Page 74 of The Earl and His Lady

Virginia? Lucas nearly blurted her name aloud. “How do you know Lady Calvert, Mr. Snowley?”

The man, still standing, hastily put the cup down and held his hat in both hands. “I am from Suffolk, my lord. I am—I was familiar with the late baron’s family. I—” He broke off and looked to Lady Pamela Calvert, hesitating.

“You may speak freely, sir. The dowager countess will torture whatever information you impart from me if you do not.” Though he said the words lightly, Lucas knew his impatience was hardly masked.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Snowley spoke again, more rapidly. “I was spending an evening out with friends, my lord, when I recognized a member of the baron’s family, Mr. Macon. I thought I had better go and do the polite thing, but as I approached him I became aware that he had been in his cups. He was saying things I will not repeat before a lady.” He nodded at Lucas’s mother briefly. “Mr. Macon, apart from deriding you and your family, also uttered threats. I gathered that he owes a great deal of money to someone and he seemed to think he could make your wife give him the money to pay it.”

Lucas clenched the back of his mother’s chair in both hands. “What did he say, Mr. Snowley? The man attempted to take my wife to court to obtain control of his late brother’s estate, but he did not succeed.”

“I cannot swear these were his exact words, my lord. He said something like, ‘If I get hold of the little brats, she will pay me anything I like.’ Then he laughed, and he said,‘I’ll have the money by next week.’Then he left.”

Sparing a quick glance down at his mother, Lucas met the man’s eyes again. He saw no deception, no mark or reason to suspect Mr. Snowley told anything but the truth. In fact, the man’s expression betrayed his worry.

“This was last evening?”

“Yes, my lord.”

His mother reached up and covered his hand with hers. Lucas looked down at her, his blood running cold.

“Go, son. At once.”

Without hesitation, he scooped up Edward’s package and left the room, calling over his shoulder, “Thank you, Mr. Snowley!”

Hurry. The word reverberated through his very soul. Virginia needs you.

¤

Standing in Lucas’s study, staring out at the gloomy skies, Virginia took in a deep breath. The room smelled like him. She’d never allowed herself to notice before, to think about it. But Lucas carried with him the scents of sandalwood and cinnamon, and sometimes a hint of leather to him, too, after he’d been riding or working at his desk for long hours. It was a unique blend of warm, comforting things, which really quite suited him.

Leaning against the window pane, Virginia stared down the road, willing him to return.

They were halfway through August. Why had he been gone so long? More than a month. She needed him to come back, to stand before her. Virginia needed to look him in the eye, to see again what she now told herself had been imagined. She needed to know, to really understand, how he felt about her.

She suspected she knew his heart. If she could see him again, if she could stand before him for just a moment more, she might finally understand her own.

Virginia had entered the study with two purposes in mind. The first was to take refuge and bask in the silence of her mother’s absence. The woman’s visit, her continual insistence that Virginia conform to her opinion on every subject, had exhausted Virginia completely. Bidding farewell to her that morning had been a relief.

The second reason for being in the study was to write Lucas a letter. She hadn’t received anything from him in well over a week, which was all her own fault for not writing sooner. She wanted to rectify the situation.

The paper she held bore her rather pathetic attempts.

To My Lord, Lucas Calvert,

All is well at Annesbury Park. The rain continues to fall, my mother at last concluded her visit, and we miss you.

After that, the pen had rather gotten away from her.

Edward asks continually when you will come home. Phillip wonders whether we ought to come to London to see if you need help. They both want to show you the beautiful castle you had built for them. They both now call you Papa when my mother is not near enough to hear them. She disapproves, of course. But I do not.

I miss you. I cannot lie. I miss our conversations over breakfast when you always try to make me take one more bite than I intended. I noticed, Lucas. Thank you for looking after me. I miss when you find me in the hall, or in the sitting room, or in the music room. You always have something to discuss, but I wonder now if half those things were made up. I think there were several times I sought your opinion on matters when it was not necessary, making excuses to speak to you.

I miss sitting across the table from you at supper, talking of our day. You always make certain that the boys are happy, that I am content.

For so long, I thought I was the strong one. I thought I knew what was best for my sons and for myself. But as I look back over my time as your wife, I have realized something. I have realized—

She had stopped writing then, rather horrified by what she almost put on paper. What she had to say to Lucas, she must say in person.

But she could only do that if he returned.