Andrea Kane (28 page)

And there was her mother. It was September. Perhaps Constance Cassel was in London right now, having returned for the Little Season. If enough of her friends had come here directly from Brighton it was probable that she was here as well. Alex hoped not. She was not ready to face her mother’s anger and disappointment. Perhaps in a day or two …

“Cap’n! ’ome at last!” Cochran’s announcement rang out across the ship and was met with cheers of elation from the crew.

On the quarterdeck Drake smiled, though his eyes were troubled, and called back, “Tie down the ship, then away with all of you and enjoy yourselves! But don’t be surprised when you miss the feel of a rolling deck beneath your feet.”

A lot of good-natured teasing ensued, during which time Drake pulled Smitty aside.

“Go into town and see Madame DuPres, Samantha’s
modiste.
She is talented and discreet. Tell her that we need a gown and accessories now, today. Explain that I will bring my new wife in to order a whole new wardrobe in the next week or two. That should ensure her instant cooperation.”

Smitty flushed, unused to acquiring ladies’ fashions. “And what will you do during my absence, Captain? Might I suggest mentioning your identity to your wife? That seems to have slipped your mind during the weeks of our voyage.”

Drake scowled. “I intend to, Smitty. First I’m going to arrange for a bath for Alexandria. Then I’ll walk over to the office of our shipping company to find out what has transpired since we left England. When I return to the ship, I will discuss the situation with my wife. Is that satisfactory?”

Smitty nodded, anticipating Lady Alexandria’s reaction to the shocking revelation. “I do not relish the thought of sharing your carriage on the journey home.”

“Then walk.” Drake strode off, in no mood to be goaded. During the weeks at sea he had refused to think about the confrontation to come, but now he had run out of time.

He ordered a tub of hot water for Alex, then headed to their cabin to speak with her. Outside the closed door he paused, absently stroking his beard. He had to tell her.

At the sound of his entrance, she turned from the porthole and smiled her welcome. “We are here.”

He noticed that she didn’t use the word “home.” Studying her face, he saw the strain there, knew that she was as uneasy about their arrival as he was. Well, by telling her the truth, he could eliminate many of her concerns. But he would also create many more serious ones.

“Yes, princess, we’re here.” He didn’t smile. “I have arranged for your bath, and Smitty has gone into town to purchase some appropriate clothing for you.”

“Thank you.” Alex was touched. “That was very thoughtful.” She hesitated. “Where are we going?”

He gave her a measured look. “To my family’s home,” he replied at last. “At least for now.” Another pause. “Alexandria, I have a great deal to discuss with you. I am sure you have many questions as well.” At her nod he continued. “I am going ashore to arrange for a carriage to take us home.” The final word tasted bitter on his tongue. “After which I will return and we will talk.” He opened the door again, without waiting for an answer. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Drake left the ship and made his way along the crowded docks to the warehouse labeled “Barrett Shipping.” He walked through a narrow entranceway adjacent to the wide wooden cargo doors and went directly into the office.

A stout gray-haired man looked up from the desk and blinked. “Yes? May I help you?”

Drake broke into a broad grin. “Come now, John. I haven’t been gone long enough for you to forget me.”

John Rother, the overseer at the warehouse, bolted to his feet and gaped. “Lord Cairnham? Is that you?”

“Beard and all, John.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but we all thought … that is, we received word that …”

“That I was dead?” Drake supplied calmly.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Well, as you can see, I am very much alive.”

“But your ship … ?”

Drake’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunately,
La Belle Illusion
is lost to us. I will begin plans for her replacement immediately.”

“Of course, my lord.” Rother was still staring, stunned both by Drake’s existence and by his disheveled appearance.

Drake chuckled at the disbelief clearly written on Rother’s face. “I need a carriage to take us to Allonshire.” He knew that by “us” Rother would assume he meant himself and Smitty.” Which was fine. He had no intention of discussing his personal life with those in his employ. But Rother was shaking his head frantically.

“My lord, there is something that you do not know—” He broke off, wiping his damp forehead with the back of his hand.

Drake felt a twinge of fear. “What is it?”

“It is your father, my lord. He is quite ill.”

