Falling for the Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 12)

by Arietta Richmond

  “I do.”

  “I have been true to what you asked of me then. But I have news for you which I hope will cause you to change your mind.”

  He had relaxed at little at her first words, but now tensed again.

  “I see. And what news might that be?”

  “The Earl of Amberhithe received a letter yesterday. From a Mr Pensworth. A letter detailing the return of a ship from India, and the disbursement of substantial funds, according to instructions.”

  Jess was staring at them as if they were both mad, wondering, indeed, what any of this had to do with her guest. Gervaise had gasped at Pensworth’s name, and released a great sigh when she spoke of the funds. Now, he looked almost eager.

  “A ship? Substantial funds? Enough to…?”

  “Yes, and far more than that. It seems that a certain investment was far more profitable than even the greatest expectations. And that Mr Pensworth is a treasure, who has carried out his instructions to the letter, and more. The Earl is delighted – and heartbroken again. For he still does not know the current direction of the Viscount Woodridge, to inform him of this change in his fortunes.”

  Gervaise sagged back in the chair, his face white, almost with shock, and dropped his head into his hands. Jane went on, her voice gentle.

  “The Earl is distraught, more and more blue-devilled each day that passes. For he has no way to inform the Viscount that he is safe, and wealthy, no way to know if he will ever see him again. After the loss of his wife a short few years ago, the thought that he may truly have lost his son is leaving him a broken man.”

  Gervaise looked up, his face paling further at her words.

  “Is it truly that bad?”

  “Yes, it is, despite everyone around him trying to keep his spirits up. Will you not, having now heard this, change your mind? For if I understand it aright, this means that your reason for asking that of me is no longer valid, no longer necessary.”

  Jess looked back and forth between them, deeply confused.

  Gervaise sat, deep in thought, obviously debating his next words. For this moment might change the path of his life. Eventually, he looked to Jane again.

  “If it is as you say, and I have no reason to mistrust your word, then it is time for me to swallow my foolish pride, and step back into my life. There are some things I will never do again – and I will tell my father so, much though it will gall me to admit that he was so very right.”

  “I am so glad that is your decision. It has been hard, these past days, watching him suffer, whilst I could not speak. But before anything else, I think that, now that it is safe to do so, you owe the Carvers an explanation.”

  “I do.” Gervaise turned to Jess, who was, Jane thought, beginning to understand what was happening. “Mrs Carver, Jess – I will be forever grateful for your care, and your hospitality. Without that, I would, most certainly, be dead. You know that I have never given you my true identity, and, again, I am overwhelmingly grateful that you chose to still care for me, when I would give you no information with which to judge what kind of man I am. But I refused you that information for good reason. I was, when you found me, a man pursued. Pursued by men whose only task was to take whatever I had, to beat me for my inability to pay more, and to leave me dead, or almost so. If you did not know who I was, you could not suffer by association, if they came to this village, seeking me.”

  Jess gasped, her eyes round.

  ‘Who would do such a thing? And why? You are, to my experience, a kind and well-behaved man.”

  Gervaise smiled a bitter smile.

  “Now, that is true, but for some years I was wild and foolish, drowning my grief at my mother’s death in gambling and drink, until my debts grew out of control, and I could not pay. I took steps then, towards a day when I would be able to pay – but when it took too long to reach that day, their patience wore thin. I ran, to hide myself away, and whilst running, fell – which is where you found me. Where my horse ended up, I have no idea – probably with gypsies far from here by now.”

  “But… what has that to do with what Mrs Canfield has told you? I admit to still being very confused.”

  “Jess, it is time that I told you who I am. My name is Gervaise Belmont, Viscount Woodridge. I am the Earl of Amberhithe’s son. Forgive me for keeping it from you so long – I did it for fear that the moneylenders’ thugs would hurt you for helping me, at a time when I was helpless to defend myself, let alone you.”

  “Oh my… what must you think of us! And you a Lord, living here in our tiny cottage!”

