Page 33 of How to Seduce a Viscount
He gave a curt nod in concession to the practicality of the suggestion. They needed a good night’s sleep if they were to function well in the face of what lay ahead. She did not pretend that nod meant all was resolved between them, but perhaps it was a start. They needed to be unified by the time they reached Stepan. She didn’t know what they might find there or who they might meet. And more selfishly, she didn’t wish to leave with the memory of him hating her, when she disappeared into retirement in a few days.
Chapter Seventeen
Wren wondered if she’d ever learn her lesson about wishes. She’d wished to meet Luce in person and she had. She’d wished to work with him on a project and she’d gotten to do that too, and so much more. For a short while, she’d lived the fairy tale with him and seen him at his most personal—at least the most personal he’d allow. Those wishes had come at the cost of his trust, though, and it had been a high price to pay indeed. And she’d still not learned. That first night on the road she’d wished for a better memory to leave with than one of cold silence. She’d gotten that wish too.
Tonight would be their last night on the journey to Essex. It had taken them three days, and they’d made good time considering they had to nearly go all the way through Essex to reach their destination. They’d been blessed by passable roads in winter, a lack of traffic and decent inns along the way in which they could recover from long days in the saddle. And she’d been blessed by his presence beside her in bed every night and his conversation during the day.
But it wasn’t the same as it had been before. These conversations were the conversations one might have with an acquaintance. The type of small talk he might make with the baker in Little Albury. There were no more forays into familystories or tales of growing up beneath the stars at Sandmore with his brothers. It was polite and technically what she’d asked for—to not be invisible to him.
He was certainly not invisible to her. Whether she rode beside him on wide tracks of road, or rode behind him on narrower ones, she was fully conscious of him, every waking moment. She did not tire of watching him in the saddle, his head bare, his waves tousled. The cold did not affect him at all. He was revelling in the journey, in being outdoors. She craved their evening meals, always taken privately in their room, when she had him to herself even if the conversation remained general.
She had tried to draw him out a few times, even provoke him, but to no avail. He was on guard and his armour was firmly in place. She understood. He was protecting himself. What he might comprehend from a business standpoint, he was struggling to come to grips with from a personal perspective. In that regard, the Parkhurst pattern where husbands and wives seemingly told one another everything, trusted each other with all things, had set him up for disappointment. Twice.
This evening, though, as they settled into the inn at Southend-on-Sea, their final destination, Luce was in high spirits. Perhaps it was the excitement of potentially being reunited with his brother tomorrow. She hoped it wasn’t the prospect of getting rid of her. ‘Will you be able to sleep tonight?’ she asked as they sat down to supper. Was this theirlastsupper? It could be. She’d been doing that all day, counting things off in terms of lasts.
‘I do not want to get my hopes up. It might not be him and we will have come a long way for nothing.’ But she could hear the hope in his voice. He thought it would be Stepan. She hoped for his sake it was.
Wren tried to bolster Luce’s hopes. ‘There’s a good chance it will be. Our information is excellent. One of the agentsCaine sent out this fall reported that there was a stranger meeting Stepan’s description living in a Quaker settlement near Southend-on-Sea. He’d not been able to see the stranger but the man’s story is particularly compelling.’
‘The story is hearsay from third parties. It is not the stranger’s own telling.’ Luce’s caution tore at her. Had she done this to him? Created a caution that prevented him from embracing the possibility of joy openly? The higher one flew, the further and the harder the fall. ‘Caine’s man did not set eyes on him.’
‘But the odds, Luce,’ she said in protest. ‘A tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed man washing up on shore atthat time?’
‘I will admit it is more than the other enquiries have revealed, but that doesn’t make it true. What of the knife wound? What does the man have to say for himself?’
‘We will find out tomorrow. Now, come to bed.’ She held out her hand to him, wishing he was coming to bed for more than the practicalities of rest and sleep. But he’d made his choices and she had made hers.
The next day found Luce restless and up at dawn. He’d been unable to sleep with the knowledge that Stepan might be alive and that he would see him in the morning. There was the knowledge, too, that once Stepan was—hopefully—found, Wren would leave him. He took himself out to watch the winter sun rise, to take a brisk walk in the quiet village lanes, anything to keep himself busy, to keep the questions at bay that had plagued him through the long night.
He stopped to check on the horses, positing some answers in his mind as he fed apple pieces to Vercingetorix. If itwasStepan why hadn’t he contacted them? Why hadn’t he found his way home? There’d been enough time.
Luce stroked Vere’s long face. If Stepan had been seriously injured, a long convalescence would have kept him from home. As would an illness, perhaps he had caught something from spending so much time in the water—a fever or chill that had proven near deadly. Especially if there was a lack of medical care. These were isolated parts here where the Thames emptied into the sea.
