Chapter 25
“One of the maids will come and prepare a bath for you. Then she will bring you a tray of food.” Julian Wollstonecraft pointed to the bed. “The maid, Helen, has volunteered a nightgown and dressing gown.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Never had she been in the presence of such formidable, handsome men. Gazing at the viscount, she could hardly credit this was Riordan’s father; though there were many threads of gray at his temples, he looked more like an older brother. The viscount was a sinfully striking man with a near perfect profile. It was plain to see where Riordan got his dark good looks and athletic build.
Though she did not move about in society much when married to Pepperdon, snippets of gossip did reach her—especially the salacious tale about Julian Wollstonecraft and a disreputable actress caught having sexual relations in an opera box. Even tales of Riordan’s grandfather, the earl, and a young baronet’s widow reached her.
“No one will disturb you for the rest of the night. You have my word. In the morning, my father and brother will be heading to Carrbury to collect your maid, Miss Tuttle. We’ve already sent word that you have been recovered and are safe.”
“She is not my maid any longer, but my dear friend. I also want my kitten and my belongings, if you please.”
“I do beg your pardon. Your friend, then. Should you not speak to Riordan first before making such a decision?” His tone was kind, but she bristled nonetheless at his suggestion.
“You may inform Riordan that I will speak to him tomorrow afternoon. Three o’clock, here in this room. Until then, I would like to be left alone, thank you.” Her voice sounded cold to her own ears. As the viscount turned to leave, she said in a warmer tone, “I do thank your entire family for coming to…well, to my rescue.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m relieved you were able to locate me.”
“It is due to providence and the superior investigation skills of Mr. Seward. And Riordan’s dogged insistence. Anything you need, please, let the maid know.”
She nodded. “I will.”
He closed the door, and the handle no sooner clicked in place when the tears came. For hours she had held them in reserve by sheer force. Male voices drifted in from the hallway.
“Father, let me pass. I need to see her. I need to…hold her.” Riordan. His passionately spoken words made her heart ache with longing, enough that she nearly opened the door and threw herself into his warm embrace. But if she did, she would shatter into jagged shards.
“She’s asked to be alone tonight. Honor her wishes. She will see you tomorrow. Come, we’ll have a brandy and I will tell you all….” The voices drifted away.
Sabrina threw herself onto the large bed, gathered the pillow in her arms, and cried into it, hoping it would smother her ragged sobs. Her heart was breaking. Perhaps already broken beyond all repairing. Not only from her hateful father selling her—more than once—but to Riordan’s betrayal. Her mind swirled, why he would lie about the settlement? And his name? What else had he lied about?
Was all that had passed between them a lie? Her emotions were raged; this was not the time to try and sort through her confused feelings. She couldn’t make sense of anything. Oh, how she wished Mary was here. She could always put things in their proper perspective.
Her sobs quieted. She took great gulps of air and exhaled to calm her frayed nerves. If there was no settlement, how would she and Mary survive? Another problem to work through. A knock disturbed her thoughts. Sabrina sat upright and dashed the tears from her cheeks. “Yes?”
“It’s Helen, the maid, my lady.”
For a moment she’d thought it might be Riordan again, which simultaneously annoyed and thrilled her. Despite all this, she still loved him. Drat the man. When he kicked in the door at the inn, her heart leapt with relief and anticipation. He’d come for her. As she knew he would. Oh, why did he lie and ruin it?
“Come in.”
An older woman of middling years entered with footmen carrying the tub and a phalanx of maids carrying buckets of water. The tub was filled quickly and slight wisps of steam curled into the air. The maid placed rose petals in the water. How inviting. When had she last received such care?
“The lords, the earl and viscount, said I’m to see to your needs, my lady.” Everyone was referring to her as “my lady” or “Lady Pepperdon.” She didn’t have the energy or inclination to correct them tonight.
“Thank you, Helen.”
The older woman nodded and gave her a warm smile. “I’m to attend to you in the bath, then bring a tray of food. Would you prefer a hot or cold meal, my lady?”
