Chapter Thirty-Three #3
A seat had been placed near one corner, fashioned from a single block of wood that looked as if it had sprouted from the ground.
And beside the seat, set in the corner, was a statue, fashioned from white marble into the shape of an angel.
Her head tilted downward, she gazed at the ground, a serene smile on her lips.
Charles’s heart gave a jolt as he stared at the angel’s face. Then he blinked and shook his head. It was just the memory that had rendered him a little senseless, but he could have sworn the statue bore a resemblance to his mother.
“The statue was Lady Devereaux’s idea,” Baxter said. “She planted most of the herbs herself.”
Charles raised his eyebrows.
“Aye, she did,” Carlton said. “There was no stopping her, sir. She was most insistent. She may be a quiet little thing, but when she’s set her mind on something, well… Who am I to refuse a determined woman? Planned this all herself, she did.”
And paid for it, most likely, having sold a substantial portion of her annuity.
Bloody hell.
Never had Charles felt so ashamed. Even though he’d feared only for a heartbeat that she was spending her money on frivolities, that heartbeat was enough to confirm that he was the very worst of blackguards, and she the most unfortunate of women to have been saddled with him for a husband.
Where is she?
Baxter frowned, and Charles gestured about the garden.
“Ah.” Carlton nodded. “I’ve no idea where Lady Devereaux is. Perhaps she’s returned to the house?”
“She was with me earlier,” Baxter said. “She looked a little unwell, but insisted on staying outside. I believe she may be somewhere near the stables—to see to your other gift.”
What other gift?
“Oh lorks, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I take it you’ve no knowledge of—”
“Perhaps Lord Devereaux should go and see for himself, Mr. Baxter” Carlton interrupted. “We can discuss the settlement of your account now the garden’s almost finished.”
The gardener nodded, and the two men slipped through a gap in the hedge, leaving Charles in the herb garden, a garden that was almost an exact replica of the one he’d recalled from his childhood—the one thing that had brought light to his mother’s life in the months leading to her demise.
Bloody hell, what the devil am I going to say to her? I’ve been a complete and utter arse.
Thrusting his hands in his jacket pockets, Charles made his way to the stables in search of his wife.
As he approached, he caught sight of the brown faces of the three of the coach horses in the nearest building.
The fourth stood patiently in the stable yard while a young boy groomed the animal’s flank with a long, sweeping motion.
The boy let out a squeak as he spotted Charles and dropped the brush.
“L-Lord Devereaux, beg pardon.”
For what? For daring to taint his master with his presence? Devil’s breeches, the boy looked positively terrified.
Am I such an ogre that small boys and maidservants flee from me in terror?
Yes, he was, for his wife had fled from him.
He forced a smile, and the stable boy returned it.
“Come to see your horse, your lordship? He’s as fine a beast as I ever saw. He’s in the building yonder.”
My horse?
The boy pointed toward the stable block at the far end of the courtyard. Charles nodded in acknowledgment and approached the building. Then he paused as he heard voices.
“You must tell him, Olivia. He won’t be as angry as you think.”
“I-I can’t, Jacob. At least not yet. Nicola said…”
“Nicola can go to the devil. She had no right to suggest such a thing. I trust you didn’t—”
“No, I didn’t! What do you take me for?”
“So you want—”
“Of course I do! But does my husband?”
“He’s a damned fool if he doesn’t.”
“What about you, Jacob, your hopes and expectations?”
Charles rounded a corner to see his wife—and Jacob, who had her by the shoulders.
“Good God, woman,” Jacob said, “you think I care for that? Are you such a simpleton that you believe—”
He broke off as Charles marched forward, grasped him by the lapels, and pulled him back.
“Brother, I-I… I mean—it’s not what it looks like,” Jacob stammered, but Charles rammed his fist into his brother’s gut. Jacob bent over, coughing, and Charles advanced on him again. Jacob raised his hands. “Stop, please!”
Charles slammed his fist into his palm and gestured in quick, angry movements.
How dare you put your hands on my wife!
“I-I wasn’t… We weren’t…” Jacob shook his head. “Surely you don’t think your wife would…”
Of course not. I trust her completely. But you…
“I-I don’t understand…” Jacob coughed, and Charles grasped him by the lapels.
“Charles!” Olivia cried.
Charles turned to her, his heart aching at the distress in her eyes. He took her hands and drew her close, stroking her hair. Then he released her and gestured slowly.
Did he hurt you?
