My Brown-Eyed Earl (32 page)

“Of course, there are plenty of trunks in the attic. Give Miss Lacey and the girls whatever they require.”

“Thank you.” The housekeeper bobbed her head, started to scurry off, then hesitated in the doorway of his study. “Funny how those two managed to worm their ways into my heart. I'm going to miss the little mites.”

Will knew just what she meant but snorted anyway. “Yes, all the peace and quiet will be unbearable.”

Chuckling, she hurried toward the stairway once more.

Will checked the time. Almost noon, and he hadn't seen Meg all morning. She was avoiding him, and that was a very bad sign.

Gibson shuffled into the room, proffering a small stack of envelopes. “The mail, my lord.”

“I see that, Gibson. Place it there.” He inclined his head to the corner of his desk. “Like you do every other damned day.”

“Very good, my lord.” A tortoise could have traveled to his desk faster than the butler.

“Is there a problem, Gibson?”

The butler pursed his lips. “I was just thinking about how Miss Diana and Miss Valerie liked to help me sort the mail each morning.”

“You put them to work, did you? Brilliant, and also shameless. I approve.”

Jowls waggling, the butler nodded vigorously. “Industriousness is its own reward. And the girls insisted on reciting your address to me each day. I tested each of them separately.”

“How fascinating.” Will rolled his eyes, but his sarcasm was lost on Gibson.

“They were rather proud of the accomplishment. Miss Lacey insisted that they commit the address to memory after the evening that Miss Diana disappeared.” The butler rubbed his chin. “Perhaps I'll write them a letter now and then, just to let them practice. I'd hate for them to regress.”

“It would be a tragedy.” Will glanced at the ledger on his desk so Gibson wouldn't see him smiling. “I think you should write to them at least every fortnight or so.”

The butler tilted his head thoughtfully. “I was considering writing a weekly missive,” he mused.

“Even better.”

“If you insist, my lord.”

“Thank you. That will be all, Gibson.”

Will couldn't deny that he'd miss the girls too. But he'd been quite content with his life before they'd arrived. He'd adjust to life without them again. It wasn't as though a person could completely change in a few weeks … or could he?

Rather than contemplate the question, Will sifted through the letters that Gibson had delivered. One envelope in particular caught his eye, and he opened it.

It was an invitation to Lord Wiltmore's ball.

Will immediately penned a response indicating he'd be delighted and honored to attend. He knew Meg was dreading the ball, but if he leaned on his friends and acquaintances, they would all attend, ensuring the ball's success and sparing her further embarrassment.

The ink had barely dried on his reply before Lila arrived and everyone congregated in the drawing room to say good-bye. Diana and Valerie beamed at the attention, and bounded around the room excitedly, towing Lila in their wake.

All the staff wanted to wish the girls well; some gave them candies and small gifts. Mrs. Hopwood directed a footman to load two trunks and two bags in the hackney cab out front. Meg hung back, letting the girls slowly transition from her care into their mother's. She'd put on a brave face, but her pink-rimmed eyes betrayed her.

Eventually, the servants returned to work and Lila clasped the twins' hands. “Well, my darlings, are you ready to go home?”

“Yes!” they cried.

“Then we shall. Say good-bye to Miss Lacey and Lord Castleton.”

A look of alarm crossed Diana and Valerie's faces—as though they'd just now realized that going home necessarily involved
leaving
the earl's house. They ran to Meg and threw their arms around her. “You'll come visit us, won't you?”

Over the girls' heads, Meg glanced at Lila, who gave her a blank stare. “I shall try. I will most assuredly write to you. Be good for your mama and for Mrs. Hopwood. Be kind to each other, because sisters are the friends you shall have your whole life.”

“We'll miss you, Miss Lacey,” Valerie said.

Diana nodded vigorously. “You were the best governess we ever had.”

Her eyes brimming, Meg smiled and kissed each girl on the cheek. As though she didn't trust herself to speak, she waved them in Will's direction.

