Reckless Viscount (37 page)

Dear Lord Neville,

Since I have not heard from you, I must assume my previous letter did not reach you. The post can be quite unpredictable at times.

Abbigael has been in residence here in Dublin for a few months now and has not yet joined the social scene beyond a few small parties with close friends. I can only assume she is waiting for your arrival before making her debut as the Viscountess Neville.

Please send word on when you plan to travel and I will have a carriage waiting for you.

Sincerely,

The Right Honorable

Sir Felix Granger

The second letter joined the first and Leif reached for the next one, breaking the seal with some impatience. A strange sense of foreboding started to settle in his awareness. Abbigael wasn’t going out. Sir Felix would have said if she were unwell, wouldn’t he?

Lord Neville,

Abbigael has relocated to my country estate in Wexford.

Unfortunately, I must remain in Dublin for a few more weeks.

I had thought you and Abbigael were at least in communication, but as I now understand, that has not been the case. Your absence these past months and lack of response to my letters is very disconcerting. It is not the behavior I would expect from a new husband and one who had gone to such lengths to ensure the hand of my daughter.

I understand something must have happened to force this distance, but Abbigael will not speak of it. In fact, she does not talk much at all these days.

Hopefully, the country air will restore her to a more pleasant state of mind, though it is my opinion she would be best served by returning to her husband.

Sir Felix

Leif ignored the criticizing tone of the letter to focus on the parts that mentioned Abbigael. She was not happy. Leif knew it for certain. She was retreating again into the self-contained little existence she had kept before they met.

Leif rose from the couch and paced to the window. He stared out at the lawn that sloped down from the back of the house before being swallowed by the line of dark trees. There was just enough room for a small garden, something he had once thought Abbigael might like to tend to.

He lifted the letter and re-read it.

Sir Felix was practically ordering him, in his non-committal way, to come and take Abbigael off his hands. Leif scowled. The man really had no idea how to relate to his daughter.

Returning to the sofa, Leif reached for the next letter.

Lord Neville,

This impasse is ridiculous and since my daughter refuses to contact you, I find I must do so one more time on her behalf.

Her spirits have continued to decline and I should not need to stress to you how much this concerns me, especially considering her delicate condition. It is vital that you come to Ireland and fix whatever rift has formed in your marriage and take your wife home before travel is no longer a safe option.

Sir Felix

Sir Felix was being frustratingly cryptic. Why couldn’t the man just come out and state his concerns clearly. Leif sensed there was something implied in the language of the letter he wasn’t quite getting. He read it through two more times. He tensed over the reference to Abbigael’s delicate condition. Surely by now, Sir Felix was able to recognize that his daughter was not the fragile child she had once been. And why on earth would travel be unsafe? It was a short trip from Ireland to England and the weather was not so cold as to be a hindrance.

He reached for the last letter. The one that had arrived today.

Neville,

I must insist that you come and fetch your wife.

She has become a termagant in the last week (much like her mother was during her confinement). My staff is becoming reluctant to tend her…and I am not ashamed to admit that I am at a terrible loss on how to handle her rapid shifts in mood and emotional outbursts.

As her husband, it is your responsibility and duty to be with her for the approaching event. Aside from physically forcing her onto a ship back to England, I am at a loss.

Sir Felix

P.S. I am not above begging you to heed this final request.

Leif dropped the letter to the floor, his fingers going numb.

Confinement.

Approaching event.

The numbness traveled up his arms and afflicted his legs. He turned and dropped back onto the sofa.

How long had Abbigael been gone?

He counted back the months and weeks.

Holy hell! Irish was pregnant. And would likely give birth within the next month or so.

A child.

His
child.

Leif’s legs gave out and he slid off the sofa to the floor, his legs splayed out before him, and he lowered his head heavily into his hands.

He felt sick.

He had no idea how to be a father. His own had been a horrific example. How the hell was he going to manage this? His only experiences with children were his brief encounters with Anna’s son.

He lifted his head, thinking of how Anna had been at the end of her pregnancy. He had seen her only once in the last month of her confinement and remembered how uncomfortable she had appeared. Anna had never been one to complain over minor discomforts, but she had launched into a frank monologue describing every ache and pain she was experiencing during her final weeks. He remembered glancing at the earl and seeing him roll his eyes gently even as he smiled indulgently at his wife.

Leif had been amazed at the earl’s relaxed attitude. He could tell just by looking at Anna’s bloated belly and labored movements that she was not exaggerating her symptoms in the slightest. He hadn’t been able to escape their company quickly enough. The idea of his best friend enduring such difficulties made his chest feel tight and uncomfortable.

Now, he pictured his pale delicate wife heavy with child, essentially alone in the wilds of the Irish countryside.

He pushed to his feet and staggered toward the bell pull to call for Jack.

Then he paced. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants, eyes cast toward the floor, heart beating swift and strong like the wings of a peregrine falcon.

And beneath the panic, bubbling up slowly, was a feeling that took him quite a while to recognize. It was not until he glanced into a wall mirror as he passed by and saw the stupid grin on his face that he realized the strange consuming emotion was pure, effervescent joy.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The low rolling clouds of the storm that had just passed were still visible hovering over distant sheep dotted hills. The ground was wet and soft beneath the hooves of Leif’s rented horse and moisture shimmered over the grasses and trees, turning the green to glistening silver.

