The Bride's Secret (7 page)

A pity she was not more like Lord Rutledge, who had such a facility in relating to lads. Without moving her head, she stole a glance at the earl. “Fire the cannon,” he ordered. Sitting there opposite Stevie, he looked as large and as powerful as a cannon mounted on a caisson. The earl's pantaloons stretched across his muscled legs that trailed into a pair of shiny black Hessians. His shoulders strained against the well cut chocolate-colored coat that narrowed at his trim waist. When he leaned over the rows of miniature tin soldiers, his cork-colored hair spilled over his pensive forehead, causing Carlotta's breath to grow short. Why had she never before noticed how startlingly handsome Lord Rutledge was? Could it be she was finally able to judge a man on his own merit—and not upon how he compared with the physical perfection of Gregory Blankenship?

Then she chided herself.
This is the man responsible for poor Stephen's death
. Her face grim, she returned to her embroidery.

Her thoughts focused on the perceptible distance she had always kept between herself and Stevie. Even now, he was some fifteen feet away from her and could not have been more detached had she been in The Colonies.

“Perhaps you should move closer to the fire, dearest,” she said to her son.

He kept on playing.
God in heaven! Was her endearment so alien to him?
“My love, come sit closer to the fire,” she repeated. “I worry you will take a chill.”

Now he looked at his mother, a wistful, puzzled look on his thin face. Then, he dutifully began to move his soldiers. “To the south, men!” he said in a commanding voice.

“'Tis actually west,” Lord Rutledge playfully corrected.

“March westward, men,” Stevie amended, his voice still authoritative.

Carlotta could not help but to chuckle as her glance met the earl's. He smiled, too.

She watched as Stevie moved his columns of soldiers closer to her. His columns were not lined up as straight as his opponent's, a fact that sent another smile to Carlotta's lips. She seemed to be doing a lot of smiling as of late.

Since Lord Rutledge had come to Bath.

When Stevie's move was complete, he cast a shy glance up to his mother.

“That's much better, love,” she said softly. The words were no sooner out of her mouth when her glance lit upon Lord Rutledge's smiling face. She looked away quickly.

Soon the males were thick in the heat of battle as Carlotta changed to green thread, her thoughts mulling over her long-ago decision to send Stevie away. At the time, she had been convinced it was the right thing to do. But now she wondered if she had made a grave mistake. Would her son ever think of her as anything but a beautiful woman who wouldn't want to muss her gown? Would he ever be as close to her as he was to the man who had deprived him of his father? she wondered bitterly.

Being a parent was exceedingly difficult! The problem was one never knew if one were doing the right thing. Success—which would be years in the proving—was imperfectly measured by the worth of another human being. A most heady responsibility, to be sure.

Assaulting her piecework with green embroidery threads, Carlotta listened contentedly to Stevie and Lord Rutledge and their frequent laughter.

And despite their comforting presence, she felt as if she did not belong in this domestic scene. She had not earned the right to be here. Would she always be such an outsider?

She flung her embroidery aside, dropped to the carpet on her knees and scooted toward her son. “I believe your reinforcements have finally arrived, Captain.”

For as long as she lived, Carlotta would never forget Stevie's broad answering smile.

* * *

James poured more wine into Carlotta's glass, then planted his booted feet into the brittle grass and leaned back to watch Stevie play below in the roofless Roman ruins at the bottom of the hill they sat on.

“I declare, I get tired just watching Stevie!” Carlotta said. “How can he unleash such energy after so big a meal?” She turned to James. “Forgive me for not telling you sooner how very good the picnic you provided was.”

“'It was certainly filling.”

“I believe I could lie back and fall asleep right here on the hill,” she said.

Completely unsummoned, the very thought of Carlotta lying beside him caused James's mind to spin—and his body to react. He had been with Mrs. Ennis and Stevie every day now for the past two weeks, and the more he was with her, the more he questioned his own motives in wanting to help her and her son. For James had come to realize he eagerly looked forward to every moment he spent in Carlotta Ennis's presence.

