The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  “Don’t know how I could’ve mistook you for the other bloke. Takin’ a closer look,” she suited action to words and leaned in toward Farris, offering a look down her bosom, “I can see as how you’re much better lookin’ than the other gent.” She smiled and batted her lashes.

  Farris chuckled. “Perhaps another time, Molly.”

  “Well, if you change yer mind, either one of you, let me know.” She ambled off, skirts swaying provocatively.

  “I believe we are of the same accord, Don Montenegro, and have Lady Harding’s best interests at heart.”

  “As you say, the niña’s wellbeing is of the utmost importance.” Philippe’s black gaze settled on the other man. “Make no mistake, I will stop any who try and harm Clairece, or any other member of my family.”

  Outside the Hound and Hare, the man pressed back into the shadows and watched the front entrance. He had his eye on Molly, but with that blasted Spaniard hanging around, she would have to wait. As a man possessed of perverse needs, he had long ago realized his were considered among the worst.

  He thought of the American woman. Harding Hall was like a fortress. Getting anywhere near her was next to impossible. And now he had that simpleton he’d hired to contend with. How in blazes could he have guessed the lackwit would take on so about a silly chit like Lucy?

  He moved away from the cover of darkness and strode off.

  Chapter 41

  Anthony strolled through their chamber, discarding articles of clothing as he went. Aware Clairece watched him in her mirror, he grew concerned at her continued refusal to acknowledge him. “Will you tell me what’s troubling you? Have I done something?”

  Her gaze jerked to his. “It’s not you, but me.” She continued to tug the brush through her long hair until he gently clasped her wrist, stilling the next sweep of her hand. He laid the hairbrush aside and turned her to face him.

  “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve made a bad bargain in me.”

  He hunkered down in front of her. “Why would you think such a thing?”

  “I’m going to disappoint you. A house of this magnitude is so,” she waved her hands around, “overwhelming.”

  He eased her chin up so she looked at him. “Under Hodges’ and Mrs. Stedman’s direction, the Hall runs smoothly. All you need do is oversee and approve suggestions and requests. If there is something you wish changed or done, simply inform the staff.”

  Her lower lip quivered. To see this brave and courageous woman so distraught sent an answering ache in his chest. “Years ago, Sanctuary hosted an annual picnic for the village folk and surrounding neighbors. I would love to see it happen again.” He brushed another tear away. “Look around, darling. The renovations on the Hall are not complete because, frankly, I haven’t had the time. I haven’t set foot in the orphanage in months.”

  Her eyes widened. “Orphanage?”

  Damn. He’d not intended to mention the children’s home just yet. “Tanglewood Home for Children. It’s named after a book by one of your American authors, Nathanial Hawthorne. My mother would read to me for hours. I never got tired of hearing the tales.”

  Clairece’s face crumpled and she began to sob in earnest.

  “Dearest, what is it?”

  “I couldn’t even bear a child properly. My carelessness cost the life of my daughter.”

  So this is the real crux of the matter. He drew her to her feet and embraced the bundle of soft woman in his arms. “Philippe told me of the visit paid you by the whoreson who got you with child. You were distressed, so much so you walked in your sleep. It was an accident. If anyone is to blame, it’s he.”

  Clairece swiped her fingers across her cheeks. “Had I refused to see Carlen, my babe would be with me.”

  Anthony handed her his handkerchief. “You were young. Not much more than a child yourself. It is not to be expected you should face such a situation alone. Where was Roger?”

  “At a meeting with other men who survived the War Between the States. He planned to write a documentary about Gettysburg and other battles, and needed some first-hand accountings. Roger was hurt at Antietam, at a place called Bloody Lane. Once they determined he would live, he was sent on to a hospital. Many others were not so lucky. Roger wanted history to know of the men who fought and didn’t return.”

  As much as he wished to criticize her late husband for leaving a pregnant wife, Anthony recognized the value of what Roger had tried to accomplish. “How far did he get with his memoirs?”

  “Roger wrote incessantly, and had upward of thirty journals at the time of his death. I took them with me to Spencer Ranch before I came here. Papa offered to assist me in organizing them so I could compile Roger’s work into a book.”

  Anthony hated to probe further, but deemed it vital. “Tell me what happened after you fell.”

  Clairece dabbed at her cheeks with the linen. “Roger was staying at a hotel in Philadelphia with others who had gathered to discuss the war. I remember bits and pieces, but primarily only what I was told. He was summoned immediately and arrived early the next morning. By then, I was barely coherent from loss of blood. Miranda was breech and not ready to come.”

  “Miranda?”

  She nodded. “I named her Miranda Elizabeth. Elizabeth for James’ mother, my aunt, and Miranda because I knew she would have been beautiful.”

  Anthony squeezed her hand. If he could take this anguish from her, he would.

  “I told you I heard her cry, but they say it’s not possible as she was stillborn.” Clairece looked up at him. “Anthony, something in here”—she touched her chest—“tells me I’m right.”

