The Secret Lover (45 page)

"I'll speak with him, Sophie. I'll not allow him to ruin this day," Caleb said quickly. "We
will
be married."

"He can't stop me, can he?" she asked uncertainly as Julian came striding forward.

Caleb did not have the opportunity to respond, because Julian was already there—he grabbed her by the arms, jerked her into his embrace, and squeezed her tightly. "How dare you, Sophie?" he demanded. "How dare you attempt to marry without me?" He reared back at that, frowning, then kissed her cheek. "Silly girl, I ought to turn you over my knee, I really ought. Exactly who did you think to give you away? Am I to be robbed of the honor?"

Stunned, Sophie and Caleb looked at one another.

Julian dropped his arms from her, punched his fists to his hips, and eyed Caleb up and down, shaking his head disapprovingly. But when he looked at Sophie again, he was trying to hide his smile. "I can hardly say that I approve of his dress—he's in desperate need of a tailor. But I suppose it will have to do as there doesn't appear time to correct it."

Sophie gaped at her brother, speechless. Of all the reactions she had imagined,
this
had most certainly not been one of them.

"Oh dear, please do not stand there like you've no idea who I am," he said, straightening the cuffs of his shirt. "At least introduce me to my new brother-in-law, will you?"

"And me!
I
should have been introduced ages ago!" Ann complained, stepping forward to slip her arm around Sophie's shoulders. "Naturally, I can see why you might have been a bit reluctant to do just that, given how adamantly I tried to push you in the other direction."

Sophie's vision was suddenly blurry; she reached for Ann's hand, then Julian's. "You aren't angry."

That earned a
hmmph
from Ann, but Julian chuckled. "I wouldn't go so far as all that. I
am
angry that you thought to do this without us. And I suppose I am a bit angry that you obviously believed you could not come to me. A bit angry, mind you, but I rather suppose I do understand it.

That does not, however, excuse you, not at all, for thinking you might traipse through this day without
me
." He paused then, his expression softening as Claudia slipped in beside him and put her arm around his waist. "I love you, pumpkin. All I ever wanted was your happiness, nothing more, and if I failed to make you understand that, then I am terribly sorry.

You are right—you are a woman and this is your decision. I will not attempt to lecture you and tell you what the two of you will face—you know it better than I, certainly. I only want to share in your joy."

"As do I," said Ann. "I was wrong to have tried to arrange your life, wasn't I? Yet I must still insist on being introduced!"

It was more than she could have hoped, more than she had dared dream. With a cry of joyous relief, Sophie threw herself into her brother's arms.

He laughed, rubbed his hand soothingly on her back. "Come now, pumpkin. There will be ample opportunity for wailing when the ceremony begins." Gently, he took her shoulders and set her away from him, toward Caleb.

"Oh really, Sophie, you might at least have said what the dress would be," sniffed Claudia. "I feel woefully inappropriate!"

Sophie laughed shakily, took Caleb's hand in her own, and drew him close to her. "Please allow me to introduce you to the man who will be my husband. Mr. Caleb Hamilton."

And as her family closed around him, greeting him, assessing him, Sophie caught Julian's eye and smiled. He returned that smile, the pride evident in his eyes, and it was in that moment that Sophie finally realized she was one of them, that they did not see her as a child any longer. She had, at long last, come into her own.

The ceremony was mercifully short, and the feast afterward surprisingly sumptuous. They enjoyed an apparently bottomless well of wine, and between Sophie and Lucie Cowplain, there was so much cake that more than one complained of being in desperate need of a place to just lie down for a time.

As dusk crept in and the rushlights were lit, Caleb surprised Sophie with a fiddler he had managed to find in the village. Much to the surprise and delight of her family, the dancing started with Sophie and Caleb leading the Scottish jig they had danced to in St. Neots. It wasn't long before everyone was up and kicking their heels in time of the fiddler's tune, Claudia bouncing about as if she carried a rubber ball instead of a baby, Victor complaining mightily, and Julian nearly laughing himself unto death when Ann kicked her husband in the shin.