Sabrina wanted to scream “leave me alone,” yet she did not wish to be left with her thoughts. Her mind raced, her emotions in turmoil. Her heart still banged at tattoo beat; she needed to calm, and a warm bath and a hot meal would assist in such an endeavor. “A hot meal, thank you.”
“Master Riordan said to bring you apple pie….”
She shook her head. “No.” The memory of them sharing a jolly laugh over her botched attempt at baking an apple pie, and the heated intimacy that had followed, rushed through her mind. Shaking it away, she said, “No, thank you.”
“Very well, my lady. You have a good soak and I’ll return directly.” Helen hurried from the room, leaving her alone. After slipping off her clothes and laying them on the bed, she tentatively stepped into the tub and lowered into the warm rose-scented water. Blessed relief. Leaning her head against the high back of the copper tub, she sighed and closed her eyes.
Did she fall asleep? For next she knew, Helen had returned, carrying a tray with covered dishes upon it. Another maid followed, carrying a tea tray with a small decanter. Still another maid followed, with towels and bathing cloths. “I located a bar of rose-scented soap, my lady. Not easy in a house full of men.”
Helen saw to the trays and dismissed the other maids, closing the door behind them. She pulled up a chair and dipped the soap and the cloth in the water. “Still warm. I was gone close to thirty minutes. Did you rest, my lady?”
So she had napped. “Yes, thank you.” She paused. “I’m curious, why are an earl and a viscount under the same roof? Father and son usually have separate residences.”
Sabrina leaned forward so Helen could wash her back. “It’s usually the case, but the Wollstonecraft men are a different breed, to be sure. I’ve been here thirty years, since Master Garrett was a wee one. Seen the tragedy of both men losing their wives. I’ve seen the earl lose two wives. He had three, if you can imagine.” Helen squeezed the cloth, rinsing the soap from Sabrina’s back.
“They decided it was best if the twins and Master Garrett grew up together, seeing there was only six years between them, and as a result the three of them are very close. So the viscount stayed here instead of taking up residence in London. You see, Master Garrett and the viscount are half brothers. The place is big enough to house several families.”
Sabrina had been impressed when the moonlit hall had come into view. How late was it? She glanced at the mantel clock. Good heavens—near eleven. What a long and stressful day. Fatigue covered her, but she must eat. She glanced about the room, inspecting it closely. Large and welcoming with the fire blazing. Not feminine in style, but a well-maintained guest room, with its gold curtains and rugs and large wooden bed with intricate carvings of acorns and trees on the headboard.
The Wollstonecrafts were rich. Why on earth had Riordan taken a position as schoolmaster in a small country township? The clothes he wore…of course. She’d chosen to believe they came from a middle class background when in fact he was of the peerage. Was he the heir? Wait…the twins? “Who are the twins?” she asked Helen.
“Why, Masters Riordan and Aidan, sons of the viscount. Master Aidan is away. He is the oldest, and the heir. They are not identical—close enough in looks, but not temperament. Listen to me prattling on, but you are Master Riordan’s wife and it all stays within the family.” Helen stood and held up a large, plush towel. “Here, my lady. Let me dry you off and get you into nightclothes. Your meal awaits. We’ve set up a table by the fire.”
Oh, how she had missed this. For all her brave talk of adjusting to a simple country life, she was to the manor born. But not on this scale. Goodness, Wollstonecraft Hall must be twice the size of Durning House. Perhaps three times larger.
As Helen assisted her into the nightgown and dressing gown, Sabrina dismissed the doing of the day—at least for tonight. She was emotionally wrung out, and all she wanted was to eat a little food and climb into bed.
Helen escorted her to the table. Once she was seated, the maid lifted the chafing dish cover. Slices of beef and dainty potatoes drizzled with what looked to be a red wine sauce. “Tea, my lady? The viscount thought you might like a brandy before retiring.”
“Yes to both.” Sabrina cleared her cluttered mind and concentrated on the meal before her. What she would say to Riordan tomorrow? She had absolutely no idea.
