by Jen Yates
Relieved to leave the gentleman to their port and heavy discussions, Liberty had returned to the drawing room to play desultorily at the pianoforte when George slid onto the stool beside her.
‘Papa and Gareth are poring over maps now. I think they'd both like to be off leading troops against the damned Corsican.’
‘Why don't you join the army? It would be a much more useful existence than your current one.’
‘Then who would be around to look out for my beautiful Mama? The old man is not going to keep you entertained much longer—and then I shall be here. Waiting to step into his shoes. I might not inherit his estates and titles but I'm sure he’ll have left you well provided for. Your Papa would have seen to that. Besides, what pleasure can there be in spreading your legs for an old man like that? He's probably struggling to even get it up these days.’
Liberty's hands dropped to the keys with a discordant clang. Rising from the piano stool, she left the room without a word.
In her bedroom she let Goldie help her out of her gown and into a peach satin night rail with matching peignoir. Dismissing the maid, she settled herself at the dressing table to re-read the letter that had come from Mama today.
Her mother was suffering with a summer cold and was decidedly below par. Verity was being particularly recalcitrant and frequently hiding from Mrs. Longfellow and the schoolroom. Mama was missing Liberty’s assistance with her wayward little sister.
I know things will get better when she goes to school but in the meantime she is a sore trial to me. Lady Highbrooke has offered to have her stay there, but she already has Victoria Wolfenden as a more or less permanent resident now that Lucy is away at school. I don't like to impose. But I think Verity is lonely.’
God, she was homesick.
‘What's wrong?’ Justin entered the room without his usual deferential knock. ‘George said you were tired and had come upstairs. Is George bothering you?’
‘George always bothers me.’
She was past sparing Justin’s feelings where his younger son was concerned.
‘Ah, he's a personable fellow. Women do seem to find him attractive. It’s not to be wondered at, I guess—you’re young and he probably seems—’
‘I’m not attracted to George, Justin. He bothers me. He doesn't seem to understand his attentions are not welcome and tonight—I was rather rude, I'm afraid. I don’t want to cause you any upset—but—’
‘Hush, Libby. It's alright. I asked for your honesty, if you remember. I’ve hinted him away before, but it probably needed to come directly from you. He's always been one to push the boundaries.’
He came to stand behind her where she sat at the dressing table, his hands settling in a gentle caress on her shoulders.
‘Shall I forbid him to be around you when I’m not?’
Libby met his troubled gaze in the mirror and decided to voice a question that had bothered her since first meeting Justin’s sons.
‘Why are Gareth and George not like you?’
His steel-grey brows leapt up towards his hairline.
‘Oh, I don’t doubt they’re your sons. The likeness is unmistakable. But they are—self-centered, callous. Arrogant.’ Liberty fiddled with the arrangement of the brush and comb on the dressing table, then looked back up to find Justin watching her with a strange expression on his face. Like guilt. ‘You are none of those things.’
His thumbs had been massaging rhythmically up and down the back of her neck. They stilled and he stepped away and dropped heavily to sit on the edge of the daybed in the window nook.
His frown and the slump of his shoulders made Liberty wonder if her words had wounded him in some way. She swung around on the stool, ready to apologize.
‘It’s my fault they are as they are, nevertheless,’ he said, his voice little more than a low growl.
‘I can’t imagine you wouldn’t have been a wonderful father,’ she said, suddenly hating the miserable slump of his shoulders.
‘I wasn’t. They hardly saw me. Didn’t really know me until after their mother died. George was still at Eton but Gareth was up at Oxford by then. They only knew me as the man who h—neglected their mother. And them.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Liberty blurted. ‘You’re not so unfeeling.’
‘Not unfeeling. No,’ he argued, ‘I probably felt too much. Hated too well.’
‘Hated?’
Liberty found herself wanting to cross the space between them and wrap her arms around the grim-faced man she instinctively knew had now turned that hatred on himself. But she stayed where she was, hands clasped firmly in her lap.
For the first time in her marriage to Justin, she felt an empathy for him, felt a total softening of her own resentment.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
‘Probably time you did,’ he sighed. ‘Melissa determined to marry a wealthy title and set out to make that happen. Her ploy succeeded too well and thus she trapped me in a marriage I didn’t want—with a wife I came to—loathe. Since she had designated herself the mother of my heirs, I made bloody sure she had to bear them. And if she died trying so much the better. Once George was born I never went near her voluntarily again. Never went back to her bed. I scarcely knew my sons, nor they me. Melissa raised them to be like her. No surprise then, they are, as you say, callous, self-centered and arrogant. It was too late to change that by the time she died.’
Not knowing how to respond, Liberty sat silent, watching the play of emotions across a face become gaunt in the last few weeks.
‘I thought to do better this time. Because I loved you,’ he said, his words heavy with weariness. ‘Only this time I trapped you.’
Defeat hung about him like a cloak. And exhaustion.
It was a feeling she recognized.
She also felt tired. Tired of this frenetic life they lived in London.
‘I should like to go home.’
‘You want to return to Wiltshire?’
Oh God, of course he thought of Earnslaw as home.
