget about a charitable need – especially one created by the charitable actions of the people in need themselves.
She resolved to go to see them the following day, taking gifts of practical things. Potts could go with her.
In the village, Mary was happy to describe exactly where the woodcutter’s cottage was in the woods, whilst filling Jane up with freshly baked tea cakes to go with the gossip of the day. That, and a visit to Mr Joiner to collect the latest toys she had commissioned for Daniel, left her feeling much happier with the world than when she had departed the Dower House that morning.
She spent the walk back planning her trip into the forest, and working out what to take with her. It served as a reasonably effective distraction from thinking about Nicholas, and that kiss – until she passed the spot where she had first met him. She stopped, and stared at the verge, where the grasses and flowers had completely recovered from her crushing them, springing up stronger than before. For one mad moment, she was tempted to fling herself down, to lie amongst the flowers and imagine him appearing to help her up.
She shook off the whimsy, and resolutely turned back to the lane, forcing her thoughts back to the forest, and what she could gift the woodcutters, which they might not be too proud to accept.
~~~~~
When Jane set out the next morning, both she and Potts were laden down with baskets of food. She had, after due thought, concluded that food was the safest thing to take – for with an extra mouth to feed, it would undoubtedly be useful, no matter what. Any other need they might have, she could assess on this visit, and deal with later.
The day was warm and still – a perfect spring day, and Jane enjoyed the long walk – although she wasn’t certain that Potts took as much pleasure in it as she did. The forest was beautiful – full of small flowers, new green leaves, and birdsong, with nothing else to disturb its peacefulness. At least, that is, until they were close to where Mary had said the woodcutter’s cottage was. As they got closer, the sound of an axe ringing, as it met with wood, echoed through the trees.
The path was blocked by a rather large log, at the entry to a clearing quite close to the cottage, and a little scrambling through the trees was needed – but Jane managed to navigate it without damage to her skirts. Soon, they reached the clearing in which the cottage stood, a thin plume of smoke drifting up from its chimney. To one side of the clearing huge stacks of cut wood were piled, ready to be delivered wherever they were needed. Behind the cottage, a small kitchen garden was bursting with growth, and chickens pecked through the soil. Two goats were tethered just out of reach of the garden.
A sleepy dog looked up from where it slept in the sun before the door, obviously trying to decide if they were worth barking at.
It sniffed the air as they approached and, scenting the food they carried, chose to wag its tail hopefully. Jane smiled at the dog, watching it watching the basket she carried, and rapped on the door. Moments later, it creaked open, to reveal a woman with reddish brown hair escaping its braids.
“Can I help you?”
“Mrs Carver? I’m sorry to simply appear on your doorstep, when I don’t think we’ve seen each other for a year or more. Very remiss of me. When I was caring for my mother, before she passed away, and we had so little, your husband brought me wood to get us through winter, and would take nothing for it. I’ve never forgotten. When I heard it mentioned in the village that you’d taken in an injured man, I thought perhaps that I could return your kindness in some way, now that I am so much better off than I was.”
The woman looked at her, flustered, taking in her quality clothing, and the footman standing behind her, as well as their load of baskets. After a moment she spoke, standing aside to let them enter.
“Mrs Canfield, isn’t it? I heard your life had taken a turn for the better, with your little grandson an Earl now! Come in, come in, and set your burdens down. And please, call me Jess - no need to be all formal.” They deposited the baskets on the worn oak table, letting the door fall closed behind them, much to the disappointment of the dog. A man looked up from a chair near the fire, his expression uncertain. “Mrs Canfield, this is our guest. I can only introduce him as James, which is what we’ve called him, seeing as he wouldn’t give us a name to use. Please excuse him from standing, for his leg’s not quite healed yet, and getting up and down is still difficult for him.”
The man nodded, almost bowing in place.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Canfield.”
His words were pleasant, but he looke
d uncertain, a little nervous, and Jane wondered why. She pushed the thought aside – there would be time to explore the reasons for that, later. He was a well-made man, young – early twenties if she had it right – and his clothes, though having seen hard use of late, were obviously of fine quality originally.
