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“Thank you for the information, my lord,” Mama said. “I suppose we will have to visit the Northcotts to express our well-wishes to Oliver. Poor man.”
Rupert must have sensed Julia’s distress, for his wriggling had led him to reposition himself in her arms, just enough so that he could look up at her face.
She met Rupert’s round brown eyes, her stomach sinking.
There was one thing that could bring a little joy to Oliver during such a difficult time, and she could not be selfish and withhold it.
She had to return the dog to him.
CHAPTER3
There were few things Oliver felt fortunate about of late, but one of them was his timing. He stared out the window at the snow that had been falling all day. It was now piled on the windowsill and grass, spiraling through the sky in angry gusts. If he had arrived at Larkhall any later, he might have been caught in the snow. Instead, he was in his bedchamber with a warm fire and cup of tea.
He raked a hand over his hair, careful to avoid the small cuts on his forehead. In the glass of the window, he could see the gash that trailed from his eye down to the bottom of his jaw. The stitches were almost ready to be removed. They had been haphazardly placed by the surgeon on the ship, but there had been many other injured midshipmen to attend to, so the process had been rushed. The scar already showed the result of that.
The more pressing issue, however, was his hand. He looked down at the bundle of bandages where two of his fingers used to be. He had been doing all he could to combat the pain in his shoulder and leg, and he did have hope that those injuries would recover in time, but he knew for a fact that fingers did not grow back.
He pressed his forehead against the cool condensation on the window, letting it soothe the recovering cuts on his skin. He closed his eyes for several seconds, and when he opened them again, he frowned. His mind was likely fooling him, but he thought he saw a fleck of color out in the snow.
It was moving.
He rubbed his eyes, blinking hard. His vision came into focus. That fleck of color was red, a stark contrast, like a drop of blood in the snow. He shook his head against the morbid comparison. It was a woman in a red cloak, trailing through the snow on foot. And she was headed straight for the front doors of Larkhall.
From his vantage point, he couldn’t see her face. Her hood was pulled up on her head to shield her from the snow. Even so, she must have been freezing. Not only that, but she was unaccompanied, unchaperoned, and—
His eyes flew open as she slipped, landing flat on her back. He pushed away from the window instantly, rushing out of his room and down the stairs as quickly as his sore leg would carry him. He still wore his boots, so he didn’t have to waste a second as he hurried out the front door to the woman’s aid. What the devil was she thinking? Oliver gritted his teeth as he limped across the grass, already regretting his hasty flight down the stairs. His knee screamed at him, but he ignored it.
As he came closer to the woman, he realized she was speaking. Her soft voice cooed like a bird. Had she seen him? Her hood was still pulled down over her eyes, and she was turned away from him, so it didn’t seem likely that she was addressing him.“Oh, dear, are you all right?” Her arms surrounded something that moved inside her cloak. Was it…a child? Oliver’s eyes widened.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the bundle. “I didn’t see the ice. You must be so very cold. Not to worry. We are almost there.”
Oliver froze, his heart leaping to his throat. He recognized that voice. If his knee was weak already, it was now utterly useless. He couldn’t take another step closer, not with the turmoil raging in his chest. He swallowed against his dry throat, managing to find his voice for a brief moment. “Julia?”
Her head jerked up, causing her hood to fall back from her bonnet. Color flooded her cheeks, matching the red tip of her nose. “Oliver.” The sound of his name on her voice sent a spiral of memories through his head. He had been trying very hard to forget her for the last two years, but it seemed the task of forgetting someone who was such a prominent part of his life was rather impossible, especially when it came to Julia.And now he saw why it would have been wise to forget her.
She appeared to be holding a child, bundled inside her cloak.
Had she really married so quickly after he left for sea? He had known in his heart that she would. He couldn’t imagine how there could be any man in all of England who wouldn’t fall in love with her. As her eyes searched his face from her place on the ground, he became suddenly self-aware. She had seen the stitches running down his cheek and the bundle of bandages around his hand. Concern knit her brow. And worse—pity.
He walked forward, unable to hide his limp. A scowl furrowed his brow. “What are you doing out here in the snow?” He found it difficult to look at her face as he reached down to take her hand. He tugged her to her feet, eyeing the moving bundle behind her cloak once again.
Her surprise was evident as she stared up at him. “I might have expected a warmer greeting than that,” she said in a quiet voice.
Oliver met her gaze. He still remembered the first day he had noticed the color of her eyes. She had been taunting him in a game of cards when they were fourteen or fifteen years old. She had been leaning across the card table at Larkhall, spouting all sorts of nonsense about how he had cheated and she was the true winner. He had agreed with her. He hadagreedwith her because her eyes had been so blasted pretty and honey-brown and he had been distracted.
Oliver would have to have a word with her husband. How had he left her to walk to Larkhall with their child in her arms, no less? They could have both been injured severely by the fall Julia had just taken. His sour mood did not improve as she patted the wriggling lump in her cloak. “Hold still, my dear,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver said. “I was concerned. It’s far too cold out here. Come inside.” He led Julia by the arm, steadying her until they reached the front doors. He shut the doors behind them, closing them off from the wind. The house was quiet and still, the opposite of how Oliver felt inside. He drew a heavy breath, turning to face Julia again. “Are you hurt?”
“No, only embarrassed,” she said with a light laugh. Her face was still pink.
He eyed her cloak. “Is the child hurt?”
Her eyebrows shot upward. “Child?”
He cleared his throat, gesturing at the movement under her cloak.
She pressed her lips together, hiding a smile. Before he could embarrass himself further, she unwrapped the top of her cloak, revealing a face that Oliver had never seen on a child before.
