Chapter
26

Late October 1884

Hannah strolled around the grounds at Hartford Hall, the cool autumn air nipping at her cheeks. She relished her daily walks and would continue them as long as she could, since winter would soon be upon them, and her outings would then be severely diminished.

Molly and Daisy walked ahead of her at a much quicker pace. Watching her sister blossom into a confident, cheerful young woman these past months was the one thing that continued to bring Hannah a great sense of contentment. She placed a hand on her growing abdomen. That, and the knowledge that she would soon become a mother.

Hannah waved to Molly to let her know she was growing fatigued and would head inside. As per her sister’s normal routine, Molly would likely stay outdoors with Daisy a while longer.

Iris came up to Hannah as she removed her coat in the hallway. “How was your walk, dear?”

“Very pleasant as usual, thank you, Auntie. I hope tomorrow you can join us.”

“I’m sure I shall, now that I’ve finished all my correspondence.” She withdrew a letter from her pocket. “This came while you were out.” Her gray eyes shone with compassion. “It’s from Stainsby Hall.”

Hannah’s heart leapt with both joy and trepidation. Would Nolan finally say that he had come to an understanding with his father and was ready for her to take her place as his wife? She breathed a prayer that this time it would be so.

With trembling fingers, she took the envelope and made her way into her aunt’s sitting room. Lowering herself to the settee, she tentatively broke the seal and took out the sheet filled with Nolan’s familiar script.

Dearest Hannah, I hope this correspondence finds you in good health.

Her spirits sank. Already she could tell this was another polite letter in which Nolan spoke of his comings and goings, but not of his heart. Still she forged on, ever hopeful that the end would contain an invitation to come home.

As per his usual fashion, he spoke of his father, their trip to London, his aunt and his sister, and the tedium of his studies. But nothing of his inner thoughts. No words of love, no longing for her return. And he signed it simply, Nolan.

Fat tears escaped down her cheek as she folded the paper. Had her leaving him at Stainsby severed the bond of their love? Would he become so embroiled in the life as a nobleman that he forgot her completely? Or was he waiting to find out if their child was a boy or a girl before he decided what to do about their marriage?

Her heart ached with immeasurable sorrow. She’d been naïve to elope with him, knowing how things were bound to turn out. But at the time, she simply hadn’t had the fortitude to deny her love, and now she must face the consequences. She brushed away her tears and straightened her spine. No matter what the future held, she would trust in God’s ultimate plan and continue to pray for patience.

Iris entered the room. “All is well, I hope?” Her tentative question told Hannah she had seen the tears on her cheeks.

“Nolan is fine. Still busy learning how to run such a vast estate.”

“No mention of you returning?” Iris sat down beside her.

Hannah shook her head.

“What is the lad thinking? It’s high time he sent for you, or came for you himself. Why, this child will be here before he knows it.”

Hannah looked over, surprised at her aunt’s outburst. She had yet to hear Aunt Iris speak harshly about anyone.

Seeming to collect herself, Iris patted Hannah’s arm. “Not to worry, my dear. We women have our own methods to bring about what we want.” She rose and walked to her desk. “I believe I have a few more pieces of correspondence to take care of after all.”

Hannah bit her lip to keep from asking what her aunt was up to. Instinct told her she might not want to know.

Seated across the desk from his father, Nolan pored over the estate’s financial records, an activity that was doing nothing to dispel his foul mood. His ill-humor had started early that morning with the strange note his valet had brought to his bedchambers. The innocuous-looking piece of white paper had contained a chilling message.

I warned you once, stable boy. Leave Stainsby while you still can. This is your last chance.

When Nolan had questioned Jeffrey, the man told him that a young messenger boy had delivered the note at first light and hadn’t said who it was from, only that it was for Mr. Price.

The unsettling message had preoccupied Nolan most of the morning, but he’d declined to tell Edward about it, certain he would dismiss it as a prank. Still, Nolan planned to keep an eye out for any trouble. The only person he could think of who might be responsible for such a threat was Timothy Bellows. Yet as far as he knew, Bellows was in jail. Tomorrow Nolan would check with the authorities to make certain he was still in custody.

He turned his attention back to the columns of figures that made no more sense now than they had twenty minutes ago. Nolan pushed the ledger across the desk with a disgruntled huff. “Do you not employ bookkeepers for this type of work?”

It had been over five months since Hannah had left Stainsby Hall. During that time, Nolan had thrown his energy into learning everything he could about his father’s world. Yet he could not seem to master the intricacies of bookkeeping, a chore he considered more tedious than pulling burs from a horse’s tail.

Nor had he mastered the art of dealing with a stubborn father who seemed determined to confound Nolan at every turn.

