Heroes of Heartbreak Creek 02 (10 page)

“I’m pleased to see you well, Jessup,” he said extending his hand. Dipping his head, he added in a lower voice, “As soon as I get the countess settled, I’ll meet the two of you at the stable.”

Since he wasn’t dressed for visiting, Rafe paid his respects to the countess, nodded to Josephine, who sat beside her on the couch, then returned to the stable. A half hour later, Ash and Thomas came in, followed by a Kirkwell groom holding Tricks on a leash. “Give the lad a good run,” Ash told the groom, then continued to where Rafe stood with Hammersmith.

Rafe introduced Hammersmith, then grabbed a bag of treats from the feed room and led Ash and Thomas out to the pasture, where they would have more privacy to talk.

“So what do you think, lad?” Ash asked.

“He’s got some nice mares. A few nicer than others. Be interested to see what you think.”

As the afternoon had lengthened, clouds had rolled in again and the air had that heavy, damp weight that foretold more rain. Once through the gate, Rafe walked a few more yards, dumped his small bag of apple and carrot treats on the ground, then whistled.

An answering whinny, then the big bay mare trotted out of the trees, the other mares and foals close behind.

“That’s Prissy. You’ll need her to keep the others in line. She’s ten, and has dropped three healthy foals over the years.”

As the horses crowded around them, hunting their treats, Thomas and Ash moved quietly among them, murmuring softly, touching them here and there. After a moment, they returned to stand with Rafe. “Well?” he asked.

Thomas spoke first. “They are all good horses. But the big bay you call Prissy, the roan, that smaller bay, and the gray are the best.”

“I agree.” Ash nodded toward a dark chestnut, saying he liked that one, too, then pointed out the deficits of the others: one was too nervous, another too long in the back, and a couple of others with weaknesses in conformation. “We’ll know more about the young fillies after they’re weaned.”

Rafe looked at him in surprise. “That won’t be for a while. Are we staying that long?” It had been his understanding that Ash intended to take the horses back to Colorado before the deepest snows fell.

A huge grin spread across the Scotsman’s face. “Maddie insists we stay until the wee bairn arrives.”

Rafe drew back in surprise. “Bairn?”

“Aye. The lass wasna sick after all. She’s known about the babe for a while, but dinna tell me until we reached London. She was afraid if I knew, I wouldna let her come. She wants it born at Northbridge, as is befitting the Kirkwell heir.”

Rafe grinned at the Scotsman’s exuberance. “And what if it’s a daughter?”

“In Scotland, females can inherit, so long as there are no males before her. But I plan to have many sons.”

Pleased that the countess was well, Rafe offered his congratulations and asked when the child was due.

“January. So we willna be going back to Colorado until early spring.”

It was late October now. What was Rafe to do for the next five or six months? “If you purchase any of Cathcart’s horses, will you be holding them on your land in Scotland until we sail?”

Ash shook his head. “No’ unless Cathcart insists I move them out. I’ll pay their keep, of course, but I see no sense in taking them up to the Highlands, only to bring them back down to Liverpool in a few months. ’Tis a long trip.” He gave Rafe an innocent look. “But if they stay here, I’ll need someone to watch over them, so I will. Do you think Mr. Cathcart and his daughter will mind having a bounder such as yourself underfoot for a while?”

Rafe busied himself stroking Prissy’s neck. “You’ll have to ask them.” A half a year in Josephine’s company. How would he manage that without doing something foolish?

“I will also need you in Scotland for a short while,” Ash went on. “There’s a warmblood stable near Edinburgh reputed to have verra good Hanoverian stock that will cross admirably with these thoroughbreds. I’d like for you to come with me to look them over, then bring any I purchase back here until we depart for America.” That teasing grin again. “If it wouldna be a bother to spend so much time with the Cathcarts, of course.”

Rafe felt heat rise up his neck.

Thomas gave his shoulder a friendly pat. “Do not worry,
nesene.
I will return to protect you.”

“From what?”

“The Cathcart woman. I saw the way she smiled when you walked in.”

Rafe shoved away from the fence.

“Now, lads.” Stepping between the two, Ash looped an arm over each of their shoulders. “Let’s go see these stallions Cathcart has priced so high.”

