Page 34 of How to Seduce a Viscount
‘Quiet place. We are attracting attention,’ Wren replied, drawing her horse close to his. ‘Our moment of escaping notice is gone. We’d best get to work.’
Luce nodded and circled Vere back to the inn to start asking his questions while Wren waited outside with the horses, watching his back. They were blind here. Had Gerlitz’s men already arrived?
Inside, the tidy inn was nearly empty except for a man in his late middle years eating a mid-morning breakfast in the dining room.
The innkeeper was skeptical. ‘There was someone asking the same questions in the autumn right before the harvest.’ He looked Luce up and down. Luce hoped he noted the plain but superior tailoring of his greatcoat and the quality of his boots, suggesting he was a man of some wealth and standing. He was no adventurer.
‘I am the man’s brother,’ Luce offered when the innkeeper proved to be tight-lipped. ‘I’ve come to take him home. He should be with his family.’ That much was true if it was Stepan. Luce would worry about that when the time came.
The man eating breakfast looked up from his food. ‘I know the man thee speaks of. He’s boarding out at the Kingsley farm. My property abuts it. I will take thee out there.’
‘That would be most kind,’ Luce accepted the offer, but he didn’t miss the calculation in the man’s eyes. He was doing this because it served a purpose for him. Luce didn’t like being used as another’s pawn.
The man lumbered to his feet. ‘It would be good for him to be home with his family, his people. My gig is parked outside. It’s not far, just a little ways outside of the town here. We’re close to the beaches. I’m Francis Hartlett, by the way.’
‘Thank you again for your assistance.’ Luce didn’t offer his own name. He mounted Vere and threw a cautioning look at Wren to say nothing. He needed this man for a short while and that was all. He felt no obligation to make conversation or to discuss his brother with him.
At the Kingsley farmhouse, which looked more like a cottage than a true farmhouse, the man insisted on coming in to make introductions. ‘Friend Anne, is thee sister home?’ He stepped inside without knocking and Luce liked him even less.
A young woman looked up from a worktable where she was rolling out dough. Luce noted the dislike in her gaze, shown but quickly disguised. ‘Friend Hartlett, my sister is in the field with Peter.’
‘This is Peter’s brother.’ Hartlett paused, no doubt hoping Luce would supply a name for himself and for Wren. Luce gave away no surprise over the name. Peter might be an alias Stepan had adopted and there might be a reason for it. He needed to be patient.
‘In the field? Very good,’ Hartlett said cheerily in the awkward silence Luce had let grow. ‘I’ll walk our guests out.’
‘No need.’ Anne hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I wouldn’t want to keep thee. I need to walk down to the field anyway.’
Luce helped her by issuing his own curt farewell. ‘Thank you indeed, Friend Hartlett. Perhaps we will see you another time.’ He ushered Anne and Wren ahead of him, effectively dismissing the nosy Hartlett by leaving.
They reached the field and Anne pointed to where two people were slowly walking the empty rows, heads close, deep in conversation. ‘There they are.’
Luce shielded his eyes against the bright winter sun and stared. Relief and elation coursed through him. Stepan was alive! Stepan was found. There was no mistaking the broad shoulders and unruly dark hair so like his own. ‘Wren, it’s him,’ he breathed the glad words as he felt Wren squeeze his arm in shared joy.
‘Ellen, we have company!’ Anne waved and beckoned the pair over.
Luce strode forward, unable to wait. He halted. Stepan was walking towards him patiently as if he wasn’t surprised at all. Something was wrong. Why didn’t Stepan run to him? This was not the reaction of a missing brother found.
‘Welcome,’ the pretty woman named Ellen greeted them with a smile. ‘How can we help thee?’
‘I’m Luce Parkhurst and I’m here for my brother.’ He rested his gaze on Stepan. What was wrong with him? ‘Brother, do you not recognise me?’ The euphoria of finding Stepan was quickly being undermined by something else.
‘Peter doesn’t know his real name. It is unlikely he’d recognise any family,’ Ellen Kingsley offered quietly. ‘We called him Peter because we pulled him from the water.’
It wasn’t an alias then.
‘Is it true? Do you not know who I am?’ Luce’s gaze never left his brother’s. He held his breath, waiting for an answer.
Then, in a voice he’d thought never to hear again, Peter said, ‘I have no recollection of who you are. I am sorry, Sir.’
In a flash, the puzzle came together. Stepan had not contacted them because he had no memory of who he was, or who they were. Dear God. He’d gotten what he wished for all these long months. His brother was alive but Stepan might as well still be lost.
Beside him, Wren slid her hand quietly into his and he held onto it. Her presence, her touch, anchors against the reality crashing around him. They gave him the strength he needed to get through what came next.
Chapter Eighteen
She would be strong for him, Wren vowed as the little company made their way back to the farmhouse. This could not be how Luce thought today would play out: a brother found, but memories lost. Was it really his brother then if those memories weren’t intact? She slid a covert look in his direction. Outwardly, Luce seemed very much in control, but inside he must be reeling. His grip on her hand was tight, almost painful, but she wouldn’t let go. Whatever else lay between them, she owed him her life, not once but twice. She would give him a life for a life if she could. He looked in her direction and she let her eyes say what there was no time for words to convey:be patient, don’t rush your brother, this is a lot for him, just as it is a lot for you.
Inside, they all took seats around the long table that served as worktable and dining table. Wren left Luce’s side long enough to help Ellen gather tea things—a mish mash of unmatched mugs and two prettily painted teacups that were clearly considered the family’s valuables. Anne had gone to call the boys—whom Wren assumed were the girls’ brothers.
