BLACKTHORNE WAS BESIDE himself with worry. He’d discovered that Josie had met a man dressed all in black on the train platform—likely a Pinkerton—and left with him. After that, there was no sign of her. She’d simply disappeared. Desperation sent him to Tearlach Castle, where he thought she might have gone to visit those she’d known as a maid-of-all-work. When he arrived, he discovered a calamity far greater than he could have imagined.
“Your Grace? You forgot somethin’? You’re back for another visit?” the butler said as he opened the door.
“Back? I haven’t been here for two years.”
“But you was here earlier today,” Morton protested. “You stayed in the carriage while Her Grace collected the young lords. You all drove away within a half hour.”
“I tell you I haven’t been near Tearlach Castle—” He cut himself off, because it was clear someone posing as him—the Pinkerton?—had come with Josie. “You say she took Spencer and Clay with her when she left?”
“Said you was all goin’ on a picnic, Your Grace. She had Mrs. Pettibone prepare a basket of food. The housekeeper wasn’t too happy about that, I can tell you.”
“I thought preparing food was part of her job,” Blackthorne said.
“Oh, Mrs. Pettibone didn’t prepare it herself. She had Cook do it,” the butler confided. “It was takin’ orders from Her Grace that was the problem, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”
Blackthorne did mind, but he kept his mouth shut in order to find out as much information as he could, before he started asking some hard questions. “Why would Mrs. Pettibone mind taking orders from my wife?”
“ ’Cause Mrs. Pettibone used to be the one givin’ orders to your wife,” the butler said with a chuckle.
“Did she prepare the food basket as my wife requested?”
“Certainly, Your Grace. Her Grace waited, foot tappin’, till it was done. She wasn’t none too pleased with the housekeeper for keepin’ her standin’ there waitin’, I can tell you.”
“Where were the boys when all this was going on?”
“Right there by Her Grace’s side. She had each lord’s hand in one of her own. Wasn’t lettin’ ’em go for nothin’ or nobody.”
“Where was their governess?”
“Standin’ right there in the kitchen, steamin’ like the potatoes boilin’ in the pot for supper,” he said with a grin.
“Miss Sharpe didn’t approve?”
“Said those boys was just gettin’ over measles and shouldn’t be taken outdoors. Her Grace said a child gettin’ over measles shouldn’t be tied to a bed, neither.”
Blackthorne stiffened. “What did you just say?”
The butler looked away guiltily. “Shouldn’t of repeated none of that.”
“You said the boys had measles?”
The butler looked up. “They’re better now.”
“So why were they tied to a bed?” Blackthorne had a hard time controlling the violence he felt toward whoever had treated his nephews so badly.
“It was only Clay.”
“Only Clay? Why was Lord Clayton tied to anything, let alone a bed?”
“You’ll have to ask the governess. But it was the housekeeper made her do it.”
“Made her do it? The woman doesn’t have a brain of her own?”
“The two of them don’t exactly see eye-to-eye about the young lords. Or much of anything,” the butler added under his breath.
Blackthorne headed for the stairs without another word.
“I don’t think either of them ladies is up there,” the butler called after him.
Blackthorne ignored him. He headed to the third floor, looking for the nursery where Clay had been the last time he’d visited him. He cringed at the thought of how long it had been. Two years. Josie was right. His behavior toward his brother’s children had been inexcusable. He should have brought them to live with him a long time ago. He only hoped it wasn’t too late. He opened the door to Clay’s room and saw the ropes that lay on the mussed-up bed, one tied to the foot, one to the head rail.
Bile rose in his throat at the thought of his nephew tied up like some wild animal. Especially Clay, who was all the more precious, because he would always remain an innocent child.
Blackthorne hurried through the connecting door to Spencer’s room and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no ropes or anything else that might have been used to bind the boy. He also saw no toys. Or books. Or anything else to indicate that a vital and intelligent boy of eight inhabited the room.
What the bloody hell is going on here? No wonder Josie thinks so little of me. What uncle allows his own flesh and blood to be treated this way? I don’t blame her for taking them away. But why didn’t she simply confront me? Why didn’t she tell me how badly Spencer and Clay were being treated?
He remembered how blithely he’d answered her questions, how certain he’d been that the boys were well cared for. He tried to remember her exact words.
Have you hugged them? Have you told them you loved them?
Blackthorne felt a searing flush of shame at what he’d allowed to happen to his nephews. He couldn’t remember another time in his life when he’d felt such a heavy, almost unbearable, burden of guilt. He hoped it wasn’t too late to make amends. First, he had to find the two boys. And, of course, his wife.
He slammed his way out of Spencer’s room and raced back down the stairs. He headed for the place he was most likely to find the housekeeper and the governess. Sure enough, he found both ladies sitting at a table in the kitchen with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits in front of each.
Both shoved their chairs back noisily and rose when he entered the room, each dropping a respectful curtsy.
“Who told you to tie up my nephew with ropes?” he demanded.
“It was her!” The governess pointed at the housekeeper.
He turned on the housekeeper. “You suggested that atrocity?”
“The boy had measles. He was going to infect the whole house.”
“I don’t care if he would have infected the entire neighborhood,” Blackthorne railed. “He didn’t deserve to be tied down like some wild animal.”
“But, Your Grace—”
“Your Grace, I—”
He held up a hand to cut off whatever defense each woman was going to make of her behavior. “As of today, you’re both dismissed. I will provide enough severance pay to keep you from starving, but you may be sure I’ll relate this unpardonable behavior to whoever might be foolish enough to employ you in the future. Now get out of my sight.”
When both women—along with the cook and her helper—were gone from the kitchen, Blackthorne sank into a chair and dropped his head in his hands. He’d fired the women responsible, but he was really the one responsible for his nephews’ plight. Their poor treatment was all his fault. And only he could make it right. He had to find Spencer and Clay and bring them to live at Blackthorne Abbey with him and his wife. If he could find her…and she still respected him enough to continue living with him.
Blackthorne made a frustrated sound in his throat. It wasn’t only his wife’s respect he wanted. He wanted her love.
First, he had to find the three of them. Then he could apologize. For everything. And promise to do better in the future. And hope that words would be enough to convince them to forgive him—and to come home with him.
He wondered where Josie might have taken the boys. Had they really gone on a picnic? He doubted it. If he was sure of anything, it was that she wasn’t coming back here. No, she was headed…Where? Where would she go?
Blackthorne felt a shiver run down his spine. She wouldn’t dare leave England. Not without asking his permission.
Yes, she would. It’s exactly the sort of thing she would do. She has a whole family in America that she’s been separated from for two years. She’s Spencer and Clay’s aunt-by-marriage. And Berwick-upon-Tweed is a port where ships leave every day for ports around the world.
His throat constricted painfully. Now, when he might have lost her forever, the truth hit him like an arrow to the heart.
Dear God in heaven. I love her.
He had to find her and beg her to stay. If it wasn’t too late. If she was willing to hear what he had to say. He headed back to Berwick-upon-Tweed at a gallop, his heart in his throat, wondering whether his wife’s ship was still in the harbor or had sailed away with the tide.