Page 71 of The Butterfly
“We shall see,” she hedged, not wanting to disappoint Serena, but not entirely certain she wanted canine Daphne soiling the bedclothes.
Serena accepted this and settled onto the seat, arranging her skirts and pelisse around her legs.
Within moments, they had arrived home. Pulling up before the front steps, the carriage slowed as footmen rushed forward to assist them. Word had been sent ahead of their arrival, so the entire staff stood outside to greet them, many of the servants being those who had served in the household since she’d been a girl.
She worried over how they would receive Niall, knowing he’d come from among their ranks. But as Niall lifted Serena to the ground, then gave her a hand out of the conveyance, she realized she’d had nothing to fret over. The servants were properly deferent and kind. Many expressed their joy that she’d recovered and come home at last. Most seemed glad that she was happily wed at all—never mind who the groom happened to be.
Niall adjusted the fur bundle of “Daffy” in his hold and shifted from foot to foot in his new boots, still looking a bit uneasy. However, when she took his arm so they could go inside, he looked down at her and smiled. All his discomfort fled in an instant, and she saw only the man who loved her, her husband.
“Will you carry me across the threshold, Mr. Gibbs?” she teased once they’d reached the front doors, finding them open in welcome.
With a little smirk, he handed the puppy off to Serena, who carried her inside. Then, he was sweeping her off her feet, gathering her to his chest as easily as he always did.
“Most certainly, Lady Gibbs.”
He strode through the door, but did not put her down, carrying her all the way into the drawing room, where light refreshments had been prepared for their arrival. Serena was already seated upon a loveseat, feeding Daphne bits of a scone.
“Welcome home, Livvie,” he murmured, before seeking her lips.
Olivia clung to him and returned the kiss, feeling like a girl again as he held her tight, his big body as always a shelter for her against the world. If it were up to her, she would remain here forever, her ear against his chest so she could luxuriate in the beat of his heart.
Niall waited until after he and Olivia had tucked Serena and her puppy into bed, until after his wife had donned her nightgown, and the house had quieted for the night. Once certain he could slip away, he left Olivia reading by the fire in their new chambers with a kiss upon the forehead and the promise to return directly. He gave her an excuse of needing some air, and she did not question him. He supposed she understood how new this all was for him, the oddness of it all. Perhaps she thought he needed to escape. The truth was, he wanted nothing more than to climb into his new, big bed, with his beautiful wife, and make love to her before falling fast asleep. The journey from London had exhausted him, and he was ready to settle into his new life here at Dunvar House.
However, there was one matter he must attend to before he could truly move forward, living happily with his bride and the little one he’d taken as his own daughter. In his heart, Serena had been his from the moment he’d first held her as a babe, even knowing who’d sired her.
As he left the house, the bottom of his fine, new greatcoat swirling around his ankles, he made straight for the stables. Once there, he shunned the help of a groom, taking pleasure in preparing his own horse. It had been weeks since he’d done this, but some things could never be stomped out of him, and he would take comfort in that. He now owned a grand home and had a lady for a wife—but he would always be Niall Gibbs, stable boy turned groom, turned Stablemaster, turned butler. Olivia had shown him he had no need to be ashamed of his roots, for his path had led him straight to her.
He made quick work of saddling a gelding, then led him out of the stable and mounted up. Niall took his time leaving the lands he now owned, absorbing the sights of the places he’d frequented as a boy—the stable, paddocks, and carriage house, the pond where he’d kissed Olivia for the first time, even the tiny cottage he’d once lived in. The new Stablemaster now resided there with his family, the warm, yellow light spilling from the windows telling him they had not yet turned in for the night.
Once he’d appeased his nostalgia, he set off on the road to town, with a particular destination in mind. He took his time, riding at a meandering pace and simply enjoying the freedom of riding and the cold, night air filling his lungs with a cleansing sensation. Once in the center of Edinburgh, he left his horse in the nearest mews, promising to come back for him in an hour. Then, he made one last stop, making a purchase that he would likely need once he reached his final destination. He wrinkled his nose with distaste as he slid the pint-sized bottle of gin into his breast pocket. To this day, he could hardly abide the sight or stench of blue ruin, but would tolerate it tonight.
He knew the way well enough, finding the rough, crumbling house on the edge of town as easily as he had the last time he had visited. At first, he’d wondered if he had come too late, but the sound of a rough, scratchy voice booming from inside the dwelling told him otherwise. Raising his fist to knock, he stood back and waited for someone to appear.
“Goddamn it, woman … the door! Can’t ye hear, or are yer ears as useless as the rest o’ ye?”
Niall stiffened, unprepared for whomever would greet him. There certainly had not been a woman here when he’d last visited.
But, when the door swung open, that was exactly what he found—a tiny, slender mouse of a woman with bedraggled brown hair and sad, green eyes. Perhaps a beauty in her day, she looked as if life had beaten the color out of her cheeks and the luster from her eyes. Conall had, obviously, beaten the bluish-black color into a few places he could see—her cheekbone, her collarbone, the inside of one arm. He grew nauseous at the evidence that his father had not changed one bit.
“Whadye want?” the woman rasped, her voice thick and tortured as if she had wept every day for her entire life.
Niall cleared his throat and peered past her, finding Conall seated in a chair near a small hearth, a bottle of gin resting empty at his feet. Apparently, he’d arrived just in time.
“I’m here to see my Da,” he declared.
The woman started as if he’d slapped her, one hand coming up over her chest. “Conall Gibbs?”
“Aye.”
“Ye’ve got the wrong Gibbs. My Conall’s only got one son.”
Was this woman daft? Could she not see that he was the mirror image of his da?
“I know,” he said slowly, in case she was in her cups, or touched in the head. “I am him.”
Shaking her head, she opened the door wider, revealing the last thing Niall would have thought to find. A lad of about eight years sat on the floor, playing with a collection of worn soldiers carved from wood. He glanced up at Niall, revealing a pair of dark eyes and a mop of black hair.
Niall felt as if he’d just taken a fist to the gut, the wind knocked from him as he stared into the eyes of his brother. The boy had to be Conall’s—looked too much like Niall not to be.