‘No. Stannesford,’ she mumbled. ‘Mama is unwell and Verity is acting up, probably because she's lonely. I’ve seen enough of London. I should like to go home to Stannesford for a week or so—and then maybe back to Earnslaw. Could we do that?’
‘We can do whatsoever you desire, my love,’ he said, dropping a kiss on top of her head. ‘When do you wish to leave?’
‘Now?’ An odd choking laughter bubbled up in her throat and he just turned her on the seat and drew her up into his arms.
‘How about the day after tomorrow?’
***
In the way he had of knowing and anticipating her every need, Justin ordered the carriage for an early start. They’d still have a night on the road for she’d not allow him to exhaust himself to that extent. She’d learnt he’d ignore his own needs in order to give her whatever she wanted.
He’d cast her an assessing look when she'd claimed to be tired as they approached the village of Tetsworth and suggested they seek rooms at the Swan coaching inn, but he hadn't argued.
There were dark shadows under his eyes and the lines around his mouth were deeper than usual. He'd dozed for the last several miles and she'd gazed out the window, mulling his endless patience in explaining the intricate politics of the war in Spain and Portugal and why Britain had got involved. Many men would have considered her interest unseemly, but not Justin.
She’d miss him when the time came, more than she could ever have imagined. The few short months of their marriage had changed her. She scarcely recognized the head-strong, self-willed young woman she’d been, focused only on her own needs and desires and recognizing nothing of the powerful ripples that flowed through the lives of others from her actions.
Actions had consequences—for others as well as herself. And when circumstances dictated the action, the consequences had to be lived with, which was not always easy.
She'd never imagined growing up would be so fraught.
And still
her heart ached for Levi, and leapt with joy at the possibility of seeing him, tried not to break for the pain she knew he suffered, a pain that mirrored her own.
The day had dawned foggy and wet and Liberty was grateful they’d reach Stannesford before luncheon.
Justin had sent word ahead so Mama would be expecting them and Verity would likely be swinging on the gates waiting for them. Liberty could scarcely keep from hanging out the window to spy each new landmark as it came into view.
The higher her excitement rose, the quieter Justin became.
‘I can see the gables of Highbrooke. We're only two miles from Stannesford now. We'll soon be rolling over the bridge by the mill, and I'm willing to bet Verity has escaped Mrs. Longfellow and is swinging on the gates waiting for us. How much will you bet, Jus—?’
Watching avidly from the window, Liberty did not immediately understand the odd sound emanating from the man behind her. Turning to him with laughter bubbling within her, she choked back a cry of alarm.
‘Justin?’ Scooting across the seat, she caught his slumped body in her arms before he crumpled to the floor. ‘Justin! What is it? Speak to me.’
There was no response and Liberty felt cold terror flow through her body. Dear God!
‘Toby!’ she screamed. ‘Toby! Stop the carriage. I need your help. Toby!’
Almost before the wheels had stopped turning, the door was wrenched open and Coleman, the under-coachman was peering in.
‘What's wrong, my lady?’
‘His lordship—’
Coleman's face lost its ruddy color and he stepped up into the carriage.
‘Is he—dead, my lady?’
‘No—I don't know—I don't think so. We were talking and he just made a strange sound and—when I looked back—from the window—he—’
‘Is there a doctor in the village, my lady?’
‘Yes! Please tell Toby to turn right over the bridge by the mill and Dr. Abbott's house is the first on the left on the village green. Can you help me hold him, Coleman? He’s—unconscious, I think.’
Totally focused on keeping Justin comfortable, and on the seat, Liberty completely missed the mill and stables as they rattled over the bridge—and Verity, who was indeed swinging on the wrought iron gates as they turned into Stannesford Hall. Missed too, the disappointed pout on Verity’s face when the coach didn't stop to take her up for the short, drive to the Hall.
It was not the homecoming Liberty had imagined. Mama and Verity hovered. Nanette stood ready to do the doctor’s bidding, and Liberty sat stunned, and confused at her husband's bedside.
If he died she’d be a widow.
If he died, she’d be free.
If he died she could marry Levi.
She should be hoping for that—and while all of that floated somewhere in her subconscious, it was overshadowed by a strange sense of deprivation, of loss.
She hadn't expected that.
Dr. Abbott's grave face did nothing to alleviate her distress. He was reasonably certain Lord Earnslaw had suffered a massive stroke.
Chapter 8.
There was something satisfying in building a sweat by helping Phil unload a wagon full of grain from the Pennington estate. Hefting the huge sacks gave his back, legs, and shoulder muscles a burning workout. Levi welcomed the pain, and anything that exhausted him enough he could sleep at nights instead of staring into the darkness.
Remembering, longing, waiting—
He'd just hefted a sack onto his shoulders, when the clatter of horse hooves and racing wheels echoing over the bridge by the mill drew his attention. Instead of heading straight through the lower village along the London Road the vehicle veered right into Bow Street, taking the sharp turn on two wheels.
What the devil?
He prayed there were no children playing in the street as there often were.
Then he recognized the crest on the door.
The Earl of Earnslaw.