Keeping his mount to a slow and relaxing pace, Leif tilted his face into the breeze that wafted in from the meadow stretching high and thick alongside the deeply rutted country lane. The scent of the fresh air caused a familiar stirring within him.

He expected to reach Sir Felix’s estate in County Wexford by midday.

And what a glorious day, he thought.

Unbidden, a smile lightened his expression and he began to hum a lively Irish tune that had been running circles in his head since he had arrived in Dublin the day before. He took in the gentle rolling hills and dales and couldn’t help but admire the picturesque charm of the countryside. The ancient landscape put him in the mind of the fairy-folk his old nurse had talked about when he had been a young boy who still believed in such things.

His father had at least done him one good turn, he thought. A rueful twist marred the previous joy of his smile. Leif had learned unequivocally how
not
to be a father.

The idea of being responsible for the care and well-being of a tiny little person completely dependent on him filled him with unexpected wonder and humility. He had never considered the full impact of what it would mean to have children. He had agreed readily enough to Abbigael when she included it as a condition of their marriage. Children typically resulted from the union between man and woman and the idea that they would eventually have them was not a surprising thought. But at the time, the concept had been a distant one.

Now, it was all too real and Leif was astounded by how much the thought of having a child filled him with a fine sense of purpose, greater even than his desire to see Dunwood Park restored had ever been. More than bricks and stone or tapestries and artwork, progeny was what made a lasting legacy.

The narrow road curved gently to the left around a stand of large oak trees and up ahead he saw a woman walking along with a large basket slung over one arm. He could not tell her age since she was headed in the same direction as he was, but she was dressed simply in a blue dress with a woolen shawl wrapped about her shoulders and a wide-brimmed straw bonnet set atop her head.

The picture she presented fit perfectly into the bucolic scene that Leif wished for a second he some talent as an artist. Then he shook his head at his fanciful thought. He was having a lot of fanciful thoughts lately. He daydreamed of children running like hoydens through the forests of Dunwood Park and family picnics in the orangery. Abbigael next to him, her hand in his.

As his horse approached, the woman stepped farther to the side of the road to allow him more room to pass. Leif was nearly alongside her when she paused and turned toward him. Tipping her head back, she gave him a smile of greeting from beneath the shadow of her hat.

Without conscious command, Leif’s hands pulled tight on the reins of his horse, bringing it to an abrupt halt.

“Irish.” He said her name with mingled question and surprise. Though he was on his way to see her, and they were quite close to Granger’s estate, he had not expected to come across her in the middle of the road.

The moment she looked into his face, the warm smile dropped from her lips and her friendly expression was replaced by one of dark fury. She whipped her head back around and started off down the road at a pace just short of an all-out sprint. Her basket swung wildly from the crook of her elbow, threatening to spill its contents, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her only concern appeared to be in getting far away from him, and fast.

Leif didn’t follow at first. He was reeling from the stunning repercussions of seeing her again. He had not anticipated the swift acceleration of his heartbeat or the way his chest squeezed tight around his lungs when he looked into her soft green eyes. And he especially had not expected the fierce rush of possessive desire that flew through his body.

He stared at the furious line of her back and the prideful lift of her chin as she hastened away as quickly as her increased size would allow. He hadn’t missed the large mound of her belly beneath the raised waist of her dress, nor did he miss the feeling of heavy poignancy he experienced at seeing his woman with child.

When she stumbled lightly over a loose stone in her inattention and desire to escape him, he frowned. What the hell was she doing walking along the road? They had to be at least a few miles yet from her home.

Surely, at more than seven months along in her pregnancy she shouldn’t be exerting herself in such a way.

Leif nudged his mount into a quick trot to catch up to her.

When Abbigael glanced over her shoulder and saw him coming, he noted the flash of panic in her eyes. Dropping her basket on the road, she made a sudden turn and leapt awkwardly over the ditch that separated the road from the field beyond. Holding her hat on her head with one hand and lifting her skirts with the other, she headed into the tall grass at a short but purpose-driven gait.

Fear and irritation jolted through his gut.

Didn’t she know better than to take such risks with her health and well-being than to go traipsing around the countryside?

He turned his horse to the ditch, intending to go after her, but the gentle mare refused to jump the shallow puddle that lay at the bottom of the trench.

Swinging to the ground, he swept up Abbigael’s discarded basket and abandoned the horse at the side of the road. He leapt across the ditch and took after his wife in long ground-eating strides. In spite of her hurried pace, her shortened steps hindered her retreat and Leif was able to catch her in moments.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded as soon as he drew up alongside her.

Abbigael didn’t turn to look at him.

“Gettin’ away from you.” Her tone was sharp and the presence of her brogue would have given away her distress if he hadn’t already known it by her fierce expression and angry words.

“Not very well, it would seem.”

She stopped so abruptly that Leif stumbled forward a few steps before he was able to control his momentum and turn back to face her.

Her light eyes pinned him place and tension was visible in every line of her body, but even in his own annoyance, Leif had to admit she was easily the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.