Entwined by error, p.14
Entwined by Error, page 14
“She and Mrs. Northcott have been visiting. They have ordered tea.”
Tea. No harm could come from ordering tea. Even so, he didn’t linger in the study. He marched dutifully down the hall to the morning room to discover the reason his mother would have traveled out to Cumbria when she had a wayward son to rehabilitate and more than enough social engagements to keep her occupied.
“Mother,” Daniel said as he entered the morning room. He kissed her cheek and then dipped his head to Myra. He hadn’t seen his wife since supper the previous night, taking care to avoid her at all hours of the day that didn’t include a meal. “Is father here as well?”
“The earl is still in London. I am alone on this journey.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes at his mother. “How very adventurous of you. And dangerous. There are highwaymen between Cumbria and London; are you not concerned for your safety?”
“I had a large complement of servants with me. No need to fret, my dear.”
Settling into an armchair across from the women, Daniel kept his focus upon his mother, not daring to look at Myra for fear she would see his desire to be near her. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten his wife. She would likely leave for her aunt and uncle’s home, never to return, if she realized the depth of his love.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”
The countess didn’t answer his question as the door opened, permitting a maid with a tray laden with tea and cakes. Once the maid was gone, Myra sat forward and poured the tea, her movements as trained and thoughtful to rival even those of a countess. Daniel looked to his mother, waiting for her to respond.
“I shall not mince words, Daniel. I came for two reasons. First, your brother’s situation has only worsened.”
“Not surprising.”
“Southwood and Hastings are at odds. Your brother’s actions are unforgivable, yet he is the heir.”
“What has he done now?”
The countess looked to Myra, and then back at Daniel. “He attempted to win another dowry, but he went about it in a much different way.”
“How so?”
“Gretna Green.”
Daniel sat back, crossing one leg over the other. His eyes met Myra’s, and she stared back, hand lightly concealing a gasp of disbelief. “Then he is married?”
“I am afraid not. But the young lady is ruined. Her father has demanded a settlement, an amount the earl refuses to pay.”
“What am I to do about it?”
His mother took a sip of tea. When she placed the cup back upon the saucer, she met his gaze. “If you would but speak to your brother. Convince him of the error of his ways.”
Holding out his hands, Daniel pointed not only to his wife but also to the home. “I have more than enough to occupy my time, mother. And it seems my last conversation with him did nothing to persuade his actions.”
“I beg of you, Daniel. You and Mrs. Northcott are welcome to stay with us while you assist in sorting out this terrible ordeal.”
Daniel stood and walked to the window, looking out at the well-manicured lawn and the peaceful world surrounding Blackbriar Hall. “Southwood has never listened to me; what difference do you think I could make?”
“Your father and I are desperate to help him. But he does not listen. Please, Daniel.”
“I will think about it.”
“Very well.” The countess lifted her cup once more and took another sip. “Now for the other reason I am at Blackbriar. I wish to know when I can expect a grandchild.”
Daniel turned from the window, a smile curling at his lips. He could splutter a response; it would be appropriate, given the cold sweat dampening the back of his cravat, yet he betrayed nothing. Over the years, he had learned to swallow discomfort whole, to tuck it behind charm and measured glances. “You must admit, Mama, three months is rather swift work, even for the most diligent of husbands.”
“Very true, Daniel. But I fear you have not been so diligent. Mrs. Northcott tells me she does not know how a woman becomes with child, as though she expects it to naturally occur if she drinks the right medicinal remedy. How is that possible?”
Myra turned her head so he could not see her expression, but a crimson heat spread up her neck and into her ears.
Daniel had unfortunately decided to take a sip of tea to hide his discomfort, but his mother’s claim of a medicinal remedy nearly broke through his cultured façade. Spitting the liquid back into his cup, he placed it upon the saucer with a clatter as he coughed.
Gathering his composure, he narrowed his eyes. “Subtle as always, Mama.”
