More than Passion (25 page)

“Well?” Leed prodded.

“I’m leaving for Kanewood this morning, Leed. I thought I mentioned that last evening.”

“Yes, but you seemed ….”

“Resigned?” Geoffrey offered. “Yes,” he agreed, a frown creasing his brow. “I’m worried about Becca. I hope to God she’ll forgive me.”  His papers in hand, Geoffrey strode out of the study. The others followed him.

“Kane, we have some information about the carriage,” Chester said.

Geoffrey stopped and turned, his brow arched.

“It seems that Lady Brookdale is involved with a man,” Leed said.

“But her mourning period isn’t over,” Geoffrey said.

“They’ve been meeting in secret. Roberts was able to charm the information out of the lovely widow.”

“Who’s the man, Leed?”

“Your brother.”

Geoffrey stared at him. “There must be a mistake. John can be a bit of a bounder, but—”

“He’s been romancing her, Kane,” Chester added.

“I refuse to believe that John had anything to do with the accident, Chester.”

“We’re not certain that he did,” Chester allowed. “But we thought you’d wish to know.”

“Perhaps it’s doubly good you’re returning to Kanewood,” Leed said.

Geoffrey stiffened. “You don’t think Becca could be in any sort of danger there, do you?”

Chester shook his head. “We still believe you were the target.”

“But my own brother? No. Patricia is cold enough to chill a man’s bits, but I can scarcely believe he would take a mistress—”

“Kane, he betrayed you by sleeping with Patricia,” Leed interjected. “What’s to prevent him from taking a mistress?  Mistresses are as common as walking sticks among the ton.”

 “You have a point, Leed.” Geoffrey nodded resignedly. “But tell me he’s not involved with the fraudulent notes.”

“We haven’t found anything to link him to them.”

Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief. “That is something.”

“But that doesn’t mean he isn’t connected,” Leed was quick to add.

“I can’t think about this now. I’ll watch John carefully and get word to you if he reveals anything to me.”

The gentlemen agreed, promising in return to inform him of any further developments.

* * * *

Just past the noon hour, Becca’s carriage crossed into Scotland. After stopping for lunch, the driver informed her that they would arrive at Ravenwood in three hours’ time. Becca gasped as she heard the name of the McClair holding for the first time. There had to be a connection!

Soon a huge, hulking structure loomed ahead.

“There be Ravenwood, my lady,” the driver shouted.

Becca wrinkled her nose at the sight. It looked so dark and ominous. As they neared the building, however, Becca changed her initial opinion of the holding. Flowers covered the slope leading up to the gray stone walls. Green ivy trailed over the stones, softening the edges of the building. It wasn’t so terribly ugly up close.

The carriage rocked to a stop in front of the massive wooden entrance. After giving Mary instructions to stay with the driver, Becca alighted the carriage and slowly walked up to the door. The knocker was cold to the touch. She rapped on the door, sure the sound couldn’t possibly carry through the thick wood. Much to her surprise, the door was swiftly pulled open by a liveried servant.

“Yes, may we help you?” he asked with a light brogue.

“I ….” Why had she come here? She straightened her shoulders and steeled herself, her resolve strong. “I’d like to see Lady Charlotte if I may.”

“May I tell my lady who is calling?”

“Yes,” Becca answered. “Lady Kanewood.”

With a nod, the servant escorted her into the foyer. Becca stood, excitement mixing with her apprehension. The servant left her to walk down the hall, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. Becca took in her surroundings. Lady Charlotte had certainly done a fine job of warming the castle. The stone walls were painted creamy white, the color brightening the space. Tapestries in rose and blue added to the warmth.

The servant returned to lead her through opened glass-paned doors and into the parlor. It was huge, even by Kanewood’s standards. It had obviously been part of the great hall at one time, cleverly divided now into sitting areas to lend it a cozy feeling. Lady Charlotte’s head was bent, her focus intent on the needlework in her lap. The servant cleared his throat and spoke.

“Lady Kanewood,” he announced.

Lady Charlotte looked up and met Becca’s gaze. Becca forgot to breathe. It was like looking into a mirror, but for the eyes.

Lady Charlotte paled. She stood shakily and walked toward her. “My God. Is it truly you? Rebecca?”

