Chapter Twelve
Lisbeth smiled as she watched Jeremy and Alice race around the gardens of the ducal townhouse. It was good to be home. Their governess, Miss Ashby, insisted they’d not grown much since her departure, but she wasn’t sure she believed her.
Alice skipped around the fountain. She was eleven years old. Time flew. Soon, she would have her first season. Lisbeth frowned at her thoughts. She and Nicholas had discussed at great length that they would make Alice wait longer than other ladies to find a husband.
They’d even talked about taking her on a grand tour first. Lisbeth gulped, sadness flowing through her that Nicholas wouldn’t be part of that. She studied her daughter, who, according to all of London, bore a striking resemblance to her father. Lisbeth was grateful the world believed that.
Her mind flashed to Thomas, and guilt intermingled with the sadness flowing through her.
She’d desperately wanted to confess the truth while she was in Syria, but knew it wouldn’t do any good.
Now, though, she was filled with regret that she’d omitted something so important from him.
Alice was Thomas’s child. She’d been pregnant when she returned, not that she knew until after she and Nicholas had married.
She hadn’t lied when she told Thomas that she revealed everything to Nicholas.
Lisbeth, greatly distressed, had blurted it out to her husband of only a week.
She’d expected him to cast her out, but he hadn’t.
Instead, he explained that he’d lost someone he loved, too.
She was his mistress, Margaret, of fifteen years, and had died of a fever only a few months before.
In that one night, they formed a friendship that strengthened over time. He’d vowed to accept Alice as his own, and they’d agreed to try for an heir shortly after. Their lovemaking was more about fulfilling their duty than passion. Still, Lisbeth had grown to adore Nicholas.
They’d both promised that their children would never be forced to be with someone they didn’t choose. Nicholas had loved his Margaret until the very end. A sad memory sparked her mind.
*
Lisbeth smiled at Nicholas as she entered his study at the Lusby Country Estate. “Are you ready for our daily walk, husband?”
He groaned. “I was hoping it would rain.”
She laughed. “No such luck. You will have to explore the fields with me.”
Over the last few years, they’d begun to search the grounds for any artifacts from the past. They’d found a few things here and there. Lisbeth had a whole room filled with antiquities from around the world. One section was a case with only items they’d discovered on the grounds of the ducal estate.
“We will have to see what we can add to your collection,” he mused.
Nicholas stood and walked towards her but stopped midway.
He grasped his chest. Recently, their doctor had been to see him frequently because of fainting spells.
They suspected it was his heart but hadn’t been overly concerned.
Alarm filled her that they’d been wrong. “Nicholas, what is the matter?”
He shook his head and collapsed. Lisbeth rushed to him, rolling him onto his back. His eyes were unfocused, and she hollered, “Send for the doctor.”
His state filled her with fear, but shocking her, he smiled and reached up to stroke her cheek. “Be happy.”
Tears dripped down her cheeks. “Please don’t leave us.”
Nicholas closed his eyes, smiling slightly, and murmured, “Margaret, my love.”
Lisbeth screamed for the doctor again.
*
She wiped at her watery eyes, hating that she was remembering such a tragic time.
It gave her peace to know that his last thought was one of happiness and his lost love.
Nicholas had once suggested that she write to Thomas and tell him the truth, but she’d been terrified at the thought.
Thomas would hate her. She knew it. Did that make her a coward?
Thomas’s mother knew, and that secret also hung over her head.
Lisbeth had run into Louise Easton during an outing once, and the woman had taken one look at Alice and instantly recognized her familial connection to her and Thomas.
She’d called on Lisbeth, asking to know her granddaughter.
Lisbeth had been apprehensive to agree. It was Nicholas who encouraged it.
Over time, Louise became a close family friend who doted on both Alice and Jeremy.
She shook her head, regretful that she hadn’t told Thomas the whole truth. She’d been a coward. Lisbeth wondered if she should write to him. She would speak with Louise about it. Lisbeth was yanked from her thoughts when Rose Calvert rushed down her terrace steps into the garden.
She appeared worried and also very duchess-like. She wore an elegant emerald gown, and a lady’s maid had somehow secured her unruly hair into a sleek bun. Thomas had told the truth. Rose had married the Duke of Sinclair in Syria only a week before Lisbeth’s arrival.
Grinning, she stood and curtsied, loving that it would annoy her friend. Rose sighed. “Don’t do that. I am being curtsied to death. How do you tolerate so much bowing? I detest it.”
Lisbeth laughed and hugged her friend. “It is good to see you, and congratulations to you and Sinclair. You are perfectly suited.”
Rose snorted. “We love each other. Still, mismatched, but we’ve both decided we don’t care as long as we have each other.”
Seeing her friend in such a blissful state was an incredible sight. However, Rose frowned at her intently. It seemed as if she was examining her for something. Lisbeth lifted a brow.