How longhadStepan been in the water? Had he really drifted this far down the river? By Luce’s calculations, it was approximately forty miles from the Thames in London to its outlet in Southend-on-Sea—not all of it fast-running water either. A man would have opportunity to paddle ashore at myriad points. Caine had posted men to the various hamlets along the waterway in the hope that Stepan would drag himself ashore.
Luce reached for another slice of apple. Injury and illness would explain the delay in returning, but they did not explain why he hadn’t sent a note. ‘Why would he not send word?’ Luce asked Vere quietly. No money for franking? But surely, some good soul in the village would have helped him send word. Family would have come for him and stayed with him until he could travel.
These questions shaded his joy at the prospect of today’s findings and beneath those questions was worry. His gut told him something awful had happened to Stepan, something terrible enough to prevent him from sending word. They might find him but in what shape? The worst thought of all nudged at his conscience. Would it have been better if he’d not washed ashore? Better for whom? Him or his family? Luce would rather live with the not knowing if it spared Stepan from incurable suffering.
The stable was rousing and getting busier as inn guests woke and prepared to travel. It was a reminder to him that Wrenwould be waiting. They would eat breakfast and then head to the settlement. After six months of not knowing, resolution was just hours away. Maybe. He’d spent so much time thinking about what if the man was Stepan, he’d not considered the consequences if the man wasn’t. It would mean Stepan was still missing. Still lost. Still dead. It was a testament to just how much his thoughts had subtly slipped towards the hopeful, the accepting, despite his questioning. Not unlike how his heart had slipped towards Wren, falling for her without his permission.
She would be out of his life soon. Once the situation with Stepan was resolved, she could get on with her retirement, sliding into nothingness and erasing the very presence of herself within the network. His hand halted its stroking. It would be as if she’d never been. His traitorous heart rebelled at the thought. His heart had stopped caring about her betrayals. His heart argued all too easily on her behalf that she’d found herself in an untenable situation. His heart had craved the nights beside her on their journey, recapturing a little of the closeness that had existed between them.
He had to make his heart understand that it was better this way. Even if he had taken her olive branches and re-engaged, it would only have been for a handful of nights. He would have prolonged further heartbreak by a matter of days. It changed nothing. She was not returning to Tillingbourne with him when this was over. She was disappearing. It was necessary so that Gerlitz and others could not find her. He could not tempt her with a reason to stay. Nor could he tempt himself. He’d have to let her go in the spring when he went to London anyway. He would not ask her to risk her freedom for such temporary terms as the ones he could offer. They had found their limits.
His conscience whispered:Then learn to live with the limits and ask for longer terms.Ask for permanent terms. The solution was simple enough. This little piece of logic regardingterms had been working its way to the surface since he’d seen her in the pink gown and put the pearls about her neck. He’d not wanted anyone or anything as fiercely as he’d wanted her in that moment. Not just carnally, but for ever. To make her his viscountess. She’d looked like one, standing there in that gown, her hair down. So regal, so elegant, sohis. Looking at her, he’d felt sohersas well. The things he’d told her, the stories he’d shared. He’d never unburdened himself like he had with her. No one in London would measure up. He would for ever be comparing those girls to her and they would all come up lacking. But having her would mean accepting limits. Could he do that?
There were footsteps behind him and a soft voice. ‘I thought I’d find you out here when you didn’t come in for breakfast.’ Wren’s hand was gentle on his arm. ‘Couldn’t sleep? The bed was cold. You’ve been up for a while.’
‘I meant to come in and eat with you.’ He’d spent all morning waiting for time to speed up and now it was running away from him.
‘I saved you some bread and cheese, and I packed our saddlebags in case we decide to stay in the settlement tonight. We can leave when you’re ready.’ She was taking care of him, thinking of things for him the way he had for her. When had someone taken care of him? As a Horseman, he was always looking out for others. He’d been beastly to her when they’d quarrelled. He didn’t deserve her kindnesses.
He smiled. ‘I’m ready. Let’s saddle up the horses and go. The morning promises to be crisp and cold. Perfect for a ride.’
The settlement was five miles from Southend-on-Sea and their horses covered the distance easily. Luce brought his horse to a walk and took in the little hamlet with its thatched roofs and half-timbered buildings. It was old, dating back to the Quakersettlements that had thrived in the area in the seventeenth century. To the best of Luce’s knowledge, settlements still existed at Epping and Chelmsford as well.
Old it might be, but it was also well kept. Roofs were in good repair and the dirt street was devoid of animal droppings. There was an inn, a dry good store of sorts that probably carried a little bit of everything from fabric to hardware. No tavern, of course, not for Quakers. Alcohol wasn’t forbidden but they’d hardly build an edifice dedicated to its consumption just for themselves. At the end of the street, stood the meeting house. ‘Nice place.’ He glanced at Wren.
