More than Passion (26 page)

Her mother clasped her hands in obvious delight. “Oh, a baby! But what of your husband, Rebecca?” Lady Charlotte asked. “Our last report stated that you had married well and left Raven’s. Where is your husband?”

Becca hesitated. She couldn’t tell her about their problems, loath to see the pity that would surely be evident in her eyes. “He’s in London on business, Mother,” she answered, a half-truth.

Lady Charlotte seemed to sense there was more to her story than what Becca was telling, but permitted her to hold her own counsel for the time being. She left Becca then, advising her of the dinner hour.

Becca was grateful for the solitude. She was exhausted after her conversation with her mother. There was so much information to take in, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or both. Her feelings were a muddle, as well. She was overjoyed to be reuinited with her parents but heartbroken that her father, oh, she could not bear to think of Thomas as such any longer after he had kept her from them for so many years. Did Geoffrey feel that kind of anger about her? Did Geoffrey think that she loved Lord Roberts? How could he ever think that?

She needed to rest, for her baby’s sake if not for her own. She would puzzle through it all later.

* * * *

On his return to Kanewood, Geoffrey had much time to think. Chester had stated that John was involved with Lady Brookdale. His brother’s infidelity didn’t truly shock him. But would he romance a woman of the ton? A widow still in mourning? Geoffrey prayed there was no connection between John’s affair and the runaway carriage. He’d vowed to kill the bastard responsible for hurting Becca, and the possibility that it was his brother didn’t lessen his conviction.

His thoughts turned to his wife, the urge to take her in his arms so strong it was consuming him. He didn’t know what he was going to say to her to convince her of his regret. He’d been so quick to think the worst of her when she’d been nothing but trusting toward him. He would do anything to win back her love. He was resigned to groveling at her feet if need be. She’d been so accepting of him from the beginning, so giving. She had always shown nothing but love to him. Hadn’t her declaration filled his heart as nothing had before? How could he have been so stupid as to think she would go to Roberts for anything more than information? Time and again, she’d asked to share in his life and his worries. That was what a husband and wife did, and he would give anything now to pour his foolish heart out to her.

He reviewed the events of that fateful night in his mind. When he thought clearly of the scene he’d witnessed in the library, it occurred to him that Becca had been pushing Roberts away. Why had he refused to believe that? Against his will, he remembered all that had happened afterward in their chamber. Shame washed over him afresh. How could he have used her so roughly? He’d stopped, but it had been a bloody close thing. My God, to think what he’d almost done to her! It was unforgiveable, and yet he prayed she would find forgiveness in her kind and generous heart. He had to make this right.

By the time he arrived at Kanewood the next evening, Geoffrey was ready to jump out of his skin. Before the carriage had even come to a complete stop, he jumped out. He ran up the stone steps and pushed open the door. “Becca!” he called. “Becca?”

Lady Margaret walked out of the parlor. “She isn’t here, Geoffrey.”

He spun around to face her. “What are you talking about, Mother?”

“She’s been gone all day.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” His mother wrung her hands. “When I didn’t see her at breakfast, I assumed she was still feeling ill. But when I went to her room—”

“She’s been ill?”

“Mildly, yes,” his mother answered.

A parlormaid walked past them, her head down and Geoffrey caught her attention. “Can you please send Mary to me? Lady Kanewood’s maid?”

“Nay, my lord.” The maid’s brow furrowed. “Mary left this morning with Lady Kanewood.”

“Damn it!” Geoffrey turned to leave, but his mother’s gentle touch on his arm stayed him.

“Geoffrey, where are you off to?”

“She’s left me, Mother.”

“You left her first, Geoffrey.”

Pain stabbed at him. “I know.”

Her lips pursed, but she said nothing more of Becca. “Why don’t you have something to eat, dear?”

“I have to find her, Mother.”

“Geoffrey, you can’t go racing about. It will be dark soon. The morning will be soon enough.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair in acute frustration. “Yes, yes.” He blew out a breath. “You have the right of it.”

The cook prepared him a platter and he ate in silence. Thankfully, Patricia and John had already taken themselves off to bed.

