Chapter
23

Nolan slipped into the stables through the back door and lit a lantern. He stood still for a moment, inhaling the scent of hay, horses, and manure, and at last some of the tension eased from his shoulders. Right now, he needed these familiar smells and sounds to ground him. To remind him of his roots and the truly important things in life.

Never had he felt so lost, so unsure of himself.

Life had been simple here in the stable. Growing up at Stainsby, even as a servant, he’d always had his rightful place in the world. He had his skill with the horses, the devoted love of his mother, and the faith she had passed on to him as a boy. The one thing he’d lacked was a father to look up to, though Bert had proven a wonderful surrogate. Then, by losing his beloved mother, he’d gained an enigma for a father, a man he might never come to understand.

His dream of one day marrying Hannah had come to pass, but not in the manner he’d envisioned. Now a child might be on the way, a circumstance he was in no way prepared for. How could he be a role model for a son or daughter when his sense of self had shifted so dramatically that he could no longer find his footing?

As though sensing Nolan’s unease, King gave a loud whinny from down the corridor. Nolan smiled and made his way to the stall, where he greeted the eager animal. He stroked the long snout, then leaned his forehead against his sleek coat, while King nibbled the collar of his shirt. He pulled a piece of carrot from his pocket and held it up for the horse to take.

“If it weren’t so dark, I’d take you for a long ride, my friend. Shake the cobwebs from my brain.”

“And what cobwebs would they be?” Bert appeared out of the shadows.

Nolan started. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Just making sure the new lad’s finished his job for the night. A shame he’s got such big shoes to fill.”

Nolan tried to smile, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Bert set down the metal bucket in his hand and stepped into the glow of the lamp. “A better question would be, what are you doing here at this hour? What with a new wife waiting in your bed?” He winked and gave a jovial chuckle.

Nolan’s jaw cinched into a hard line, remembering with sudden clarity the sweet playfulness he’d shared with Hannah earlier in the day, and the bruised, broken girl lying in their bed now.

Bert studied him. “You look like a man with a lot on his mind. Let’s sit down a spell, and you can tell me what’s bothering you.”

The stout man pulled over two bales of hay and motioned Nolan to sit. He lowered himself onto the prickly seat and hung his hands between his knees, head bowed. “I’ve made a mess of things, Bert. And I have no idea how to fix it.”

“Is this about the ruckus with young Bellows? Word has it you pummeled him pretty hard.”

“Not hard enough, to my mind.” Nolan absently rubbed the raw spots on his knuckles. “Not after what he did to Hannah.”

“Is she all right?” Bert’s thick brows pulled down over concerned eyes.

“Not really.” Nolan dragged a hand over his jaw. “She has a gash on her head and enough bruises to rival a prizefighter. But the worst part is she may lose our child—a child I knew nothing about.” An ache spread through his chest, radiating outward like ripples through a pond. He still couldn’t fathom why she hadn’t told him. Didn’t a husband and wife share everything?

“She’s with child already? Is that why she ran off to parts unknown?”

Nolan silently cursed the servant gossip mill. Nothing was private in a community like Stainsby Hall. He shook his head. “No. She got upset after seeing me all dressed up like a dandy at that daft ball, surrounded by a bunch of simpering females.” He plowed his fingers through his hair and sighed in frustration. “And she overheard the earl saying I’d signed annulment papers. You can imagine what she thought.”

“Aye. She’s probably wondering how much you value this marriage.”

Bert’s underlying hint of accusation pricked at Nolan’s pride worse than the pieces of hay at his backside.

“Not you too. I thought at least you’d be on my side.”

“I’m always on your side, lad. But it doesn’t make me blind to what’s happening. You’re bending over backward to please your father, not considering your wife and how she must be feeling.”

Outrage propelled Nolan to his feet. “What about how I’m feeling? I’m the one whose life has turned upside down. Like I’ve been tossed into the ocean headfirst and can’t find a way to right myself.” He stalked down the corridor, dust flying up from his boots.

Bert followed, catching him at the door to Nolan’s old quarters. His large hand came down on Nolan’s shoulder. “I know this is difficult, lad. But instead of worrying so much about the earl, why not look to your heavenly Father for guidance? Trust Him to show you the way to make this right—for everyone involved.” He gave him a squeeze. “I’ll be praying for Hannah and the babe. You know where to find me if you need me.”