As he looked up at her, the door opened again, as Mr Carver came into the house. The sunlight streamed in through the door, a beam of light across the room, and fell full across the man’s face. Jane almost gasped aloud. For the face thus revealed clearly was like a younger echo of Nicholas, and the eyes that met hers were the same brilliant spring green.
In that instant, she had no doubt at all that she beheld Nicholas’ missing son.
She steadied herself, and turned back to the Carvers, unpacking the baskets, and pulling out the food she’d brought. Joe Carver watched with wide eyes, then spoke.
“Mrs Canfield, there was no need. We have enough.”
“Ah, but Mr Carver, there is a difference between just enough, and a true sufficiency. When I had need, you helped me – and now I saw a chance to help you, when you are already helping someone else in need. Please accept this as a small recompense for the generosity that you always show.”
Joe looked a little abashed, and shuffled his feet on the spot.
“Well, if you put it that way…”
“I do. Now, where can we put all of this away?”
Jess came forward, and the abundant food soon disappeared into storage boxes and cupboards, all but some bread and cheese, and a large crock of ale, which was left out for everyone to partake in. By the time it was done, and everyone settled onto the few chairs or the bench beside the table, formality had been completely forgone. Jane found it a relief, to be simply an ordinary person – for she was still not at all used to being treated as if she was somehow above others.
Jess, it turned out, made beautiful blankets from the wool of the two goats, dyed with dyes made from the plants in the forest and her garden – the blanket over ‘James’ legs was duly admired, and he relaxed enough to comment on how warm it was, and how much he had appreciated it, as his leg slowly healed. Jane, listening to him, could hear the echo of Nicholas in his tone and attitude. She smiled, thinking of it.
But, if she were to discover the truth of why he was hiding here, not admitting to his identity, she would need a chance to speak to him alone – how on earth was she to arrange that?
As it happened, circumstances conspired to provide the chance she needed. Joe asked Potts to assist with moving a log, which, whilst he could cut it in place, was awkward. It was a two-man job to move, but once moved would be far easier to cut. As Joe and Potts left the cottage, Jane and Jess were speaking of Daniel, and his insatiable desire for new and interesting toys.
“Mine are grown and gone to live in the big towns, but I remember that stage well. I’ve still got boxes full of the wooden toys Joe made for them, stored away in the little shed!”
“I think all children are similar at that age.”
“Oh yes, definitely. If Daniel is like that, would you like me to dig out those boxes, and see if there’s something he’d like?”
“That would be wonderful!”
“I won’t be long, I’ll just go and find them.”
And suddenly, Jane found herself alone with ‘James’. She turned to him, choosing her words carefully.
“Now that we are alone, I must ask you a question. I’ll do it now, in private, for I suspect you won’t want to answer.”
“A question?”
He kept his voice light, but his whole body had tensed at her words.
“I believe that I know your true identity. I believe that you are Gervaise Belmont, Viscount Woodridge – is that correct? I know that you have refused to tell the Carvers your identity, and I must assume that you have good reason for that, but I have good reason to need to know the truth.”
He took a deep breath, glancing around the quiet room. She wondered if he would answer, but simply waited.
“I… yes, that is my name. But please, I beg you, do not reveal it to anyone. I must stay hidden, or my life is in danger. I am grateful to these people, for without them I would most likely have ended my life lying on the forest path, and I would not bring those who hunt me down upon them. But… what reason have you to need to know?”
She nodded at his words, for they confirmed everything.
“Your father has been searching for you, for the many weeks since you disappeared. He is staying at Windemere Towers, not far from here, and his old friend, the Duke of Windemere, is assisting in his search for you. Your father is distraught, and I think that he has come to believe that you are dead, that he will never see you again. It is destroying him. Surely he could protect you from whoever hunts you?”
Gervaise laughed, a sharp, brittle sound, and shook his head.
