Chapter Sixteen
Duncan sorted through the correspondence in the basket on his desk.
Nothing. Again. He threw himself back into his chair and scrubbed his face with both hands.
When Merry had said she would be staying with her sister to help with the new bairn, he hadn’t realized she’d be traveling to the Lake District.
And now here she’d been gone over a fortnight and only sent one letter to let him know she had arrived safely.
“Barclay!” His bellow echoed through the townhouse. “Barclay!”
The harried butler slid to a stop in front of the open doorway of the office. “Yes, my lord?”
“This is all the correspondence? Nothing else has come from the post?”
“That is everything that has arrived thus far, my lord. Should anything else come, I shall notify you immediately, as you requested.” The man stood there, hands clenched, patiently waiting.
Unleashing a frustrated growl, Duncan swept everything off his desk. Papers flew into the air, and everything else clattered to the floor.
The butler rushed to clean it up, but Duncan stopped him. “Leave it! Leave me.”
Barclay backed away with a sympathetic nod, then slipped out into the hallway, his steps echoing in the empty tomb that the place had become ever since Merry left.
With a hard shove, Duncan pushed up from his chair and went to the window, leaning against it with his forehead propped on his forearm.
He glared at his neighbors strolling along the sidewalk in front of his home, enjoying the balmy spring day.
As far as he was concerned, the day couldn’t be any darker.
His sunshine had gone to the Lake District.
“Was that ye bellowing like a great beast?” his mother asked from the doorway.
“Go away.”
“I’ll not.” The impatient tapping of her toe on the wood floor grated on his already raw nerves. “What ails ye, or is it the same thing that’s ailed ye for the past two weeks?”
“It has been longer than two weeks. It is nigh on three.”
“I see.”
“What the feckin’ hell does that mean?”
“Dinna use that language with yer mother. Ye know better.” She swept into the room and clicked her tongue like a ticking clock. “Had a wee tantrum here, did we?”
He turned from the window, raging loneliness burning through him. “She promised she would return.”
“It has only been two weeks, son. This is her sister’s first child. She’s probably more than a little grateful for Merry’s company.”
He thumped his chest. “I need her company.”
“Why?” His mother toed her way through the mess on the floor and drew closer. “So ye can behave like a cowardly arse and wallow in the misery ye created for yerself and her?”
“That is not fair.”
“Nor is it fair how ye deceived the lass.” Mother clicked her tongue again.
“Stop making that infernal noise.”
She blew out a heavy sigh. “If ye had been honest with her about not having children—”
“She never would have married me.”
“Ye dinna know that.”
He snorted. “Aye, I do.”
“So ye intend to spend the rest of yer days living only half a life while waiting for it to end?”
“Ye sound like her.”
“Ye married a wise woman. Ye should listen to her.” She drew closer still, her black skirts rustling like an insistent whisper that he should heed her words. “I know why ye feel the way ye do, but sometimes, we must do that which we fear the most to set ourselves free.”
“But what if she dies?”
Mother slowly shook her head. “I canna answer that, son. No one can. But the question ye should ask yerself is, ‘What if she lives?’”
“I canna bear the emptiness of this house without her. Not another day.” He kicked aside papers and inkwells, roaming back and forth between his desk and the window like a caged animal.
Then he halted and thumped the back of his chair with his fist. “I am going to the Lake District. To fetch her. She promised to return.”
“Dinna be a fool; she is helping her sister with the bairn. ’Tis the only way she can ease her loss of never holding her own wee one in her arms.”
“That is not fair.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps not. But it is true.”
“I am still going.”
Throwing her hands in the air, his mother surrendered. “Do as ye will. Ye are going to anyway. ’Tis how ye created this kerfuffle.”
Duncan stepped over the mess, shot out the door, and loped up the stairs. He burst into his chambers, startling his valet. “Pack me a bag. I leave at once.”
Mr. Brown set aside the boots he was polishing and hurried to obey. “How many days, my lord?”
“Naught but a few. Pack light. I’ll nay be taking a carriage.” Spartan had the stamina and endurance to get him to the Lake District much faster than a cumbersome coach and a team. Weather and the Almighty willing, he would see his Merry within days.
*
Weary and gritty from traveling with as few stops as possible, Duncan studied the gently rolling land.