Edward slumped in the hard wingback chair in his study, a tumbler of brandy dangling from his fingers. The loud tick of the mantel clock taunted him, reminding him of the lateness of the hour and that he was likely the sole person awake in the household. After the day’s unsettling events, Edward knew it was pointless to even try to go to bed, since sleep would surely elude him. The only escape from the darkness invading his soul would be found in a bottle of brandy, the last dregs of which now swirled in his glass. It didn’t matter that come the morrow, he wouldn’t be fit for human company. What reason did he have to get up anyway?

He’d made a fine muddle of things with Nolan. His only son hated him and would most likely deprive him of knowing his first grandchild. If the babe even survived.

Edward closed his eyes, his lungs deflating with a weighty sigh. From the moment he’d learned Nolan was his son, he’d handled things badly. He’d presumed he could manipulate Nolan into doing things his way, never taking into account his son’s dreams and goals.

Now Edward could see that he’d been playing too high-handed with Nolan, imposing his will on the lad. Taking away the farm his son wanted. Tricking him into signing papers that would end his marriage. Forcing Nolan into a maze with only one way out—Edward’s way.

And now his tactics had backfired. Nolan’s wife was expecting a child, Edward’s grandchild and another possible heir. In all likelihood, if Mr. Grayson had followed Edward’s orders, Nolan’s marriage had been nullified, effectively rendering the child illegitimate.

Edward had to believe the situation could be undone. He would contact his solicitor and have him do whatever necessary to reinstate the marriage. Correction—he would wait and see if the pregnancy remained viable, and then he would have Mr. Grayson take action.

Maybe then Nolan would forgive him. Maybe then his son would come to regard him with something less than disdain.

The clock chimed loudly three times, breaking the utter stillness of the house. Edward raised the tumbler to his lips and drained it. Time for a refill. His legs, however, refused to cooperate with his brain. They remained sprawled out in front of him like useless logs. The empty glass slipped from his fingers and fell to the carpet with a soft thud.

“Do you always throw your tableware on the ground when you’re finished?”

Edward jumped at the sound, knocking the table to his right. Slim fingers grasped the empty brandy bottle before it too could crash to the floor. Lady Hartford righted the container and regarded him with an amused expression.

“What the deuce are you doing—skulking around in the middle of the night?” With a mighty effort, he pulled his frame upright in the chair and turned to glare at her.

“I’d thank you to watch your language, sir. And I have never skulked anywhere.” She moved around to stand between him and the fire. “Nolan relieved me from watching over Hannah, and I had to take Daisy outside. I’m afraid that with all the commotion today, I’ve neglected the poor creature. Once I got her settled, I found myself unable to sleep and came down for some warm milk.”

Why couldn’t the woman answer in two words or less? And how did someone look so appealing at this ungodly hour, dressed in a simple skirt with a well-worn shawl thrown over her shoulders? Her slightly disheveled chestnut hair framed her face with wispy pieces that had escaped her topknot. A soft pink color infused her cheeks and lips, hinting at the recent exertion of climbing the stairs.

She stared at him, her head cocked to one side, as though trying to decipher a puzzle. “I see you have chosen a different method to induce sleep.”

“What I drink is my business.” He scowled at her. “If you care to make yourself useful, you’ll find me another bottle. I would get up, but my legs don’t seem to be operating as they should.”

“By all means.” She crossed the room, and with a graceful tug, pulled the bell to summon the servant.

His mouth dropped open, astonished that she would comply so readily with his demand.

Several minutes later, the butler appeared in the doorway, looking rumpled from sleep. “You rang, sir?”

Lady Hartford moved toward the door. “Actually I rang, Mr. Dobson. I’m so sorry to bother the staff at this late hour, but the earl is in need of a pot of coffee, and I would adore some warm milk with a touch of nutmeg.”

Dobson frowned and glanced over at Edward, as if seeking confirmation of this request.

“What I am in need of is another bottle of brandy.” He hoped his words hadn’t sounded as weak to the butler as they did to his own ears.

Shaking her head, the duchess laid a hand on Dobson’s sleeve, and spoke in tones too low to overhear. “Thank you so much, Mr. Dobson.”

