Chapter Twenty-two

In the final black hour of night, Spencer crested the ridge of forest and began his descent toward Briarbank. The moon shone brightly now, though a mist still hung over the earth, blanketing the ground with moisture.

The scent of powder clung to his clothing. His boots were spattered with blood. His limbs were boneless with fatigue, and the early morning air was so humid, he felt as though he were swimming through it. Struggling, flailing. Drowning.

He could only pray Ashworth or Bellamy had succeeded where he’d failed.

He passed the stables on his way to the house. He was almost afraid to turn his head as he walked past the small, humble horse barn—but he made himself do so, wondering if he would see either of the other men’s horses returned. He didn’t. But what he did see chilled his blood.

Captain was missing. Amelia’s steady gelding, gone. He’d been tied near the barn entrance, and with the moon so bright, Spencer ought to have been able to glimpse his gray coat from here. Nothing.

His legs—or rather, the numb, wooden stumps currently occupying his boots—quickly pumped to life, propelling him toward the barn. He rushed inside, looking frantically from stall to stall. No Captain to be found. Oh, Christ. She barely knew how to hold the reins. Surely she hadn’t dared to take the horse out herself. With her inexperience and these conditions, to do so would have been an invitation to disaster.

His breath came quick and panicked now, and with every inhalation pain stabbed his side. He pressed an arm to his ribs, wondering if he’d broken just one, as he’d initially thought, or several. Wincing in pain, he half ran, half stumbled out of the barn and toward the cottage. The windows were dark, save a faint light from the library window. He moved toward it, drawn by that warm glow that seemed the embodiment of hope itself. Leaving the paved walk, he headed straight for the window and peered inside.

There she was. Seated in a chair by the wall of bookshelves, a sheaf of papers in her hand. Alone.

Gratitude swept the last bit of strength from his knees. He propped a hand on the wall for support, sucking in a lungful of air and relief. If he’d lost her, he couldn’t have borne it.

Well, she might be lost to him yet, after tonight. And God only knew where Claudia was right now. But he stood there for a moment, gazing through the window glass at her pale, lovely profile and trying to imagine he wouldn’t emerge from this night a complete failure at protecting everyone and everything he’d ever loved.

He went to the door and found it unlatched. Within seconds he stood in the entry of the library. His jaw worked a few times, sliding his thirst-thickened tongue over a tooth that had jarred loose. He couldn’t think of a word to say.

“She’s here.” With shaking fingers, Amelia swept the papers aside. “Sleeping upstairs. She is safe.”

Relief flooded his lungs, until his chest ached with it. Still, he couldn’t find words. So he crossed the room, knelt before his wife, laid his head in her lap, and wept.

“Oh, Spencer.” Her fingers smoothed the hair from his brow. “Lord, you smell of death. And you’re all scratched and bruised. What’s happened to you?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, curling one arm around her legs. “Captain is gone from the barn. When I saw it, I thought perhaps you’d …” He clutched her tighter, feeling that moment of black terror more keenly than before. “God, Amelia. You must promise to never leave me.”

Her fingers stilled in his hair. His heartbeat scudded to a stop, as well.

“I have news,” she said at length. “It will be difficult for you to hear.”

He wanted to keep his face buried in her skirts out of sheer cowardice, but he forced himself to sit back on his heels, rub his bleary eyes clear with one hand, and face this “news” like a man.

She pressed her lips together, hesitating. “There is no easy way to say this.”

“Then say it straight out.” He propped his arms on either side of her skirt, bracing himself for the worst.

“Claudia is with child.”

“Claudia. Claudia, with child?” Emotion struck him in the chest. Several emotions, as a matter of fact, hitting him one after the other in quick succession, like a series of punishing blows: shock, disbelief, sorrow, guilt. Fury. A dozen questions tumbled in his mind, but only one really mattered. “Whose?”

“Not Jack’s,” she said hastily. “It couldn’t have been. It was her music master in York.”

“I’ll kill him,” Spencer bit out.

“What good would that serve? The man doesn’t even know. And from Claudia’s own account, it seems the tutor seduced her, but she was not … unwilling.”

The mere idea of a man touching his ward sent nausea rolling through his gut. “She’s fifteen years old. A child.”

“Not any longer.” Amelia grasped one of his hands and folded it in both of hers. “She’s so frightened, Spencer. She’s known for some time, but she’s terrified of how you’ll react. Just the same, I think she meant to speak with you. Earlier.”