He even began to wonder if he might have coveted Captain Ennis's wife while the good captain was still alive. Until the past few days, James had never dared to direct his thoughts along so sinister a path, but now he doubted his own altruism. Could his desire for Carlotta Ennis have been festering all these years?

Could that be why no other woman had ever been able to capture his heart? Had he always obsessed over the raven-haired widow with soft violet eyes?

His heartbeat growing erratic, James allowed himself to glance at Carlotta as she swallowed a sip of wine, unaware that he was watching her. After their nuncheon, she had unbuttoned her lavender merino pelisse. The roundness of her breasts claimed his attention. They would be soft. Like Carlotta. The new Carlotta who was becoming more gentle and loving with each passing day.

She set down her glass and looked at him. “Think you Stevie is ready for a nurse now?”

He stiffened. “No,” he said sharply. For some odd reason, Mrs. Ennis deferred to his judgment and adhered to his decisions. He rather liked that.

“Why?” she asked softly.

How could he tell her he did not want the apple cart upset? He had never been happier than he had been these past two weeks. The three of them had been like a family. Like a family he had craved since he was a small child. “I still believe the boy needs time to get used to you. You've got many years to make up for.”

It pained him that Carlotta Ennis, his paragon, had formerly been a somewhat unfeeling mother, but he took peculiar pride in her metamorphosis.

She reached out and briefly stroked his forearm. “You are right, of course. You're always so devilishly right, and you know me too devilishly well!”

He reeled from her soft touch. He grew aroused and had to tear his eyes away from her. The sounds of Stevie's childish singing voice wafted up to them. James had to wipe Carlotta and her dizzying touch from his mind. “The boy seems happy.”

“Yes, he does. I'm so grateful to you, my lord.”

Despite her words, James detected a hint of insincerity in her voice. Carlotta was grateful he had rescued her from the near-squalor of Mrs. McKay's dwelling. And she was thankful that through his efforts she had become reunited her with her son. But still, he knew, she held him accountable for her husband's death.

For as long as he drew breath, James would feel his guilt. Because of his disobedience, Stephen Ennis had died. And in dying, he had saved James's life. No day ever passed that James did not think about the captain and feel remorse. He had lived while the captain—who left a wife and son—died. Surely there had been a reason for sparing James. For years he had kept the pain bottled inside of him, but he could no longer suffer silently. Like steam under a kettle lid, he needed release.

“As you know, Mrs. Ennis,” he began, his heart thudding, “my negligence caused your. . .your husband's death.” It was as painful for him to think of her as the wife of another man as it was to remember the man who had been her husband.

She nodded, her beautiful face solemn.

“It's time I tell you about it.”

She shook her head. “I don't think I can bear it.”

He closed his hand over hers. It felt so small. “Please,” he said.

Their eyes met and held.

“I need to talk about it,” he said in a throaty voice.

She could not remove her gaze from him. “You've never asked anything of me before,” she said pensively. Then, she nodded. “Go on.”

He cleared his throat. “One of the first things a soldier learns is that when a comrade falls in combat, you don't stop. You keep fighting.”

Absently twirling her now-empty wine glass in her hand, she nodded.

“But I disobeyed orders to keep marching . . .” his voice faltered. He coughed, then sat up even straighter and looked into her eyes. “Harold Dutton had been with me ever since Sandhurst.” His voice choked again.

Carlotta nodded solemnly.

“When I heard him cry out . . .”

“You quite naturally went to help him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes misty.

He nodded, then glanced away from her. “Captain Ennis saw what was going on and ordered me to advance. I disobeyed.”

Tears began to fill her eyes. “I think I know what happened next,” she said softly. “You were a great favorite with Stephen. He disobeyed his own orders by going back for you.”

He met her somber gaze and nodded. “And with his back to the enemy, he caught a musket ball that would have hit me.”