* * * *
In his sixty-four years on this earth, Oliver Wollstonecraft had witnessed much tragedy and heartache, along with venal, illegal, and morally bankrupt behavior from people of all walks of life. But never had he witnessed such disregard for the sanctity of human life than he had yesterday. A man selling his only child. And more than once. His lip curled with disgust. Sutherhorne purchasing a woman as if he were procuring a horse at Tattersalls.
Sutherhorne was bad enough, but it was Durning that gave Oliver pause. Only once in his life had he met such a man: emotionless, lacking in remorse, yet possessing a superficial charm that people often fell for. The arrogance and poor judgment, the selfish need to see to one’s own comforts. The power to manipulate others. The traits applied to Sutherhorne as well; they were peas in a pod.
How unfortunate that the law would not touch Sutherhorne. A marquess was above an earl; Oliver could do nothing to bring the man to heel. Allowing the story to circulate would hurt Lady Pepperdon’s reputation more than the men’s—such was the imbalance in Society. The marquess would bear watching.
“Da?” Garrett asked. “Did you not hear me?”
Oliver shook his head. “Sorry, Son. Deep in thought.”
Garrett snapped the reins. They were riding in the wagon toward Riordan’s residence. “No bloody wonder. My head is still reeling from yesterday. What do you think will be the outcome of this?”
“It’s patently obvious that Riordan loves this woman. It will be between them to decide if the ending will be a happy one.”
Garrett frowned. “He’d be better off cutting ties and going through with the annulment.”
“Ah, the curse. Garrett, you take it too much to heart. And before you start to rattle off statistics, I am fully aware of the death count. I agree caution is warranted, but think on this: If I hadn’t taken a chance on love, you, Julian, or the twins wouldn’t be here. I would be a lonely old man sitting by the fire, drinking myself into oblivion, cursing the fates with my last ragged breath. Is that the future you wish for yourself?”
Garrett scoffed. “Perhaps it is. At least I would avoid heartache and loss.”
Oliver shook his head. “That is the coward’s way. Besides, feeling pain and loss lets one know they are alive.” He loved both his sons, but Garrett did hold a special place in his heart. Not only was he his true love Moira’s child, but the spitting image of her. Looking at him sometimes hurt, but on the whole it gave him comfort. As if she were still with him.
Garrett stiffened beside him. “Don’t get your hackles up, Son. You’re thirty-two years of age. It’s well past time you married and had children. Yes, it is a selfish request. I want your mother and the Mackinnon clan to live on for future generations. I want you to live on. Don’t let the line end here.”
Garrett laughed sharply. “The twins can carry the torch.” Then he sobered. “As soon as we locate Aidan and set him on the straight and narrow path.”
“What possessed him to disappear?” Oliver asked.
“He’s been drifting away from us for a long while, Da. His taste for adventure and vice could be his downfall,” Garrett replied sadly. “We’ve been close through the years, Aidan and me, but not of late. I should have intervened, given him my support. Instead I became angry and disgusted at his behavior.”
“As did we all. You feel guilty. Is that why you hired the Bow Street Runner on your own?”
Garrett nodded. “Once Riordan is straightened out, I’ll be joining Edwin in London to assist in the search.”
And here is why he loved Moira’s son so dearly: his generous heart. His capacity for love. If only he didn’t keep the curse at the forefront of his mind and allow it to control his life.
The men remained silent for several miles. “There’s the schoolhouse.” Garrett pointed to a wooden structure sitting alone in a wooded area. “The cottage is but a half mile beyond.”
They arrived, and Oliver was shocked to see how small the cottage was. Heavens, it was no larger than a woodshed. Oliver jumped from the wagon, and as Garrett saw to the horses, he knocked on the door.
It flew open. “I told you I would leave once I heard word, stop—oh. I thought you were someone else.”
This must be the companion, Mary Tuttle. She stared up at him, waiting for a reply, but Oliver was too busy drinking in her fine form. In her middle years, but still attractive. “Sorry to disturb you. Miss Tuttle, I presume?” She nodded. “I am Riordan’s grandfather.”