The countess matched his glare, refusing to allow him to make a jest of her question. “Should I explain the process to her?”
“I was unaware you had taken such a scholarly interest in the mechanics of matrimony. Shall I send for a bit of chalk and a slate?”
“Do not mock me, Daniel. I want an honest explanation.”
“Perhaps we should speak in private.” He clenched his jaw, his mood souring further as his mother smiled at him.
“Privacy is not necessary, my dear. This concerns Mrs. Northcott as much as it does you.”
Taking a seat once more, he placed the teacup and saucer on the table. “Very well. If you wish to know the details of our marriage…” Daniel crossed one leg over the other, his focus upon his mother as he attempted not to look in Mrs. Northcott’s direction.
“I do not need details, Daniel. I simply wish to know what has delayed a discussion on children.”
He chanced a look at his wife; her face was red as she tilted her head downward, paying extra attention to the lace on her frock. Clenching his fists, he said the first words that had plagued his thoughts from the moment he’d realized marriage was their only option. “My wife is still in love with my brother.”
The silence was deafening. Mrs. Northcott’s eyes went wide as she looked at him. She slowly shook her head, her lips forming a silent denial, but he didn’t believe her. The words Southwood had said in the carriage as he’d dragged his brother to Northcott Castle still played in his head. It had nearly ripped his heart out to say the words, but he knew they were true. Myra loved Southwood. Knowing his own heart, he knew love was not so easily swayed when the heart had settled upon another.
The countess took a moment, her gaze drifting between him and Myra as she considered his words. When she was satisfied, she stood. Crossing the short distance to her son, she placed a loving kiss upon his cheek. “It seems the two of you have much to speak about.”
Daniel frowned. His mother had blown into Blackbriar Hall like a tempest swallowing the estate whole, and now she was leaving. She was as dramatic as the wrath of Neptune, and far more intuitive. Controlling his temper, Daniel turned away from his mother. “How long do you plan to stay?”
“I shall be leaving in the morning.”
“Such a long trip for so short a stay? It hardly seems worth the effort.”
His mother took his hand and placed her other hand on his cheek as she forced him to meet her gaze. What did she see? Did she know how completely she had destroyed him with her questions? He knew as he met her mournful irises that all she could see was a frightened son, a boy who had admitted his greatest fear, but instead of holding him and telling him all would be well, she was leaving him to carry the burden alone.
“I only wished to see you for but a moment. Now I must return in the hopes of assisting your brother with his troubles.”
Daniel pulled at his waistcoat. “I suppose I should accompany you, speak with Southwood about his situation. Attempt to convince him of the error of his ways.”
“I admit, that is what I had hoped. But now I see you and Mrs. Northcott should not be taken away from this blissful time together. It will not be long before Society decides to invade your privacy. As a newly married couple, you should not be disturbed just yet.”
“Mama…” Daniel only wished to reason with her. He stood and walked with her toward the door. Now that she had found the source of trouble within his own life, she couldn’t abandon him. She would never do that to Southwood. “Have you no words of wisdom?”
The countess leaned forward and whispered so softly even he had a difficulty hearing. “You are perfectly capable of wooing your wife. I suggest you begin.”
When she pulled away, Daniel placed a hand on her elbow, keeping her close. In that moment he felt as he had in his youth the first time he’d gone to a ball and had been tasked the duty of asking a young lady for a dance. He’d been nervous, but with his mother’s guidance, he’d done admirably. With the same softness, he tilted his head to the side, fighting the gruffness that had entered his voice as his eyes watered. “What if she refuses me?”
His mother didn’t answer. She simply patted his cheek, then quit the room, leaving him standing across the room from his wife.
Daniel’s eyes fell upon Myra. In the moments he and his mother had spoken, she’d crossed from the sofa to the window. She stood, her hands clenching the laced drapery, as she stared out at the beautiful morning. Her breath was steady, practiced, as though she too didn’t want to give an indication of how this conversation had affected her sensibilities.
