Chapter Twenty-Three
In Bridget’s absence, Helen had been more generous with Henry’s time. She’d allowed Nate to spend a whole day with him—and herself—but it had not come without conditions.
“I cannot tell you what an awful bore my life has become,” she’d said as they’d watched Henry play in the garden with Bijou. “You will never understand the sacrifices I made for our son.”
Nate had bitten his tongue to keep silent. All he wanted was to be with Henry and arguing with his child’s mother might cause her to take his access to his son.
“Lord Luxton is not well. He sleeps all day long.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Nate had said.
“He’s not even capable of…” She glanced sideways at Nate.
He knew her tricks, and he felt immediately discomforted.
Why could she not take ‘no’ for an answer?
But he already knew the answer to that question.
It wasn’t about him at all. It was about getting what she wanted, at any cost. She could not tolerate rejection on any level, despite dishing it out whenever it suited her.
He called to Henry and stepped forward, wanting to join his son in play, but she caught his arm. He stopped and turned to face her.
“I want another child,” she said.
Nate was momentarily speechless. “Isn’t that something you should be discussing with your husband?” he could not keep the iciness from his voice.
“My husband!” She laughed. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? He’s not able to give me a child. He was barely able to consummate our marriage.”
Nate turned away from her. He didn’t want to talk about the intimacies of her marriage.
“You’d be doing it for Henry’s sake.” She stepped in front of Nate. “He deserves a brother.”
Nate snorted. “I have a brother, and I can promise you that I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”
“Really, Nate. Are you still upset about…”
Nate stiffened. “About you having a liaison with my brother while we were betrothed? Not at all. I simply wouldn’t wish something like that on my son. He is better off without a sibling.”
“Well, perhaps I ought to ask your brother for help then. He was quite willing the first time. And who knows, he might even be Henry’s father.”
Nate clenched his fist behind his back. He’d never confronted Edward about his supposed liaison with Helen, nor would he, because he no longer cared.
But still, the suggestion of Edward being Henry’s father filled him with rage.
“My brother’s wife, the Countess of Westerly, is about to give him an heir, so I hardly think he will be interested in—”
“Lady Westerly is with child? Well, it’s about time. Of course, she can’t know it will be a boy. And if it is a girl, Edward is sure to be disappointed. And disappointed men always turn away from their wives to seek comfort in the arms of another.”
Nate inhaled, trying to restore his calm and block out Helen’s noise.
He gazed at his son—for Henry was his son; he’d felt it instinctively and intuitively the first day he’d held him in his arms eight months ago.
Oblivious to and unconcerned with the question of his paternity, Henry threw a stick for Bijou to fetch and giggled when the dog ran after it and snatched it up in his mouth.
He was a happy little boy. At least Nate could take comfort in that.
“Are you truly content to be an innkeeper your entire life?” Helen was in front of him again. “Will you give up Henry and me for an infatuation you have with a woman far below your class?”
“I shall never give up Henry. Why do you say such a thing?”
“Think on it,” she said. Then she called for Henry and took him inside.
Nate’s heart drummed in his chest as he watched her go. She’d made her bid to control him through Henry crystal clear.
*
The day after she returned from Knaresborough, Bridget walked with Nate along the shores of Lake Windermere.
It was a fine morning, and the sun warmed their backs as they strolled beside the sparkling lake, surrounded by lush green fells.
Bridget inhaled, reveling in the fresh air.
There was a noticeable difference in the air at home than in the bustling market towns of Yorkshire.
She would never trade Westmorland for anything.
This is where she grew up. This is where she belonged.
“Well, that’s quite a turn of events,” Nate said after Bridget had told him everything that had happened in Knaresborough.
“I know.” Bridget sighed. “Yet still, we have nothing that will exonerate Groby. Despite everything we’ve learned about George, Collins, and Lady Matheson.”
“At least we tried. If Groby does hang for this murder, at least we know that we did our best to ensure an innocent man was not wrongly accused. That is all we set out to do. Groby might well have done it after all.”
“My instincts tell me he did not,” Bridget said. “There are too many nefarious actors in this play. We are missing something…I just don’t know what it is.”
Nate stopped walking and took hold of Bridget’s arm. A thrill passed through her at his touch. She stopped and turned to face him.
“Promise me you won’t punish yourself forever if Groby hangs,” he said.
Bridget lowered her gaze. How could she make such a promise?
How could she live with herself if another innocent man lost his life and received a murderer’s burial just like her papa?
Groby had been her papa’s friend. He’d been their butcher for over thirty years.
And now, his body would be left to rot, hanging in a gibbet for all to see. The injustice of it was intolerable.
“Bridget,” Nate said. “What happened to your papa…it was barbaric, fueled by superstitions. But Groby is different. A man was brutally murdered after Groby swore he would kill him. The court will find him guilty. You must prepare yourself for that. I think when the time comes for him to be hanged, we should leave Westmorland for a month. We will close Villa De Lacey and go somewhere far away. London or Paris. I don’t care where.
But I will take you away from here because…
well, I cannot bear to see you suffer.” He stroked Bridget’s cheek and leaned forward.