  “I think that you are the most generous and kind-hearted people I have ever met. You have restored my faith in people, and given me some hope that the world is worth living in – hope that I have been sadly lacking in, since my mother’s death.”

  Jess, lost for words, simply stared at him.

  Jane took the chance to broach her next request.

  “My Lord, will you allow me to arrange for you to be transported to Windemere Towers, to see your father, and let him know that you live?”

  “Yes. I doubt that I could walk that far, even in a week, and the track the log cart travels is blocked in two places, Joe tells me. So I will need to be carried, like some Maharajah on a sedan chair. I believe that I will feel utterly ridiculous – but, if that is what it takes to move me, let it be done.”

  “Good, then I will leave you to ready yourself. I expect to return in a few hours, to carry you away.”

  “Mrs Canfield… thank you – for being true to your word, and for your care for my future.”

  Jane blushed at his words, nodded, and went, in a hurry to be back, with men, and whatever litter they could arrange to carry him.

  ~~~~~

  Three hours later, as the afternoon sun began to turn to that golden tone which bespoke the lateness of the hour, Jane led an odd procession out of the woods and onto the lane leading to Windemere Towers. She had returned to the woodcutter’s cottage with Potts, Barnes and three of the men from the village, who were agog to see what had been hiding so close all the time.

  Leaving Jess and Joe with more gifts of food, and a promise to visit soon, they arranged Gervaise as comfortably as possible upon the hastily constructed platform, and lifted it carefully. At times, they had to stop, and ask Gervaise to hobble a few steps with his makeshift cane, where the path was too narrow, or obstructed. Finally, they came forth from the woods, and he was able to simply lie there, exhausted, while they carried him.

  As she walked along the lane beside the litter, passing the spot where she had first met Nicholas, Jane thought upon the rather momentous changes she had seen, since that fateful day. She regretted none of it, but, as she walked, it occurred to her that she had not thought beyond this moment.

  For, once Nicholas and Gervaise were reunited, there was no reason for Nicholas to stay here. He would leave, going back to his life in London, or at Amberton Grange, and she would not see him again. Their conversations by the stream would become a memory to treasure, but no more than that. A terrible sadness assailed her at the thought. She pushed it aside, and focussed on the moment – on the joy that finding Gervaise alive would bring to Nicholas.

  That she had allowed herself to become emotionally engaged with Nicholas was her own fault – she had always known that anything between them was impossible – she had just allowed a few kisses to distract her from the truth.

  ~~~~~

  Nicholas, as usual, went out to walk along the stream, mid-afternoon. That Gervaise was now safe from all threat was wonderful, but knowing that made it weigh all the more heavily on his heart that he did not know if Gervaise still lived. Even if he was alive, which Nicholas devoutly hoped he was, where was he? Sadness ached within him, and he found himself looking forward to the moment when he would see Jane, to the time he would spend with her, forgetting everything else. To the kiss or kisses he might steal, while in that strange space they shared, where he could almost believe in love again. Almost.

&nb
sp; He followed the now familiar path, and rounded the bend of the stream, looking towards the folly, fully expecting to find Jane there. But the stone bench was empty, the mass of flowers surrounding it somehow less bright without her presence. He stopped, and stood idly kicking pebbles into the stream, disconsolate. Perhaps, if he waited here for some time, she might come?

  He felt, in that instant, like a foolish boy, attending his first Balls, hopelessly enamoured of one young lady or another, and always desperately waiting upon her appearance. He did not like the feeling. He hated seeming foolish. He was far too old for such behaviour.

  Shaking his head, he forced himself to turn away, and walk further along the stream, towards the place where they had kissed that first time. Movement helped his state of mind, yet every step reminded him of Jane.

  He missed her presence. When he reached the spot where they had kissed, he stood, watching fallen blossoms float on the water. It was beautiful, and peaceful, but it was not the same without Jane.

  Sighing, he turned back, hoping that when he reached the folly, she would be there. She was not, and the gloomy reality of not having found Gervaise closed in on him again, moreso with every step he took back towards the Towers.