For these past months, Nolan had shadowed Edward on his daily routines, riding out to survey the entire estate, meeting with the tenant farmers and all those who depended on the Stainsby estate for their livelihood. They had also made several more journeys into London, where Nolan had endured endless social rounds to visit with his father’s peers. Nolan even found the trips to his father’s clubs wearisome. He doubted he would ever fit in there.

Nolan released a weighty sigh. At least Edward hadn’t tried to introduce him to any more flighty debutantes. That was one point in his favor. Another was the fact that they had at last agreed on the necessity of clarifying the status of Nolan’s marriage. With a potential heir on the way, Edward seemed as eager as he to have the matter rectified and had pressured Mr. Grayson to get the affair settled once and for all.

Edward looked up from across the mahogany expanse and raised a haughty brow. “Of course, I have a bookkeeper. But if I’m not able to double-check the figures, how would I know if the man was cheating me?”

“If he would cheat you, why would you hire him in the first place?” Exasperation laced Nolan’s voice. The mysteries of the rich remained unfathomable to him. Horses were so much easier to deal with. You knew exactly what they wanted by the way they stomped their hooves or tossed their heads.

Edward laid down his pen and rose. “A wealthy man must always assume that those beneath him are out to take advantage—to obtain some of the riches for themselves. I’ve been trying to teach you as much these past months.”

“Is that what you think of your staff here? That they’re all out to take advantage of you?”

Hands behind his back, Edward walked to the fireplace and stood, staring at the flames. “I suppose I do. Maybe not always in a monetary sense. But if I do not hold tight to the reins, they will run amuck, like untamed horses. Shirk their duties, become lazy. Which is another manner of cheating.”

Nolan pushed to his feet and approached Edward. “In my experience, most of the people I worked with here are diligent, hardworking, and, for some reason, loyal to you. Though more out of fear than affection, I would say.”

“You make it sound as if fear is a bad thing.” Edward reached for the poker.

“Perhaps not. Yet the short time I was at Hartford Hall, I couldn’t help noticing the difference in the workers’ attitude where the mistress treated them with compassion and, dare I say, affection. Hannah said the duchess’s staff all seem to adore her.”

“The duchess is far too nice to the servants.” Edward stabbed the coals, sending sparks shooting through the grate. “I suppose that is the difference between men and women. Most females are too soft to endure the harsh realities of life.”

“Are you speaking of someone in particular?” Nolan studied him. “Perhaps Mary?”

Edward flinched and moved to the window. “Actually, I was thinking of my late wife, Penelope. Her parents pampered and spoiled her, and she expected me to treat her in the same fashion. Of the two women, Mary possessed the better character.”

Nolan’s thoughts turned then to the woman who had raised him. How he missed his mother’s words of wisdom, and how he wished she were here to counsel him now. He approached the window, thrusting his damp palms into his pockets. “There is something I must know.”

“What is it?” Edward’s features became guarded.

“Did you truly love Mary, or did you marry her only because she was expecting a child?” Though the grotto built in Mary’s honor attested to his devotion, Nolan wanted to hear his father speak the words.

A dangerous light gleamed in Edward’s eyes. “I loved Mary with the folly of a young man’s passion. In hindsight, guilt over getting her with child may have been a motivating factor in our hasty marriage, but I swear I had always planned to marry her—child or no.” Edward rubbed a hand over his jaw, and when he looked up, lines of pain wreathed his face. “The day I learned of her death, something died in me as well. I lost the will to fight my father. Mary was dead and the child gone—or so I believed. What was the point in defying him? And so I took on the yoke of duty and agreed to marry Penelope.”

“I take it the marriage was not a happy one.”

“No.” The terse word said it all.

Nolan couldn’t imagine the kind of empty, loveless life his father had led. “Do you regret wasting your life like that—married to a woman you didn’t love?” He didn’t care if he pushed the limits of his father’s tolerance. He needed to find out if Edward might be inclined to view his marriage to Hannah in a more favorable light and not solely as a means to legitimize an heir.

But Edward’s expression instantly hardened, all softness erased. “I don’t believe in regrets. You will soon learn, as I have, that regrets are nothing but a colossal waste of time.”

Nostrils flared, he stalked from the room, leaving Nolan as frustrated as ever.

Two weeks later, Nolan entered the dining room for breakfast, surprised to find his father at the table. Most mornings, Nolan rose far earlier than Edward and finished his meal before his father even arrived downstairs. Used to rising before dawn, Nolan could not seem to adjust to the nobility’s way of sleeping late.

Edward set down the newspaper. “Nolan, good morning. I was hoping to see you first thing today.”

“Good morning.” Nolan inclined his head. He made his way to the sideboard where the enticing aroma of eggs, sausage, and bacon drifted up from the silver serving dishes. He chose a plate and began to heap it with food.

“It’s a beautiful day for late autumn. I thought we’d get a little fresh air and enjoy some hunting. It’s one skill I can teach you fairly easily.”

