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“What of Miss Simpson?” Lady Aleksander asked. “Why didn’t they think to call her? I thinkshe’dknow better than her father.”
“No, madam, no—Mr. Simpson, he’s the one to speak for the family, aye? They wanted to hear from him, and then decided they ought to hold Mr. Bartholomew till they did. They’d no’ allow him to leave.”
“Will, there’s no time,” Susan said breathlessly. “By the time you bring a carriage around to the Ross farm on these terrible roads, Mr. Simpson will have come and gone, and Lord knows what they will have done to your friend.”
William’s head was spinning. Everything was spinning, right out of any shred of control they might have fooled themselves into thinking they’d had when they’d stepped off the train yesterday.
It was decided he would ride to the Ross farms. In the meantime, his father, Susan and the Aleksanders would head for the public house to stave off any harm to Mr. Bartholomew.
A half hour later William was pushing his mount down the river road to reach the Ross farm. Once there he leaped off the back of the horse and ran to the house, knocking hard on the roughhewn door.
No one answered.
He pounded again, only harder and, growing impatient, stalked around the house, trying to peer into the windows. He couldn’t see anything.
He went to the barn next, but no one was there, either. He returned to the door of the house and banged again. But with every strike, he could feel all hope slipping away from him. He’d been a fool to ever wish for it, to believe that he could find a woman like Justine and actually marry her.
He’d been a bigger fool to ever hope this ridiculous, harebrained scheme could work. His throat felt raw, and his eyes burned with the unshed tears of frustration and loss.
What would he be after this? How would he carry on, feeling half the man he’d been before he’d ever gone to Prescott Hall? He felt more defeated than he ever had in his life. He felt detached, like his life was floating away from his body.
He turned away from the door and began to walk toward his horse. But something made him look up, and a swell of joy surged through him. Mr. Ross was walking up a path from the river, carrying a pail and a fishing pole. “Mr. Ross!” he called, waving his hand high overhead.
When Mr. Ross saw him, he stopped. He put down his pail and rod. “My lord?”
“Praise God, you’re here, lad. For a moment I thought all was lost.” He laughed like a madman.
Mr. Ross eyed him warily.
“Ah, aye, you’ve no idea why I’ve come,” he said. “I donna mean to be blunt, sir, but we havena much time. I’ve come to speak to you about Miss Althea Simpson.”
Mr. Ross paled. “I donna know Miss Simpson.”
Another mistake—William should have spent a bit of time preparing to break this news to Mr. Ross, but in the midst of everything, he hadn’t thought of it. He walked down the path to stand before the man. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Ross, but there is something you must know. Perhaps you already know and donna care to admit it.”
“I donna know anything,” he said.
“Miss Simpson...” He rubbed his nape. “She has delivered a bairn. A boy. Ginger hair.”
Mr. Ross’s body visibly tensed. His eyes turned hard. “I’ve heard the talk.”
But his reaction confused William. He’d heard the talk? “Then why...?” William paused. He understood. Mr. Ross had heard the rumors abouthim. “The child is no’ mine, if that’s what you think.Youare the father. Ginger hair!” he all but shouted, gesturing to Mr. Ross’s healthy crop of ginger hair.
But Mr. Ross snorted and bent down to pick up his pail and rod, and started walking, brushing past William as he went up the hill.
William whirled around “Where are you going? You must believe me, man. The bairn isyours. There was never anyone but you, and certainly no’ me, aye?”
Mr. Ross stopped walking and turned around, looked him square in the eye. “If it were mine, she would have met me as we agreed. But the last anyone saw her, she was with you, milord.” He continued up the path.
“Why did we no’ anticipate this?” William shouted heavenward, then strode after him. “You’ve got it all wrong, man. I tried to help her. I tried to make it possible for her to reach you, do you understand? At least hear me out. Give me that. Giveherthat.”
Mr. Ross paused and looked back. “You think I donna understand? You got a child in her, and you donna want it. You are here to saddle me with your by-blow.” He started walking again.
William wanted to put a fist in his mouth or through a tree, but he was running out of time. He kept talking. “I got her a horse and a room in the inn. I told her how to get to the place you’d agreed to meet.” He frantically dug through his memory of that day. “Go out the old fort road and at the fork, go right!”
Mr. Ross paused.
“I saw her to her room, that I did, for I did no’ want anyone to bother her. But then I left, because in spite of what you might think you know about me, I am a gentleman. I assumed she would leave at first light. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to me, her father found her before that could happen.”