  He found himself walking slower, and slower, the further he went. His life stretched out before him, seeming bleak. Without Clara, things had been difficult, if Gervaise was truly lost to him too, what was there left for him to care about in life?

  All that he had worked for would end up going to his cousin, and all trace of Nicholas would have faded from the world.

  He forced the thoughts aside, and made himself keep walking.

  Chapter Eleven

  Those carrying the litter bearing Gervaise were very glad to see Windemere Towers before them, now only a short distance further, along the gravelled drive, between the hedges of the formal gardens that spread to each side. Gervaise raised his head to see it, the whole situation obviously still seeming unreal to him, after months of living in the little cottage in the woods. Jane watched him, a smile on her face.

  “It will seem strange at first, after so long hiding, but I assure you that you are safe, and that you will be made as comfortable as possible. I know that your father will be beyond happy to see you.”

  “It will most definitely be strange. This may sound most self-centred of me, but, whilst seeing my father again fills me with some trepidation, the thought of a warm bath was the thing uppermost in my mind, when I first caught sight of the house ahead of us.”

  Jane laughed, delighted that he was bearing up well, and that his sense of humour remained intact.

  They passed the gates through the hedge to the garden which led down towards the stream, and Jane imagined all of the days that Nicholas had gone through that gate, on his way to meet her. Her sadness rushed back, but she pushed it aside, forcing her thoughts back to the moment.

  They approached the front steps and a footman rushed out, calling back to another inside to arrange assistance. The crunching of many footsteps on gravel surrounded her, and at first Jane did not hear the voice.

  ~~~~~

  Nicholas wound his way up through the gardens towards the gate which let onto the drive, near the front of the house. The fact that the day was fading from golden afternoon into grey evening seemed appropriate – his mood faded with it. The gardens were undeniably beautiful, but he struggled to appreciate them. He sighed, reaching out to open the gate, and stepped through. Shutting that gate felt somehow like shutting the door on a stage of his life.

  In his slow trudge up the hill, he had come to accept that he might never see Gervaise again, and, quite possibly, Jane might not wish to see him. He did not know. Everything seemed dark and pointless. He set his feet on the gravel of the drive, and turned towards the house.

  Looking up, the building was still lit by the last afternoon light, burnished gold, the old stone almost glowing with it, and the windows reflecting as if dipped in gold. The glare was blinding for a moment. He blinked. What was that ahead of him?

  On the drive, not far away, between Nicholas and the entry stairs, was a strange collection of people, close together, and apparently carrying something. Puzzled, and pulled out of his sad thoughts by the surprise of it, he hurried forward, keen to assuage his curiosity.

  He reached them just as the door opened and a footman rushed out. There were five men, and they were carefully lowering something to the ground. They stepped aside, and he saw that it was a makeshift litter, and that a man lay upon it. Beside the litter stood Jane. His heart missed a beat, and his mouth went dry. Hope rushed through him in a cascade of sensation.

  His eyes locked on the man on the litter, whose attention was towards the house. Could it be? But why on a litter? Nicholas was still moving forward, unaware of his own steps. He pushed through the men, until he stood beside the litter, immediately behind Jane. Jane spoke – but he did not hear the words, for the man on the litter turned at her voice, and Nicholas saw his face.

  It was Gervaise. Rough, unshaven, dirty, and with his leg strapped up, and a cane beside him. But alive. Which was all that mattered. He had not known that he was going to speak, until he heard his own voice, rough with emotion.

  “Gervaise…? Is it really you? Where have you…? What…?”

  He fell silent, overwhelmed. Jane turned to him, and took his hand.

  ~~~~~

  Nicholas’ voice. Jane knew it instantly, even roughened with emotion. As always, its warmth resonated through her, deep into her bones, her very soul. His voice stopped, sliding into shocked silence. She turned, to see him staring at Gervaise, who was returning the stare, equally struck dumb by the moment.