Sophie was blissfully happy. She loved to see her family enjoying themselves outside the salons of London, but she could not take her eyes from Caleb, or he from her. She could feel his eyes on her every move, feel them boring down into the deepest part of her. And she sensed that he, like her, was growing impatient with the festivities, wanting the night to end so they could retire for the first time as husband and wife.

And they were getting ready to do just that when Roland noticed a rider galloping up the drive.

The festivity stopped; everyone turned expectantly toward the rider, Caleb and Julian striding forward. As the rider came into their midst, Honorine rushed forward, too, pushing past Caleb and Julian. Miss Brillhart was close behind, her hands clasped tightly at her chest as she looked up at the constable.

"I've come from Nottinghamshire," he announced, his eyes on Miss Brillhart, and dug into his coat pocket. "I've a message for Madame Fortier." Honorine lurched forward and snatched the grimy parchment from his hand. Without hesitation, she ripped it open, scanned the contents, then looked around for Sophie, her face a wreath of smiles.

"It is
him
!" she cried happily. "My Will, he has sent for me!"

Will Hamilton was a little surprised to see two carriages rumbling around the circular drive. He had, of course, believed Lady Sophie would accompany Honorine, and, he had hoped, Caleb. Surely that required only one carriage.

Honorine practically launched herself from the first coach, flying up the steps to him in a gown that was astoundingly provincial for her, and flinging herself into his arms, nearly toppling him over in spite of his cane.

Her kisses rained on his face, mixing with her tears.

"Honor," he said laughing, "I am f-fine. I am v-very well indeed."

"I have missed you!" she cried into his collar. "I thought I was never to see your face anymore."

He laughed, squeezed her tightly. "I could n-not be long without my Honor," he said. She closed her pretty blue eyes; tears spilled from the corners. He slipped one hand around her waist and held her to him as he looked to where the others were on the drive. Fabrice and Roland were here, two men whose names he knew very well—it was their relationship to Honorine that baffled him.

But where was Caleb
? After all that had happened, he desperately needed to see his son, to touch him.

There
. Caleb emerged from the second carriage, pausing to help Lady Sophie step down. He turned then, his eyes on his father, and Will could see the relief wash over him as he came striding forward, pulling Lady Sophie along with him. The Earl of Kettering was right behind them, but what
he
was doing in the midst of all this was a mystery to Will.

Caleb dropped Lady Sophie's hand at the bottom of the steps and took them two at a time until he was standing eye to eye with Will. Honorine stepped away with a smile. "You see, Caleb? He is now well!" she exclaimed.

"I see," he said quietly, his eyes misting. "I had not dared hope for it.

How—but where is—"

Will held up his hand. "I've m-much to tell you, with D-Darby's help."

He inclined his head, indicating his loyal butler who stood patiently to one side.

Darby bowed perfunctorily, then gestured toward the door. "If you please, sir, his lordship would receive you in the salon," and looking at the others, added, "All of you."

Caleb's apprehension and curiosity were clearly evident—he looked at his father inquisitively, but abided by Will's wishes, and motioned for Lady Sophie to join him. Will could not help noticing how she slipped her hand into his as if she had done it a thousand times before, and wondered if there was more to their relationship than he could remember.

Ah well. So many memories. With Honorine's help, he'd eventually get to them all.

They all followed him to the red salon, filing in quietly. His physician, Dr. Breedlove, was already in the salon with Ian and his governess, Miss Hipplewhite. Thank God Darby had the foresight to send for them in light of everything that had happened the last several days. They had arrived just this morning, and thankfully, Ian never saw his father.

But when Ian saw Honorine, he abandoned his toy locomotive on the window seat where he had been playing and came flying across the room, latching himself around her waist. Honorine released a cry of joy; she picked the boy up and held him to her as she twirled around. Then she set him down, murmured soothingly in French to him, and finally handed him over to Miss Hipplewhite. "Run with you now,
mon petit
, and I shall come to you soon."

Ian nodded, and watched Honorine as Miss Hipplewhite pulled him along, until he was out the door and could no longer see her.

"Let me have one more look at you, if you please," Dr. Breedlove said authoritatively as Will carefully lowered himself into the old leather winged-back chair.

