Chapter Sixteen
March 1829, Arthur Gilcrest’s family home, Galewick Manor, Sussex England
“There you go, sweet girl.” Naomi adjusted the tip of her breast for her daughter to latch onto more affectively. Baby Amelia Augustine Gilcrest was the spitting image of her father. Her dark brown eyes matched Arthur’s perfectly, from the coffee-colored shade to the golden flecks that danced around her pupils. Her hair remained blond, but Naomi thought it might eventually turn darker to match her father’s as well.
Initially, Arthur’s mother had been disappointed that Amelia wasn’t a boy, but when her granddaughter had opened her eyes and gazed up at her, the starchy countess had declared herself quite smitten. As had her uncle.
Lord Tempest was nothing at all like Arthur had been. Where Arthur’s hair had been a soft brown color, Tempest’s was black. And whereas her husband had been quick to laugh, his older brother’s mouth twisted into a permanent scowl.
But after insisting she belonged with them, they had welcomed her into their home.
They had been kind to her. More so now that she was the mother of their only grandchild. And they loved little Amelia—even if she wasn’t a boy.
“One hundred percent the little lady, aren’t you? Luke was right all along.”
Not a day went by without Luke coming to mind. Not an hour, and sometimes, hardly a minute.
Lady Tempest had been cool and distant at first, and although she was considerably reserved, she had warmed to her over time.
“Ladies Lucinda and Lydia are downstairs in the west parlor, Madam.” Gabby, one of the more enthusiastic housemaids, hovered just outside the nursery. Amelia’s nurse rose as though to take Amelia, but Naomi held out a hand to halt her.
“Send them up, Gabby. I’m sure they’re here to see the baby as much as to see me.” She laughed. “Perhaps even more so.”
With Crescent Park neighboring Galewick Manor, Lydia and Lucinda had fast become good friends to her. They reminded Naomi of her own sister, Theodosia and their visits eased some of the loneliness she felt from her own family’s refusal to acknowledge her.
Even Blackheart had visited her on one occasion. He was an enigmatic gentleman. Although his demeanor implied indifference, his actions contradicted such. Had Luke asked him to do that?
Of course, he must have.
Luke’s last afternoon at Milton cottage had been achingly bittersweet. They’d held one another until the last possible moment, only climbing out of her bed when the coach bringing Mrs. Cromwell was nearly upon the house.
Once Mrs. Cromwell had settled in, the three of them had traveled into the village again and visited the mercantile, the small church, and then suffered through a polite but poignant dinner with his family. Luke had escorted both Naomi and Mrs. Cromwell back home. And after her companion disappeared into the house, the two of them had bid farewell to one another in the darkness, neither willing to relinquish the other. She’d not cried though. She hadn’t wanted him to worry about her while he was gone. It was more important that he worry for himself.
She’d kept her tears in check until she was alone and could bury her face in the pillow he’d shared with her, inhaling the remnants of his scent.
He’d slept at the inn that night and departed for Portsmouth at sunup. He’d promised her he would speak with Blackheart about his intentions to sell out. And that he would write to her.
The very afternoon following his departure, the orderly quiet of her life had been upended again when Arthur’s brother and mother as well as a handful of servants arrived and insisted she take up residence in their home as Arthur’s widow.
Perhaps if she’d been stronger, she would have resisted them. She might have asserted her independence and insisted on remaining at Milton Cottage with Ester.
But she’d just bid the man she loved goodbye and she’d promised Luke she wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks with the baby or herself. He’d ordered her not to climb any ladders, not to allow herself to become chilled. He’d told her to be sure to eat well and then begged that she not go into the village alone. Any other time and she wouldn’t have allowed him to be so bossy but he’d needed her reassurance.
Neither had addressed the fact that he would be in almost constant danger. If he could trust that she was safe, they both seemed to understand, he could apply his efforts toward keeping himself from harm.