“Very good, ma’am.”

The infernal woman glided back and took a seat in the chair beside him, folding her hands gracefully in her lap. What did she think she was doing? He was not about to drink coffee, nor was he in the mood to chat. He sank lower in his chair and stared into the fire, ignoring her.

She moved not an inch until a maid appeared with the silver coffee service and a mug of milk.

The duchess smiled. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry to disturb you so late.”

“No trouble at all, ma’am.” The maid curtsied and backed her way out of the room.

“Are you always so blasted nice to the servants?”

“Why, yes. Aren’t you?” She blinked wide eyes at him.

“Hardly. If I treated them with such deference, they’d take full advantage of my good nature.”

“No fear of that, I’m sure.”

If he weren’t so inebriated, he would have been able to ascertain whether or not she was laughing at him. Yet her features remained composed as she poured coffee from the service and passed him a cup. Though he churlishly wished to refuse it, his deeply ingrained manners wouldn’t allow it. He took it from her with hands that shook, making the cup dance in the saucer.

She steadied him with cool fingers. A rush of nervous energy sprinted through his system, jarring him from his near stupor.

Good heavens, had he been so long without a woman that the mere touch of a feminine hand made him skittish? No, it must be the drink.

She picked up her own mug and settled back in the chair with a contented sigh. “Nothing better than warm milk and nutmeg in the middle of the night.”

With a growl, he raised his cup to his lips, swilled down a large gulp, and burned his tongue on the scalding brew. He bit back a curse. “Feel free to take your drink upstairs, Your Grace. I don’t need you to play nursemaid.”

“Isn’t it time you called me Iris? At least in the privacy of your home?”

He grunted.

She looked over at him and wiped a skim of white foam from her lips with the tip of one finger. Then she giggled like a schoolgirl. “Almost as delicious as whipped cream.”

At his silence, she cocked her head. “Do you ever have any fun, Edward?”

“Fun?” The word was as foreign to him as washing his own clothes. “Who has time for fun? I have two estates to run and two daughters to oversee. Not to mention a stubborn son who refuses to accept my guidance.”

“I also have estates to run,” she said evenly. “And I know how much can be handled by competent staff members. Granted, I have no children to worry about, but then you haven’t had the real day-to-day responsibility of children for many years.” The duchess placed her cup on the side table. “As I understand, the girls went to live with your sister soon after your wife’s death. And now, of course, Lady Evelyn is well married, with Lady Victoria about to announce her betrothal, if the rumors are true. I fear, my dear Edward, you have run out of excuses.”

The audacity of the woman froze his tongue as surely as the coffee had burned it.

She smoothed her skirt, brushing some stray dog hairs from the fabric. “How remiss of me,” she continued. “You do have another excuse not to enjoy yourself. You now have a grown son to educate in the ways of the nobility. An arduous task, most assuredly. Doubled with the horror of his marriage to a mere maid, and a possible pregnancy on top of that . . .” She waved a hand in the air. “It’s no wonder you’ve taken to the bottle.”

He sputtered, then clamped his mouth shut so hard his teeth clacked. Blood pounded its way to his temples, causing his temper to burst forth like a gust of steam. “Madam, you will leave me at once. I will not tolerate your rudeness one second longer.”

Instead of cowering from his bellow, as his servants and daughters were wont to do, the infuriating woman threw her head back and laughed. Not a simple trill either, but a full-out, hearty guffaw. She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes, then rose and came to kneel before him. She cupped his face with soft fingers that felt like a cooling balm to his aching jaw. He couldn’t seem to tear his blurry gaze from hers.

“From what my niece tells me, Edward, you have spent most of your life in sorrow and duty. Now you have the chance to forge a real relationship with a most worthy son. If you do not take advantage of the situation—this great gift you’ve been given by God—you may awaken one day to find yourself a very lonely old man. Take it from a woman with experience. It’s not too late to change.”

Then she leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth. Her lavender scent swirled around him and mixed with the taste of cream and nutmeg on her lips. When she pulled her mouth gently from his, a cold breeze stirred the air between them.

“Good night, Edward. Sleep well.” Her fingers rested on his cheek for a brief moment.

Then with a swish of her skirts, she was gone.