  Anthony wanted to offer comfort, but no words came.

  “They’d sent for my parents and I knew I was dying. I didn’t want to die without holding my infant just once. I heard Roger tell the doctor to save the mother. I tried to order them to save my baby instead, but they gave me something for pain. I woke days later with my mother and father sitting by my bed and Philippe standing at the foot. Uncle Adrian and Aunt Angeline were downstairs.”

  “Philippe told me you almost died.”

  “It took weeks for me to regain my strength. Once I could leave my bed, Philippe carried me outside to a bench at the back of the garden. Roger had buried Miranda there beneath the tree.”

  “I am so sorry, my love.”

  “I went to Texas with my parents and stayed until I could manage returning to Philadelphia. While there, Papa began to teach me about antiquities and such.”

  “What of Carlen?” Anthony had to work to keep his voice from betraying his profound hatred of the man.

  “Philippe told me not to fear, that Carlen would never bother me again.”

  “I think you should trust what Philippe says.”

  She traced the signet ring on his little finger and instinct told him there was yet more.

  “With the orphanage and the way you are with Sophie, you obviously love children and deserve a dozen of your own. I may not be able to give you even one.” She swallowed hugely.

  A dozen? “We don’t know that,” he said gently.

  “Well, I do.” She hiccupped a sob. “I had begun to hope, but I . . . my courses started today. I’m not increasing and I so wanted to be.”

  Women should come with a book of instructions so a man might respond accordingly. “Ah, love, don’t cry. We’ve hardly had the chance for a proper try.”

  She sniffed. “You should end our marriage and find someone who can provide you with children.”

  He chucked her under the chin. “I gave you my oath, Clairece. I didn’t marry you for children alone. I married you because I wanted you as my wife, no one else. If we’re blessed with children, I shall be the happiest of men. But, if it’s not to be, I will feel equ
ally blessed with you in my life.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “I made you another promise and, if I must keep it, I will. Are you telling me you wish to leave? Is that what this is about?” Her gaze met his and Anthony’s breath stilled as he waited for her answer.

  “I do not wish to, but—”

  He placed a finger on her lips. “The rest will work itself out.”

  “I’m tired and would like to go to bed. Will you hold me even though we cannot make love?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Anthony lifted her in his arms and deposited her on the bed. Discarding his clothing, he turned down the lamps and climbed in beside her. She immediately snuggled against his side. “I have no experience with . . . women things. How long does this last?”

  “Five to seven days.”

  He groaned.

  “You’re demanding more money?”

  “And why not, if you’re makin’ me look the guilty one for what you done?” Mort sneered. “I can just as easily leave you to finish this by yerself, ya know. I didn’t sign on fer yer crazy stuff, or to have blokes like that Spaniard after me.”

  He drew in a steadying breath. “Very well. I’ll pay you twice the amount when this is completed. Will that suffice?”

  Mort shifted from one large foot to another. “Not after we’re done. Now.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Two days. Meet me in two days and you’ll get your money.” He’d have no use for the lout after the American woman was dead.

  A quick thrust of a blade between the ribs would be Mort’s final payment.

  Chapter 42

  The next morning, Clairece joined Anthony in the breakfast room. He glanced up and smiled, coming to his feet. “Good morning, my dear.”

  “Good morning.” She returned his smile. After making her selections from the array of food on the sideboard, she took a seat next to his.

  “I received a message from my cousin asking me to meet him at Roxbury Abbey. I won’t be gone long.” Anthony poured her coffee.

  “I didn’t realize you had a cousin.” She added sugar and a splash of cream to her cup. “You’ve never mentioned him.”

  “Gerald Wade, Baronet Roxbury, is the son of my late uncle, and my heir should I die without producing a son.”

  “You’re close?”

  “We were as children, but things changed some time back.” He laid his napkin aside and leaned back in his chair. Had she not been watching, she would have missed the brief look of regret.

  “I offered to buy his estate. I suspect that’s why he’s asked to see me.”

  “Is the estate near?”

  “It was once a part of Sanctuary. Over one hundred-fifty years ago, it was parceled off and awarded to Gerald’s great grandfather for his loyal support. At that time, he was granted a Baronetcy from the King. Although the title is inherited, the land isn’t entailed. I am able to purchase the estate back without petitioning the Queen.”

  “An abbey, you say?”

  His features relaxed. “The architecture is superb with its leaded-glass windows, oak doors, and large rooms. Though not nearly as grand as Harding Hall, the monastery is remarkable in its own right.”

  “Why would he wish to sell?” She sipped her coffee.

  “At one time, I couldn’t imagine Gerald living anywhere else. He and I played there, teased the young maids and servants there, and got chased out of the kitchen more times than I can count.” He smiled a little sadly. She reached for his hand and squeezed.

  “His father was a decent enough man, though morose after his wife died. Gerald and I were young, maybe seven or eight, when she passed.”