“Is she sleeping?” Lucinda entered first and tiptoed across the brightly lit room decorated with pink ribbons and silk flowers. Naomi had come to recognize the differences between Luke’s twin sisters most of the time. Lucinda was the bolder of the two and tended to draw reprimands from Mrs. Cromwell more often than Lydia did.
Lydia, although quiet, paid close attention to all that was going on around her. Her figure was the slightest bit rounder than her sister’s, and she had a small white scar at the bottom of her lip.
Naomi’s regard for them had grown along with their acquaintance.
“She’s eating,” Naomi answered in a normal voice. “She keeps trying to fall asleep, and I have to stroke her little chin so she’ll finish.” It had taken her a while to learn this trick. The first few weeks her little one had wanted to nurse almost continuously, taking very small breaks and napping often in between. The nurse hired by Lady Tempest had suggested she try to keep Amelia awake and eating longer, and Naomi was immensely relieved when that had worked.
“She is growing so quickly!” Lucinda pulled a chair over so that it was right beside Naomi while Lydia lowered herself into one halfway across the room.
“We were here two days ago, Luce,” Lydia reminded her sister.
“Oh, that reminds me.” Lucinda opened her reticule and withdrew an envelope from inside. “Another letter arrived.”
Naomi’s heart raced to see the familiar handwriting. Once Luke had learned she was residing at Galewick Manor rather than Milton Cottage, he’d directed his correspondence to Crescent Park, and then the girls couriered it to her privately. The Duke of Blackheart wasn’t nearly the stickler he was rumored to be.
Naomi tucked it into the sleeve of her gown to read later and to keep it hidden in case Lady Tempest decided to join them.
It would be unseemly for Luke to send letters to her here, at the home of her dead husband’s family. Six months remained in her mourning period.
“He doesn’t know when he’ll be returning yet,” Lydia offered gently. “Likely if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t hear from him at all. Luke’s never been much for writing.”
But he was safe. Or he had been up until he’d posted his letters and that must be enough to calm Naomi’s worries.
“Wouldn’t it be divine if Luke’s regiment could return for the Season this year? I was positively mad with impatience when we couldn’t come out then.”
The glamour and sophistication of a London ball seemed worlds away. Naomi’s entire life had flipped upside down since she’d concerned herself with parties and fashionable gowns and flirting and dancing. Theodosia was expected to make her come-out this spring and Naomi would not be there to encourage her.
“When is Blackheart taking you to London?”
“We’ll leave two weeks before Easter. That will allow us plenty of time to have any necessary alterations made to our gowns and also to accustom ourselves to the city. Oh, I do wish you could be there.” Lucinda frowned.
Lydia, always the practical one, grimaced. She, of course, realized that even if Lady Tempest wasn’t adamant that they all wear blacks for an entire year, it would be considered unseemly for Naomi to attend any ton events.
That aside, she wasn’t prepared to leave Amelia alone quite yet and, truth be told, Naomi wasn’t prepared to face the world again, even if they deigned to receive her. She’d been involved in the very worst type of scandal. Her parents had made it clear that she would not have their support, and Naomi doubted she’d have the support of people she’d once considered friends.
“Our come-out ball
is scheduled for the twenty-third of April. Lady Ravensdale is sponsoring us, and she already consulted with the Willoughbys to ensure we don’t have similar themes, or colors.”
The Willoughbys’ Ball was always the first of the Season. It was where she’d first met Arthur and Luke. How innocent they had all been.
Naomi smiled tightly, pushing the memory away.
“The Countess will make for an excellent sponsor.” It was on the tip of Naomi’s tongue to advise the two young women to stay close to their chaperones and to avoid being lured into dark follies alone with handsome rakes. It was the same advice she’d been given…
Amelia made a cooing sound, one of satisfaction, and Naomi glanced down just in time to see her daughter pop off her breast and smack her tiny lips. “Such a good girl,” Naomi praised her daughter at the same time she dabbed her nipple with the small receiving blanket. It was a relief whenever her breasts emptied, especially after that first uncomfortable month.