She said nothing for several minutes. The only sound was the whistle of the wind and Stevie's voice lifted in play. Finally she spoke. “It's good that so many years have passed. I can be more objective now that I can no longer remember the sound of Stephen's voice. Now, I think, I cannot hate you for causing Stephen's death. He was as culpable as you.” A pang in her heart, she realized her words were true. The bitterness she harbored for the earl slid away. A false laugh broke from her throat. “The both of you were most likely too soft to be good soldiers.”

The wind picked up. Blue tinged her fair skin, and she re-buttoned her pelisse. They sat silently for several minutes listening to Stevie playing below. “I'm thinking of William Blake,” she said, almost as if she were unaware of James's presence.

“Tiger, tiger burning bright . . .” he began.

She shook her head. “No. Not that one. This:
When the voices of children are heard on the green, and laughing is heard on the hill, my heart is at rest within my breast and everything else is still
.”

He was very nearly overpowered by the rush of emotion which consumed him. Never before had he felt himself surrounded with such overwhelming beauty, beauty that fogged his senses and robbed him of speech.

As he sat watching her—a lump forming in his throat—he realized the wisdom of her decision not to wear hats. The sun glanced off her radiant black hair. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.

“A pity it would be were the sun to freckle your fair face,” he said.

She tossed her head back and laughed. “I never freckle. I daresay, I must have gypsy blood in me!”

They smiled at each other. “You've never told me about your own father,” she said. “Were you close to him? Is that why you want to nurture Stevie?”

He shook his head. “My father died of fever when I was four. My entire childhood was spent wishing I had father like the other lads.”

“I'm surprised to learn you had no father. You're so very . . .” Her voice trailed off. “That is, you're quite manly. Stephen said you were as fine and brave a soldier as he had ever commanded.”

James smiled. “Not having a father made me work harder than the other boys who profited from their father's coaching.” He hesitated a moment. “I was fortunate that I was blessed with athletic abilities—the only thing I ever got from my father,” he said wistfully.

“I think I'm beginning to understand why you didn't want Stevie to be raised as you.”

He nodded.

“I never missed not having a mother,” Carlotta said, “even though mine died bringing me into the world. My grandmother did an excellent job of taking the place of my mother—though she was probably a bit overindulgent. She was my father's mother and had always longed for a daughter.”

An older, overindulgent grandmother would explain Carlotta's former self-absorption, he thought, glad that she was becoming a true mother at long last.

The wind grew more fierce. “I'm afraid Stevie may not be dressed warmly enough,” she said.

James nodded and stood up. “I'll fetch him. It's time we head back across the river.”

It was time he remove himself from Carlotta and what she was doing to him. He did not know how much longer he could be around her and not try to ravish her.

On the carriage ride back to Bath, Stevie bounced back and forth between his mother's bench and James's, and the child did most of the talking. When they reached Carlotta's house on Monmouth Place, James helped them disembark, then walked them only as far as the door. “I regret to say,” he said, “I have pressing business back at Yarmouth Hall. I leave in the morning and will be gone for a few days.”

Stevie pouted. “I wish you didn't have to go.”

James looked from Stevie to his mother.

“We shall miss you very much,” she said.

By the look on her solemn face, James believed her.

All the more reason to remove himself from her disturbing presence.

Chapter 7

The first day Lord Rutledge was gone, Carlotta did not want to get out of her bed. She had been so gay these past few weeks, eagerly looking forward to each new day, looking forward to being with him. Lord Rutledge had indeed been a rainbow after the greatest storm of her life. Without the earl, though, one monotonous day now would be much the same as another.

She forced herself to climb from the bed and summon Peggy to help her dress.

“Which dress shall ye wear today, Mrs. Ennis?” Peggy asked cheerfully.

Carlotta shrugged. What difference did it make what she wore? Only Peggy and a six-year-old child would see her. Curiously, her heart sank. “I don't care. You pick one.”

Peggy cast a puzzled glance at her mistress. “Methinks Lord Rutledge would wish to see ye in lavender today.” A smile on her youthful face, the maid swung open the door to the linen press and selected the lavender sarcenet morning gown.

“It doesn't matter what his lordship wishes,” Carlotta said in a forlorn voice, “because he's left Bath.”