My Only Love (36 page)

"Dynamite,"
Wallace explained.

"What
is it?" someone called. "And what's it got to do with the
explosion?"

"Everything,"
Jake replied. "It's an explosive."

"I
ain't never heard of no . .. dynamite," a man yelled.

"It
was just patented last year by a Swedish chemist, Alfred Nobel. It's just
bulgin' with nitroglycerin—and we all know what nitro can do. This dynamite was
set off in that level to sabotage our minin' of the new vein. There's only one
man I know who uses dynamite in the excavation of his mines. And that's Josiah
Lubinsky."

Lubinsky
backed away, and turned on McMillian, who stood rooted to the ground,
apparently uncertain if he could, or should, turn tail and run. "You
idiot!" Lubinsky roared. "I never instructed you to go to these
extremes. I only meant for you to scare them."

Miles
slowly stood, and shrugged Olivia away. Janet Hooper materialized through the
crowd and wrapped her arms around Olivia's shoulders and refused to allow her
to follow.

"You
sonofabitch." Miles moved toward Lubinsky, who backed away, only to come
up against a wall of shoulder-to-shoulder miners. "It's been you all
along— all the mishaps. The convenient 'accidents.' So what the hell if a man
had to die every now and again. I wager it was you who had my credit cut off at
the lumbermills as well. You and McMillian made damn certain that any measures I
took to maintain safety were less than adequate, and no doubt McMillian made
certain that rumors of your authority and management abilities reached the
men."

His
brow sweating, Lubinsky shook his head. "I never ordered McMillian to
endanger anyone. Tell him, McMillian!"

All
heads turned toward McMillian. He backed away as the miners moved toward him,
picks and shovels in their hands.

"Someone
get the sheriff," Miles said.

"My life is a
burden without you," he exclaimed, in a low

voice. "I want
you—I want you to let me say I love you again

and again!"

—Thomas Hardy

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It
was noon of the next day before Olivia and Miles arrived home at Braithwaite.
Olivia's mind felt fuzzy from lack of sleep, her body drained from the previous
day's and night's fear for her husband's safety—not to mention the grief she'd
experienced over the death of the miners. She looked forward to a leisurely
hour spent in a bath of hot, steaming water, as did Miles. With his hands
bandaged and his clothes in tatters, he wearily mounted the steps with Olivia,
just as the front door was flung open, and Bertrice stumbled toward them, her
lined face rigid with distress.

Olivia
and Miles stopped short as Bertrice burst into tears.

"I
didn't know what to do, lass," the nanny cried. "She come here with
no warnin' and said you had given her permission to take him."

Olivia
took the old dear's trembling shoulders in her hands. "Bertrice, what are
you talking about?"

"Bryan."

A
coldness crept up Olivia's spine.

Miles
grabbed Bertrice fiercely. "What are you saying? Speak up, blast you, and
quit blubbering. Where is Bryan?"

Her
face white, her eyes round, Bertrice replied, "With Emily. She come here
yesterday afternoon and said you had given her permission to take him for a
ride. She swore she'd have him back to Braithwaite in an hour."

"Oh
my God." Olivia sank toward Miles. He caught her and held her tightly.

"When
she didn't bring him home, I sent Mr. Fowles to Devonswick. She told Mr. Fowles
Bryan wished to stay the night with her, and that she would have him home first
thing this mornin'. When she didn't bring him home I sent Mr. Fowles back ..
."

Bertrice
burst into tears again, and Olivia roused enough to shake her. "Oh
Lud," the nanny wept.

Robbed
of breath, unable to reason coherently, Olivia turned away and stared down the
long, curving drive. After a night fraught with fear and pain, how pleasant
the morning had been. In the space of a moment, however, Olivia's world turned
gray, her eyes unable to acknowledge the gardens of bold purple auriculas and
golden-eyed pansies, of pink thrift and brilliant crimson double daisies that
bobbed their majestic heads with the slightest movement of the wind.

Gradually,
voices wormed their way into her consciousness.

"...
Bring the coach up ... Ride to Devonswick . . . Regret the day she was ever
born... Bring charges of kidnapping . .." Miles's arms came around her. He
pressed her head to his chest and stroked her hair. Only then did she realize
she had begun to silently weep.

"Hush,"
he said in her ear. "Everything will be fine. We'll find our son and bring
him home. I swear to you, Olivia. I won't let anything happen to him."

She
tried to breathe, tried to focus on the accelerated beating of her husband's
heart, hoping it would calm the increasingly irrational fear centering in her
chest. Of course Emily would not harm Bryan. Emily might be a great many
things, but a murderess of children she wasn't.

She
allowed Miles to lead her into the house, and into the closest drawing room,
where he sat her on the settee and ordered a hovering servant to fetch Olivia
hot tea.

Olivia
shook her head. "I don't want anything."

Miles
watched her for a minute, his heart breaking. He watched her small body draw in
on itself. Her fear for his safety had been immense the previous day, but this
emotion she was experiencing now was beyond simple fear. They had returned to
Braithwaite with only one thought: to share their newfound happiness with
her—their—son.

Now
this.

Armand
stepped into the room. "Sir, your coach is waiting." Frowning, he
added, "Perhaps you'd care to change your clothes before leaving?"

"There
isn't time."

As
Miles moved toward the door, Olivia looked up. "Where are you going?"
she asked. "To see your father." She ran after him. "I'm going
with you." "Absolutely not."

Her
face white as alabaster, her eyes turquoise pools of unshed tears, Olivia shook
her head. "How can you think I could remain here ignorant of what's
happening with Bryan? If my father is in any way involved in this, I would
rather know. If we find Emily, I should be the one to confront her. She would
never listen to you."

Taking
her face in his hands, Miles asked, "Why the blazes would she do something
like this? She's never given a damn about Bryan before."