“Ladies,” he said formally, “I wonder if we might have a brief word in private?”

They stared at him, bewildered.

“Let's have a chat in the hall,” he said.

They nearly tripped over themselves trying to be first through the doorway, and once they were in the corridor, Will crouched so he was approximately at a six-year-old height. “I have a couple of important matters to discuss with you,” he began.

Two pairs of strikingly blue eyes went wide. “Yes, sir,” Diana replied.

“First, I need your help selecting a thank-you gift for Miss Lacey. I thought we could give her something from the three of us.”

Valerie clasped her plump hands beneath her chin. “Ooh, a gift would make her happy. What shall we give her?”

“I was thinking a dress, to replace the one that…”

“We stained with chocolate and burned to ash?” Diana provided.

“Precisely.” Will smiled. “But you must tell me what you think Miss Lacey would like.”

“A fairy princess dress,” announced Valerie.

“Done.” Will turned to Diana.

“What color?”

“Dark pink—like the square of fabric we saw the first day we went dress shopping. I could tell that Miss Lacey admired it.”

“Perfect,” Will announced. “I cannot tell you how helpful that information is.” The girls lifted their chins proudly.

“What was the second thing?” asked Valerie.

“I have a secret to tell you—an important one.”

Diana shivered in anticipation. “Oh, I do love secrets.”

Will placed his hands on their shoulders, drew them closer, and lowered his voice.

“One day when you are older, I will tell you more, but for now, I want you to know that your father was a dear friend of mine.”

“You know who our father was?”

“I do. And he loved you … very much.”

“I thought that…” Valerie blushed. “I thought that perhaps
you
were our father.”

“I am not,” Will said carefully. “But I can tell you this. Any man would be lucky to have you two for his daughters.”

They hugged him—surprisingly hard for such tiny girls—and he hugged them back, oddly reluctant to let go.

When they returned to the drawing room, Lila tapped her toe impatiently. “I'm afraid we must be off now,” she said. “I want to have the girls settled before naptime.”

“We have to take naps at home, too?” Diana moaned.

As the twins, Lila, and Mrs. Hopwood bustled out the front door, Will spotted a trunk in the foyer. “Wait, there's one more trunk to be loaded. I'll see to it.” He leaned over and prepared to heft it onto his shoulder.

“That's not the girls',” Meg said. “It's mine. I wondered if Harry could deliver me home.”

“Damn it, Meg,” he murmured. “If anyone's going to take you home, it will be me. Let's see the twins off first.”

They stood on the doorstep as Diana and Valerie clambered into the cab, chatting endlessly. Their blue eyes shining and little noses pressed to the windows, they waved enthusiastically.

Will waved back until the hackney disappeared from view. For Meg's sake and his pride's, he remained stoic.

He told himself that the hole left in his heart by two tiny hoydens couldn't possibly take very long to heal.

And he hoped to hell he was right.

 

Chapter
THIRTY-SIX

 

“It's not too late to turn around.” Will sat across from Meg on the plush squabs of his elegant coach as it rumbled through the streets of London. The shattered look in his eyes nearly broke her heart. “Let's go home and discuss your concerns over dinner.”

“No,” she said softly. “When we are alone together, we have a tendency to engage in activities other than talking.”

“That's not a bad thing, you know.”

She took a deep breath. “I can't be with you anymore, Will. A relationship shouldn't be based on secret wagers, verbal sparring, and…”

He raised a dark brow. “Amazing sex?”

“Exactly,” she choked out.

“That's not fair, and you know it.”

She did know it. But she couldn't very well tell him about her guilt or the fear that if she married him, she'd wake up every day knowing that she was living the life her parents had wanted for her—only, due to her stubborn pride, they weren't there to witness it. Her selfishness had made her sisters orphans. How was she supposed to tell them that she'd capriciously changed her mind about the decision that had led to their parents' deaths?