Geoffrey finished his meal and climbed the staircase, his steps plodding. Once more, he’d sleep without Becca in his arms. First thing tomorrow, he’d question the staff. He might have set Becca aside, fool that he’d been. But no one would keep her from him now.

Chapter 26

When Geoffrey awoke the next morning, his determination was strong. By lunch time, however, his results weren’t. No one on his staff knew where Mary had gone with her mistress, and the stables yielded more bad news. In Fields’s absence, one of the grooms had driven her. Apparently, none of the others knew of Lady Kanewood’s destination.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” one of the grooms apologized. “We have no notion where the Scot took her.”

“Well, isn’t there anyone who—” Geoffrey began. “Wait. A Scot?”

“Aye, my lord. McGinty was who took her. His wife is ready to bear him another youngun any day now. He’s gone home to see to her.”

Geoffrey dismissed the men, his mind working. The groom who’d driven her was Scottish. For some reason, that little piece of information seemed significant. “But why?” He filed it away in his mind to contemplate later.

After choking down his lunch, Geoffrey went into his study. Sitting down behind his desk, he reviewed what he’d already learned. Precious little, really. Becca was gone, and he had no idea where. Could she have gone to Raven’s? No. She wasn’t emotionally attached to her father, and Geoffrey couldn’t imagine she’d want to go there if she was upset. She’d taken Mary with her, so obviously she thought to stay away for a while. That fact cut him to the quick.

He sat up suddenly, an idea flitting through his mind. Her clothes! He’d ascertain what type of clothes she’d taken with her. Perhaps that would help point to her destination. He all but jumped out of the chair, bound for their chamber. He rounded the corner and took the steps two at a time. When he reached their room, he crossed to her vanity.

He’d never really paid much attention to the feminine notions that normally littered the top of it, but not much was there now, just some ribbons and hairpins. To the right of the mirror sat a velvet jeweler’s box. Recognition dawned on him as he opened the box. Inside lay the pearls he’d given her the night of the Winslow ball. He fingered them, thinking back to how perfect they’d looked against her flawless skin. She’d left them behind as she’d left him.

He snapped the lid closed and turned from the vanity, walking into her dressing room. While Mary kept the room well-organized, he still had no notion what was missing. He pulled open one of the drawers. Inside were only a few nightgowns, indicating that she’d taken several with her. How long did she plan to stay away? His attention turned to the dresses hanging in the large wardrobe. It appeared, to his untrained eye at least, that several were missing. His gaze fell on her formal gowns, his fingers absently caressing the smooth fabric. Something caught his eye. The provocative blush-pink gown hung in the wardrobe, bringing back memories to him in a rush. The thought of all those young pups drooling over her each moment he left her side now made him smile wryly. His reaction had been almost comical. He thought of the passion they’d shared on the carriage-ride home that evening, his blood warming at that memory. The entire time he’d known her she’d welcomed him and only him. She’d never flirted with the men currying her favor at the bashes, either. No, she’d just been the friendly open girl he’d fallen for at the inn. Her passion she’d kept for him alone. He was even more determined to find her. He had to. He’d finally realized what was missing from his life these past many years. And it was Becca.

As he left the dressing room, something nagging at the back of his mind struck him. A Scot! A Scotsman had monopolized her attention for a bit that night, causing her some distress. The man had told her of a woman, his lord’s wife, who greatly resembled Becca. Hadn’t Becca told him later that the woman’s name was the same as her mother’s?

What was the Scotsman’s name? Mc-something … McCall … McClair! Could she have gone to Scotland? He’d return to the stables and question the men once more.

Pleased to have a course of action at last, he fairly ran for the stairs. He nearly crashed into his mother at the top. As he began to rush through an apology, the melancholy on her face struck him.

“What is it, Mother?”

“I was visiting with Ann. The poor little thing misses Rebecca terribly.”

“She isn’t the only one.”

“Rebecca spent many hours with her, Geoffrey,” Lady Margaret went on, a small smile on her face. “Mrs. Riley told me that Rebecca had been there yesterday morning.”

“Mother, do you think she may have told Ann where she was going?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. She and the child have become quite close. In fact, she was talking about Rebecca just before her nap. Something about heather.”

