Kathryn Smith (19 page)

Rachel froze. “Your mother?”

He glanced at her horrified face and summoned a small smile. “I do have one, you know.”

She ignored his teasing. “It looks as though she packed for a long stay.” Brave had to agree. “Brave, I cannot meet your mother looking as I do.”

He was about to suggest she run around to the servants’ entrance when a clear voice split the chilly air.

“Balthazar!”

Too late.

“I don’t think you have much choice but to meet her, Rachel. I’m sorry.”

Beside him, Rachel sighed and smiled. It looked so decidedly false when her eyes were still red and puffy from crying.

Annabelle Wycherley looked every inch the dowager countess as she glided toward them, a beaming smile on her lovely face. Despite everything else, Brave was happy to see her. He’d just wished he’d had time to prepare for her.

There was silver in the perfectly coiffed blond hair. Not a wrinkle could be seen in her immaculate peacock blue traveling costume. In fact, there was nary a line or wrinkle on her face. Perhaps a few around the eyes, but those were smile lines and didn’t count—or so she always told her son.

She stood directly before him, arms outstretched, waiting for him to embrace her. He did. She felt so little in his arms, but she smelled of fresh air and roses, a smell that never failed to make him smile.

“Hello, Mama. Why are you here?”

His mother stepped back, holding him at arm’s length. She still smiled. “I’m sorry I didn’t send word first. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” She peered around him at Rachel. “Who’s your friend?”

To her credit, Rachel didn’t hesitate to step forward. She was a half head taller than his mother, but Annabelle had been known to make even Wellington quake in his boots. Rachel met the older woman’s gaze evenly.

“Rachel, this is my mother, Annabelle, Dowager Countess Braven. Mama, this is Rachel, my wife.”

If his mother was shocked, she hid it remarkably well. Taking Rachel’s hand, she smiled serenely. “I’m very sorry to have missed the ceremony, my dear.”

Brave felt Rachel’s questioning gaze but kept his own fastened on his mother. “I thought you were still in France, Mama.” To be honest, he hadn’t thought of it. If Gabriel and Julian hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have invited them either. His only thought had been of Rachel—her saving him, him saving her, having her…

“I think I’ll go inside,” Rachel said, gesturing toward the house. Dipping a slight curtsy, she pivoted on her heel and took off toward the house.

Out of the corner of his eye Brave watched her practically run up the steps and inside. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Balthazar, what’s going on? Are you truly married to that girl? And why does she look as though she’s been crying?”

Brave turned to his mother, his smile fading. He supposed he owed her a bit of an explanation. He would just omit his true reasons for marrying Rachel. Those were no one’s business but his own.

“Come inside, Mama, and I’ll explain.” As she took his arm, he drew her up the steps to the door.

Staring straight ahead, Brave kept his voice low so no one but his mother could hear. “By the way, Mama, Rachel doesn’t know about Miranda or Phelps.” He patted her hand. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

R
achel delayed meeting her mother-in-law until after luncheon. Taking a tray in her room allowed her to bathe and don a nicer gown. It also gave her eyes time to regain their natural size and color. She refused to meet the dowager countess looking anything less than her best.

What had Brave told his mother about their marriage? About her? Did Lady Braven know the mother of her future grandchildren was little more than a charity case? She doubted that’s how Brave would describe her. He was far too kind, but what else would a mother think given the circumstances? No doubt the dowager would believe she married Brave for his title.

Better to tell her own side of the story before someone else did. At least Rachel could trust herself to be reasonably truthful. There were some aspects of her marriage that Rachel didn’t plan to discuss with anyone—particularly Brave’s mother. Rachel didn’t care how intimidating the older woman was.

With that resolution—and her new gown—giving her strength, Rachel went in search of her mama-in-law late that afternoon. She couldn’t find the dowager anywhere. Her confidence beginning to wilt, she’d almost given up hope when she spotted her quarry standing in the door of Brave’s study talking with an older gentleman not known to her.

Hiding behind the corner of the intricately carved staircase, Rachel was too far away to hear their discussion. Then the two of them entered the study and closed the door behind them.

Curious. Who was the gentleman? If Rachel’s guess was right, he was of the same age as the countess, and his clothing gave him away as a gentleman, albeit a country one. He lacked the inborn arrogance of an aristocrat, so it was unlikely he was a particular friend.

She was just about to go back up stairs when she spotted Reynolds approaching the staircase as well.

“Reynolds?”

The little man looked up. “Yes, Lady Braven? Did you require something?”

Smiling self-consciously, Rachel glanced toward the study door. “You’re going to think I’m terribly nosy, Reynolds, but who is that gentleman with the dowager countess?”

Reynolds seemed surprised that she did not already know the answer. “Why that is Dr. Phelps, Lady Braven. His lordship’s physician.”

Rachel’s brow puckered. “Is the countess ill?”

Something flickered across the butler’s face, something that immediately made Rachel suspicious. It was a look that said he’d said something he shouldn’t have. Perhaps it wasn’t the dowager Dr. Phelps was here to see.

