Page 107 of The Accidental Wedding
“I wouldn’t mind, as long as she rescued children. So when did you and Marcus meet Gabe? Did you come together for Christmas?”
“No, he never saw us, nor we him, until we all met at school when I was about fifteen. And we called Gabe ‘the bastard,’ as Father always did, and Harry ‘the other bastard.’ And we made trouble for him and Harry until they were both expelled.”
“You? You did that to your own brothers?” Maddy could barely believe it. “But why?”
He sighed and made a rueful grimace. “It’s the kind of thing that comes easily to boys of that age. Father egged us on, of course. He was furious that Great-aunt Gert had dared to send his bastard spawn—his words not mine—to his old, very exclusive school.”
He touched the tiny scar on his mouth. “Harry gave me this, in one of our fights.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “We’ve made it up since, of course. Marcus and I have long regretted our behavior. Once you become a man, your father becomes less godlike, more fallible, and we understood more about the world. Besides, it was as plain as the nose on my face that Gabe was our father’s son, just as much as we were. And that it was all the result of our parents’ grand passion.” He stared out of the window with a grim expression, lost in the past.
Maddy leaned back against the cushions and watched his face in the glass. It was a very enlightening tale . . .
At Donhead St. Andrew, the chaise pulled up at an inn to spell and water the horses before the last leg of the journey. Everyone got out to stretch their legs, make use of the inn’s facilities, and take some refreshment.
John and Henry came flying down from the driver’s box, not the least bit chilled, and bursting with tales about how Mr. Hawkins, the coachman, had shown them how to hold the ribbons and even let them drive for a bit—didn’t they notice?—and he’d explained to them how to point their leaders, and had promised to show them how to use the whip when they got to Firmin Court and—and—and—Interrupting and talking over the top of each other, they told Maddy and Lizzie and their sisters all about it, while they wolfed down Eccles cakes and sandwiches and mugs of milk.
Nash nudged Maddy. “I think we’ve found the cure for Henry’s delicate stomach.”
She laughed. “It seems so, indeed.”
She watched the children and wondered at a mother and father who could let a lovers’ quarrel destroy their own child’s life. If it hadn’t been for Great-aunt Gert . . .
Refreshed, they returned to the carriage and continued on their way. Maddy watched Nash’s reflection in the glass and ruminated on the story he’d told.
She understood now why he didn’t trust love.
She sat rocking with the movement of the carriage. Grand-mère used to say people were endlessly greedy, that no matter what you gave them, they would always want more. It was true, Maddy realized. Nash Renfrew had given her his body and promised her his fortune and his name.
Maddy was greedy. She wanted more. She wanted his heart.
Nineteen
The entrance to Firmin Court was through impressive, old wrought iron gates set into a high stone wall. Each gate featured a central design of a horse’s head.
“The estate has been in Nell’s family for generations. Horse breeding is in her blood as well as Harry’s,” Nash commented, nodding at the gates. “They’re carrying on the tradition.”
The driver blew a horn, and a man from the gatehouse ran out. After a brief exchange, he opened the gates and they drove down the curving driveway in the hazy lilac twilight. The sound of the horses’ hooves on the hard-packed drive echoed in the stillness. Shreds of mist drifted low to the ground.
Maddy knotted her hands tightly under the rug. She would not be nervous, she would not, she told herself.
The carriage stopped at a shallow flight of stone steps leading up to the front door and they all alighted. Maddy busied herself tidying herself and the children.
“Lordy, Miss Maddy, I dunno if I’m ready for this,” Lizzie whispered nervously. “This place is a lot grander than I expected.”
Maddy squeezed her hand. Somehow Lizzie’s anxiety calmed her own. “Head up, Lizzie. My grandmother used to tell me, never display your nerves to strangers.”
Nash mounted the stairs and tugged on the bellpull. Somewhere deep inside the house the bell jangled.
The door was opened by a tough-looking butler with a twisted scar that ran from one ear down to his chin. Nash nodded to him. “Bronson. I’ve brought guests. Miss Woodford, this is Bronson.”
Bronson bowed. “How do you do, miss? Mr. Renfrew, sir, come in, come in. I’ll let Lady Helen know.” Bronson snapped his fingers and a footman came forward to collect their coats and hats, while Bronson headed briskly down the corridor.
Maddy hadn’t had a lot of experience with butlers, but those she’d met seemed to glide. Bronson marched with a crisp tread, his back ramrod straight.
“Many of Harry’s employees fought with him and Gabe in the war,” Nash explained, noticing her expression. “Bronson was a sergeant, assistant to the regimental quartermaster, and somewhat of a legend, I’m told. Can organize or obtain anything. In peacetime, however, that disfiguring scar of his made people uncomfortable, and he wasn’t able to get work. Ethan Delaney, Harry’s partner, ran into him, half-starved on the water-front, and brought him home.”
“How nice,” she murmured, not really paying attention.
He glanced at her and grinned. “Don’t look so nervous; Nell won’t eat you.”