D
inner was a full dress-up affair. Rafe was delighted to see that Thomas looked as uncomfortable as he did . . . but was less excited to see that the Vicar and Mrs. Bohm were in attendance again. He wondered if the Cathcarts had any other friends to invite, or if the circumstances of Jamie’s birth had put the family outside acceptable society. Having a child without benefit of marriage was bad enough back home, but he suspected it was ruinous among the rule-bound English.

A sad thing. Jamie was a fine boy. And his mother . . .

He studied Josephine, seated at the opposite end of the table from her father, chatting with the countess. She was too beautiful and too openly proud of her son to be easily forgiven by her peers. Such a lack of remorse or repentance made her a prime target for those of lesser character, although she appeared to have accepted her banishment without the bitterness one might expect. He greatly admired her for that.

Dinner seemed to go on forever. Luckily, with Lord and Lady Kirkwell drawing most of the attention, Rafe was able to avoid conversation until the meal ended and Cathcart herded his guests into the drawing room for brandy or tea.

Agnes Bohm snagged his arm. “Will you be going to Scotland with Lord and Lady Kirkwell, Mr. Jessup?”

Unable to gracefully free himself, he allowed her to lead him to a couch in the drawing room. “For a while, ma’am.”

“A lovely place, the Highlands,” she said, waving him to the seat beside her. “Although not so beautiful as our Lake District. Have you had a chance to visit our local ruins?”

“No, ma’am.”

“We have several.” Turning to Josephine and Maddie, who had taken the settee across from them, she said, “You must take your guests to Brougham Hall while they’re here. They say it’s haunted, you know. In fact, we have several abodes that are rumored to host spirits.”

While Josephine poured tea for the ladies and Vicar Bohm, Thomas wandered to the window, leaving Ash and Cathcart by the marble hearth.

Rafe barely attended the ladies’ discussion of ruins and haunted castles, most of his attention fixed on the conversation between the earl and their host at the fireplace. It seemed to revolve around Pembroke’s Pride, although he heard his name mentioned, too.

“I daresay we shall have another haunting soon,” Mrs. Bohm went on with a labored sigh. “Especially after the tragic death of the baron’s wife. Such a shame.”

Cathcart turned sharply from the mantle. “Which baron?”

Mrs. Bohm looked up in surprise. “Why, Baron Adderly. Haven’t you heard? His poor wife was so distraught over the loss of her third baby she leaped to her death at their house at Fell Ridge.”

The vicar frowned at her over the rim of his teacup. “Now Mrs. Bohm. We don’t know for certain that she leaped. She might have fallen.”

“From the roof?”

At a sound, Rafe looked over to see Josephine staring fixedly at the cup shaking in her hand, her face almost as pale as the lace trim on her dress.

“How sad.” Maddie Wallace’s expressive brown eyes filled with tears. “Have they other children?”

“A son. Edward, I believe he’s named. Although he’s sickly, I heard.”

Rafe continued to watch Josephine, concerned by the expression of panic in her blue-brown eyes. He was about to ask if she was all right, when Mrs. Bohm turned to her and said, “I’m surprised you didn’t know, Josephine. Weren’t you and the baron’s . . .”

At a loud
harrumph
from her husband, her words trailed off. “Oh dear.”

“Josephine,” Cathcart said loudly. “Would you ask Shipley to bring a fresh pot of tea? And some of those chocolate confections Cook makes.”

“Of c-course.” Rising unsteadily, Josephine hurried to the door.

Even though he knew it would raise eyebrows, Rafe excused himself and went after her. He found her in the entry, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other clutching the newel post at the base of the staircase.

“Josephine?”

She looked up, her face slack with shock and distress.

The butler suddenly appeared. Rafe stepped forward. “Miss Cathcart isn’t feeling well, Shipley. I’ll see to her, but Mr. Cathcart wants you to bring more tea and some of Cook’s chocolates to the drawing room.”

The old man glanced from Rafe to the woman behind him.

“Now, Shipley.”

“Of course, sir.”

As soon as the butler turned away, Rafe took Josephine’s arm and steered her past the staircase and down the hall toward the back of the house and the conservatory. A blast of warm, humid, flower-scented air rolled over him when he opened the door. The table where they had eaten earlier was gone and in its place was a grouping of metalwork furniture covered with thick cushions. He led her to a small couch.