He had two options; he could leave to find solace in his art studio, far enough away to avoid the inevitability of this conversation, or he could address the topic his mother had so boldly brought to the surface.
Daniel Northcott was not a coward.
Crossing to the hearth, he rested one hand against the carved mantelpiece, the other clenched at his side. A thousand words pressed against the back of his throat as he considered what he should and should not say. Each word he attempted to speak seemed too much for the moment. Too dangerous for this little world they had so comfortably fallen into.
But was it comfortable?
The silence between them was thick with all the things they needed to say, but neither one was willing to be the first to speak. He waited, the large grandfather clock ticking away each second, until he knew he must say something.
He slowly unclenched his fist and pressed his hand to his stomach, as if doing battle with the tea now staging a rebellion inside him. “If you wish,” he said with careful politeness, “I shall leave and allow you the peace of brooding in solitude.”
Mrs. Northcott turned to face him, her eyes already glistening with tears that spilled over in silent betrayal. “How could you shame me so?” she asked, her voice trembling. “And in front of your mother, no less?”
“Did I speak a falsehood?” he replied mildly, though his jaw was set far too tightly for true serenity.
She turned away, hugging her arms around herself as though to hold her dignity in place. “I am not now, nor do I believe I ever truly was, in love with Lord Southwood.”
“Ah,” Daniel said, folding his arms. “Yet you wished to marry him. Curious logic.”
When she turned again, the tears were gone, burned away by the fire now sparking in her gaze. “I was swept up in what I thought was love. He said precisely what I wished to hear. A charmer with the morals of a coxcomb, as my father would say.”
Daniel arched a brow. “A scoundrel, then.”
“A masterful one,” she said crisply. “But I now know the measure of Lord Southwood. I should never have been happy with him.”
He studied her, the curious way she hadn’t turned away from him after such a courageous confession causing a semblance of hope to shoot up like a small flower taking root. “And what of me?”
She blinked, confusion crossing her lovely features. “Pardon?”
His hand clenched once more, slow and deliberate. “What is your opinion of me, Mrs. Northcott?”
Her chin lifted, defiant despite the flush rising to her cheeks. “You have done nothing to endear yourself to me, Mr. Northcott. I think”—her tone turned ice-cold as though a gust of wind was blowing in from the ocean—“absolutely nothing of you.”
Daniel could see the lie in her face, but he didn’t understand it. Was it possible she cared for him? Choosing not to poke at her restrained falsehood, he gave a stiff bow. “How comforting. I do so love beginning my days with affectionate sentiment.”
Instead of finding solace in his study once more, Daniel left for his art studio. He needed to put distance between himself and his wife; elsewise, he might be tempted to kiss her in an attempt to dull her sharp tongue. But as he looked at the paintings waiting to be finished, he realized the desire had completely gone out of him. Throwing his latest painting to the ground, he picked up a new canvas and stood with a brush in hand, waiting for inspiration to strike.
Chapter 20
The Assignment that Sparked Desire
Myra waited until her husband left for his art studio before she rushed up to her bedchamber. As she ran through the hallway, she spotted Melbourne. “Have my horse saddled and send Lucy to my chamber.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Not waiting for Lucy to arrive, Myra ran to the wardrobe and pulled out her riding habit. She was fumbling with the buttons on the back of her dress when her maid arrived. “Help me out of this frock.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Myra hadn’t been on horseback since arriving in Bardsea, preferring to stay away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of her neighbors. What would they think if she were to be seen galloping along the shoreline without her husband so early in her marriage?
Not wanting to make a spectacle of herself, as she didn’t need the moniker madcap following her from London, Myra had been patient. But she had reached her limit. She had questions, and the only person she trusted to answer them besides her mother was her Aunt Kingsley.