"Is he quite all right?" Caleb asked, concerned.

"I am f-fine," Will insisted.

"He is now, sir," the doctor said as he checked Will's pulse. "I think we may hope for continued improvement. He is making excellent progress, in spite of everything."

Will gruffly waved the doctor away and motioned Caleb to sit. "I am f-fine. I've m-many answers for you. Sit. Sit now." Caleb reluctantly did as he was told; he took the settee near his father, seating Lady Sophie next to him, his hand possessively on her knee, his attention focused on his father.

Honorine and Lord Kettering also took seats, and Fabrice and Roland, looking a bit uncomfortable, remained near the back of the room.

Will looked at the people surrounding him and offered up another prayer of thanks that he was here, alive, among friends and family. How close he had come to losing them, he did not know, because Trevor, in his deranged state, never realized how far he had gone. Whatever anyone else might think of his story, Will would not believe—would
never
believe—that his son had intended to kill him.

He had thought carefully how he would go about telling them what had happened, reaching for words in the deep hole of his memory, going over and over it in his rooms late at night so that he would not forget a single detail that he had recovered. When they had discovered Trevor missing this morning, he had gone over the words again with Darby so
he
would not forget a single word, would be able to tell them all that had happened.

But as Will looked at them now, conveying all that had happened seemed overwhelming.

"Trevor has fled," he said, earning a collective gasp of shock, and looked hopelessly at Darby. "Tell them," he said.

Darby cleared his throat. "If I may have your attention, please," he called out in a voice worthy of a vicar, and began to tell them the whole, extraordinary story of desperation and betrayal.

He told them just what Will had finally begun to remember on those nights he had paced his room, desperate to maintain the progress he had made under Honorine's care. How Trevor's horrible penchant for gambling had ruined his relationship with his wife, whom Will remained convinced had died of a broken heart. Trevor had never seemed to be able to help himself—he gambled at every turn, driven by some hidden need that Will could not fathom or explain. It was almost as if a demon had him in his grip and would not let him go—he risked everything to gamble, even his wife and child.

It had started innocently, as far as Will could remember—cards, an occasional horse race. But before long, Trevor's stakes grew bigger. Before Will knew what was happening, he had lost all of his inheritance from his mother, Elspeth's pension, too. When he learned of it, Will had been horrified. He had helped his son the best way he knew how:—by refusing to give him money, thinking that might wake him from the grips of his madness.

Unfortunately, that did not stop his son—it sent him to a moneylender.

Piecing together his memory with Darby's recollections and bits of gossip, Will had remembered that Trevor continued to gamble by recklessly borrowing money with increasingly higher interest to pay for his losses. Nothing he said could sway Trevor from the madness that had overtaken him. They argued frequently—Trevor accused him of being against him, of having always been against him. Will said things he now regretted. He had finally reached a point where he very much feared Trevor would gamble away Ian's future, and therefore had been compelled to take some very drastic steps.

He started by having a trust established that would go to Ian upon his death—essentially bypassing Trevor. And then he had changed his will, leaving all his holdings to his bastard son, Caleb. The only thing that would pass to Trevor was a modest annual stipend and the title of viscount, for which the entail had long since been eaten up by other holdings and investments.

Leaving everything to Caleb was something Trevor could not forgive or forget.

Will knew now why he had done it. Having struggled to retrieve the memories, it had come back to him in the course of those long, painful nights. Slowly, he had begun to remember the bond forged with Caleb over the years. It was Caleb whom he had loved; Caleb whom he had wished had been his legitimate son. He was more like Will than Trevor, as a boy and even more so as a man—fit, athletic. Smart and industrious. Caleb had always been proud and true, in spite of the cross Will had handed him at birth. He was a kind soul; always more concerned about the welfare of others than his own. Will had, in the course of those nights, even recalled the care Caleb had given a bird with a broken wing as a young boy. His mother helped him set the wing, then Caleb had nursed it until the wing healed. The morning they let the bird fly away, Caleb had watched it making lazy, uneven circles in the sky, then had said, "I want to be like him, Papa. I want to fly."