Authors: Kieran Kramer
Out of the corner of Gregory’s eye, he saw Pippa, her back taut, her eyes wide. For a split second, he caught her gaze and saw utter desolation there.
It had happened. It was the thing he’d dreaded more than anything else, he realized now. He’d lost the respect of a woman he adored.
The woman he
loved
.
Yet again, he had a flash of wonder—of joy—followed swiftly by grief.
It was another tragedy of monumental proportions, as blunt and hard a blow to his spirit as the first, when his old lieutenant put her head down and walked away, down the path alongside the house, to the servants’ entrance.
His life as he knew it—at least the essential part he never wanted to change—was over. What was left?
Nothing but duty: duty to the title and to his family.
Duty to the House of Brady.
But Father had trained him well. So had Mother, and then Mama. He swallowed and came forward a few steps. “My turn to hold him,” he said with good cheer, and held out his arms.
He felt like an old man. An old, foolish man.
The crowd, as one, came down to meet him.
Eliza brought him the baby. He could smell her old scent, which did nothing for him anymore, mixed with the newer scents of baby skin, powder, and fresh linen. “Here you are,” she said quietly. “His name is Walter, after Dougal’s father.”
“Don’t drop him,” Marbury called to him.
When Gregory felt the wriggling weight of Walter in his arms, the crushing heaviness in his chest lifted slightly. Walter, even if he were his son, would come to no harm as the child of this couple. They both had large, stable families—conventional and wealthy—and there was no doubt that this baby boy would be loved completely and forever.
Walter giggled from somewhere deep in his belly as he batted his tiny hand at Gregory’s face. Gregory was certain his nose must be the object of such amusement. He’d broken it in a boxing match five years earlier, and the slight bump on it now made him look like a clown, according to Peter and Robert, and sometimes Cynthia, when she was particularly perturbed at him for bossing her about.
After a suitable thirty seconds of admiration, he passed the baby back to his mother. Gregory’s forearm accidentally brushed against the side of Eliza’s breast when he lifted Walter high to avoid just that, but the sensation provoked no romantic feelings. In fact, when he watched her go back into the fold of spectators and kiss her husband on the lips, Gregory couldn’t believe that he’d ever been hell-bent to marry her, that he hadn’t seen the real woman he’d made love to … the woman in love with another man—his best friend, Dougal.
And where had he been not to see that Dougal loved Eliza?
He thought over that circumstance as they all walked to the lake to see the folly. He joined in the lively conversation, even making a joke or two that made Dougal laugh. Both times Gregory saw the hope in Dougal’s eyes, and both times he intentionally turned away from him. No, he wasn’t ready to be his friend. Dougal hadn’t been honest with him.
For the umpteenth time, he went back to the fact that neither had Peter, for that matter.
Why?
What was it about Gregory at that point in his life that his very best friend and his beloved brother weren’t
honest
with him?
He walked to the edge of the lake alone and wondered.
“Don’t,” said Eliza, who’d appeared at his shoulder. “Please don’t torture yourself.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Walter isn’t yours,” she said. “I swear.”
Gregory let out a loud breath that was part moan. The short-lived courtship story—his and Eliza’s—had been fraught with high drama, the kind that could rip one’s soul in half.
Thank God it hadn’t quite happened to him. It had been such a near miss—such a near, near miss.
Relief flooded through him. But he was still so sorely rattled, he held on to the view of the geese flying overhead, following them until they disappeared beyond the trees, as if they were a lifeline to calmness … to peace.
But they couldn’t be. Not as long as Pippa was upset. He knew very well she thought that baby was his. He couldn’t wait to get back to tell her otherwise, and to speak another truth—that he loved her.
But first, he must be the gentleman and give Eliza her say.
“It was very close,” his former lover said quietly. “Walter’s age and size—and of course, his hair coloring and those curls—fueled the rumors. But he’s the image of his grandfather. His likeness in his baby portrait is uncanny. And if anyone really wanted to—but of course, they don’t—it’s easy enough to do the math.” She heaved a great sigh. “He was conceived almost four weeks after you left for America. Ironically, it happened the first time Dougal and I were … together. When he learned I’d been with you, too, we parted ways. A week later, we were together again. He said he loved me so much, he knew that if I were with child, he would love the baby as his own—even if it were yours. I believed him, and not only that, I loved him all the more for that declaration. We were married by special license a few days later.”