"She's
.. . confused and upset." Olivia did her best to steady her breathing.
"Emily lost her baby and Clanricarde intends to divorce her. He sent her
home to Devonswick."

"But
what's that got to do with Bryan?"

Olivia
averted her eyes. A moment passed before she could speak. "I fear she's .
.. desperate. No doubt she's suffered a great shock and disappointment over
losing the child, and the failing of her marriage. Women in the throes of such
upset occasionally feel powerful emotions ..."

"Is
she capable of hurting him?" he asked. As her face blanched whiter, he
'shook her and demanded, "Answer me, Olivia? Would Emily harm Bryan in any
way?"

"No,"
she said. "I think she wants to keep him."

After
half an hour's wait in Devonswick's foyer, Lord Devonshire received Olivia and
Miles in the formal drawing room reserved for greeting guests. Miles was
livid, and it was all Olivia could do to keep her husband from thrashing her
distraught father.

Standing
toe to toe with her father, Olivia said as calmly as possible, "Tell me
where Emily has taken Bryan."

"How
the blazes am I supposed to know?" he replied, sweating profusely. His
round eyes looked sunken, and darted nervously, furiously, toward Miles every
few seconds.

"You're
lying, Father," she said.

"Why
should I lie, for God's sake? The gal has been insensible since Clanricarde
sent her packing, muttering about husbands and children and babies—«ven in her
sleep. For the love of Christ, I don't know the gal any longer." Lowering
his eyes, he added wearily, "I suspect that I never did. Emily has turned
into ..."

"Into
what, Father?"

"A
stranger. A .. . monster. Blaming me for expecting too much of her—claiming the
only reason I loved her so dearly was because she reminded me of your mother.
She had the audacity to tell me that I 'suffocated' her with attention,
demanding that she live up to her mother's reputation."

Devonshire
dropped onto the settee. Olivia sat down beside him, and took his hand.
"Please, Father. If you have any idea at all where she might have gone,
tell me."

He
turned his gaze to hers. His brow showed lines of confusion, his eyes a
tumbling of questions, and regret.

"The
things she told me about herself. .." he said softly.

"Father,"
Olivia whispered, squeezing his hand. "Please."

"Are
they true? Blast it all, tell me the truth, Olivia. Was Emily capable of those
things? The lies? The deceits? How many times have you covered up for her?
Protected her?" He covered his gray face with his hands and began to weep.
"How I must have hurt you—all those times I accused you, ridiculed you,
shamed you. All the while you were only protecting your sister, and me,
knowing how the truth about her would have destroyed me, and ruined her."

Gently,
Olivia removed her father's hands from his face. She tried to smile. "All
is forgiven, Father, if you will only help me find Bryan."

His
eyes came back to hers. "If I had been half the parent to you and Emily as
you are to Bryan, all this grief might have been avoided." He blinked, and
fresh tears spilled down his face. "Right, then," he said hoarsely.
"She mentioned something about a picnic at the bluff. . . then she intended
to return the boy to his rightful father.. ."

Miles
stared out the coach window at the passing countryside and did his best to
focus his thoughts on the undulating hills and dales, and not on the
stomach-turning events unfolding around him. For the last hour his wife had sat
like a cold stranger on the opposite seat, in the far corner, her gaze fixed
straight ahead, her hands clasped like vises in her dirty skirt, refusing to
acknowledge his existence. It was as if Olivia had gone into shock the moment her
father had confessed that Emily intended to search out Bryan's father.

Closing
his eyes, resting his head back against the seat, Miles did his best to breathe
calmly while he flexed his bandaged hands into fists, and winced from the pain.
It was all too goddamn confusing. Why had Olivia refused to direct the driver
to Margrave, where Emily purportedly had taken Bryan for a picnic? That wasn't
the burning question in his mind, however.

He
looked at his wife. His every bone and muscle ached with the fatigue of last
night's digging, not to mention the many hours he had gone without sleep. He
felt sick, and bone weary.

"I
want the truth," he said softly.

Olivia
offered him a shadow of a smile. She lightly touched his cheek with her
fingertips. "Forgive me. But my mind and heart are confused. I don't know
how or where to begin. I keep thinking about how happy we've been recently—how
truly fond you've become of Bryan—not to mention the tremendous success you've
found with the mines . ..

"This
has all been caused by my own stupidity. I should have known it would come to
this. It was unavoidable. I knew that, yet I prayed that, somehow, it could be
delayed a lifetime, or until our love was strong enough to weather the storm of
truth."

Miles
sank back into the cushions. "Olivia. Dear heart, do you know where Emily
has gone? If you do, for the love of God, will you please tell me?"

"As
Papa said, to see Bryan's father," she replied, looking at him in a calm,
unblinking manner.

"So
. . . I'm finally going to learn his identity."

"I
fear I can hardly keep it from you any longer. I do hope you won't hate me too
severely. After we find Bryan, everything will be clearer."

They
rode in silence, with Olivia gazing out the window watching the sun set beyond
the west horizon, while Miles studied his wife's perfect profile until the
deepening shadows made his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and finally close.

He
dreamt that Olivia, thinking he was sound asleep, wept openly at last, allowing
her quiet sobs to flow freely into her hands while she whispered repeatedly,
"I don't want to lose either of you. I simply couldn't bear it. The two of
you are all I've got in the world."

And
he dreamt that he sleepily responded, "I'll kill anyone who tries to take
either of you away from me." "Sir?"

He
awoke with a start. Olivia was gone. The coach was still.

The
driver, dressed in his finest livery, stood at the coach door looking up at
him, concerned. A blaze of light poured through the house windows behind him
and lit up the twilight. Stiffly, Miles sat up, rubbed the back of his tense
neck, and asked, "Where is my wife?"