She sank down and, slumping forward, dropped her head into her hands.

After a moment of indecision, Rafe took the chair nearby.

Neither spoke. He listened for sounds of crying. Heard none. But he could sense her pain.

Or was it relief?

He had guessed from what she had said the morning after he’d arrived, and by her reaction this evening in the salon, that this baron whose wife had fallen to her death was the same man who had deserted her and Jamie. And now her lover was free. Was she hoping he would come back to her?

The thought churned through his mind, raising more questions.

She took her hands away and sat back. No tears, but her distress was evident. He watched her gaze travel around the glass room. “This is where he told me he loved me.” Her voice faltered. She shook her head, as if trying to shake off that memory. “Have you ever been in love, Rafe?”

It was the first time she’d called him by his given name, and hearing it spoken in her soft, accented voice moved him in an indefinable way. “I once thought I was.”

“What happened?”

“I offered her a way out of a bad situation. She didn’t trust me enough to take it.” Some people couldn’t be saved. Three bullets had taught him that.

“Still it must have hurt.”

He shrugged. Miranda and Dirtwater, Texas, were a world away. He couldn’t even put her and this woman in the same place in his mind.

“It took me years to get over William’s abandonment. For a time I thought I would die of it—the shame—the way people stared and whispered. But as Jamie grew, I realized I wanted his father to have no part in his life. Not to punish him, but because he’s so . . . weak.” A frown puckered her brow. “Is that wrong of me?”

“Jamie deserves better. So do you.”

A wobbly smile, then she looked away again, her eyes shiny and wet in the dim light of the hanging oil lamps. Silence, except for the sounds of their breathing and the gentle burble of water boiling in the pots on the coal stoves. “He brought me here,” she said after a long while, “to the same place where he first said he loved me, to tell me he couldn’t marry me or acknowledge our son.”

Rafe looked down at his clenched hands, a slow burn of anger spreading through his chest.

“I was too naïve to see it coming.” Her laugh was laced with sarcasm, but that didn’t hide the pain behind the words. “Despite avowals of undying love for me and Jamie, the good baron’s son decided it would be more advantageous for him to marry someone of higher rank. He could not, in good conscience, allow his family’s title to be passed down to the son of a lowborn woman.”

Her wandering gaze settled on him. “In fact, he sat right where you sit now to offer his excuses. I remember feeling a sharp pain in my chest, as if something had shattered inside. I wondered if a heart could truly break.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured through stiff lips.

“For what?”

“That you were hurt.”

New tears. And what he saw in her mismatched eyes opened that fissure inside him a little more.

“You’re the only person who has ever said that to me.”

“Then I’m sorry for that, too.” Realizing he was on the verge of doing or saying something he oughtn’t, Rafe rose and wandered idly around the steamy room. Mist had collected on the glass panes overhead, and every now and then a drop landed on his head or shoulders. A gentle tap, like a nudge from his conscience, reminding him that this was not the place, or the time, or the woman for him. “I’ll be leaving soon,” he said.

When she didn’t respond, he turned to find her studying him with a bleak expression. “Forever?”

“Only a short while.”

“Oh. Good. I—”

He turned away again. “But I’m not sure how wise it would be to come back.”

“Why not?”

“You. Me. This.” Words failing, he raked a hand through his hair. “You belong here. I don’t. But the thought of never seeing you again . . .” He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “I care about you, Josephine. But I see no future in it.”

“I care about you, too, Rafe. You’ve become a dear friend.”

He turned to face her. “You’re not listening.” Emotion was so thick in his throat his voice shook with it. “I
care
about you. As more than a friend. More than I should.”

“It that wrong?”

“Not wrong. Hopeless. You’re a rich man’s daughter. I’m a wrangler. We’re from different worlds. I could never—”

“There you are,” a voice called.

Spinning around, Rafe saw the Kirkwells step through the doorway, followed by Thomas. For a moment he stood frozen, not sure if he was relieved or annoyed by the intrusion. Then tension bled out of him. Relieved. Saved from declaring something he shouldn’t.

“What a marvelous room.” The countess looked around with a bright smile. “It smells heavenly.” Her gaze swung to Josephine, who stood beside the couch with a flustered look, and her expression changed to one of concern. “Are you recovered, Miss Cathcart? Your butler said you were unwell.”

