To Wed The Widow (26 page)

“I’m taking her to India.”

“India! She won’t go. She’ll think it’s running. Hiding.”

George nodded, knowing that’s exactly what she would think. “How do you feel about spiriting away your employer?”

Jones cocked his head. “Seems like a good way to get dismissed. ‘Course, if she’s leaving anyway. . .”

George had two visits to make.

He began with Miss Westin, and though her mother rushed from the room as soon as she was able, Miss Westin merely looked at him and pinched her lips together.

“Somehow I think Mama was mistaken about your reason for visiting this morning.”

“You are more astute than your years would suggest.”

She settled back in her seat, looking as if she was discussing tonight’s menu.

“Honestly, seeing you dance with Lady Haywood that night was a relief. I couldn’t ever figure out just how to get you to lose your mind over me. It was vexing.”

George smiled. “If you’d only been a few years older we might have had a go of it.”

“Or perhaps if you’d been a few years younger.”

He nodded at her barb. “Or that. But now you can go back to your young swains and find one to wrap around your finger permanently.”

“I know I’m supposed to, aren’t I? But I had too much fun with them all to pick just one now that I’m free of you.”

Sinclair looked down at his boots and tried to keep from laughing. She was much better at jousting with him now that she’d been jilted. Perhaps it wouldn’t take five husbands after all.

He said, “I’m off to India,” and she exclaimed, “India! Now I am even more pleased you didn’t offer for me. I think Mama will find she feels the same.”

He bowed. “Miss Westin, should I ever return to England, I know I will find you sitting in the center of any room, a passel of men running around mindlessly doing your bidding.”

She bowed her head to him. “Thank you, Mr. Sinclair.”

He turned, making it to the door before she said, “I hope you and Lady Haywood are always as happy as you were that night. I hope one day I will find a man who looks at me like that.”

“I hope the same, Miss Westin. For the both of us.”

He opened the door, bowing to Lady Westin as he passed her in the hall, hanging his head and trying to look rejected and dejected.

Lady Westin gasped and rushed into the room to question her daughter. George heard a muffled, “Hetty?”

And then a loud, “Mama, he’s going back to India!”

“India?!”

“I
had
to say no.”

George took his hat from the butler and said sadly, “She had to say no.”

“Yes, sir.”

The countess was gone visiting but George asked if Lady Camilla was taking visitors and then was escorted to the nursery where four girls were playing much louder than any man could expect.

He hugged three of them, kissed dollies, and even endured having his hair brushed for a long minute.

Camilla watched him and finally said, “You’re going away.”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“I’m going home.”

“I’d like to see India someday. Perhaps.”

“I hope your father brings you to visit one day.”

She thought about that for a moment, silently, and George had to agree he couldn’t see his brother in India, either.

She looked down at her shoes and said, “He’ll be very angry with you, won’t he?”

“Very.”

“And you’re still going to go?”

“Yes. The world won’t end if you’re not good all the time, Camilla.”

She didn’t look convinced and he scooped her up into a giant bear hug.

“I wish I could stay, my serious little butterfly. Will you give your mother a great big hug from me?”

She nodded. “And papa?”

“And papa. Tell him. . .tell him that he is too serious and he should come play with your dolls more.”

She nodded again obediently and said, “Will you write me a letter while you’re on the ship?”

“I will. And from India. And send you little trinkets to carefully wrap and put away and never, ever wear.”

She thought about it for a long moment, then said, “I’ll wear one if you’ll send two.”

He chuckled. “I’m on to you, Lady Camilla.”

“One is never enough, Uncle George. Isabel likes to break things.”

“She’ll grow out of it.” He looked at the one-year-old as she crawled around on the floor, dragging a doll by its hair. “Probably.”

“If she does, I’ll write
you
a letter to tell you about it.”

He smiled sadly and squeezed her again. “I look forward to every letter you send with bated breath.”

“And I look forward to yours.”

He put her down and she bowed to him. The perfect hostess, just like her mother.

“Goodbye, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Goodbye, Lady Camilla.”

He walked to the door, trying not to cry. Trying not to think of what he was going to miss.

The next time he saw Camilla, if he ever did see her again, she’d be another eight years older.

Camilla stopped him at the door. “Uncle George, does you leaving mean you’re not the hero?”

He stuffed his emotions down and thought he’d start sending her plays along with the trinkets.

“It depends on who you ask but I’m nearly certain that’s exactly what it means. I’m nearly certain it has always been your father.”

Sebastian was in his library of course.

George let himself in and then stood just inside and looked at his brother.

Sebastian said, “I’m not going to like whatever you have to say, am I?”

George shook his head.