Becca gasped. “M-mother?”

Releasing a loud sob, Lady Charlotte wrapped Becca up in her arms. She pulled back, running her gaze hungrily over her face. “I never thought I’d see you again, Rebecca.”

Becca blinked rapidly. “I don’t understand.”

“Come, dear.” Lady Charlotte led her over to the couch. “I’ll try to make this clear to you.”

The woman took a deep breath and began, visibly losing her tension as the words poured forth. “I was betrothed to Laird McClair, but that hadn’t stopped Thomas’s pursuit. The three of us … we were friends, of a sort. We were in London for the Season when McClair was called back to Scotland.” She began to wring her hands, then stopped the motion. “It seemed that thieves were having their way with the holding, killing the livestock and setting the barn ablaze. With McClair away, Thomas professed his love.”

“My father?” Becca asked.

“He was a romantic, then. I told him I loved McClair, but Thomas was insistent. I … admitted to having been intimate with him. Thomas had been shocked, but he seemed resigned to the fact that we could never be more than friends. But word reached London of a terrible accident at the holding and McClair was presumed dead.”

Becca could see the echoes of the hurt that revelation must have meant to her and her heart went out to her.

“Heartbroken fool that I was, I accepted Thomas’s offer of comfort and his attention. I soon learned I was expecting McClair’s child.” She smiled at Becca. “You. I believed no other recourse was open to me so I agreed to marry Thomas.”

“But,” Becca started, “that means my father ….”

“Yes, dear,” Lady Charlotte said gently. “Thomas Kingsley isn’t your father.”

Bitterness warred with the compassion she felt for Lady Charlotte. So many lies ….

“I was unable to keep you, Rebecca.”

“Why not?” she asked, her voice cracking a bit.

Lady Charlotte looked at her, tenderness in her blue eyes. “You see when you were nearly two years old, we came to London. While there, we learned that Laird McClair hadn’t been killed in Scotland. He’d been gravely injured and only just made his way back to town after recuperating in the country.”

“What had happened to him?” Becca asked, caught up in the story.

“His leg. He nearly lost it,” she answered. “Now, his limp is barely noticeable.”

“But what of me?”

She sighed deeply. “It seemed that another man was killed at the holding. Thomas was in possession of some damning evidence implicating McClair in the man’s death. If I didn’t stay with him, he …. He said he’d see McClair sent to the gallows.”

“No!”

Lady Charlotte took Becca’s hands in hers. “I tried to stay at Raven’s, Rebecca! I truly did. But I loved McClair. I couldn’t bear the thought of living without him.”

Becca nodded, knowing how strong such a love could be. That was precisely how she felt about Geoffrey. But to leave her child?

“What of your marriage to my—to Thomas? How could you legally wed Laird McClair?” Becca asked.

“We had the marriage quietly annulled.  No one knew about it except for us.” Becca nodded encouraging Lady Charlotte to continue with her story.

Lady Charlotte took a breath and continued, “But when it came time for us to leave—that was when Thomas refused to let me take you with me. I left for Scotland, for Ravenwood—alone. Thomas kept you with him. He refused to be left with nothing, he insisted. At the time, I felt as though my hands were tied. He held so much power over us. It was the hardest choice I had ever had to make.”

“But you never came back to see me,” Becca said, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice.

“I know, dear. And it tore at my heart to be set apart from you,” Lady Charlotte said sadly. “But Thomas had added one more nail to the coffin before I left. He said that if I ever returned to see you, he would expose McClair and myself as co-conspirators. He also said that from that point on, I was dead. To him and to everyone. And most importantly to you.  He would tell everyone that I had drowned in an accident while on a visit with distant relatives.”

Becca was in shock that Thomas could have been so cruel and vindictive.

“My last memory of you was the day I said good-bye to you,” Lady Charlotte added, her voice breaking.

Becca recalled that dusty memory she’d had in the attic. Had her mother told her farewell before leaving for good? “I think I remember when you left,” she said softly.

Her mother blinked, then she nodded. “I kissed your sweet face, dear. Stroked your silken hair before taking my leave.” She took a breath. “I think that was why Thomas wanted to keep you—he knew that he could hurt me forever because McClair could never cross over into England for fear of prosecution.”

