“Dearest Lily,” she said.
“But why are you not at Mrs. Parkinson’s?” he asked.
“That is a long story,” she said, grimacing. “But, Neville, the Duke of Stanbrook has been extremely kind and hospitable. So have his houseguests.”
“It has been our pleasure,” the duke said as Neville looked up at him. “My housekeeper will have a room made up for you, Kilbourne, while you and Lady Muir join me in the drawing room for an early tea. Lady Muir has crutches.”
Neville held up a staying hand. “I appreciate the offer of hospitality, Stanbrook,” he said. “But it is still quite early in the afternoon, and the weather is perfect for travel. If Gwen feels up to traveling with her foot elevated on the carriage seat, then we will leave as soon as her bags have been packed and brought down. Unless it will cause unnecessary inconvenience, that is.”
“It will be as you wish,” the duke said, inclining his head to Neville and looking inquiringly at Gwen.
“I shall be ready to leave as soon as I have changed into travel clothes,” Gwen assured them both.
Where was Lord Trentham?
She was asking the same silent question less than an hour later after she had changed and been brought back downstairs. The footman set her down in the hall, where Lady Barclay waited with her crutches. The Duke of Stanbrook and his other guests were all gathered there too, talking with Neville. Gwen shook them all warmly by the hand and bade them farewell.
But where was Lord Trentham?
It was as if Lady Barclay had heard her thought.
“Hugo came walking along the headland with Vincent and me after luncheon,” she said. “But when we turned back, he went down onto the beach. He often spends hours down there before he returns.”
All her fellow guests turned their eyes upon Gwen.
“I will not see him again, then,” she said. “I am sorry about that. I would have liked to thank him in person for all he has done for me. Perhaps you would say my goodbyes and express my thanks for me, Lady Barclay?”
She was not going to see him again.
Perhaps ever.
Panic threatened. But Gwen smiled politely about her and turned to the door.
Before Lady Barclay could reply, Lord Trentham himself appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily and looking large and flushed and fierce-eyed. He glanced around at them all, and then his eyes focused upon her.
“You are leaving?” he asked.
Relief flooded through her. And she wished he had stayed away a little longer.
The old contradictions.
“My brother has come for me,” she said. “The Earl of Kilbourne. Neville, this is Lord Trentham, who found me when I hurt myself and carried me all the way here.”
The two men looked at each other. Taking each other’s measure in that age-old male way.
“Lord Trentham,” Neville said. “Gwen mentioned your name in her letter. It sounded familiar then, and now that I see you, I understand why. You were Captain Emes? You led the Forlorn Hope on Badajoz. I am honored. And in your debt. You have been extraordinarily kind to my sister.”
He offered his right hand, and Lord Trentham took it.
Gwen turned determinedly to the Duke of Stanbrook.
“You have been kindness and courtesy itself,” she said. “Words are not adequate to express my gratitude.”
“Our club is to lose its honorary member,” he said, smiling in his austere way. “We will miss you, Lady Muir. Perhaps I will see you in town later in the year? I plan to be there for a short while.”
And then all the goodbyes were said, and there was nothing left to do but leave. It was something for which she had longed just an hour or so ago. Now her heart was heavy, and she dared not look where she yearned with all her heart to look.
Neville took a step closer to her, clearly intending to carry her out to the carriage, and she turned to hand her crutches to a footman who stood nearby.
But Lord Trentham moved faster than her brother and scooped her up into his own arms without a by-your-leave.
“I carried you in here, ma’am,” he said, “and I will carry you out of here.”
And he strode out through the doors and half ran down the steps with her, well ahead of Neville or anyone else.
“So this is it,” he said.
“Yes.”
There were a million things she wanted to say—surely that many. She could not think of a single one. Which was just as well. Really there was nothing at all to say.
The carriage door was open. Lord Trentham leaned inside with her and set her carefully down on the seat facing the horses. He took one of the cushions from the back of the seat opposite, set it flat, and lifted her foot onto it. He looked up into her eyes then, his own dark and blazing. His mouth was set in a grim line. His jaw looked more granitelike than ever. He looked like a hardened, rather dangerous military officer again.
“Have a pleasant journey,” he said before withdrawing his head from the carriage and straightening up beside it.
“Thank you,” she said.
She smiled. He did not.
At this time yesterday they were making love on the beach, he naked, she as good as.
Neville climbed into the carriage and took the seat beside her, the door was slammed shut, and they were on their way.
Gwen leaned forward and sideways to wave through the window. They were all out there, the duke and his guests, including Lord Trentham, who stood a little apart from the others, his face fiercely expressionless, his hands clasped behind his back.
“I wonder you did not die of fright, Gwen,” Neville said, laughing softly. “I daresay it was Captain Emes’s face that breached the walls of Badajoz. He deserved all the accolades that followed, though. It is generally agreed that there was no other man in the whole army who could have done what he did that day. He must be justly proud of himself.”
Ah, Hugo.
“Yes,” she said, resting her head back against the cushions and closing her eyes. “Neville, I am so glad you came. I am so glad.”
Which did not at all explain why a moment later tears were coursing down her cheeks and she was hiccupping in a vain attempt to silence her sobs and Neville was setting an arm about her shoulders and making soothing sounds and producing a large linen handkerchief from a pocket of his coat.
“Poor Gwen,” he said. “You have been through a nasty ordeal. But I will soon have you back home, where Mama can fuss over you to her heart’s content—and Lily too, I have no doubt. And the older children have both been asking for Aunt Gwen almost from the moment you left and demanding to know when you will return. They were delighted to see me go when they knew I would be bringing you back with me. The baby, of course, was indifferent to the whole thing. Provided she has Lily close by, she is perfectly content, wise little creature. Oh, and lest you begin to think otherwise, I will be rather glad to have you back home too.”
He grinned down at her.
Gwen hiccupped once more and gave him a watery smile.
“And you will soon have plenty more to keep your mind off your ankle,” Neville said. “The family will be descending upon us for Easter. Had you remembered?”
“Of course,” she said, though in truth it had slipped her mind lately. Lady Phoebe Wyatt, the newest addition to Neville and Lily’s family, was to be baptized and a large number of their relatives were coming to the abbey to help celebrate the occasion. They included Gwen’s two favorite cousins, Lauren and Joseph.
Oh, it did feel good to be going back home. Back to her own familiar world and the people she loved, the people who loved her.
She turned her head to gaze out through the carriage window.
Have a pleasant journey, he had said.
What had she expected? A lover’s lament? From Lord Trentham?
“We had better stop in the village,” she said. “I had better say goodbye to Vera.”