Page 111 of The Secret Love of a Gentleman
She entered and closed the door behind her.
It was Christmas in a couple of weeks, and Rob would likely come to his brother’s house on the next estate, he would want to visit Mary and Drew. Caro must leave. Her stomach was more rounded. Her condition would become obvious soon. She needed to hide herself and the child for as long as the child remained in her womb.
Drew sat on the other side of the table, with two ledgers open in front of him. He loved the life he made for himself here, he deserved to live here without a sister’s scandal encroaching on his family. Leaving was right.
He stood. ‘What is it?’ His voice expressed concern.
‘Nothing for you to worry over, sit down.’ She walked to the chair closest to his and sat too.
‘Do you still own the cottage you bought for me in Maidstone, Drew? Where I lived when I left Albert. Is it empty?’
‘Why?’
‘I want to move out of this house, and that little cottage would be the perfect solution.’
‘Where has this desire to leave come from?’
‘Since we left London, I have thought more and more about living independently. It feels right.’ She could let her child grow and make the most of every day, without fear of others noticing or questioning.
‘Will it make you happier? You rarely smile these days.’
‘I will feel content there.’
‘I own the property. The woman I employed as your housekeeper lives there and pays me a nominal rent, so, I will need to ask if she would accept your return. You will need an allowance from me.’
‘I still have my jewellery. If I sold it, I could invest the profit, and the income would help.’
He nodded. ‘Very well, if this is your choice, but we will always be here, and you will always be welcome to return.’
Caro nodded. ‘Thank you, I will visit often. I would miss George and Iris too much to not see them.’
A smile answered her. ‘I will write to Mrs Martin today.’
‘Thank you.’ Her palm rested over her stomach as she left the room.
58
Rob turned his head a little to the left so he could shave the stubble from below his right ear.
He had begun to feel more than a patient now.
His left arm had been freed from its splints. It was stiff and painful and the muscles had weakened, yet it gave him the freedom to move about on crutches, at least from the bed to the chair by the window. He still had the splints on his leg, but they too would be gone soon; the surgeon had agreed to remove them before Christmas. In less than two weeks he might wear trousers again. He was mortally sick of being clothed in a nightshirt and dressing gown.
A knock struck the bedchamber door.
‘Come in,’ Rob called.
‘Hello.’ His father walked into the room, followed by his mother.
They were no longer staying with his uncle but staying with the others at John’s and calling each day.
‘Good day,’ Rob acknowledged brightly, as he washed off the razor and dried it on a towel.
‘You sound happy,’ his mother said.
‘I am counting down the days until the splints are off my leg.’
He dried his face with the same towel.