Putting on her best lady-of-the-manor face, Rachel took another approach. “Who is he here to see, Reynolds?”

“Lord Braven, my lady,” Reynolds replied, looking as
though he’d just bitten into something decidedly unpleasant. “I was just on my way to fetch the earl.”

“Is Lord Braven ill then?” Simple nosiness had given way to genuine concern.

His narrow face was void of any emotion. “You would know better of that than I, Lady Braven. I have no idea whatsoever as to the nature of Dr. Phelps’s visit.”

Rachel wasn’t certain if he was telling the truth or not. One thing was for certain; he was loyal to his master and was not going to tell her anything.

“Thank you, Reynolds. You may go about your business.
I
shall inform Lord Braven of Dr. Phelps’s arrival.”

From the expression on the butler’s face, that was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn’t very well defy his mistress, could he? Bowing stiffly, he acknowledged his defeat. “Very well, my lady. I shall be in my office going over the household accounts if you need me.”

As he walked away, Rachel was left with the feeling that Reynolds didn’t know who he was more disappointed with—himself or her. She felt a little bit guilty regardless. Perhaps it was a private matter between Brave and his physician. Perhaps they were simply friends. Either way it was really none of her business, but as his wife didn’t she have the right to know if he suffered from poor health? After all, it might affect their children.

If they ever got around to creating any. He didn’t really expect her to be so forward as to seduce him, did he?

She found Brave in the library. For a moment, she simply stood in the doorway and admired the perfection of him. Seduction didn’t seem like much of a hardship at that moment.

He’d removed his coat and lay sprawled across a sofa like a big lazy tomcat. His shirt was pulled taut across his back beneath his waistcoat. How had he gotten so big? He was built like a farmer, or someone accustomed to hard labor. She didn’t remember him being that big when they were younger.
Even his legs were big, and hard with muscle beneath his snug buckskin breeches. She remembered how those thighs had felt between hers.

Against her own volition, her gaze turned to the left wall, to the bookcase in front of which they’d almost made love the night of before. It seemed like forever ago, but her cheeks still flamed and her knees trembled with the memory.

He was so engrossed in his book he didn’t even hear her enter.

“What are you reading?”

Brave glanced up, a smile—an almost whole smile—lighting his face. “A book by someone named Edward Ashton. I doubt you’ve ever heard of it.”

Smiling at his teasing, Rachel stepped into the room. “Sounds horribly dull.”

He set the book on a low table, but made no move to sit up. To Rachel, his languid pose now seemed sensual and seductive, as if he were offering himself to her and inviting her to take whatever she wanted.

A dangerous proposal, that.

“Have you sought me out for a reason, or did you just miss me?”

She smiled. “If I say I had a reason, you’ll be disappointed. If I say I didn’t, your arrogance will be impossible to live with, so I shall simply say, both.”

Brave chuckled. “I married a diplomat. Very well, what can I do for you?”

“There’s a Dr. Phelps here to see you. He’s in your study with your mother.”

His easiness disappeared as his entire body went taut at her words.

“Why didn’t Reynolds announce him?” he asked, his tone careful as he rose to his feet.

Rachel stared at him. Why was he acting so strangely?

“He was on his way to tell you when I ran into him. I told
him I would deliver the message.” Her natural curiosity and concern won out over trepidation. “Brave, are you ill?”

His head lifted. His expression was completely blank. “Why do you ask that?”

She shrugged. “Well, Dr. Phelps is your physician, is he not?”

He was so still Rachel couldn’t even tell whether or not he was breathing. “Who told you that? My mother?”

“Reynolds did,” she replied, stepping back from the cold blackness of his eyes. She’d never seen someone look so hollow. It was if Brave had buried himself somewhere deep inside the shell of his body.

“Reynolds is most accommodating isn’t he?” He spoke as though they were strangers—as though she was someone he didn’t want to know. It scared her and angered her at the same time.

“What the devil is the matter with you?” Rachel demanded, hands on her hips. “All I did was ask if you were ill.”

His expression didn’t change. “Why?”

Now she was just plain baffled. “Because I care about your welfare.”

He seemed genuinely shocked by her reply. The color rushed from his cheeks, leaving his eyes unnaturally dark against the pallor of his skin. He opened his mouth as though to speak and closed it again, turning his back to her as he did so.

“Your concern is appreciated, madam, but it is neither wanted nor needed. Please do not trouble yourself by wasting such sentiment on me in the future.”

He could have slapped her and done less harm. In silence, she stared at him, her heart cold in her chest. Why was he being so callous, so cruel? What had she done that would warrant him shutting her out like this? Whatever his reasons, his method had certainly been effective. At that moment, Rachel felt every inch the fool for thinking he returned her feelings.

Still avoiding her gaze, Brave turned toward the door. “Now if you will excuse me, I have kept Dr. Phelps waiting long enough.”

“Yes, go,” Rachel muttered under her breath as he left the room. Tears burned the back of her eyes and trembled in her breast. “I don’t care.”