“A brief dizzy spell, but I—I’m much better now. Thank you.”

“I’m so glad. Shall we sit and chat?”

As the women settled onto the couch, Thomas wandered among the pots and raised beds.

Ash crossed to where Rafe stood. “You should leave,” the Scotsman advised in a low voice. “Cathcart is looking for her and it wouldna be good if he knew the two of you had been in here alone.”

“We’ve done nothing wrong.”
Yet.

“’Tis no’ me you have to convince.”

Rafe struggled to slow his reeling mind. He owed Ash no explanations. But he did owe Josephine his discretion. “Did you and Cathcart reach an agreement on the horses?”

“For the most part. We’ll talk tomorrow. Off you go now, lad. And take Thomas before he frightens the staff with his sneaking around.”

The Cheyenne materialized at Ash’s shoulder. “I do not sneak.”

Ash startled. “Bollocks.”

“Bells,” Rafe advised.

“Aye. Maybe Hammersmith has some we could nail to the heathen’s hide.”

 • • • 

Josephine watched Rafe and his Indian companion depart through the side door and felt an immediate sense of loss. It was something that happened more and more of late whenever Rayford Jessup wasn’t in sight.

What had he been trying to say to her? Good-bye?

The thought aroused a sense of panic that left her almost light-headed.

She rubbed trembling fingertips against her temple. How silly she was. A besotted schoolgirl. She was becoming entirely too dependent on his company.

But how could she not, when she had been so many years without a comforting presence in her life? She hadn’t realized how much she had missed that until Rafe stepped into the void. Having someone to talk to, a strong shoulder to lean on even for a moment, was a luxury she had dearly missed. And now, as she looked over at the gentle woman sitting across from her, she realized how much she had missed having female friends, too.

She was drowning. Sinking into a numb, empty space that terrified her. Why did everyone leave her?

Forcing her mind to her duties as hostess, she put on a smile and asked the countess if her rooms would do.

“They’re perfect, I assure you. And have a lovely view of the gardens.”

“I see you aren’t traveling with a maid. Shall I loan you mine? Or assign one to you?”

“That’s not necessary. Since moving to America, I’ve learned to do without. It’s quite liberating, actually, to dress oneself. And if I find myself in difficulty, I always have Ash, bless his heart.”

Josephine laughed with her. “I’m so glad you’re here, Lady Kirkwell,” she said on impulse. “This big house gets lonely with just the servants and the three of us rambling around in it.”

“Three of us?”

Realizing her mistake, Josephine felt a momentary regret. But she quickly pushed it away, determined to be truthful with this lovely lady, even if it put an end to their budding friendship. Besides, she would know soon enough, anyway. “I have a son. Jamie. He’s seven. His father is Adderly.”

The countess blinked at her, her expression of interest changing to puzzlement. “Baron Adderly? The same baron whose wife—”

“Yes. We were involved before he married.” She gave a bitter smile. “I was very young and thought we would marry someday. But when I told him about the child, he explained that commoners and aristocrats don’t cross social boundaries.”

She watched for signs of withdrawal, disgust. Braced for it.

Instead, Lady Kirkwell beamed, changing her attractive face into one of rare beauty. “Then I hope we shall be the exception. I need a friend. Especially now.” Leaning forward, she whispered, “I’m in a family way, you see. And to have a friend by my side at this time would be a great comfort.”

For a moment, Josephine couldn’t respond. Then relief and joy coursed through her. “Congratulations, my lady. I’m so happy for you. It’s a wonderful thing, having a child, and I would be honored to help in any way I can.”

“Excellent!” The countess clasped her hands as if that was the best news she had heard in a long time. “I have many questions. And concerns. And the earl, bless his heart—that’s an expression I learned from my Southern friend, who I hope you will meet someday—is no help at all. But then, one doesn’t have to be brilliant to be an aristocrat, does one? Your foolish little baron is proof of that.”

 • • • 

The next few days were such a whirlwind of activity Josephine had no time to dwell on how lonely she would be after her guests left. They toured ruins and fallen castles around Penrith, visited two ancient sites from much earlier times, and discussed with Henry Brougham the departed spirits that roamed his newly restored Brougham Hall. And on an especially warm, clear day, they rode to the top of Beacon Hill to take in the distant views of the Pennines and North Lakes.