Earlier. When he and Amelia had been … otherwise engaged in this very room and they’d sent her away. And afterward, Spencer never had spoken with her as promised. Truth be told, he’d been avoiding speaking with Claudia for weeks.

“The elopement was her suggestion,” Amelia continued quietly. “But Jack seized the idea eagerly. He’s desperate for funds; she was desperate to conceal her pregnancy. It was a ridiculous plan, and I think they both knew it. They didn’t make it any farther than the castle gatehouse, in the end. That’s where I found them, wet and chilled through.”

“You climbed up there? In the middle of the night?”

“Well, the idea did cross my mind to take Captain, but I realized quickly what a stupid notion that was.”

“Thank God.” He bent his head to her lap again. “I should have known you were too clever to attempt a stunt like that.”

She laughed a little. “If it had been just my safety at stake, I might have been tempted to try, but …” He felt her sigh. “I know you must blame me for this. If only I hadn’t insisted Jack stay, he—”

“Don’t,” he said, lifting his head to capture her gaze. “Don’t blame yourself. Nothing excuses Jack’s actions.”

“I know,” she said in a rush, squeezing his hand. “I know.”

“It’s my right to deal with him, Amelia. He all but kidnapped and ruined an innocent girl, and he must be made to face consequences for it. You can’t keep protecting him any longer.”

“I … I’ve already sent him away.”

He rocked back on his heels, stunned.

“For both his good and yours. This can’t end in violence.” Averting her eyes, she swallowed hard. “I’ve promised to meet with him soon. I let him borrow Captain, but I swear you’ll have the horse returned to you.”

“Blast the horse.” As if he gave a damn about the horse. He’d give every last stallion, mare, and gelding in his stables this instant to undo this night’s events. “Where’s Jack gone?”

She wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Spencer, you know I can’t tell y—”

“You can. And you will, because I’m asking it.” He grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. Devil take it, he couldn’t abide this any longer. “You have to choose, Amelia. I’m damned tired of always coming in second to that brigand, watching you squander all your sympathy and tenderness on him. This time, you cannot be loyal to us both. He abducted my ward. Either you tell me where Jack’s gone and let me deal with him, or …”

“Or?” Red rimmed her eyes.

“Or you leave. You go to him, and you leave me. I can’t keep doing this.”

All throughout his brain, alarms trumpeted, trilled, blared. Recant, you idiot. Take it all back, before she realizes what you’ve said. He knew, rationally, that he’d just made the most impulsive, ill-calculated, goddamned foolish wager of his life, forcing the issue now. Asking her to make such a choice on a morning when lives and futures hung in the balance. But his brain wasn’t making the decisions at the moment. His heart was speaking for him, and his heart was in shreds. He needed her—all of her. And if she couldn’t give him everything, he’d best face it now and start learning to live with the pain.

Her eyes told him her answer, long before her lips could form the words.

“I’m sorry. I must go to him this morning.”

The alarms in his brain muted, one by one, leaving only a low, mournful bugled dirge: It’s what you deserve, you witless fool. Now she’s leaving you. This morning.

It was nearly morning, wasn’t it? Faint light seeped into the room, illuminating the sweet, familiar features of her face. God, she’d always been so lovely at daybreak. Even that very first morning, in the carriage. He’d decided then and there to marry her, claim her, make her his own. And somewhere between that dawn and this one, he’d grown to love her best when she clearly belonged to herself. It just wasn’t in him to force her to stay. He wanted her willing, or not at all.

Dawn might be breaking over the river bluff, but a dark, endless night loomed inside Spencer’s soul. He stared down at the crescents of blood and grit beneath his fingernails, the milky white quarter-moons of hers.

She said, “You should take Claudia home to Braxton Hall. She ought to be seen by her physician, for one thing. But more than that, she needs comfort and guidance. The girl needs you, Spencer.”

“But …” Oh, hell. He should just say it. “But I need you. I’ve no idea what to do with her, or even how to talk to her about such a thing.”

She gave him a wry smile. “You’re a man of frightening intelligence. I have faith in you to figure it out.” She reached for the papers on the desk and furled them into a scroll, but not before he recognized them as the still-unsigned purchase agreement for Briarbank. “I’ll be taking these with me.”

He blinked furiously. “I see.”

Yes. In the light of morning, it all was too painfully clear. When her feelings for him clashed against her obligations to family … the d’Orsay pride would win out every time. She would tend to her brother’s needs before his. She wouldn’t allow her family cottage to become theirs. And by refusing to share her, Spencer had driven her away. He’d forced her to choose between her husband and her family, and now he must abide by her choice. No matter how much it hurt.