Lady Tempest had considered Naomi foolish to nurse Amelia herself, but Naomi had been adamant. Despite experiencing difficulties early on, she believed that providing the natural nourishment her body produced as a mama, she was developing an unbreakable bond with this tiny creature she’d given birth to. And until Luke returned, her baby was the only person who was truly hers.
Nearly three months had passed since she’d seen him. Would he regret what they’d done before he left? What if his affection for her diminished?
It wasn’t until each of her two visitors had taken a turn burping and holding Little Amelia and then the nurse had taken her to rock and put down for a nap that Naomi was able to slip quietly into her personal chamber and break the seal on his letter.
She slid the foolscap out and inhaled before unfolding it. She could almost imagine where his fingers had touched it. It smelled woodsy, a little smoky, and … anything else was likely her imagination.
She opened it up and savored every word… And then read through the letter again and again before folding it carefully and inserting it into the back of her journal.
To my dear sweet Naomi,
A girl! I smiled the entire day after reading your letter. And must I remind you that you now have yet another reason to bow to my great wisdom upon my return?
I yearn to be home with you. This autumn I will take you to Grainger Hall, my estate. I haven’t been there in ages but am grateful now knowing we will have a place we can make our own—make our home.
Until then, I express with all my heart that I am overjoyed to hear that both you and little Amelia are healthy and well. Is she as beautiful as you? Of course, she is. I am imagining her now, with golden-blond hair and eyes the color of the sky on a summer day… In England. In the country.
Are her eyes the color of the sky like yours?
I’d forgotten how heavy the air hovers here. The sun burns hot without fail but the worst is the endless humidity. Not a cool and fresh quality like the English countryside but a hot, sticky atmosphere that never evaporates on one’s skin and keeps your sheets damp during the night. (Not a genteel topic but neither is this letter).
Even worse than the weather is the distance between us. Your letters provide me with manna that I read over and over again. At night I lay in bed and relive our time together. I picture you as you must look, with your babe at your breast, safe, content, and… waiting for me.
And as midnight turns to early morning, I picture you as you were the last day at Milton Cottage. I remember the feel of your most sensitive flesh… your taste. I doubt you can ever imagine how beautiful you are. All of you. In the time we spent together, you captured my heart and added purpose to my life.
I have two motivations right now: Accomplish this damn mission so that I can journey back to you. And second: Stay alive for the exact same reason. Well, perhaps not in that order. Nonetheless, everything I do is so that I can return to you.
Yours forever,
Luke
Chapter Seventeen
Undisclosed location near a tributary of the Pra River, March 1829
Luke unrolled the classified correspondence and, upon reading the contents, exhaled slowly. Mentally calculating the timeline of the next thirty-six hours, he held the curling paper to the flame of his lantern and watched until the amber glow licked across the words. Only when it had crawled to his fingertips did he drop it onto the dirt floor and crush it into a million pieces of ash.
The time was upon them.
The insurgents were pirates of a sort and had amassed piles of weapons and ammunition—British weapons and British ammunition. They’d, of course, procured it unlawfully. Evidence discovered by War Office personnel pointed to traitors from within. Possibly under Luke’s command.
Luke’s veins turned to ice.
He would capture whoever it was, and justice would be served. This particular traitor had cost six men their lives. And for what? Greed.
The enemy’s location had been identified and confirmed. This time, Luke would not lead his men into an ambush. This time, his men would come out victors. They would eradicate this particular danger once and for all. Not only had these villains stolen from their own country, but they had attacked innocent civilians whose only mistake had been traveling down one particular road at the wrong time. It wasn’t as if the monsters killed to defend their freedom or their territory, they had simply killed out of greed.
The pirates were nothing short of evil.