“How was it with Thomas? He wasn’t too difficult, was he? I honestly didn’t believe Lord Harston would provide us with the map so soon.”
It was heaven and heartbreak all over again, Lisbeth thought, but she only smiled reassuringly at Rose. “It was fine. There were some uncomfortable parts, but I think we both found closure.”
Rose seemed skeptical, but Lisbeth squeezed one of her hands. “Truly.”
“Your missive said you have the tablets,” Rose said, her voice filled with excitement.
Lisbeth nodded. “They’d been delivered to the research room at Seely House.”
Her friend clasped her hands together. “I can’t believe we have the entire epic.”
“I think this should cement our place at the Great Exhibition.”
“Agreed,” Rose said, and they both grinned at each other.
It was nice to distract herself from what her next steps with Thomas should be.
She had the urge to confess her secrets to Rose, but held back.
Thomas was also one of Rose’s closest friends.
She didn’t want her in the middle. She would eventually need to decide whether to tell Thomas about Alice.
No, she would tell him, she decided. She just needed to find the right words.
“Rose!” Alice said, excited to see her. Lisbeth’s daughter adored her scholarly friend.
*
Thomas sat in one of the saloons of the SS Dipper. The ocean, luckily, had been relatively calm during the trip. The ship’s previous stop had been at Malaga. They’d spent two days there so the captain could resupply.
This wasn’t the nicest vessel Thomas had been on, but it wasn’t the worst. All ships seemed to be undergoing changes of late, marketing to those wanting to take a grand tour.
It was a booming business. Benjamin had even proposed to Rose’s club that they might offer to host a few ladies at their excavation site.
Both Benjamin and Rose would be surprised to see him in London. He’d sworn he would never visit the blasted city, but he was days away from doing so. It was all for Lisbeth.
“Are you playing?” Jacob Matthison questioned.
He shook his head. Thomas was playing cards with the man to ease the boredom. Matthison was an engineer of some type. He was returning to work on a building for the Great Exhibition after spending three years in Syria working on wells.
The engineer sighed and tossed his cards down on the table. “We’ve played three days in a row. I can tell when the game isn’t holding your interest. I think we can pass for today.”
Thomas took a sip of his brandy and smiled. “We could sit here and talk.”
Matthison leaned back in his chair. “Are you ready to be in London? I imagine your admirers will be seeking you out.”
He snorted, not believing him. Matthison’s eyes widened. “I don’t think you understand how famous you are.”
“I receive letters, but I doubt it is at the level you are suggesting.”
His card partner chuckled. “I both envy and feel sorry for you. Ladies will throw themselves at you, but you may not be able to escape them. I imagine some of them may be intense.”
His mind flashed to the letters he received.
Most were polite, some flowery, but there were a few that made him uncomfortable.
Written by ladies who thought they had some type of ownership of him.
It didn’t frighten him. They were, after all, young women who wrote to him from afar, but a few he’d found peculiar.
A chuckle escaped Matthison. “I think you are regretting your choice to return to London.”
He shook his head. “Not at all, but I’m not interested in getting to know my admirers.”
“Ah…there is a woman.”
Thomas didn’t deny it. He was returning to London for Lisbeth. He didn’t know what would happen or what that meant, but he was tired of being the Majnun. It was time to go home and claim what was his. A vision of Lisbeth kissing him in Latakia flashed in his mind.
Matthison sighed. “I think I will go enjoy a cigar. You are not your normal talkative self.”
Thomas laughed and stood. “Shall we play tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
He strolled back to his room and pulled out the last stack of letters he had received from his admirers before departing Syria.
Would it really be a big deal to London society that he was returning?
It seemed so far-fetched. He pulled an envelope with hand-drawn flowers from the pile.
It emanated the same distinctive floral scent that was only associated with one admirer.
Thomas wrinkled his nose, wondering how much perfume the woman put on her envelopes that the scent always lingered after its journey from England.
He unfolded the letter and read, the hairs standing up on the back of his arms.
Dear Thomas,
I read about your recent find in northern Syria. I can’t wait until it is exhibited somewhere in London. Even though it wasn’t mentioned in the newspaper, I suspect it was a gift for me. Am I correct?
While I love all your thoughtful mementos, I yearn for your return so we can be together. I can’t wait to read in the papers that Thomas Easton has returned to London, because then we can get married.
I know you’re a man and have needs, but I hate hearing about your conquests. That will have to end when you return, or I shall end it for you. You belong to me.
Your ever-patient love,
C
Thomas shook his head and tore the letter up. C was the only admirer who caused alarm. Some writers were more suggestive or romantic, but this author seemed to imply that they were together. He didn’t always read her letters, but whenever he did, they filled him with concern.
He sighed, hoping that Matthison was wrong and his return wouldn’t be a big deal. He had no interest in his admirers, especially C.