Chapter 12
Every morning when Adrian woke, he told himself he would go see Gwen that day. And every morning, something happened to prevent it.
His family had all come to Highvale. His oldest sister was married now with two small children; he’d not met either.
His younger sisters alternated between tears at the impending loss of their grandfather, and eager whispers to him about the young men they’d met lately.
They made him take them into Bury St. Edmunds to shop for Christmas gifts, where they passed a shop with a blue bonnet with green ribbons in the window that caught his eye, and made him wonder if Gwen would like it.
His mother seemed determined to mother him as much as she could, and Adrian remembered Gwen saying how anxious his mother must be to have him home safe and sound.
It struck him that his mother had also buried too many, including her husband and oldest son.
He wished he could tell Gwen that she’d been right, and also ask her how he should react.
He had been a soldier for so long, he’d forgotten how to be a son.
It hit Adrian that he was the head of the family now, a sobering and abrupt realization.
He’d never even been called Lord Westley before.
That had been his uncle Louis, before his death eight years earlier, and then his brother Henry, until he died while Adrian was on campaign in Portugal.
Now he was Westley, soon to be Wroxham, not only master of Highvale but responsible for his sisters’ marriages and his mother’s security.
His grandfather’s health fluctuated, some days reviving and wanting to spend an hour instructing Adrian on some point or other about the estate, other days declining until Adrian had to talk his weeping mother out of sending for the vicar, as his grandfather rasped that he didn’t want ‘that damned priest’ in his house until he was actually dead.
At times, it felt as though he’d left one battlefield for another.
After a morning when Mama and Gabrielle, his older sister, had broken down in tears over the funeral arrangements, Adrian had enough.
He slipped out of the house and saddled his own horse, as if he were still just Captain Fitzhugh, and headed toward Larkspur Cottage.
The storm had blown out to sea and left a brilliant blue sky and winter sunshine in its place.
The snow and ice that had so hampered him and Gwen in their race to Blackthorpe had condensed into a mere inch of snow packed hard underfoot.
His spirits rose as he turned down the lane to the cottage. Children’s voices rang out, and he caught sight of two boys sword-fighting with sticks, just as he and Henry used to do. Two other figures were outside, both female. One was a child, and the other was Gwen.
He sat up straighter without thinking. He’d missed her even more than he’d realized. And he should have been here sooner.
The two boys came running as he drew near. He swung down and answered their breathless queries about the horse, then offered them a shilling each if they’d take care of the beast for him.
The older boy nodded knowingly. “Aye, sir, you’ll want to stay a while. Hot gingerbread, they’ve got in there. Mrs. Maitland’s a dab hand in the kitchen.”
He smiled. “Is she?”
“The best gingerbread in all of Suffolk!” declared the younger boy, who was petting the horse’s nose. “I wish Mam could make it so good!”
His brother cuffed him lightly. “Mam does make good gingerbread.”
“Ow! She does, only Mrs. Maitland’s is better!”
Adrian told them what to do and finally turned toward Gwen. She still stood by the house, though the girl had run to join her brothers. The brim of an old-fashioned bonnet concealed her expression, but Adrian’s heart lifted just seeing her again.
“Good morning,” he said when he stopped an arm’s length from her.
She curtsied. “Good morning, Captain,” she said, then hastily corrected, “my lord.”
He winced at the unfamiliar title. “I wasn’t trying to hide that.”
“Of course not,” she said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, unlike stealing a cat.”
He stifled a surprised laugh. “See, that’s why I didn’t tell you, an intrepid liberator of felines. I feared to appear a pasty-faced wastrel in your eyes.”
“Never,” she replied. “No one who buys a hungry stranger tea and soup could be a true wastrel.”
Adrian paused. “What would you have thought of me, if you’d known then?”
She pondered it, rolling her lower lip between her teeth. Adrian tried not to stare. “That you were something of a liar,” she finally said. “You concealed your name, and cricket injuries do not make people sneeze, but cats sometimes do.”
He affected indignation. “Did I say cricket? No, it was a war wound. How can you question that?”
Her mouth quivered. “A war wound?”