Sebastian went back to his figures. “I can’t even imagine what else you could possibly heap upon me. I’ve already resigned myself to the widow at my table should she ever decide to show and possibly even as a sister--”

He choked, then cleared the air as if trying to erase that possibility.

“But both you and Flora seem happy with my acquiescence. I shall simply have to hope that you can defy the odds and produce an heir. The widow’s son is better than no son.”

“Elinor says my son will be steady and responsible, just like all the Ashmore earls.”

Elinor had also said it wouldn’t be
her
son, but George knew she was wrong. Knew it in his bones and wouldn’t believe otherwise even if she had finally decided to.

Sebastian said, “We can but hope. And if not, there is always a cousin. The title will not end, at least. And as you say, the passing from our branch is most likely inevitable anyway.”

Inevitable. Some things were.

Sebastian sighed. “Come inside and tell me whatever it is I am not going to like. I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be.”

George didn’t move. “I’m going back to India.”

Sebastian didn’t look up but his pen stopped.

“It was. . .inevitable. I don’t want to belong here.”

Sebastian continued to look at his paper. “When?”

“There’s a ship set to sail tomorrow morning. I’ve booked us passage.”

Sebastian put his pen down gently and whispered, “They warned me.
Do not underestimate him
, they said.”

“Who?”

“My wife. Your widow.” He looked up. “I hope she will not become your widow in truth, George.”

“That makes three of us.”

Sebastian nodded. “She said you would do anything for those you love. You must have a good reason for leaving us. Me. Again.”

And what could George say? That he’d chosen a woman over his brother? That he’d jumped at any excuse to go back to the life he missed?

“It’s not good or right or tolerable. It’s love.”

“It’s a damn shame you couldn’t have fallen in love with a perfect countess,” Sebastian said, but there was no heat in his words. As if he could see, now, that that had always been impossible. “Will you stay until Flora returns? She’ll want to say goodbye.”

“I can’t. I don’t know how I’ll have everything done by tomorrow in the first place. But I’ve instructed Camilla to give her mother a fond farewell for me. And I know Flora will write me every fortnight and expect me to do the same.”

Sebastian nodded, pushing his chair back and standing to say, “I did not say goodbye to you properly the first time. It was regrettable, but in my defense I did not think you would really go. I do not have any such illusions this time.”

George stiffened. “Is the proper way a fist to the nose? The bruising has only just gone down.”

Sebastian came around his desk. He grabbed George in a manly hug and said softly, “Write to me as well, brother.”

“Yes. And you.”

“You won’t be able to get away from me. I’ll need reams of paper to impart all my knowledge.”

George smiled tearily. “If you die and make me come back to this God-forsaken country as an earl, I will never forgive you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian pushed him away. “God-forsaken country. This is the home of the British Empire!”

“It’s cold and wet.”

“And the sheep, I know. I know.”

George thumped him on the back and whispered, “Goodbye, brother.”

“Goodbye. My friend.”

It was still dark when George came for Elinor. Too early for anyone to be awake and dressed, except for those who had somewhere to go.

“My lady. Mr. Sinclair is here for you.”

She’d lain awake all night, knowing he was scrambling to get things ready when she had already decided she wasn’t going. That she couldn’t go.

She’d thought that she could give up everything for him. She’d been preparing herself to give up society and respectability.

She hadn’t expected to have to give up her home, too.

She’d had a plan and while she hadn’t quite come to terms with it yet, it had been at least realistic.

India was not realistic. India was impossible.

India meant no children, for either of them.

“Let him in.”

“He won’t come inside. He is waiting for you outside.”

She nodded, and didn’t get up.

She hadn’t stopped crying. Her daughter’s grave, and then her brother and Retribution, and now George leaving.

She’d thought that it would have been worse to lose him to Miss Westin than to India, but now she knew. She’d been wrong.

She finally pushed herself to her feet slowly and shuffled to the door. An old woman. A widow, finally. A woman who’d lost everything dear to her.

Jones gently draped a shawl around her shoulders and opened the door for her.

George stood down on the pavement, Anala tucked in one arm. His greatcoat once again sitting stiffly on his shoulders, his hat covering his hair. He didn’t say a word, simply met her eyes and waited.

Waited for her to leave everything for him.

She looked at him through the tears, painted a picture of him in her mind, just like this.

“I won’t come.”

He looked up. “The sky is a different color in India. I don’t know why.”

Elinor whispered, “I won’t let you give up everything for me. And I can’t give it up for you. It is not in me. Not for only a chance at happiness.”

He kept looking at the sky and petting Anala.

He said, and he sounded like he was still talking about the color of the sky, “It’s not a chance. It is happiness.” He sighed. “But if you don’t want to see it.”

His eyes met Elinor’s and he came up the stairs, holding Anala out. “She’ll be lonely. And two dogs is not a pack.”