“How ill?” Drake demanded.

Rother dropped his eyes. “We have been told that he is dying, my lord.”

“Dying …” Drake repeated the word, denying it to himself even as he said it.

“He has been deteriorating rapidly,” Rother rushed on, anxious to be done with it. “I have received no word for days now, so I don’t know precisely what his condition—”

“Have that carriage brought around immediately,” Drake broke in, heading for the door. Business could wait; he was needed at Allonshire.

“It shall be done at once, my lord,” Rother assured him.

Drake and Smitty arrived back at the ship at the exact same moment. The worry in Smitty’s eyes told Drake that he knew.

“Madame DuPres told me,” Smitty answered his unasked question. He extended a package to Drake. “Under the circumstances she was very kind about hurriedly gathering together some necessary garments for Lady Alexandria. She told me to assure you that the wardrobe she designs for her ladyship will cause her to outshine all of London.”

Drake took the carefully packaged articles of clothing. “The carriage should be here at any moment. I will get Alexandria.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Alex was drying her hair when Drake exploded into the cabin. She started.

“Drake? What is it?”

He tossed the parcel onto the bed. “Dress quickly. We must go.”

Alex had never seen her husband so unsettled. He looked positively gray.

“Drake?” She dropped the towel, her damp tresses forgotten. “Please tell me.”

His tormented gaze met her caring one.

“My father is dying. We must go to him at once.”

“Oh, Drake.” She walked over and placed her hand on his arm, feeling his fear and his pain. “I’m so sorry. Of course … I’ll be dressed in a minute.”

Her tenderness was like a soothing balm for his raw emotions. “Thank you.” The words were said simply, humbly, but with a wealth of meaning that even he didn’t fully comprehend. “I’ll wait for you topside.” He stood a moment longer, watching as his wife tore open the parcel and began to don the flowing gown. It was a willow green muslin of the latest style, but Alex wasn’t even seeing it in her haste to get ready. She was nothing like any woman he had ever known, possessing none of their shallowness. And she was his. She would remain so.

He left, softly closing the door behind him. The future had lost no time in finding them.

The carriage ride was silent. Several times Alex glanced at Smitty, a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue. Apparently he was a close friend of the family’s, for he was traveling with Drake to Mr. Barrett’s side. That warmed her heart. It was just like Smitty to be there for Drake.

Drake was staring out the window with unseeing eyes. Alex sensed his distress, and yet she felt helpless to relieve it. She only prayed that the reports of Mr. Barrett’s condition had been exaggerated and that they would arrive home to find him improved.

She knew their destination was Berkshire. She had learned that from Smitty at the onset of their ride, his information imparted in a clipped tone. She forgave him his shortness of temper and chose to remain silent for the duration of the ride. The trip was not a long one, as Berkshire was not far west of London, with the Thames forming much of its northern boundary.

In spite of herself Alex was curious. At last she would meet Drake’s family.

The carriage veered sharply to the left and passed through formidable iron gates. Alex frowned. That was odd. She peered out the carriage window and saw acres of plush green grass, exquisite flower gardens, and endless rows of towering shade trees. She sat up taller, squinting into the distance, aware of Smitty’s odd expression as he watched her reaction.

And suddenly it dawned on her. An estate of such grandeur would have any number of tenants who lived and worked here. Drake probably came from one of those families. She considered this new possibility. No doubt they lived in a small, cramped cottage devoid of luxuries. Her heart reached out to her proud husband. No wonder he was so uneasy about bringing her here. He thought she would scorn his way of life, look down upon his meager income. Well, she would show him otherwise. She would work right by his side, doing whatever a tenant’s wife was supposed to do, and…

“Allonshire.” It was the first word Drake had uttered since they left the docks. Alex looked over at him and followed his gaze.

“Oh, Lord …” she breathed, transfixed by what her unbelieving eyes were seeing.

Just ahead of them and to the right was the most awesome structure Alex had ever beheld. It was a Gothic mansion, each turret soaring higher and higher into the sky, a breathtaking fantasy of endless size.

