Page 31 of A Gentleman Never Surrenders
“I’ll be in London for a few days if you need me,” Leo replied as they walked out of the pub and headed toward the hired cab waiting on the corner.
“Thank you,” Owen said as he helped Jack into the back of the cab.
Leo took the front seat of the cab. “I’ll ride with you and help you get him settled.”
Owen nodded. The driver started the engine and headed for the hotel address Owen gave him. Owen vowed that the moment he reached the hotel, he’d write Milly a letter letting her know he was staying in town to help Jack. She deserved to know him, to understand his life, his past. Maybe she would be able to forgive him for having a past. None of it influenced his life now with her, but he had to make her understand that. He wanted their marriage to be a good one. Passion and love may someday be able to follow. He hoped.
She deserves to be loved, loved fiercely and passionately. And I want to be the man who loves her…
* * *
Milly collapsed into a plush chair in the library. A dinner tray sat on a nearby table. Mrs. Nelson had asked the cook to prepare another hearty feast of beef and soup, and Milly wondered if the woman was trying to fatten her up. She’d spent the entire day working alongside the new fleet of footmen and housemaids to train them and to determine what repairs and cleaning were needed on the rooms. Despite the new staff being able to take over the cleaning, she had worked alongside them, unable to sit still. If she did, she thought of Owen and it made her chest ache. Working herself to the bone had been the only way to dull the pain in her chest, and Wesden Heath looked much better for it. Old ratty drapes in three of the bedrooms had been removed and new fabrics ordered, carpets had been taken outside and beaten of their dust, and then the wood floors had been mopped and polished.
Mr. Boyd and Mrs. Nelson had balked at first when Milly had made it clear she wished to actually do much of the physical labor alongside the staff. They hadn’t minded when Owen was there to join her, but now that there was plenty of help to go around, the servants had insisted she go rest. A few heated arguments had ensued throughout the morning following Owen’s departure, but once the new staff had arrived, both the butler and the housekeeper were too distracted by the necessary training of the new young men and ladies to put up any resistance to Milly’s new control of the house. After two days, everyone had settled into a routine of work while they waited for Owen to return.
Milly was exhausted after the last few days of hard work and looked forward to a quiet evening reading in a chair with a blanket wrapped around her.
The library door opened and Mr. Boyd entered, a package in his hands.
“Mistress, this came with the evening post.” He handed her the package.
“Thank you, Mr. Boyd. How are the footmen?” she inquired.
The butler straightened his shoulders with a natural air that demanded respect. “They will do. A bit rambunctious, but well-tempered lads.”
She bit her lip to hide her smile. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” She studied the package in her hands, seeing the name of a hotel as the sender. “Mr. Boyd, who sent this?” she asked.
The butler hesitated. “Perhaps Mr. Hadley. He has been known to take rooms there when in London.”
Owen? She sat up, despite the protestations of her body. Ever since she’d read the telegram, questions had been building, plaguing upon her mind and heart as she wondered where and what Owen might be doing. She would never have asked a servant anything in the past, not something so intimate about her husband, but she felt that she and Mr. Boyd were almost comrades in arms in the battle to restore Wesden Heath to its former glory.
She squared her shoulders and spoke. “Mr. Boyd, may I ask you something? I’m afraid it might be a bit personal, but it has to do with my husband. What do you know about Jack? Mr. Hadley received a telegram asking him to go to London to help someone named Jack. I assume it’s Jack Watson? Owen mentioned him to me once, but I don’t know very much about him.”
Mr. Boyd cleared his throat, looking out a distant window on the opposite end of the library before replying. “Mr. Jack Watson has been a friend of Mr. Hadley’s since they were boys. Fought in the war together. Mr. Watson even lived here for a time after the war but—”
“But what?” she pressed, digging her fingers into the arm of the chair. She felt she was close to something, to a realization of some bigger puzzle that was almost within reach.
“Please, Mr. Boyd. I need to know.” It was the first time in her life she had begged for anything.
“Er…My apologies, Mrs. Hadley, but it’s a sensitive matter and not fit for the ears of well-bred ladies.”
Milly almost smiled at his protectiveness of her even in such a small way, but she needed the truth. “Mr. Boyd, I assure you, I am no fainting violet—please, continue.”
He hesitated but after another pleading look from her he continued. “The summer that Mr. Watson spent at the Heath, Mr. Hadley had been engaged to a young woman in the village. There was some unpleasantness during that summer, and Mr. Watson left in the fall, just before Mr. Hadley broke off the engagement and returned to London for a time.”
“A young lady in town?” she echoed faintly, her ears ringing. “Would that young lady be Scarlett Brandon?”
The immediate flush in the butler’s cheeks was the only answer she needed.
She had to wonder whether Owen had been telling her the truth. Had Scarlett truly fallen in love with another man? If she had, then why hadn’t she married him? And had that man been Mr. Watson?
“Why did Mr. Watson leave Wesden Heath?” If Jack was the man Scarlett had been in love with, she needed to know why he’d left without marrying her. She knew a man didn’t need a reason to abandon a woman; they did it all the time. But her instincts whispered there was a reason.
“I believe there was some discussion as to whether Mr. Watson believed himself a suitable match. You see, he suffers quite badly from soldier’s heart, due to the war, mistress. He didn’t wish to have a wife endure his melancholy moods.”
“Oh…,” she said, her heart twinging with a ghost of pain.
She couldn’t forget the night Owen had woken up, a cold sweat dewing on his skin, muttering about needing forgiveness. He’d been choking on air and it had frightened her and saddened her. Was what Jack Watson faced somehow worse than that? If so, she might see how a man would hesitate to marry…