  Unthinking, instinctively, Jane reached out and took Nicholas’ hand, drawing him gently forward as the men assisted Gervaise to stand, leaning shakily on his cane. Jane spoke, quietly, whispering to Nicholas.

  “I have told him of the letter, the money. He knows that he is safe. He will tell you his story. All that can wait, simply be glad for now, that you have your son back.”

  Nicholas nodded, only registering the words enough to comprehend the basics. Reaching Gervaise, Nicholas pulled him into a careful embrace. Gervaise’s voice, against his shoulder, shook with exhaustion, and the release of months of fear.

  “Father… I… I was a fool, twice over. Forgive me.”

  Nicholas pulled back, his eyes shining with barely contained tears.

  “None of it matters to me – what matters is that you are here, alive. But for now, let us get you inside, with a bath, food, and a doctor, soon.”

  At that Nicholas, having seen how weak Gervaise truly was, simply scooped him into his arms, as if he were still a child, not a man grown, and carried him towards the house. A hovering footman gathered up the makeshift cane as it fell, and followed them.

  Jane stood, watching them, until they entered the house.

  It seemed final, the closing of that door, as if shutting her out of Nicholas life. She swallowed the threatening tears, and turned to the men, instructing that the makeshift litter be taken to the stables, where it would, most likely, be broken up for firewood. Potts and Barnes set off to deal with that, and she thanked the village men, sending them towards home with the assurance that Lord Amberhithe would most likely wish to thank them himself, on the morrow.

  Once they were gone, rapidly retreating from sight down the drive. Jane found herself alone. Silence surrounded her. She hesitated, but then turned, her steps slow as she walked back to the Dower House. By the time she reached her door, the last of the light had faded from the sky. She let herself in, as Potts and Barnes had not yet returned, and stood in the entryway. The emptiness of the house around her seemed a tangible thing, a reminder of the fact that she was alone.

  Everyone she cared for had others, closer to them, to care for, and be cared for by. The life ahead of her felt like a gilded cage – available wealth and comfort, yet always separated from the real world in a sense, looking out at others’
happiness. She went to the kitchen, and Cook took one worried look at her, then spoke.

  “You just be sittin’ down there at the table Mrs Canfield and I’ll get you a warm cup of tea and a nice fresh pie. You look all done in. I hope that means that you brought the young man back as planned?”

  Jane dropped onto the old kitchen chair, the wood polished by decades of use, and leant on the table.

  “Yes, he’s up at the Towers now, with his father.”

  “Good. But… I thought you would have stayed up there, Mrs Canfield, seeing as it’s all your doing he’s found.”

  “I…” Jane hesitated, trying to find the best way to say things. “Mrs Dobbins, I just felt like I would be intruding. Lord Amberhithe needed some time alone with his son, after so long fearing him dead. And, once it was done, I just felt so tired – I don’t think I’m in any state for making polite conversation.”

  “Well then, you’d best just have your tea and pie, and have an early night. Sleep always helps.”

  Mrs Dobbins put the pot of tea, Jane’s favourite cup, and a plate with one of her excellent pies, in front of Jane, and left her to it, busying herself about the kitchen, without talking. Jane was grateful, for conversation truly was the last thing she wanted, but the company was welcome, before she took herself back into the loneliness of the main part of the house.

  Soon, she finished her meal, and took herself off to bed, as suggested. But sleep was elusive, no matter her tiredness. In her mind’s eye, she saw Nicholas’ face when he had first seen Gervaise – such love had shone in his eyes. In that moment, she had envied Gervaise. She was foolish to do so, for she had no right to Nicholas’ attention, and to hope for it was an activity she should never have indulged in.

  She had not wanted to intrude on their reunion, and, if she were honest with herself, she had not been able to bear the thought of being that close to Nicholas, and virtually unnoticed. She had become used to having his full attention when in his presence. Chiding herself for being a silly goose, she finally drifted off to sleep. But her dreams were full of spring green eyes and kisses in the gold of afternoon.