And damn, did it hurt. As he shifted his weight from one knee to the other, his ribs gave a sharp twinge.

Her gaze fell to their hands as she continued, “There is one thing more I must tell you. I suspect I, too, am with child.”

“Oh, God. Oh, Amelia.” Never had words filled him with such bright joy and such utter misery at the same time. The image of her body swelled with his child, the thought of cradling their infant in his arms … it was like a small star had burned through the atmosphere and blazed a trail straight for his heart. He wanted a family with her as he’d never wanted anything in his life, and nothing should have made him happier than this news. But at the same time, his own arrogant words came back to haunt him. I give you security; you give me an heir. She was leaving him this morning, and she carried within her the perfect excuse to never come back.

Spencer said a fervent prayer to God for a girl.

“Are you well?” he asked, swallowing hard. “Is there anything you—”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, smiling a little at her belly. “Very fit indeed. D’Orsay women are built for breeding, you know. Sturdy.”

Before he could grasp a few of the thousand adjectives that described her with far greater justice than “sturdy,” her gaze slanted away.

“You never finished your game,” she said.

He followed her gaze to the desktop. Atop the blotter, their cards and wagers lay untouched, frozen in time. In the center were his note for twenty thousand pounds and two of the Stud Club tokens: Rhys’s and Leo’s. Bellamy had never laid his token down, and Spencer never had the opportunity to fetch the remaining seven from upstairs.

Not that it mattered anymore.

He rose to his feet slowly, feeling aches in muscles he hadn’t known he’d strained. He suspected his injuries would take turns announcing their presence over the course of the next few days. As he took a step, pain shot through his ribs, and he grimaced, leaning one hand on the desk for support.

“God’s mercy, Spencer.” She was at his side. “What’s happened to you?”

With morning light filtering into the room, she was no doubt noting the abrasions on his skin, the gore spattering his boots, the shredded cuff of his sleeve.

“Took a fall,” he said, drawing a painful breath. “I’ve broken a rib or two, I think.”

“I’ll send for the doctor immediately. Are you cut somewhere? There’s so much blood …”

“It’s not mine.”

She didn’t ask for an explanation. Unfortunately. He could have deflected a question, but this damn endearing patient silence thing she always did … he had no defense to that.

“I was on Juno,” he said quickly, wanting to have it out and over with. “On the way back from Lydney she stepped in a hole and fell. Threw me clear of her, fortunately. I could have been banged up far worse. But her leg was broken, in more than one place. She was in a great deal of pain. No way to get her back here for treatment, and even if there was, she’d have been completely lamed, so …”

“Oh, no.” Her voice broke. “You had to shoot her.”

His eyes burned as he confirmed her suspicions with a nod.

“Spencer.” Wiping her eyes with her hand, she surveyed his torso. “Will I hurt you terribly if I give you a hug?”

“Probably,” he said. “But I’ll take it anyway.”

She moved toward him gingerly and slid her arms beneath his coat, around his waist. And then, with agonizing slowness, she brought her body flush with his and buried her face in his shoulder. It still wasn’t enough. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and crushed her tight to his chest. And yes, it hurt like the devil—but not nearly as much as it was going to hurt when he inevitably had to let her go.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, weeping against his soiled coat. “I’m so terribly sorry, for Jack, Claudia, Juno, everything. I wish things were different.”

“So do I.”

Sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with her wrist, she pulled away. “I’d best go dress and pack my things.”

“Wait.” He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it out to her, knowing she’d recognize it even without opening it to view the stitching. If she was truly leaving him, he ought to give it back. Somehow he mustered the ghost of an irreverent grin. “Can’t a duchess afford handkerchiefs?”

Wordlessly, she took it. Stared at it a moment. And then she left.

He stood there for a while, exhausted and in too much pain to move. It might have been a short while or a long while—he really didn’t know. He likely would have still been standing there at midday, had Ashworth not rapped on the door.

“I hope they’re here,” he said, “because they’re nowhere between Colford and Gloucester.”

“She’s here,” Spencer replied. “He’s gone.”

Ashworth grunted. “As it should be, then.” His eyes narrowed as he took in Spencer’s gory boots. “Now, when you say ‘gone,’ do you mean …”

“No.”

“Not that I’d blame you.”

“It’s not his,” he said, indicating the blood spattering his boots. “My mare took a bad fall. Had to …” He swore, glancing at the waxing trapezoid of sunlight shining through the window. “I have to get out there and bury her.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ashworth said. “I’ve dug a grave or two in my time.”