“Heather?” Something niggled at the back of his mind. The groom who had driven her was Scottish. Now Ann talked about heather?

His mother shrugged. “Perhaps—”

Before she’d finished her sentence, Geoffrey left her to run up to the nursery. When he opened the door, Mrs. Riley had just set out Ann’s afternoon snack.

She straightened, obviously surprised to see the earl standing in the doorway. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Hello, Mrs. Riley.”

His gaze darted about the room and the nanny regarded him for a moment.

“Is there something you need?” she asked.

“Is Ann about?”

Mrs. Riley nodded. “Yes, my lord. She should be in presently.”

Ann skipped into the room, coming to a stop when she saw her uncle there.

Geoffrey saw the child tremble, and crouched down so as not to appear so large to her. “Hello, Ann.”

“Hello, Uncle Geoffrey.”

Geoffrey looked pointedly at the nanny. Obeying his unspoken request, she left the room. Ann walked over to the little table and sat. She picked up her milk and drank, staring at her uncle over the rim of the glass.

Geoffrey folded himself to sit on one tiny wooden chair. “Ann, did you see Aunt Rebecca yesterday?”

“Oh, yes.” Ann nibbled on a biscuit. “She was sad.”

Geoffrey’s heart lurched at that little declaration. “Do you know what made her sad?”

Ann looked at him as if he were simple. “She was sad about going away. I tried to make her feel better.”

“I’m sure you did, sweetheart.”

Ann nodded regally. “Auntie likes very much to read to me, Uncle Geoffrey.”

“Yes, I know.”

She smiled back at him and he let the child eat her snack for a short while.

“Ann,” he asked finally, “did Aunt Rebecca tell you when she would return?”

Ann shook her head, sadness in her eyes. “No. Won’t you go get her and bring her back?”

“I would, but I don’t know where she went.”

“She went to Scotland, silly,” Ann said absently, turning her attention back to her biscuits.

Geoffrey straightened in his chair, struggling to keep his voice level for the child’s sake. He’d suspected as much, but to hear it from Ann was astounding. “How do you know that?”

“She told me.” Ann shrugged. “There are lots of green hills there, Uncle Geoffrey. And purple heather growing everywhere.”

“Is that right?” He stood then. “I’ve enjoyed our visit, Ann.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and left the nursery. Without any further delay, he went back to the stables to question the men once more.

* * * *

The early part of Becca’s day passed in a very pleasant fashion. After breakfast, she’d strolled the courtyard with her father. He was incredibly huge, taller even that Geoffrey. But she’d soon put that fact aside as she accustomed herself to his presence. His brogue was musical to her ears, his booming laugh refreshing.

“Tell me, lass,” he said, his expression grave. “Tell me you forgive me?”

She didn’t wish to speak of it again, certain the subject caused him as much pain as it did her. The look in his eyes, green and so like her own, showed his intent as well as his regret.

“Lady Charlotte told me about the danger to the both of you. I understand.”

“But do you forgive me? ’Tis a far different thing, my girl.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it.  “I do.”

Upon hearing her words, his big shoulders slumped in relief.

She decided to broach the subject they’d all been avoiding since her arrival. “But you must promise me something.”

“Anything, Rebecca,” he said.

“We need to clear this matter up—so that you and my mother may come back into England without fear of arrest.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“Father, you did nothing wrong. My—Thomas has held this over your head for almost twenty years.”

“Ach, lassie, he loved your mother, too. So much time has passed.”

“Precisely. It’s time to put all of this in the past. I was never very close with Thomas, but … that is, I believe he does care for me.”

“You shouldn’t have to speak on my behalf,” her father bristled.

“Never mind. I will make this right. Not just for you and Mother. But for my baby.”

His eyes teared up and she found herself enveloped in a crushing, loving hug. She didn’t know if she had any sway over Thomas, but she would try her best. For all of them.

Now she stood in the guest room she’d been given, readying herself for tea. Being English, Becca’s mother still insisted on tea each afternoon, much to Laird McClair’s chagrin. Becca had found her first smile as she listened to them bicker over the ritual, warmth in their voices.