  “Is Gerald’s incentive for selling monetary?”

  “His lifestyle has changed. He seems to care little for his heritage and prefers a life of gaming and . . . other pursuits in London. He’s been living beyond his means for some time. I believe his debt is the reason he’s decided to sell.”

  “Is there nothing you can do to help him?”

  Anthony shook his head. “For some time, I’ve covered his gambling debts and made certain his rent in London was paid. I can do no more, nor will I. Gerald squanders the income he receives from the property instead of investing the money where it might do some good.” He refilled both of their cups.

  “I see it troubles you.”

  He sighed. “I’ve enabled his dissipation by covering his extravagances. I had hoped in time he would change his ways, but I’ve come to the conclusion, he will not.

  “The Abbey has been left to decay. The roof is still sound, thank God, so the interior is not damaged by water. The gardens have gone to weed and the hedges are overgrown. The drainage ditches have collapsed in places and some of the fields are flooded. It will take a great deal of work and money to bring the estate back. He cares not for it, and I care more than I should.”

  She set her cup down. “Then make it a part of Sanctuary once again.”

  “Even if it means Gerald will be left with no ties to the land, and money he will soon fritter away?”

  “Even if.” Clairece covered his hand with hers. “As much as you might wish it, you cannot save everyone.”

  Anthony’s head jerked up and he met her gaze, then slid his hand from beneath hers. “How are preparations coming to receive our guests?”

  An abrupt change of subject. She sighed. Obviously, their previous discussion was at an end. “We’re bringing in a tremendous amount of bedding, cots, and other linens, not to mention the extra foodstuffs. I’m afraid we might beggar you.”

  He quirked a brow. “Not likely. Buy what you need without worry. How many guests might we expect?”

  “Well, to start with, we filled the servants’ quarters to overflowing when we brought most of the household with us from London. The rooms off the nursery are to be cleaned and aired and beds placed in each for the maids and valets which will accompany my parents and whoever else shows up on our doorstep.”

  “You’re enjoying the challenge, though. Admit it.” He grinned.

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “I suppose I am. The grooms and several footmen are to sweep and clean the second story of the stable. The stove was checked and is working properly. The Cordova men and other coachmen should arrive soon.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve discussed sleeping arrangements with Mrs. Stedman.” She nibbled at her lip and glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

  His eyes widened. “Surely there are enough rooms to accommodate everyone.”

  “It will be tight, but we’ll manage.”

  “The Hall has twenty-four guest rooms plus the family wing. Are we to have an onset of company I know nothing about?”

  She noted the laughter in his eyes and smiled in return. “With my relatives, one never knows. There are only eighteen inhabitable rooms. Six are in the unimproved wing.”

  Clairece started as Anthony’s features hardened. He leveled a sharp glance at Hodges and both the butler and footman exited the room. “Are you asking to change those rooms?” His tone had turned glacial.

  “I’m suggesting you let go of the past. Your mother would not want you to build a shrine to her. She would—”

  His eyes narrowed. “When did you become the best judge of what she would have wanted, or, for that matter, what I want?”

  Surprise, dismay, and pain warred with each other and settled like a tight band around her heart.

  “Those rooms will stay as they are. Is that understood?” Anthony visibly trembled with rage.

  Clairece came to her feet, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “I understand perfectly, my lord, just as I am certain you will understand this. You are an ass.”

  His mouth gaped open.

  “If you will excuse me, I have things to do.” Clairece hea
rd him call her name as she left, but she was too incensed to stop.

  Halfway up the stairs, he took hold of her arm to stay her. She stared at his hand until he released his hold.

  “I’m sorry. I should not have spoken as I did,” Anthony said.

  “No, you should not have, but it’s your home to do with as you please.” Perversely, she felt a sense of regret when he flinched.

  “It is yours as well, Clairece.” She knew he expected a response but she could not give one. “Dammit, can we at least agree to talk about this when I return?”

  “When you let go of the past, we can discuss the future and whether this is my home or not.”

  “That is not fair and you know it.”

  “None of this is fair. Now, if you will excuse me, I must find a quiet place to work.”

  He frowned in confusion. “Work?”

  “Yes, work. There is correspondence from Philadelphia which requires my attention, and inquiries regarding Roger’s book to address. I have yet to discover a place where I don’t feel the need to pick up everything and move before I’m finished.”

  “Have Hodges show you some suitable locations.”

  “Are you to approve my choice?”

  “No, dammit. Choose whichever room you wish and have it redone to your liking. But not in that wing,” he ground out.

  “Of course.”

  “Is there anything else you require?” Anthony said stiffly.

  “Not at present,” Clairece responded just as stiffly.

  He sent her a searching look but she kept her features expressionless. After a moment in which she was certain he would say something else, he turned and descended the stairs, ordering his horse to be brought around.

  She watched as Hodges handed Anthony a saddle holster and pistol. “Which do you prefer, my lord, a groom or footman to ride with you?”