“Yes, it was a French… hedgehog,” he invented, watching as she tried valiantly not to smile. “Hiding in my trunk to ambush me. I shan’t regale you with the gruesome details, but suffice to say I cannot set eyes on any creature with quills without bursting into the most violent sneezing.”
She choked, ducking her head. Her shoulders shook. “Cats don’t have quills,” she said, her voice trembling.
“And it wasn’t your cat that made me sneeze,” he replied with dignity. “There must have been a hedgehog in that travel chariot at one time.”
She put a hand over her mouth and glanced up at him, her eyes glowing with tears of laughter. “You’re a wretched liar,” she managed to gasp.
“I am,” he agreed. “I dislike lying, which is why I came to apologize.”
Her amusement died away. She dabbed her eyes with her fingers, avoiding his gaze, then darted a look at the cottage.
“First allow me to return something of yours.” He dug the small bundle of her hairbrush and nightgown from the pocket of his greatcoat and offered it.
She blushed scarlet as she realized what it was, and stuffed it into her basket. “Thank you, my lord.”
My lord. Oh God, he was making a mess of this.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I should have come sooner, but it’s all uproar at Highvale, and I’ve only made it through by telling myself every night that tomorrow I would come, only for some new disaster to spring up on the morrow, until finally today I snuck away from everything to come tell you…
well, that I’m sorry for not coming sooner. ”
“I see.” Head still averted, she was quiet for a long moment. “I was walking out to gather some evergreens for decoration. Would you care to walk with me?”
Relief flooded him. “I would be delighted.” Beyond measure.
She didn’t take his arm, but they walked side by side toward the woodland that hid the cottage from view of the road.
“Very well,” she said as they reached the shelter of the trees. “I am sober and composed now, if you have something serious to tell me.”
Adrian opened his mouth to explain, to ask forgiveness, to ask about her family, and what he said was, “I’ve missed you.”
Gwen’s eyes darted toward him, wary and doubtful.
“I have,” he confessed. “Perhaps I’ve no right to say that, but your company made a trip that had promised to be grim and melancholy into an adventure that made me smile and laugh.
You were on the same urgent purpose as I was, not knowing what you would find when you arrived, but you faced it with grace and charm and the most stubborn good humor I’ve ever encountered. ”
Now he darted a look at her, to see how this was being received. She was listening, her face pale.
“I sent you the cup of tea and soup merely to be kind, with no expectation of anything. But when you thanked me, it felt as if I’d been waiting my whole life to hear your voice.
I walked out of that inn and couldn’t manage three steps before I knew I was taking a wrong turn.
It was as if an alarm had been raised inside my head, warning me not to walk away from you.
And… I still feel that way.” He took a deep breath, because she still hadn’t said anything.
“So I’ve come to apologize for taking another wrong turn, for leaving when you wished to speak to me.
I felt very guilty for what happened that night—”
“Don’t,” she said softly.
“But neither did I wish you to be forced into something you did not want, with a perfect stranger,” he went on, even though his heart had begun to throb with hope. “You asked me for discretion, and of course you have it. But if you are willing to consider more from me… I would like it very much.”
Gwen’s mind had disconnected from her body. Physically she stood poised and still, listening to Adrian confess his feelings. Mentally she was a mess, her thoughts running in wild loops and circles.
She had no idea why she’d trusted him that day in the Two Owls inn.
Respectable, sensible Gwen would never have dreamed of getting into a carriage with a strange man.
Now that he’d said it, though, she realized that was why: he hadn’t felt like a stranger.
He never had. That night in the Kittridges’ spare room, he’d felt achingly familiar and dear to her.
In the cold light of day—literally—her behavior seemed mortifying.
She’d tried to think why she did it, and had considered in turn the gooseberry wine, the strain and difficulty of the journey, and the fact that she’d lost her post and felt a bit mad.
All those had been discarded. Deep down, she knew she’d turned into his arms and welcomed his kiss…
and more… because she’d felt an instant attraction and connection to this kind, handsome gentleman with the faintly impish smile.
Even today, when she’d felt awkward and unprepared to face him, they had instantly fallen into easy conversation. French hedgehogs, indeed. Just the thought of it made her lips curve. “What have you come to offer, in the way of more?” she asked, trying to force her scrambled thoughts into order.