“No, no.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been out all night already. I can’t ask you to—”

“You didn’t ask. I offered. And I’ve worked through a night or two in my time, as well.” He kicked his boot against the doorjamb. “It’s no more than any friend would do.”

“Are we friends?”

“We’re not enemies.”

“In that case …” Spencer sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’d be grateful for the help.” He gestured toward the desktop and the aborted card game. “Don’t neglect to take your winnings.”

The soldier’s brow furrowed. “We were interrupted. I don’t recall anyone winning.”

“I left the game first. Anything on the table is my forfeit. Technically, Bellamy never placed a bet. Besides, my cards were rubbish. I would have lost anyway.” He shook his head. “I wanted to end this joke of a club once and for all, but it seems Harcliffe isn’t through poking fun at us yet.”

“You think Bellamy will find the man responsible for his death?”

“I think he finds him every time he looks in a mirror. That’s the damn problem.” Spencer took the note and two tokens and held them out. “Just take them, Rhys. Aren’t you the great believer in fate? Perhaps it was meant to be.”

They took their time returning to Braxton Hall, traveling at a slow pace out of consideration for Claudia’s stomach and Spencer’s healing ribs. He rode with her in the coach. It seemed right to keep her company, and he needn’t worry about giving Juno exercise anymore.

God. There’d been so much lost in the past week, he didn’t know where to begin grieving. Juno, his marriage, Claudia’s innocence—all were casualties. The fault was shared among many, but he blamed only himself. Amelia had been right. If he’d only been more open with those around him, all of it might have been avoided.

Still, he didn’t know how to begin fresh. He and Claudia traveled the entire journey in silence, save for the most banal of discussions. Which inn to choose for their stopover; whether the weather would hold fair. He didn’t want to press his ward to talk until she was ready. They had months yet. Ample time to discuss.

They reached home on the fourth day, rather late. But the days were still long in summer, and an extended gray-gold twilight stubbornly held the night at bay. While the servants brought in the trunks and prepared their rooms, Spencer ordered a light supper brought to his library and invited Claudia to join him.

To his surprise, she agreed.

They shared a tray of sandwiches, and then he watched her eat tarts and sip chocolate. When the hour grew late enough that their rooms ought to have been readied for bed, she addressed him.

“Would you read to me? Like you used to do when I was a girl?” She gave her cooling chocolate a deep, searching look. “I … I rather miss it.”

He cleared his throat. “Of course. Have you any particular book in mind?”

“No. You choose.”

He chose Shakespeare—the comedies, naturally. God knew they’d seen enough tragedy of late.

Leafing through the volume, he located Act I of The Tempest and began to read. Claudia curled her legs under her skirt and rested her head on the arm of the divan, closing her eyes. He couldn’t tell whether she was still listening or had fallen asleep, so he just kept reading, for himself. It had been too long since he’d read through Shakespeare. The plays only made sense to him when read aloud, and it felt deuced awkward to sit around by oneself, reading to the candlewick.

He read clear through to the end that night, then drew a blanket over Claudia’s sleeping form and left her to rest undisturbed. The next evening after dinner, he read through three acts of A Midsummer Night’s Dream before her light snoring intervened. They finished the play the next night, and then she asked for an old favorite: Johnson’s Rasselas. He remembered how, as a girl, Claudia had enjoyed the story of the fabled Abyssinian prince traveling the world in search of contentment. It was the adventure that held her attention then—the princesses and pyramids. Spencer wondered if she remembered that in the end, the prince never found the happiness he sought.

As he paused to sip his brandy and turn a page, Claudia suddenly sat up on the divan. “What will become of me?”

At last, here they came to it. Feeling both grateful and apprehensive, he laid aside the book. “There are a few alternatives.”

“What are they?”

“As I see them, they are three. If you wish to be married, I could find a man to marry you. A good man of limited means, who will benefit from the connection. He must agree to raise the child as his own and delay any further”—he shifted in his chair—“childbearing until you are ready.”

She studied her palm. “I don’t particularly like that alternative.”

Thank God. Neither did he.

“If you wish to preserve your reputation,” he continued, “you can give birth in secret. The child would be fostered with a local family, and you would be free to have your debut season, be courted by suitors, and marry where you liked. Perhaps you might see the child on occasion, but you would never be able to acknowledge him as your own.”

“Her. I think it’s a girl.” Placing a hand on her belly, she said, “Go on. You said there was a third.”

