The guests were gone, the first entertainment at Everdene Hall having provided the ton with more fodder for gossip than anyone could imagine. The barrels of gunpowder had been safely removed and the premises searched for any more signs of danger, but every nerve in Lucien’s body was still buzzing with the memory of the disaster they’d missed by one stray spark.
He wanted nothing more than to gather Grace in his arms. Assure himself that she was safe. Comfort himself by feeling her body pressed against his. Instead, he had directed Simon to gather the Harcourt women and try to calm their nerves. He remained with Darragh Nolan.
He looked across the study to where the Irishman sat on a chair, his face buried in his hands as he waited for the magistrates to arrive. Lucien had told Simon and the others that he hoped to learn who was behind the plot. But the truth wasn’t that simple.
There was something about Darragh Nolan that hooked a claw in Lucien’s chest. He knew that echoing silence of regret. Being alone with the horror as he faced the consequences of something he had done.
That sensation had crashed over him in a wave at the London docks on the day Cassandra and Jane returned from Italy.
Now, he could barely recognize himself, the man who had made an excuse and fled before they set foot on dry land.
But God, he remembered that barren wasteland he’d felt inside.
“I will engage a barrister on your behalf,” he promised. “Tell me who is behind this so we can help you,” he asked again, with little hope Nolan would answer.
The man did not raise his head. They sat silent. Lucien wasn’t sure for how long. When they heard movement and voices outside the door, Nolan stiffened.Waiting for the ax to fall, Lucien thought.
When, at last, a soft rap sounded on the door, Nolan’s eyes went wide. Lucien stood and crossed to the door, opened it. Guards still stood at attention outside the room, but it was Jamie MacLeod who whispered something in his ear. Lucien nodded.
“Show them in,” he said, then turned. He saw Nolan’s Adam’s apple jump. “It seems someone followed you from Seven Dials,” he said.
There was a rush of footsteps, a clamor of voices and Moira rushed in, flinging herself to her knees before her husband, clutching his hands. Robert marched after her with a scowl, looking far too old for his age. But it was the woman who followed them that held Lucien’s very heart: Grace, leading a child by each hand. Sibby Rose, pale and shy. Scrap…his face tear-streaked and grimy. His cherry-red nose running.
The child’s eyes went saucer wide.
“Dado!” he cried pulling free of Grace.
But instead of running to Nolan, Scrap launched himself at Lucien, wrapping thin arms around Lucien’s legs, burying his damp face against Lucien’s trousers.
Lucien could feel the boy sobbing, reminding him of Simon that awful night decades past.
Robert Nolan snorted in disgust. “Daft nodcock! How many times do we ha’ to tell ye he’s not your da!”
Something about the words drove deep into Lucien’s chest. He paused for a moment, then scooped Scrap up into his arms, feeling the child’s slight weight, the way his body trembled. Scrap hid his face against Lucien’s shoulder.
“Ho, there, little man,” Lucien murmured soothingly, Scrap’s coppery curls brushing his jaw.
“Fwightened!” the boy sniffled.
A wave of protectiveness swept over Lucien as he rubbed the child’s back, every rib and vertebrae a bump beneath his hand. “There is nothing to fear. Not anymore.”
He saw Darragh Nolan’s face twist, anguished. Thought of his own failings, how close he’d come to denying Grace and the child to come. Angry as Lucien was at the danger Nolan had put them in, he understood the choice the man had made. Even the choice Moira had made, keeping silent in an effort to protect the husband she loved.
He looked at Grace. She had gathered Sibby Rose close, those hands that would one day comfort Lucien’s child curved around the little girl’s shoulder. Grace, who saw the world so clearly and yet, still was brave enough to love. She knew that he would make countless mistakes as a husband and father. But he would make amends. They would forgive him, and he would forgive himself. That was the price to be paid for this almost unbearable closeness, this wonder, this awe.
Lucien hunkered down with Scrap in his arms, gently setting the child on his small feet. “I will see that you are safe, Scrap. You, Sibby Rose, Robert and your mother. But I am not your father.” He took Scrap’s hand and led him to the man whosat, quaking with emotion. “This is your da. His first name is Darragh, just like yours.”
The child popped his thumb in his mouth, regarding Nolan shyly. With his other hand, he gripped Lucien’s fingers with all his might.
“Can you say hello?”
Scrap looked from Nolan to Lucien, then back to Nolan again. The boy pulled his thumb from pink lips and said, “’Lo.”
“Y-you were just a babe when I left. Look at you…” Nolan reached out a hand to touch the boy, but Scrap shrank away.
“Give him time,” Lucien said.
The Irishman looked up, desolate, and Lucien felt his pain. “Time is the one thing I haven’t got,” Nolan replied.