“I am a fool, three times over. I have gambled myself so deep that unless a miracle comes about, there is no escape. And whilst there is a possible miracle in my future, if a ship manages to find its way back whole, from India, the moneylenders have lost all patience with me. And the men they send to punish those who do not pay are not kind. They will happily kill me, or close to. And I cannot pay. Nor will I ask that of my father – he was right when he called me a fool, but my stubbornness made me defy him. I must face the fate I created for myself. But I will delay the inevitable as long as possible. I beg you, do not tell him that I am here, promise me that!”
“If you are quite certain… then yes, I promise. But it will be very hard for me to see your father’s despair, and not tell him. You place me in a most cruel position.”
“I regret the need to do so, and I am more grateful than you can imagine for your forbearance. Perhaps, if my planned miracle does occur, it will be some recompense for him, even if I am, by then, truly gone.”
“Do not speak so! Surely, there will be a way to evade such a fate, once you are whole again.”
“I pray that is so. But I am not hopeful.”
They fell silent as the door opened, and Jess carried in a large box of toys – all hand carved, and where needed, dressed in garments made from the beautiful wool she spun. Jane allowed herself to be drawn into sorting through them, but the despairing tone of Gervaise’s words stayed with her. In that moment, she pitied him, trapped in a chair, barely able to stand or walk, hunted, and forced to be away from those who cared for him. He was extraordinarily lucky that Joe Carver had found him, or he might, indeed, have been dead – but was this hidden life much better?
Later that afternoon, as they walked back through the forest, Potts now laden down with baskets full of children’s toys, Jane pondered the situation. How could she not tell Nicholas? Yet how could she tell him, and break her promise to Gervaise? There was no good answer. She would simply have to see what happened, to look for ways to help. Perhaps, if she could get Nicholas to tell her more about Gervaise, she might be able to assess whether the threat to his life was as great as he seemed to believe.
Of course, getting Nicholas to talk to her required seeing Nicholas. Which had not happened since that kiss. Well, the toys gave her an excuse to go up to the Towers, where she would surely meet him. It was not a very good plan, but it would have to do for now.
Chapter Eight
The next day, Jane found herself still unsure. She had left the toys with Mrs Barnes, the housekeeper, to have the dust of years of storage cleaned off them, before they were given to Daniel. So, pending her excuse to visit the Towers being ready, she went walking down through the gardens, to sit at the folly and read, ostensibly to keep herself busy, and avoid the loneliness that was so much more noticeable in the house, but actually, if she was honest, in the hope of seeing Nicholas.
Perhaps that hope was foolish, but she could not shake it, any more than she could make herself actually read, rather than sit dreaming of Nicholas’ kiss. Nothing could wipe that from her memory, or change the fact that she wanted to experience it again.
She picked flowers, and spun them in her fingers, she wove them into chains, and cast them into the stream with wishes, just as small children did, and, all the while, she watched, hoping. Eventually, past all expectation, her hope was rewarded.
Nicholas came walking along the path by the stream, tossing pebbles into the water, just like small boys did. Jane could not help but smile at the sight. His eyes met hers when he was still quite some distance away, and everything else seemed to fade away around her. Now that she saw him again, the resemblance between Gervaise and his father was strikingly obvious – especially the eyes.
How could she not tell him? But, how could she? She did not know.
He stopped in front of her, looking down, and she drank in his presence, acutely aware of how much she had missed him, in their few days apart. Neither of them spoke, for words seemed unnecessary, when their eyes said so much. Finally, she dragged her eyes from his, gathering her skirts to one side, and waving him to the seat beside her.
Time passed, in which she was acutely aware of his warmth beside her, of the sound of the stream, of the singing of the birds, and of the soft breeze in the trees. The world seemed drawn sharper and brighter than ever before. After an unknown amount of time, he spoke, his voice low and soft, but, as always, rich and resonant, vibrating in her bones, in her soul.
“Jane… can you forgive me? I have no excuse for stepping beyond the bounds of our agreement. I will understand if you do not wish to continue our… conversations, after what I did…”
Falling for the Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 12) Page 5