“The third option,” he said quietly, “would be to give birth and keep the child. You would be disgraced, and your chances of making a good marriage would be slim. You most certainly would never know the excitement of a London season.”

“But I would have my baby.”

“Yes.”

He allowed her a moment’s contemplation.

Leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees, he said, “They are none of them easy choices. Your life will be drastically altered, no matter which you take. But you should also know this. Whichever course you choose, you may be assured of having my support, both material and otherwise.”

“And Amelia’s as well?”

“I … I can’t speak for Amelia.” God, saying her name aloud after so many days apart … He missed her, terribly. What he would not give to have her here. She would know what to say to Claudia, how to comfort her. How to cross the room and fold the girl into a warm hug, in a way that didn’t feel awkward and forced. But she wasn’t here, and he had no one to blame for her absence but himself. What the hell had he been thinking, forcing her to choose between him and her family? Her love for her family was in her blood; it was who she was. It was the reason they’d even met. He should have known he could never offer her anything to compete.

Claudia took the words from his lips when she said, “I’ve made a muddle of everything, haven’t I?”

“You’ve made a mistake. I’ve made my share, as well.” Such as believing she’d outgrown these evenings spent reading aloud, and that he had nothing more to offer her. “But now you must decide how you can live with that mistake.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should make your own choice, in your own time.” He hesitated. He didn’t want to make the decisions for her, but if she asked for guidance, wasn’t it his duty to give it? “I will say this much. We both know what it’s like to grow up without a mother. It isn’t easy. I don’t believe the avoidance of gossip is a good way to choose the direction of one’s life. And as for marriage … How much do you remember of your father?”

“I remember you were always fighting with him.”

He chuckled. “We had our disagreements. A great many of them, as a matter of fact. Most of that was my fault. It was devilish hard laboring under his expectations. Easier sometimes to purposely misbehave, rather than make the effort and come up lacking.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I understand.”

He winced, hating himself for ever making her feel that way. “No matter our arguments,” he said, “I had tremendous respect for your father, and for my own father, as well. They were good, honorable men, and exceedingly loyal. When your mother died, your father could have married again, with hopes of getting a son of his own to assume the title. But he couldn’t bear the idea of remarrying, that’s how much he loved your mother. So he sent for me from Canada instead, and I gave him so much hell in those first few years, it’s a wonder he didn’t reconsider. But he never did remarry. And neither did my father, after my own mother died. That’s why I wouldn’t like to see you trapped in an unhappy union, Claudia. Love, for a Dumarque, is not a passing fancy. We remain devoted to the grave.”

“You feel that way about Amelia?”

“Yes,” he said simply. No matter how many differences he’d had with his father and his uncle, here was one thing they shared in common. He was a Dumarque man at his core. He would love one woman until he died, and there could never be another. God help him if she didn’t feel the same.

Claudia looked askance at him. “If you truly feel that way, you could do a better job of showing it.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I could do a better job of it with you, too. I plan to improve.”

Her eyes shimmered. “Do you plan to start soon?”

When he was seventeen years old, Spencer had spent five miserable weeks aboard a two-masted brig to cross the Atlantic Ocean. That trip had been a pleasant afternoon jaunt compared to the arduous journey he made now. He rose from his chair, crossed the vast expanse of the library carpet, and sat down beside his ward.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever you decide, Claudia, you will always have a home here. And you will always be loved.”

She started to weep. He hoped they were a good sort of tears. Regardless, he slid his arm around her shoulders and gathered her into a hug.

He felt rather proud of himself for it, but evidently he still needed practice to perfect the art. After a moment, Claudia sniffed and said, “I miss Amelia.”

He gathered her even closer then, because he needed to be hugged back. “I miss her, too.”

“When is she coming home?”

“I don’t know. She may not come back to Braxton Hall.”

Claudia straightened, pulling back to stare at him. “Whatever do you mean? Go fetch her!”

“But … I’m not certain exactly where she is at the moment.”

“You’re the Duke of Morland. Find her!”

“I’m not sure she wants to be found.” He could scarcely believe he was discussing this with Claudia … but then again, who else did he have to ask? “I bullied her quite a bit at the outset, and I don’t want to make the same mistake again. I miss her, yes. But I want her to be happy most of all. If she comes back, I want her to come freely. Willingly.”

Her eyes went wide. “Then convince her. Fall at her feet and grovel. Make some grand gesture of apology. Tell her that sweet little story you just told me and profess your undying love. Really, Spencer, don’t you know anything about romance?”