“Perhaps in time…” But she already knew she and Will had no hope of a future; she merely pretended otherwise in order to make a graceful exit from the coach—and from his life.

As the coach rolled to a stop in front of Uncle Alistair's house, she scooped her bag off the floor. “Thank you for seeing me home.”

He shook his head, bewildered. “That is all you have to say to me? I asked you to
marry
me, Meg. We shared everything. And you act as though I'm a stranger who escorted you home from the park.”

Dear God, she had to go. Quickly, before she lost her resolve and the last threads of her composure. “I shall write to you in a week or so.”

“A week?” he asked, incredulous.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He reached into his pocket, produced a wad of bank notes, and thrust them at her. “Here. It's your last week's salary and three month's pay.”

Meg had never seen so much money at one time, but his offer turned her stomach. Hands firmly clasped in her lap, she kept her voice low and even. “I don't want it.”

“Why not?” he said harshly. “You've earned it.”

The words stung. “Will. Please, don't.”

“Take it. It's what I'd do for any of my employees whose service was cut short due to circumstances beyond their control.”

She eyed the roll of bank notes warily. Lord only knew when she'd be able to find another position, and the money could keep them afloat for another year. She should take it.

But it made her think about her father's wager, and each time she did, she felt ill. How well had she really known him?

“I don't want your money.” She scooted across the seat toward the cab door.

Will cursed and stuffed the notes into his pocket. “I'll carry your trunk in.”

“That's not necessary,” she said quickly. “I'll ask the driver.”

She reached for the door handle, and he covered her hand with his. “One more thing before you go,” he said.

She swallowed, one part suspicious and one part hopeful. Maybe he wanted to kiss her—a final kiss, to say good-bye. It wouldn't change anything, and it might well haunt her forever, but she wanted it all the same. Desperately. She leaned forward, parted her lips, and—

“I'm leaving town for a couple of days,” he said. “But if you should need to contact me, for any reason, Gibson knows how to reach me.”

Feeling as though she'd been slapped, she nodded numbly. “Good-bye, Will.”

He didn't reply, and she didn't look back.

Meg marveled at her ability to alight from the coach, talk to the driver, and navigate the walkway to the door. She even managed a smile as he deposited her trunk in the foyer, swept off his cap, and bowed.

It was only after he left and she closed the door behind him that she crumpled to the floor right there in the foyer and cried—for the twins, Will, her sisters, and herself. She hadn't wept so hard or so long since the day she buried her parents, but once the tears started coming, she was powerless to stop them.

She was heartbroken, penniless, and unemployed.

But at least she was home.

*   *   *

It had been a few months since Will had visited Castleton Park, the estate where he'd spent much of his childhood, within walking distance of the Lacey family's residence.

He'd thought it would be good for him to leave London and the townhouse where he still expected to see Meg and the twins each time he rounded a corner, but damned if he didn't see Meg everywhere he looked in the country, too.

As he left the manor house, traveling on horseback by green fields spotted with wildflowers, he recalled the scent of her hair. The moss at the base of the trees that lined the road was the same shade as her eyes. And the lake itself brought back memories of the day he'd watched her swimming, undulating through the clear water like a mermaid.

It was foolish to think he could forget her, even for a couple of days.

And it was probably even more foolish to think he could find the answers he sought—answers to questions that were at least eight years old.

But he started in the most logical place he could think of—the Red Griffin.

The inn's taproom was crowded with villagers who greeted him with slaps on the back and gap-toothed grins. He made small talk with a few, asking after their families and their farms and thinking how different these conversations were from the ones in London's ballrooms.

Here, there were no minefields to avoid, no hidden agendas, no one pretending to be anything but what they were. Just hardworking, simple people who required a couple of glasses of ale after a day in the fields.

Will made his way to the bar. “Evening, Jack.”

The innkeeper, a spry, redheaded man in rolled shirtsleeves, nodded and slid a pint toward him. “Good to see you, my lord. Any news from the manor house?”