Nolan looked at the meat on his plate and fought back a shudder. In the past, he’d often readied the earl’s horses for his hunting excursions, always glad he wasn’t required to participate. “I’m afraid I cannot condone such a barbaric pastime.” He set his dish on the table with a quick glance at his father’s scowling face.

“All gentlemen partake of the sport.”

“I’m sorry, but I consider killing animals for pleasure distasteful. Other than hunting for food, I see no point in it.”

Blotches of red mottled Edward’s cheeks. He opened his mouth, seeming prepared to blast Nolan for his uninformed opinion, but closed it. “Very well. We will give anything we hunt to the cook for our dinner tomorrow. Will that allay your objections?”

Nolan speared a piece of sausage and gave an inward sigh. Edward seemed to be reaching out in his own way, trying to share one of his pastimes with Nolan. The least he could do was accompany him. “I suppose I can live with that.”

“Good. Meet me in the stables in one hour.”

Despite his initial trepidation, Nolan ended up enjoying the time with his father. For once, Edward relaxed and let down his guard. Now, as they made their way back at a leisurely pace with two pheasants tied to the saddle, Edward relayed stories about his childhood, growing up at Stainsby. They had just crested a hill, affording them a splendid view of the estate below, when Edward pulled his horse up short.

“This view never ceases to inspire me.” He spoke in a reverent whisper. The cool autumn breeze ruffled his hair about his forehead. “This land is your heritage, Nolan. Land is something you can count on. It never changes. No matter the people who might come and go in your life, the land remains constant. Steadfast.”

Was it the wind or the sentiment that caused the moisture in his father’s eyes?

Edward spurred his horse down the hill toward the stable. Nolan followed, and when the land leveled out, the horses’ pace slowed. They rode in silence for a few minutes, until Nolan felt the earl’s gaze shift to him.

“Have you heard from Hannah of late?”

Edward’s casual question surprised Nolan almost as much as the show of sentiment moments earlier. “I received a letter last week. She appears to be doing well.” He swallowed back the hurt that stabbed through him whenever he thought of his child growing in Hannah’s belly without him there to witness it.

“And how is Lady Hartford faring?” His father’s tone was almost too casual.

Nolan frowned and shifted in the saddle to look at Edward. “I thought you couldn’t abide the woman.”

Edward shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far. The duchess does possess some unsettling qualities, with her outspoken tendencies and her opposition to the norms of society, but all in all, I found her rather . . . charming.”

Charming? Maybe Nolan’s first impression that the earl had been flirting with Lady Hartford had been correct. “From what Hannah writes, her aunt is doing well. They are both busy making things for the babe.”

The horses slowed as they approached the stables.

“Speaking of the child, when exactly is the expected date of birth?”

Nolan’s suspicions mounted. His father had never once asked about Hannah or the baby since the day they left. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

“This is my first grandchild. Of course I’m interested.”

Nolan released a breath. “From what I understand, it will be another month or so.”

“Before Christmas then?”

“Yes.” The thought of bad weather at that time of year twisted Nolan’s insides. What if he couldn’t get there in time to be with Hannah for the birth?

“I would like my grandchild to be born at Stainsby, if at all possible. What arrangements have you made with Hannah?”

Nolan stiffened in the saddle. “We have no arrangements.” That admission gnawed at him as much as the cold wind chafed at his cheeks. He’d hoped for word by now that Hannah was ready to come home. In every letter he wrote, he had to curb the impulse to beg her to return. But some remnant of male pride made him hold back. She was the one who left. It was up to her to determine when her self-imposed exile would end.

“Then I assume you will travel to Hartford Hall in time for your child’s arrival.”

“It looks like that will have to be the case.” Nolan scowled as he directed King to the stable doors. He had every intention of being present when his child took its first breath. If he hadn’t received word from Hannah by then, he would turn up at her aunt’s estate—invited or not.

“I’d like to go with you—if you have no objection.” Edward reined his stallion to a halt and swung a leg over the saddle to dismount.

A measure of unease surfaced as Nolan jumped down to open the stable door. What nefarious plan was Edward plotting now? “That may not be a good idea. Your presence might upset Hannah.”

“In that case, I will write to the duchess and see how she feels about the matter. We still have time.” The terse response erased the last few hours of camaraderie, bringing the usual friction back to the surface.

Edward led his horse into the barn, and Nolan followed with King. The new groom, a young lad named William, scurried to take the reins from his master. Nolan moved past them toward King’s stall.

“Leave your horse for the boy.” Edward bellowed the order down the corridor. “He can manage both.”

Nolan shrugged off the irritation that crept up his back and continued down the aisle. “I’ll take care of King.”