Gregory didn’t say a word. He was overcome. They were together, and they had no secrets. What was it like—to be able to trust someone else that much?
“Dougal hated you for a long time,” Eliza went on somberly. “But I told him not to. I told him it was entirely my fault. Not yours. I was adrift … My choices were my own. I knew exactly what I was doing. My parents wanted us together. I was miserable, but I surrendered to them. To you. The very next morning, I couldn’t stop thinking I was throwing away my life, and I told Dougal I loved him in my back garden. The truth is, Gregory, I ruined you, and not the other way around.”
He looked down at her. “No, Eliza. I wasn’t marrying you for the right reasons, either. You deserve a man who loves you. If it makes you feel any better, the truth is, I’m fine now. More than fine. I’m in love.”
“Oh, Gregory.” She wiped away a quick tear. “I’m so happy that’s true.”
“Don’t cry,” he said. “It’s all right. I still wish Dougal had been honest with me. But it’s in the past, and I’m ready to move on—to move past this. All’s forgiven. If you’ll forgive me, too.”
“Of course I do.” She reached for and caught his hand, holding it to her heart. “I don’t care that everyone is staring at us right now. Why do you think they brought us here, encouraged us to bring the baby? To see drama unfold. The idiots.”
Gregory allowed himself a small chuckle at that. This spirited Eliza was so different from the quiet debutante he’d known.
“I’m only too happy to give them what they’re looking for,” she went on. “But what they don’t know—or don’t care about—is that real human hearts are involved, and they still need healing.”
That was true. Seeing baby Walter had actually brought home to him how vulnerable he was. He’d been reacting to life, almost shutting down. He hadn’t been operating from the center of his being where the piebald stallion pawed the air, where all his hopes and dreams shone brightly, lighting the way to a destiny he could create if only he were brave enough.
Eliza released his hand. “Dougal and I had no idea you were coming here, and even though at first it felt like a giant catastrophe—a dirty trick—right now I’m glad.
So
glad. I didn’t realize what a burden this has been, how many nights I’ve lain awake wondering how you’re doing. How many times I’ve looked at my men—Dougal and Walter—and felt sorry for them for the loss of you in their lives. And
I’d
caused it.”
The others had scattered now. Perhaps the presence of a smiling baby in the arms of Lady Thurston made them ashamed that the two-penny drama they’d hoped to see unfurl before them was actually more the culmination—or the remaking—of a genuine tragedy, enough so that they made an attempt to respectfully look away.
Everyone but Dougal, who stood frozen at the folly, watching them on high alert.
This time when Gregory caught a glimpse of Eliza’s husband over his shoulder, he didn’t look away from him.
Like a broom, a bundle of scraggly emotions that came from the hundreds of wonderful times he and Dougal had shared—as well as the occasional crisis—brushed through him and swept him clean, leaving only one thought:
Best friends
.
Did that not mean something? The same way
brother
meant something?
And it came to him then why Dougal and Peter hadn’t been honest with him—even why Eliza hadn’t been. He hadn’t let them in. Not really. He hadn’t let anyone know him. Not since he was thirteen.
The memories slashed him hard.
“Swear you won’t tell, darling. It would only hurt Daddy’s feelings.”
“I swear, Mother. I’ll never tell.
Never.
”
“What’s wrong, Gregory?” Eliza asked worriedly.
“Nothing.” But that was a lie. Everything was wrong. His façade was cracking in the worst way. But he mustn’t let it. He mustn’t.
“Dougal!” Eliza gripped Gregory’s arm hard so he couldn’t escape, the way a mother would. “Get over here
right now
.”
In the mirrored surface of the lake, Gregory saw a peaceful world reflected there, a world he wished existed. Now that he was trying to breathe again, he realized that here on shore, he’d been walking underwater since the day his mother died … and slowly drowning.