He was going to kiss her again. She remembered the thrilling sensation of his lips brushing against hers, and her body tingled with anticipation. She closed her eyes and felt the softness of his lips on hers.
Then an animal-like shriek pierced the air, and Nate jerked away from her with a mild oath.
“What was that?” Bridget’s heart raced as the screams continued.
“It’s coming from down there.” Nate took off running, and Bridget followed.
As the screamer came into focus, Bridget saw it was Lady Luxton. She stood on the shore, pounding her fists into Rupert’s back. “Do something!” she screamed. “Help him! My son is drowning!”
Bridget looked out to the lake and saw Henry splashing wildly not far from the shore, his little head bobbing up and down.
“Dear God!” Nate said, kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his tailcoat. He raced into the water.
Bridget held her breath as Nate, who was about shin-deep in the water, pulled Henry out of the lake and lifted the child into his arms. Henry coughed and spluttered, and then started to wail, but appeared to be otherwise unharmed.
Bridget breathed a sigh of relief. Henry had been close enough to the shore that he’d likely lost his balance but had been able to hold his head up for most of his ordeal. He had, however, swallowed a lot of water from the sound of his coughing and gagging.
As Nate emerged from the water, Lady Luxton ran forward and held out her arms. “Give him to me!” she demanded.
Nate reluctantly handed the child to her.
She kissed Henry’s face and squeezed him tightly.
“Thank heavens you were here!” She reached to clutch at Nate’s arm.
“What would we have done? Henry would have drowned.”
She turned to face Rupert, who still stood frozen. “You almost let him drown! What is wrong with you?”
Rupert blinked as if emerging from a trance. “I…I don’t…” He stammered. Then he turned and fled.
“Why was Henry in the lake by himself?” Nate demanded.
“He wasn’t…he was by my side. I only turned my back for a moment. Then, when I looked up, he was in the water. And that oaf did not help!”
“Never mind him. Where is Henry’s nanny? Why wasn’t she watching him?”
“I sent her to fetch his toy boat. He left it at the inn, and he was crying for it.”
Bridget watched this exchange and wondered what she ought to do. She didn’t want to walk away, and neither did she want to stay. “I’m going to check on Rupert. I think he’s had an awful shock,” she said finally.
Lady Luxton turned and glared at her. And it occurred to Bridget that she hadn’t even noticed her standing there.
Nate took Henry from Lady Luxton’s arms and said, “Let’s get him inside. He’s shivering.”
“We both are.” Lady Luxton continued to hold onto Nate’s arm, and Bridget watched as the three of them made their way back to Villa De Lacey. As she did, she realized with a sinking heart that Nate still and always would belong to Lady Luxton.
*
After much searching, Bridget found Rupert sitting under a large elm tree in the thicket, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth.
He did not look at her as she approached him.
Not knowing what else to do, Bridget sat down beside him and waited for him to speak.
Perhaps all he needed was a comforting presence.
But Rupert made no attempt to acknowledge her.
He kept staring ahead, clutching his knees, and rocking back and forth.
He seemed to be in a state of shock, and it frightened Bridget.
“Rupert,” she finally said.
He gave no answer.
Bridget couldn’t take the silence any longer.
She felt the need to do something—anything to end the frightening rocking and staring.
“You mustn’t feel ashamed,” she said. “You were in shock, and you froze. There’s no shame in that.
Lady Luxton was scared. That’s why she said…
well, you understand. She was frightened, that’s all. Don’t take it to heart.”
Rupert turned to look at her, but his black eyes seemed blank as though he were staring right through her.
Bridget’s heart quickened. Something felt wrong.
“Henry is going to be fine.” She forced a smile. “He swallowed some water and got a terrible fright, but he is not hurt. You mustn’t worry.”
“He’s drowned, you little twit!” Rupert’s voice had deepened and become someone else’s entirely. “You watched him die, and you did nothing!”
Bridget scrambled to her feet. “Stop,” she said. “You’re scaring me.” She took a step back, but Rupert reached out and grabbed her ankle, sending her plummeting to the ground. She struggled to get free, but he held fast.
*
“Rupert!” The voice wasn’t hers; it came from behind her. “Let her go!”
Charlie was at his brother’s side. He crouched in front of him and shook him by the shoulders. “Let her go!”
Rupert released her, and she backed away from him. Rupert blinked, and then frowned at Bridget as if he had no idea what had just transpired.
“He didn’t mean it,” Charlie said, getting to his feet and helping Bridget up. “Please, it was the shock of seeing that little boy almost drown. I came as soon as I heard.”
Bridget looked down at Rupert, who still sat on the ground, looking confused.
“Are you hurt?” Charlie stepped closer to her. “Did he…”
“No,” Bridget said. “I’m fine. I was frightened, that’s all. He frightened me.”
“He didn’t know what he was doing. He wouldn’t have…
it was the shock, you see.” Charlie’s pale face was creased with concern, and his dark brown eyes were soft and sympathetic, quite the opposite of Rupert’s eyes moments earlier.
Then she noticed it—a small, but deep scar at the corner of his left eye.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
“You’re the caretaker’s sons, aren’t you?” she said.