Loud footsteps sounded behind him, and a hard hand clamped down on his shoulder. “You are no longer a servant,” Edward hissed in his ear. “Act like the son of an earl.”

Nolan turned. “As the earl’s son, I choose to groom the horse myself.”

They glared at each other, neither willing to back down. Tension swirled in the air along with the dust motes that danced in the streams of light. Nolan clenched his hands into fists, his jaw as hard as the packed floor beneath his boots.

“Master Nolan, is that you?” The anxious voice of Franny McTeague rang out from the rear of the stable.

Nolan unclenched his fingers. “Yes, I’m here, Franny.” He looped King’s reins around a post and went to find the woman.

She stood inside the back entrance, a frantic look on her plump face.

“What is it? Is there a problem?”

“It’s Bert. He’s had an accident in the smithy.” Franny pressed a handkerchief to her mouth to contain a sob.

Alarm shot through Nolan’s system. “What kind of accident?”

“He fell into the fire pit. His hands—” She could say no more due to the flood of tears that coursed down her cheeks.

“I’ll be right there.” He turned to Edward. “Send for the doctor. Have him go directly to the McTeagues’ cottage.”

Edward reached out to grab his arm, his features dark. “It’s not your place to worry about the staff. When will you understand that?”

Nolan snatched his arm away. “For the last ten years, Bert McTeague has been the closest thing I’ve had to a father. I will do whatever it takes to ensure he’s all right.”

With a last glare, Nolan raced out of the barn, offering up desperate prayers for Bert’s safety.

Edward ignored the tea ready for him in his study and headed straight for the brandy in his desk. Yanking open the bottom drawer, he removed the bottle and a glass. With a muttered oath, he poured a good quantity of liquid into the tumbler and downed it in one straight shot.

“Why can’t he understand his proper place in this house?” Edward slammed the glass down on the desk and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Every time he made a bit of headway with Nolan, something set it back. His son was more stubborn than the stallion he’d been riding—always wanting to head off in his own direction.

Despite everything, they had managed to share a few moments of camaraderie today. Recalling the feeling of pride when Nolan had felled his first pheasant brought a smile to Edward’s lips. Too bad such fleeting moments didn’t last. He’d been trying to follow Lady Hartford’s advice to get to know his son. Yet he continued to fail on a daily basis.

Edward swore and poured another shot of brandy. He had no intention of making the same mistakes with his grandson—for he was certain the child would be a boy. He would get to know the child right from the moment of his birth, and school him in the ways of the aristocracy. The child would grow up revering him, knowing that one day Stainsby Hall would pass to him.

The study door opened, and Nolan stepped inside, lines creasing his forehead. His blue eyes darted from the bottle on the desk to the tumbler in Edward’s hand, and his scowl deepened.

“Care to join me?” Edward raised his glass in a mock salute.

“You know I don’t drink spirits. They dull the mind and the senses.”

“Exactly the reason I do drink spirits.” He drained the tumbler again.

“I came to see if you’d sent for the doctor.”

“One of the servants has gone to fetch him.”

Nolan dragged the cap off his head and ran the edge around his fingers. “Bert’s hands are badly burned. I did what I could for him, but he’s in terrible pain. He may need a more specialized doctor.”

Edward’s fingers stilled on the bottle. “I see. And you expect me to pay for a specialist?”

“Bert has been a blacksmith here for thirty years. I think such loyalty deserves some extra consideration.” Nolan practically snarled.

Edward bristled at the implication that he was anything less than a stellar employer. He’d always prided himself on the fact that his staff were well cared for. “You act as though I’ve treated him in some remiss fashion. I’ve afforded Mr. McTeague and his wife a nice cottage of their own. He has a piece of land for a garden. Have they not lived comfortably all this time?”

Nolan’s combative stance did not change. “That is not the point.”

Edward rose and moved around the desk to close the distance between them. A mixture of anger and despair darkened Nolan’s eyes. He held himself stiffly—as though trying to contain the emotions vibrating within him.

A brief burst of jealousy flared. Would his son ever feel as strongly about him? Would he one day defend Edward with that same fierce loyalty?

Edward let out a resigned sigh. Balking Nolan on this point would not earn him any favor in his son’s eyes. “Let’s see what Doctor Hutton advises. If he feels the man needs further care, I will see that he gets it.”

“Thank you.” Nolan nodded, a half-smile gracing his lips. “I knew that a sense of compassion lurked under that grim exterior.”

The tense muscles in Edward’s chest began to uncoil. Perhaps his son didn’t see him as such a black-hearted villain after all. Perhaps he was beginning to understand him just a little.

Nolan took his leave, presumably to go back and wait with the McTeagues.

Edward capped the brandy and returned it to the drawer, suddenly more interested in sobriety. He needed a clear head to figure out what else he might do to gain—and keep—his son’s admiration.