Becca listened to her mother, tears in her eyes. All this suffering because of one man’s bitterness. But Thomas had loved Lady Charlotte at one time and his actions had stemmed from hurt.  Becca wondered again if he had grown to care about her.  She recalled how choked up he was at her wedding. Perhaps he did—in spite of himself.

“How I wanted one of the clansmen to kidnap you and bring you back home to us!” her mother continued. “But McClair said we couldn’t take that chance. Thomas had that evidence and would not hesitate to use it against us. He told me as much before I left. I have no doubt that if I ever tried to take you that he would have had McClair arrested. I knew he would never harm you. Please tell me he never hurt you.”

“He did not,” Becca said. “He … was always distant, but he cared about me in his own way, I suppose.” She wondered if perhaps in addition to hurting Lady Charlotte, he had needed, in some way to have a part of her there always—and the only way he was able to do that was to keep her child. Maybe one day, she would ask him. A part of her never wanted to see him again, but a part of her wanted to know why.

“I feared he would take his anger out on you. I cannot tell you the anguish I went through, leaving you there. I just prayed that you were all right. You grew up without a mother’s love and attention. How I wished I could have taken you with me! And yet—” She paused to smile. “And yet here you are, so beautiful and poised. I can scarcely believe you’re here.”

Becca sat for a moment, weighing all that her mother had said. Finally, she spoke. “This is a lot to contemplate. I … I think I’m beginning to understand.”

“Thank the Lord.  I won’t push you for more at present.” Her mother gave her a watery smile. “But I needed to know about you, honey. We needed to know that you were safe. Well-cared for. Every few months, your father would send someone to Raven’s.”

“Why?”

“To check on you.” She sniffed again. “To let us know a little bit about you.”

“I don’t remember seeing a Scotsman visiting that often.”

Her mother laughed lightly. “Oh, we never sent any clansmen. We didn’t dare let it be known among the clan. We didn’t want to risk Thomas finding out, either. But I was desperate for news of you, even given so dispassionately by one of your father’s investigators.”

Becca’s eyes stung and she blinked to keep from crying. “You did care about me.”

Her mother wrapped her arms around her. “Oh, honey. I love you!”

“Charlotte!” a masculine voice boomed from the back of the house.

Lady Charlotte leaned away and looked expectantly at Becca, a smile on her face. “In the parlor, dear.”

“Charlotte, what in the world …?”

A big man strolled through the doorway and froze, his brow wrinkled in confusion. He looked from one woman to the other, obviously stunned. Becca breathed in sharply as her gaze ran over Laird McClair. She saw a flash of red in his brown hair, but it was his eyes that caught her attention. They were the same emerald green as her own.

Laird McClair was the first to find his voice. “Can it be?” he asked in a pleasant brogue. “Is this the child?”

“Yes, dear,” Lady Charlotte answered, pulling Becca to her feet. “This is our Rebecca.”

With a loud whoop, he grabbed Becca in a bear hug and twirled her about the room. He set her back on her feet, resting his big hands on her shoulders. “Daughter,” he said, a smile on his face.

Lady Charlotte looked on, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a lace handkerchief as Becca sought to process all this new information.

A short while later, Lady Charlotte had Becca settled into her room and Mary sent to the servants’ quarters. It was a very pleasant space, decorated in much the same style as the main floor. No stone walls were evident here, however, as the castle was refitted with wood and plaster walls. The room was painted a soft green, the color offsetting the heavy wood-beamed ceiling. The window was mullioned, the thickness of the wall evident in the depth of the window seat.

Lady Charlotte led Becca to the window seat, taking her hands in hers. At her mother’s insistence, Becca shared a bit of what her life had been like up until now. She told her mother about her life at Raven’s, assuring the woman again that Thomas had been kind to her if not overly affectionate.

“You were no better than a servant!” her mother scoffed. “If I had Thomas before me, I would wring his thick neck.”

“I am fine now,” Becca assured her. “I never resented taking care of the inn. It is a lovely place.”

Her mother wrinkled her nose. “You should have been treated like the noblewoman you are.”

“I am now a countess,” she said. Though estranged from her husband, that was true. “And … I’m expecting a baby.” Somehow, saying it aloud made it all the more real.