She arched a dubious eyebrow. “Grandfather? I find the prospect highly unlikely. You look far too young. And don’t take it as a compliment, it is merely an observation.”
A curve of a smile twisted at the corner of his mouth. “I thank you anyway. May we come in?”
She looked past him and her eyes widened. “Good God, it’s the medieval Highlander.”
Garrett stood beside Oliver. “The Highlander is my son, Garrett, and Riordan’s uncle. His mother was Scottish. May we come in?” Already he liked this woman.
She shook her head. “Of course. Forgive me.” Miss Tuttle stepped aside and let them pass, closing the door behind them. “Can I offer you tea or a bite to eat? There is stew I can heat.”
“Perhaps after we talk. Since you did not ask about Lady Pepperdon, I assume you received our message?” Oliver asked.
“I did. I’m relieved she’s been recovered. The baron is a despicable man and deserves all he gets.”
“And he will. Debtor’s prison is in his future, make no mistake,” Oliver replied. “We will see to it.” They all took seats in the tiny parlor, with Garrett’s large frame precariously perched on a wooden chair. “My name is Oliver Wollstonecraft, Earl of Carnstone. You see, my grandson’s full name is Riordan Black Wollstonecraft.”
Miss Tuttle covered her mouth in shock. “But why…”
“Why did he conceal his true identity? He wished to take his teaching position without the family name and history becoming a distraction.”
She shook her head. “Sabrina had no idea. Oh, dear. When she finds out… She cannot abide deception.”
Oliver crossed his legs. “So I gathered. Hopefully, they will work it out. Then perhaps Riordan will return to his position here with his wife.”
Miss Tuttle clasped her hands in her lap, a sad expression on her face. “I fear your grandson does not have a position to return to. A member of the education board appeared here early this morning, claiming I’m to vacate the premises by tonight. Mr. Black—I mean, Mr. Wollstonecraft—has been dismissed. ‘For abandoning his post and responsibilities.’ As if your grandson was in the army. Wretched man. He wouldn’t listen to my explanation.”
Garrett vaulted out of his chair, his fists clenched. “Allow me to find the man and straighten him out,” he barked.
Oliver clutched his arm. “Easy. Diplomacy may be better than fisticuffs. At least initially. Who is this board member and where can we find him?”
“He is Mr. Umlah, the blacksmith.” Miss Tuttle slid her gaze to Garrett. “Although he is not as large or imposing as your Highlander son.”
Oliver laughed; he couldn’t help it. How refreshing to find a woman near his own age sparking his interest. His previous affair of three years past with a young, spoiled, pampered widow of a baronet had left him empty. In the twilight of his life, he wanted to find a woman whose company he would enjoy. One he could talk to, laugh with, and, yes, have frequent sex with. He may be in his sixties, but he still experienced desire.
“Garrett, regardless of how the conversation goes with the smithy, we should gather all Riordan and Lady Pepperdon’s possessions and take them with us to the hall.”
“Good thing we brought the wagon,” Garrett replied as he sat.
“Miss Tuttle, Lady Sabrina mentioned a kitten?”
“Yes. Your grandson gifted her to Sabrina. I’ll pack while you and your son seek out Mr. Umlah, my lord.”
“I believe you should accompany me and direct me to the place. Besides, the man owes you an apology; I intend to see he gives it. Garrett will start loading the wagon.” They all stood.
“Let me fetch my shawl. Oh, the kitten is asleep in the bedroom. Make sure she doesn’t get outside, will you, Mr. Wollstonecraft?”
“Of course,” Garrett replied.
Once Miss Tuttle placed her shawl about her shoulders, Oliver gently clasped her arm. Sizzling heat moved through him, settling deep within; what he was about to propose would only stoke the flames. “I’ll unhitch one of the horses and we will ride into town together. Are you fine with the plan, Miss Tuttle?”
She met his gaze, and he did not mistake the interest sparking in her light brown eyes. “Completely fine, my lord.”
Yes, standing here next to the fetching Miss Mary Tuttle, everything was completely fine.