When she was dressed, Myra left Blackbriar without informing anyone of her destination. Her husband cared little for her, leaving her alone day after day, hardly looking at her. She couldn’t bear the shame of her cold and shallow marriage any longer.
Myra rode hard, pressing the horse to go as fast as he could while keeping her balance upon the sidesaddle. The wind tugged at her bonnet until it flopped uselessly behind her shoulders, pins scattering like breadcrumbs in her wake and leaving her hair, once arranged in the elegant twists of a morning coiffeur, a tangle of wild curls. But Myra didn’t care.
She was too busy rehearsing her questions, too busy trying not to blush at the memory of the countess’s interrogation and her own naïve reply. She had made a ninny of herself, and if she were to survive marriage to Mr. Northcott, she could not afford to do so again.
Shame pierced her chest, and her stomach turned over as she thought about the fanciful dreams she’d entertained over the last week since she’d realized her feelings for him. It was foolish to believe he might have thought of her in the same manner. Now, she only had reason to regret her feelings. He would never love her, and she would spend the rest of her life wondering how the man she had given her heart to could be so cruel.
As she came to a harsh stop in front of Kingsley Place, tears pierced her wind-worn eyes as her aunt and uncle rushed out of the house.
“Myra, dear, what has happened?” Her aunt’s frightened tone brought her up short until her uncle had pulled her off her horse and she had a moment to look down at herself. She was a sight to behold.
“I need to speak with you, Aunt. It is urgent.”
“Mr. Northcott?” Her aunt’s question stung a little, until she realized its implication. She’d arrived in a flurry of skirts and dust, her horse’s hooves thundering as though a ghost was nipping at his heels.
Myra took a deep breath as she fell into her aunt’s embrace, a cry ripping from her throat as she held on to her. When she finally pulled away, she wiped at her tears. “He is perfectly well, or so he was when I left Blackbriar Hall.”
Uncle Kingsley smiled down at her. “You gave us quite the fright, my dear. Your aunt threw her embroidery in the air in her haste to see you were well.”
“Indeed? Aunt, I do apologize for the fright. I only need speak to you on a matter of greatest importance.”
“Well, then, child. All the dramatics and it is only a question. I am intrigued. Do come in and sit for tea.”
Myra hadn’t realized how crazed she looked until her aunt sent for a maid to assist in untangling her hair. Once she was presentable, she sat across from Aunt Kingsley in a private parlor, sipping tea.
“We shall not be disturbed in here, my dear. Your uncle is likely in his garden recording the growth patterns of his flora and fauna.”
“He is quite dedicated.” Myra admired her uncle for the care he took in seeing to the gardens. He employed servants who assisted him, but he was an enthusiast. Thinking about her uncle caused her to think about Mr. Northcott and his paintings. He was talented, a master of the brush, yet he would likely never share that world with her.
“That is one of the reasons I love him so dearly.” Her aunt’s words pulled her back to the tea and cakes sitting before her. Myra lifted her cup, took a sip, and then placed it on the saucer once more.
“Do you not worry that he loves the flowers more than you?”
“Not at all.” Aunt Kingsley winked at her. “For he brings me a variety of flowers every few days to brighten my parlor and bedchamber. If he preferred the gardens over me, he should never snip the stems.”
Myra dipped her head as she considered her aunt’s words. Neither she nor Mr. Northcott had done anything to show affection since their arrival at Blackbriar. But she also didn’t think it would be appropriate to take flowers to him. “What do you do for uncle to show affection?”
“I request his favorite meals for the menu. If I find a book on herbs or fauna, I purchase it for him.” Her aunt took a bite of her cake, her eyes wide with mirth. “Is this all you needed to speak with me about?”
Heat instantly pierced Myra’s neck and cheeks as she lifted her cup, her hands shaking as she tried to take a proper sip. She’d rehearsed the questions ad nauseum on her ride to Kingsley Place. It seemed ridiculous to be so nervous, now that she was there.