The insistent caress of warmer days had awakened the subtle greening of new life.
Stately manor houses and the rich, loamy soil of the surrounding fields turned and readied for the spring planting were as sure a sign as any that his destination was near.
He was well into the heart of the Lake District.
“Ye’ve done well, lad,” he told his horse. “’Tis but a bit farther to Binnocksbourne. We’ve made record time, old friend.”
With a happy snort, Spartan trotted along with his neck arched and broad chest thrown out, proudly prancing. The great black beast appeared to love the countryside as much as Duncan.
Up ahead on the narrow roadway, an older man of the land, a tenant farmer, drove a cart loaded with bulging cloth sacks.
Duncan drew up even with it and tipped his hat.
“Good morning to ye, good sir. How much farther to the village of Binnocksbourne?” While he and Malcolm had been there before, they had approached from the north rather than the south.
It never hurt to ask to be sure. Especially since he had yet to pass Broadmere Hall, which he knew was to the south of the village.
The farmer pointed straight ahead, his weathered face glistening with sweat and a day’s worth of silvery whiskers as he squinted in that direction. “About half a day’s ride, my lord. This road takes you to the heart of it.”
“Thank ye, sir.” Duncan tipped his hat again and nudged Spartan to continue on and take the lead.
He would secure a room at the inn, wash away the grime of travel, then ask directions to Wakefield Manor, Lord and Lady Wakefield’s home.
Over the past few days on the road, he’d had time to mull over this spur-of-the-moment intention of ensuring that Merry did, in fact, return to him.
If he didn’t handle this properly, he risked driving another wedge into this terrible rift between them.
She already thought him a coward, and it shamed him to admit that she was right.
The thought of losing her still terrified him, but what he had done to them, what he had turned their lives into, was almost as terrible.
As much as he hated to admit it, his mother and his stubborn wife were right.
He needed to find the courage to live. But could he?
His arse clenched at the very thought of it.
“I need an excuse,” he said to Spartan as they passed Broadmere Hall, where he and his sweet Merry had shared their first dance. But whatever that excuse was, it had to be the truth. Never again would he make the mistake of attempting to pass off something that wasn’t so.
As he rode into the village, Mettlestone’s Shop caught his eye.
A gift. He could find a present for the wee one and deliver it in person.
But was the child a lad or a lassie? He frowned, trying to remember if Merry had mentioned it in her letter.
As near as he could recall, she had only said, baby.
Perhaps the shopkeepers would know. Usually, in small villages, everything was known about everyone in the area.
He decided to stop there before going to the inn farther up the village square.
As soon as he walked through the door, making the bell jangle, an older woman who reminded him of a fine, plump hen descended on him.
“Good day…?” She paused, both her sparse eyebrows nearly disappearing behind the fringe of silvery curls framing her face.
“Lord Kirkston,” Duncan said to satisfy the gossip in her. “Lady Wakefield is my wife’s sister.”
“You are Lady Merry’s husband?” The matron clapped her hands with delight. “What a pleasure to meet you, my lord. We are most fond of Lady Merry. She is a true treasure.”
“Aye, that she is.”
“It is my understanding Lady Merry came to help with Lady Felicity’s new baby.” The nosy woman paused again, her eyebrows arching even higher.
Feckin’ hell, he might as well tell her, or he’d never find out whether the bairn was a boy or a girl.
“Aye, she came to help with the wee one, and since I’ve no appointments in London this week, I decided to visit.
But I canna arrive empty-handed. ’Twould be poor manners indeed not to bring the little one a gift. ”
“I have just the thing.” She hurried behind the counter and drew out a pristine white box that was about the same length as Duncan’s forearm. With a happy chortle, she removed the lid and revealed a delicate china doll with pale yellow hair dressed in a frothy white dress.
Duncan eyed the thing that, for the next few years, would do nothing but sit on a shelf and collect dust. “The child is naught but a babe. Have ye nothing else more suitable?”
“But this is the finest china, my lord. Note the details of the fingers, and see how she moves?” Her wheedling tone rose to a higher pitch as she shifted the doll’s arms and legs.
“And this is the first one I have ever seen with real leather slippers. It is truly a gem. A truly special gift the little miss will treasure.”