The next thing he knew, Dougal was at his side.
“Everything all right?” He looked hard at Gregory, his eyes lit with concern.
Dougal was a good man. He’d taken on Eliza’s baby willingly. He didn’t care that Walter might have been Gregory’s son.
What if—
What if Father didn’t care that Gregory had been fathered by someone else?
But of course he would! Otherwise, Mother wouldn’t have acted so fearful that Gregory would tell the secret. She wouldn’t have sounded so ashamed …
But there was Dougal, stepping up. He couldn’t be the only man in the world to have done so with a willing heart.
A tiny ember of hope lit Gregory’s heart.
“I’m all right,” he said. “Really. And I want to apologize to you, Dougal. You’ve always tried to be a good friend to me. And I—I didn’t quite let you. If I had, we never would have gotten to the point we did.”
Dougal laughed. “We made a mess of it, didn’t we? I’m sorry, too. I should have told you I had feelings for Eliza. I had no idea she did for me, not until that day in her garden, and then”—the couple looked at each other—“and then there was no turning back.”
“We won’t leave you ever again.” Eliza wrapped her hand through the crook of Gregory’s right arm.
“No, we won’t,” said Dougal. “But it means you must be Walter’s godfather.”
“Yes,” said Eliza. “That entails a great many duties. He likes being carried around like a great sack of potatoes at the moment. And I suspect he’ll demand to build a fort with you when he’s older. Since you’re an architect, of course.”
“I’d consider it a great honor,” Gregory replied with a grin. “I accept on all counts.”
“Remember our first fort?” Dougal asked him.
And together they walked back to the house, talking about how spectacular that stronghold had been.
Chapter Nineteen
Pippa couldn’t believe how closely she’d come to giving up her last vestige of pride and telling Gregory she loved him. What a big mistake that would have been!
Yes, the confession would have been over in thirty seconds. But she knew now that those thirty seconds would have haunted her the entire half-year she planned to stay in Paris. They’d have haunted her
the rest of her life.
Her hat in her hand, she walked through the kitchens in a stupor, not believing what she’d seen with her own eyes: Gregory’s child.
He’d slept with Eliza.
The rumors were true. All it took was one look at his face as he looked at that baby to know that he and Eliza had been together, that his body had been intimately joined with hers.
No wonder he’d been so desperately angry that day in Lord and Lady Baird’s garden.
Pippa liked to think she wasn’t judgmental—after all, the night before, she’d come to pleasure under the skilled manipulation of Gregory, master lover. He was very tempting. No wonder Eliza had succumbed.
But was he over his feelings for her?
Or not?
His face had registered shock when he’d seen the baby. And then when he’d looked at Eliza, all Pippa could see was his utter despair—despair that he’d lost his child, no doubt. But perhaps there was also despair that he’d lost the child’s mother.
He’d tried so hard to hide his devastation beneath a veneer of politeness, but he was broken. She’d sensed it, even if no one else had.
How could she not wonder if he still loved Eliza? Especially now that she realized how powerful love was: Mix it with the compelling force that was sexual intimacy, and one could hardly be expected to easily recover—if ever—from the captivating combination that had the entire world in its thrall.
It was why there was Shakespeare. And Shelley. And every other poet, writer, playwright, painter, and composer who’d ever experienced both the victory and surrender that came with opening one’s self to another.
She felt like knocking her head against the wall. How many times would it take for her to learn that Gregory wasn’t hers and never would be?
But instead of useless self-pity, she decided to work on the mission—most likely, with no allies. First, she’d tell Mr. Dawson she hadn’t kept up her end of the bargain, and he was free to withdraw his offer. Next, assuming he would, she’d leave the house party on her own in the morning, and she already knew how. She’d ride on the back of the milk wagon that came by before dawn. She’d heard the house cook talking about it. She’d go as far as she could and then sell her earrings. After that, she’d purchase a ticket for the coast. She’d travel to an unlikely port—which would mean Plymouth was out of the question, being the closest major one. She’d go east as far as Southampton and get lost among the hordes of travelers queuing up for berths aboard packets heading to France.