A little while later, Rachel left the house dressed in her old riding habit. It was several years out of fashion but would serve the purpose.

Her anger had dissipated somewhat by the time she slipped her foot in the stirrup, but she was still hurt by Brave’s strange behavior. He’d been cold, not the man she thought he was at all. What had she done to deserve such treatment?

True, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so curious about Dr. Phelps, but her curiosity certainly hadn’t warranted such a bizarre reaction, she thought, as she and her mount sped across the field. He’d closed a door on her and refused to let her in. Why?

Unless Brave really was sick.

She slowed the honey-colored mare to a walk as they entered a path through the woods. It was such a simple explanation. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner?

Because she’d been angry, as he’d intended her to be. It was all so clear now. Brave had intentionally been cold so she wouldn’t realize there really was something wrong with him.

It was a serious error on his part. If he’d really wanted to keep his condition a secret, he should have pretended Dr. Phelps was simply an old friend come to call. Rachel wouldn’t have given it another thought if he hadn’t made such a drama out of it.

But he had, and now her anger gave way to an even more worrisome emotion. Fear. What could possibly be wrong with a man so young and obviously healthy as Brave? It had
to be something serious for him to want to guard it so closely. Was he dying?

Rachel’s stomach clenched at the thought. She couldn’t even bring herself to entertain such a notion, even though it made the most sense. Was that why he had agreed to help her? Is that why he asked for children in return? So he’d have an heir to leave behind? Then why was he letting her decide when they would finally make love?

Because he was a gentleman. Because he wasn’t as selfish as she was, thinking only of her own problems.

Tears threatened, and she pushed them aside. If Brave was truly suffering from a deadly illness, he would not want her bawling over it. He would need her strength and her support, and he would get it, whether he wanted it or not.

She just needed to find out what she was dealing with—and how she could help him.

The path she’d taken came out farther upstream than she normally traveled along the Wyck. The grass was thick and damp beneath the mare’s hooves, and the air smelled of crisp cold and rich earth. A small waterfall tumbled from rocks high above her head, splashing into the river with a gentle roar.

The vibrant shades of the foliage contrasted sharply with the cool silver-grays of water and rocks and the darker shades of dirt and tree bark. It was nature at its most beautiful—a little piece of Heaven on earth.

It was also already occupied.

Of all the places Rachel could have expected to run into her mother-in-law, this was not one of them.

“I was wondering when you’d notice me,” Annabelle Wycherley called with a smile from her perch on a large rock near the river. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Rachel replied. If this wasn’t fate, she didn’t know what was. What a perfect opportunity to find out what was wrong with Brave. Surely his mother would know.

She slid to the ground and walked her mare toward the same tree where the dowager had tethered hers. She looped the reins around a branch, gave the horse a pat on the neck, and turned to the older woman with a smile.

“I do hope I’m not intruding upon a solitary moment?”

Annabelle gestured to a boulder next to her own. “Of course not. I am glad for the company.”

It was the invitation Rachel had been hoping for.

“You know, I grew up not far from here, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen this waterfall.” She sat down on the rock, the light wool of her skirts protecting her from the cold surface.

“I’m not surprised,” the countess replied warmly. “My husband and I did our best to keep it a secret. It was our special place.” She smiled as she gazed around her, as though every blade of grass held a lifetime of memories. “Every couple should have a special place.”

Rachel instantly felt like an intruder. She’d been so caught up in her own concerns that it hadn’t even occurred to her that the countess might have a reason for being there.

“Now I am truly sorry,” she admitted. “Had I known, I never would have dreamed of disturbing you.”

Annabelle patted her leg. “Nonsense, dear girl. As I said, I’m glad for the company. It keeps the blue devils at bay. You said you grew up near here. Where was that?”

Rachel was almost embarrassed to say. “I’ve spent the last ten years at Tullywood with my mother and her husband, Sir Henry Westhaver, but before that, my parents and I lived at a little manor called Windfleur.”

Annabelle clapped her hands together. “Then you must be Edward’s daughter! I thought you looked familiar.”

Blushing, Rachel nodded. Obviously she and the countess had met years ago, but she didn’t remember. “I’m sorry for my behavior earlier, Lady Braven. I’d had some unsettling news and wasn’t quite myself. I hope I didn’t offended you with my lack of manners.”

“Oh, not at all, my dear. And please, call me Annabelle. After all, we’re family now.”

Rachel’s blush deepened at her mother-in-law’s knowing gaze. “I am very sorry you were not invited to the wedding, Annabelle.”

Annabelle waved one elegantly gloved hand. “Balthazar didn’t even know I was back in the country.” Her green gaze was sly as it met Rachel’s. “He refused to tell me anything about how the marriage came about until you could join us.”

No doubt so they could get their stories straight, Rachel thought in relief. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to reveal to his mother.

Drawing a deep breath, Rachel kept her voice even. “Perhaps after Dr. Phelps has left, the three of us could sit down to tea.”

Annabelle’s gaze was guarded. “Do you know Dr. Phelps?”