The mansion sprawled as far as Alex could see, so she had no idea where the tenants’ homes might be located. Far in the background rose the chapel’s steeple, which marked the mansion’s end. Alex could not begin to imagine how many hundreds of rooms Allonshire contained.

To her complete confusion the carriage pulled up directly in front of the wide stone steps leading to the front doors, then stopped. Bewildered, she looked from Smitty to Drake for an explanation.

Drake seemed to come back to the present with a start. Wasn’t it ironic that everything was converging into one horrible moment of truth? He gave a humorless laugh and reached for Alex’s hand.

“Come, wife,” he told her. “The moment of realization has arrived.”

Blindly she followed him up the steps, staring in astonishment as he flung open the front door and ushered her in. A flustered uniformed butler hurried toward the entranceway.

“I beg your pardon,” he began, and Alex wanted to weep with pity for her poor husband, “but all deliveries are to be made—”

“I’m flattered by your assessment of my appearance, Humphreys,” Drake interrupted, eyeing the servant, who was now as white as a ghost.

“My God,” he breathed, staring at Drake’s bearded face.

“Not unless I’ve been granted a new title during my absence.”

“My lord? Is it really you? We heard that—”

“Hello, Humphreys,” Smitty interrupted, following Drake into the house.

“My lord?” Alex echoed slowly.

“How is my father?” Drake demanded, ignoring Alex’s puzzlement.

Humphreys shook his head. “His grace is slipping away, my lord. You came home just in time …” His voice trailed off.

Drake headed for the curved marble stairway, dragging Alex along with him. “Where are Sebastian and Samantha?” he called back.

“Lord Sebastian is in London on business, and Lady Samantha is out riding, my lord. She hasn’t been the same since we received word of your death.”

“Find her. Tell her I’m here … with my wife.”

“Wife, my lord?” For the first time Humphreys focused on the white-faced young woman who was being dragged along in Drake’s wake.

“Yes, Humphreys, wife.” They had reached the second-floor landing. “You will meet Lady Cairnham after I have seen my father. Smitty can tell you whatever you need to know.” He and Alex disappeared from view.

Alex’s feet were moving automatically, her gaze unfocused. Drake paused before a set of closed doors.

Alex stood, paralyzed, and stared up at Drake, her eyes, her voice, those of a stranger.

“My
lord?”

T
HE ROOM WAS CAST
in shadows, the drapes drawn. The only source of light was the fire that burned low in the stone fireplace,

Alex blinked, trying to accustom her eyes to the near-darkness. Her mind was numb, her body moving instinctively as her husband impatiently pulled her along. He stopped abruptly and released her hand. Alex could make out the curtained outline of a heavy wooden bed, but no movement came from within. Alex was beginning to believe the room to be unoccupied when a weak, gravelly voice reached her ears.

“Who is it?”

Alex could feel Drake tense, heard him swallow deeply before he spoke.

“Hello, Father.”

There was a quick movement, a harsh intake of breath, and then a pained, “Drake?”

“Yes, Father, it’s Drake.”

“Come to me.” Weak, but a command.

Drake obeyed. He pushed the curtain back and leaned over his father.

For a moment there was silence; then Alex heard Grayson whisper, “Am I dead, then?”

Drake stood up abruptly, strode across the room, and tore open the heavy draperies that kept out the September sun. Blazing light filled the room, illuminating everything with perfect clarity.

“No, Father, you are not dead, and neither am I. Look at me; I am very much alive, and I’m home.”

Another silence. Then a very soft “My son …”

Alex looked at Grayson Barrett and smothered a gasp. The face of the man beneath the layers of bedcovers was chalk white, his skin drawn. He was obviously a big man, but he looked lifeless and frail, his pale blue eyes vague and unfocused.

She glanced over at her husband, who was apparently sharing her horrified reaction to his father’s depleted condition. Drake looked ill.

“Closer.” The quavering word sounded so pathetic that Alex wanted to weep.

Drake complied, returning to stand beside his father’s deathbed.

Grayson stared at him for a long moment. “God has granted my last wish by sending you home safe.” He struggled for breath, then continued, “I haven’t much time or strength left. But before I go, I need to know that you will do what you must, what is your duty. You do understand?”