She frowned, watching his hands. “We were only talking. Surely you don’t think I would…”
No. I know you are incapable of wrongdoing. My only concern is whether you’ve come to harm at my brother’s hands.
Her eyes shone with tears. “I-I’m sorry. I’m learning—Mrs. Brougham has been teaching me—but you’re moving your hands too quickly.”
“I think my brother is saying that you’re the last woman who’d break faith with anyone,” Jacob said. “At least, I bloody well hope so.” He drew in a sharp breath and winced. “Fuck—you’ve a bastard of a left hook, brother.”
“Then why…” Olivia began.
Jacob let out a laugh that turned into another cough. “Why did he punch me to the ground? Because, like all men in love, he wishes to protect you from those he believes are placing you in danger.”
Olivia turned her gaze to Charles. Her eyes, at first, showed only confusion. Then, as the two of them continued to stare at each other, he caught a flicker of hope in them.
“Is that what you said, Charles?”
He glanced at his brother. Damn it—must he have an audience when revealing his heart?
At length, he raised his hands and moved them in a slow, deliberate gesture.
Yes.
“Jacob’s your brother,” she said, “and as such, I see him as my brother also—like Montague, but perhaps with a greater inclination to smile. Besides, he’s in love with Nicola, are you not, Jacob?”
Jacob’s jaw bulged as if he were gritting his teeth.
“He’s been helping me tend to…” She turned toward the far stall. “W-would you like to see?”
She offered her hand. For a moment, Charles stared at it.
How could she offer her hand, and her trust, to someone so unworthy?
But it was not a gift to be denied. Gladly he took it, his blood warming with desire as she entwined her little fingers with his and ran her fingertips over his signet ring.
She led him into the building, and he inhaled deeply, relishing the soft, warm scent of hay and horse. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he caught sight of the silhouette of a horse, ears pricked up as if in recognition.
Sweet heaven…
Surely his eyes deceived him!
He approached the stall, blinking to dispel the image, but it solidified the closer he moved to the horse that stood patiently, waiting to be reunited with his master.
Destriero.
My Destriero.
His wife approached the horse, and Charles shook his head. Destriero, wary of strangers, had a wild streak. But she merely smiled.
“It’s all right, Charles. Destriero and I have been getting acquainted, haven’t we, darling boy?
” She reached up, then placed her hand on Destriero’s nose.
The animal nodded his head up and down, and she giggled.
“Are you wanting an apple? You’re in luck, for I’ve procured one from the pantry.
Best not to tell Mrs. Groves, though, or she’ll give me such a scolding.
” She stroked the horse’s nose. “We’re friends already, aren’t we, my sweetheart?
But I suspect I’m not your best friend. That position lies with another, does it not? ”
She turned her clear honey gaze to Charles, and his heart almost broke at the expression in her eyes, as if she were pleading for his approval.
He stepped forward, and the horse nickered softly. Charles placed his hand on the animal’s flank and leaned against it, relishing the soft warmth and familiar scent of the horse that had been the only living thing he truly loved.
Until now.
He closed his eyes, and the horse shifted position, leaning toward him.
Yes, my boy. You are home—brought to me by an angel.
“Shall I return to the house and give you some space—time to reunite with your horse?” Olivia said, stepping back. “Perhaps you’d like to take him for a ride.”
She turned to leave, and Charles caught her sleeve, then gestured, slowly.
No. Stay.
She studied his hands, then rewarded him with a smile. “Very well. Let me first give Destriero a treat. I fear I’ve been spoiling him since he arrived. He’s such a beautiful horse.”
She made a soft crooning sound, and the horse whinnied in response while she retrieved an apple from her pocket and held it out, palm upward. She giggled as the horse’s lips brushed over her hand while he plucked the apple and munched it.
Charles watched his wife, his heart almost melting at the pure joy in her eyes.
Jacob limped toward him, then pulled him close and whispered in his ear.
“I have never envied you as much as I do now, brother. Not for your title—I care nothing for that—but because you’ve found yourself that rare thing. A good woman—no, the best of women.”
I know.
“Then bloody well tell her.”
How?
“Very well then—show her.” Jacob grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I wouldn’t recommend beating into a pulp every man who lays a hand on her. A woman rarely appreciates such a primitive act—outside the bedchamber, at least.”
He winked, then held out his hand. Charles took it, then returned to the stall, where his wife was stroking Destriero’s nose. He offered his arm, and with a smile she took it. Then he led her back toward the house.