The worst of them all, however, was the traitor—a man from within their own ranks. Luke rose and paced back and forth within his tent, anger spurring his mind. He would know the man when he saw him. An English soldier would be easily evident amongst the dark-skinned fighters. Not only by the color of his skin but by the manner in which he walked, the manner in which he carried himself.
Luke’s men would be ambushing a compound loaded with explosives—defended by the most dangerous type of foe—one who cared nothing for life or honor.
And, irony of ironies, for the first time in his life, Luke had something to live for, something more meaningful than his own selfish existence. He had a future.
Luke paused and stared down at his desk and quill. He needed to write to her in case… If he wrote an ‘if you’re reading this’ letter, then she wouldn’t ever need it. If he didn’t write one, it would likely be his last regret.
Luke lowered himself onto the chair at his desk and opened the jar of ink.
To my beautiful sweet Naomi…
* * *
“We will return as soon as the Season winds down.”
Although embarking on a daylong journey by carriage to London, Lady Tempest didn’t appear as though she was dressed for travel. Instead of wearing something simple, something comfortable, she’d chosen a heavy black muslin gown with dark gray trim. Atop hair that was almost purple, she’d pinned a midnight velvet hat adorned with raven-colored feathers.
“Amelia is likely going to be twice her size by then,” Naomi joked as she watched the older woman climb into a heavy but lavish carriage. At the rate her daughter was growing, Naomi did not consider the prediction an exaggeration.
“You know I wouldn’t make the trip if dear Tempest didn’t require me to act as hostess for the state dinners required of him.”
“But of course,” Naomi reassured the older woman. Lady Tempest was nothing if not a stickler and would likely make this excuse dozens and dozens of times in the weeks to come.
Two weeks ago, Naomi had stood on the same steps and wished Lucinda and Lydia luck when they’d come to kiss Amelia goodbye the day before journeying to London themselves. Blackheart had stood unsmiling at the bottom of the steps waiting for them. He’d only had to glance at his timepiece three times before the young ladies had given Naomi one last hug and bid her farewell.
She’d felt melancholy watching Luke’s siblings drive away but felt mostly relief as Lady Tempest disappeared into her coach. And disappear, she did. Heavy drapes covered the windows, not allowing by
standers even the slightest glimpse of the lofty passenger.
“Instruct Mr. Webbs,” he gestured toward the butler, “to send for me if you have need of… anything.” Lord Tempest didn’t speak to Naomi often. If he was indoors, he kept to his study, which was fine by her. It wasn’t as though he’d ever spoken harshly or been unkind. It was just that the expression on his face was persistently ill-tempered.
On one occasion, when she’d been idling in the garden with Amelia, she’d caught sight of him striding toward the gardener’s hut. For an instant, she’d thought he was Arthur. Although physically, he didn’t resemble his brother, his gait and his posture were very much the same as Arthur’s had been.
He was a difficult man to know in that he gave away nothing of his thoughts, and this made her uncomfortable. The woman he eventually married would have to be something of a clairvoyant if she was ever to know the man. That or a person who didn’t care to try.
And as he stood before her today, he was no different.
“I—thank you, My Lord.” Like his mother, he wore mostly black along with a black band around his arm. “But I will be fine.”
“You…” He glanced over his shoulder toward where a groom held his mount. “My brother married you, and you are a member of this family. You will always be afforded our protection. I apologize that you ever had reason to doubt this.”
When he turned back to her, the corner of his lip twitched, almost as though he was making an effort to be friendly.
He was so very different than Arthur.
“You and your mother have been most kind.”
He stared at her thoughtfully and then blinked. Without another word, he bowed and mounted his horse, signaling to the entire entourage to proceed.
Living at Galewick Manor with Lord Tempest and his mother was nothing like living with her own family had been. Whereas the corridors here were quiet and the inhabitants solemn and withdrawn, her Father’s home had been lively, and she and her siblings had not given their parents a moment of peace.
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