Something was dreadfully wrong for Lord Earnslaw’s coachman to be driving with that kind of recklessness. How the hell was he going to find out?
Everything in him wanted to charge after that carriage, in which he was certain Liberty must have been travelling—for Mama had told Granny Joan last night, that Lady Liberty and her husband were expected today.
If he was honest, he'd have to admit he'd been hanging around the mill in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her, instead of working with his horses as he should have been.
And standing about with a full sack of grain on his back was idiotic.
He forced his legs to take him into the mill to off-load the weight.
‘That bastard needed reminding about how to drive through a village. He could kill someone,’ Phil growled, dropping his sack beside Levi's.
Levi grunted a response and said nothing else, not wanting to get into a discussion with Phil as to what could be wrong in the Earnslaw coach.
But he needed to know.
‘I'm going round to the Green Man to see what's keeping Tom.’
Their cousin, who worked for Levi, had delivered a horse to Ainslie Hall out along the Oxford Road and Levi knew he'd not be back until midafternoon. But it was a handy excuse.
And Phil didn't need to know Liberty was likely in that coach and Levi was having trouble keeping his heart in his chest. As far as Phil new, Levi had abandoned his foolish dreams with Liberty’s marriage.
If only it had been that easy.
‘Can you give me a hand loading Wilson’s dray before you go?’ Phil asked. ‘I've got a bit behind today—’
Levi cast one hasty look over the bridge in the wake of the racing carriage and asked himself what he hoped to discover anyway.
It was foolish to risk anyone witnessing any interaction between him and Liberty should he come across her, for he doubted either of them would have a prayer of concealing their feelings—especially if something was wrong.
Earnslaw had staff to deal with any emergency that might arise, after all.
With the last sack loaded onto Wilson's dray, Levi looked up to see his Aunt Jenny crossing the bridge from Bow Street onto the London Road.
It was a measure of his distraction that he'd forgotten she made the daily trek from the Green Man, the village inn she ran with her husband, Black Jack Crossan, to visit with Granny Joan, bringing something tasty from the inn kitchen for them all for lunch.
Granny Joan still cooked their evening meal, but he suspected the food Aunt Jenny brought was a thinly disguised excuse to escape the dark, heavy atmosphere of the old pub—and Black Jack—for an hour every day and the stews and casseroles from the inn’s kitchen were mouth-watering with his granny's fresh baked bread.
Auntie Jen must have seen that carriage—
She was still taking off her hat when Levi loped up the stairs into the house above the mill. Filling a tin cup with a dipper of water from the bucket on the end of the stone bench, he silently chided himself for being so desperate to miss nothing Auntie Jen might have to say that he’d not thought to bring up a fresh bucket of water from the well. Hopefully Phil would remember—
‘There was some to-do at Dr. Abbott's house as I came by. A fancy gentry coach came barreling up the street with no concern for kith or kin as might be minding their own business. Almost whipped my basket out of my hand with the wind of their passing.’
Levi smiled into his cup. His Aunt Jenny could never tell a tale without embroidering it a little.
But the import of what she’d said loosened the hold he usually kept on his tongue.
‘It stopped at the doctor's house?’
‘Aye. And old Abbott himself came out and climbed in the carriage—and then it clattered off again is if all the hounds of hell were in pursuit. Turned left at the end of Bow Street.’
He'd been right. Something was wrong. They’d detoured to pick up the doctor, before turning back onto the London Road to make the turn into Stannesford Hall.
Now he would have to wait until Mama came h
ome later this afternoon before he could discover what had taken them via the doctor’s house.
Did hoping Lord Earnslaw had collapsed and died make him a bad person? Probably. But since he didn't know the man, had never met him, only carried this festering resentment because he'd stolen Liberty, he didn't seem able to change his way of thinking.
The possibility it was Liberty who’d required the doctor was a thought he could not even begin to entertain. Unless—
Fuck! Could Lou be carrying their child? Surely she would have found some way to let him know. He’d tried to keep her safe.
But, what if?
What if something was wrong with Lou?
He was downstairs and running back to the stables with the intent of carrying on out the back way to the shortcut through the woods to Stannesford Hall before his brain caught up with his feet.
Futility and helplessness slammed into his gut like a mailed fist. Gripping the door post of the stables to keep from doubling over with the impact, he sucked air and fought down the panic that had temporarily blinded him.
Blind-sided him when he’d faced the stark possibility something was seriously wrong with Lou. That she could die.
He might never hold her again.
He couldn’t go storming up to the Hall and ask after the health of another man’s wife. That at least was clear in his mind. But all this adrenaline pumping through his body had to go somewhere or he was going to do something stupid.
Grimly he strode the length of the stables to the straw-packed sack hanging in the end stall. He slammed his fist into the thing so hard it smacked against the wall and came back at him almost putting him on his backside.
Good. It would fight back. Just what he needed.
***
This was not how coming home was supposed to be, yet if she’d had to say what she’d expected she probably would have to admit it was never going to be as it had once been.
But spending hours sitting by her husband’s sickbed anxiously watching for him to come back to her, to smile, to speak to her had not figured anywhere in her imaginings.