Page 76 of The Vagabond Viscount
When he opened his eyes once more, Augusta noted the odd look on Charles Cadnam’s face, one which she couldn’t quite decipher. It was there and gone in an instant. She would’ve loved to have asked him what it meant but sensed he wouldn’t give her a clear answer.
She rose from her seat. “I am still weary from the boat trip, so please excuse me for making my visit here a short one—I need sleep. I’ll come and visit again before Flynn returns home.”
Charles got to his feet and took her hands in his, his gaze dropping to the ring on Augusta’s finger. He drew in a ragged breath. “I cannot begin to tell you how much it means to me to see that ring once again on the hand of the future Countess Bramshaw. I gave it to Flynn’s mother before she married the earl.”
His words spoke of a private pain. Some day she might ask him to elaborate, but as with many things of late, now didn’t seem the right time.
“Flynn gave it to me the day he went missing. He said it was the most precious thing he owned.”
Flynn’s uncle wiped a tear from his eye then hugged Augusta. “I am overjoyed that my nephew is alive and that you are together. Until yesterday, I didn’t believe in miracles. Now I think I do.”
She smiled at him. “I have spent quite some time in Rome, and I no longer have any doubt that miracles are real. Flynn is my miracle.”
Augusta left the Cadnam family home and headed back to Mowbray House. On the way, she offered her own prayer of gratitude for the gift of her husband, and the child she carried.
But today was a day for confessing delicate truths. She was going home to speak to her parents and tell them what she and Flynn meant to one another, and that they were married. The news of the baby she would keep to herself until she could tell Flynn in person.
ChapterForty-Six
The second his feet touched English soil, Flynn let out a little cheer. He punched the air.
“I made it.” On the long voyage from Italy, he had done some calculations. By the time he did arrive home, he would have been away well over five hundred days. A long time in anyone’s reckoning, especially when the absence had not been planned.
First thing on his long list of things to do was to go and find Augusta. To hold his wife and tell her that things were finally going to be alright. The long nightmare was almost over.
He carried a large travel bag—a gift from Matteo de Luca. It was full of fine linen shirts and exquisitely tailored Italian suits. Thoughts of his new wardrobe put a smile on his face. No one would ever again call him the Vagabond Viscount. He was now the epitome of finely dressed nobility.
Where he would sleep tonight was also high on his list of priorities. If Augusta had kept their marriage a secret, he wouldn’t be able to stay at Mowbray House. His own home, Bramshaw House, was out of the question. The last time he had set foot in the front door, his sire had tried to murder him.
After walking from the dockside and onto the Ratcliffe Highway, he hailed a hack. “Number five, Mortimer Street, please. Actually, no, change of plans. Mowbray House, Berkeley Square.”
He had intended to go to Charles Cadnam’s house, but he couldn’t wait to see Augusta. If things had gone according to plan, his uncle would know he was alive and on his way home. A short delay in being reunited with his family couldn’t be avoided.
When the butler at Mowbray House opened the door, Flynn could have sworn the man had tears in his eyes. “Lord Cadnam. Welcome back.”
Flynn barely had time to set his travel bag down in the foyer before he was swept up in a bear-hug-like embrace. “You made it. About bloody time,” said Gideon, with barely restrained glee.
“It’s good to be home. I can’t believe how long I have been away. But if you don’t release me from this hug, I might expire on the spot.”
That would make his long sea voyage a terrible waste.
“Viscount Cadnam. As I live and breathe.”
Flynn’s gaze landed on Clifford Kembal, the Duke of Mowbray. His father-in-law. The duke made his way to the bottom of the stairs and came to embrace him. And while his hug was less crushing than Gideon’s, his gaze when they broke apart was deep and searching. He wrapped an arm around Flynn’s shoulder. “You and I have much to discuss, young man.”
Gideon followed in their wake as the duke guided Flynn up to the next floor of Mowbray House. Reaching the door of his private study, he turned to his son. “Be a good lad and fetch your mother and Augusta. I know Serafina is out in town this morning, but this cannot wait.”
Flynn was ushered into the room and handed a generous glass of whisky. Suddenly possessed with the worry that he might be in need of a large shot of alcohol, he downed it quickly.
To his growing concern, the duke took the glass, refilled it, then handed it back, saying, “Just keep going until your nerves are feeling numb.”
He took the seat he was offered and waited. Years of dealing with his father had taught him that it was wise to hold his tongue. Speak only when spoken to; that mantra had saved him from more than one beating.
As silence fell, Flynn’s heart kicked up a notch. He might not be in Earl Bramshaw’s study, but old habits die hard. It took all his willpower not to start looking for any sign of a hard wooden cane. At least there were no greyhounds lounging by the fire.
“Well, I suppose congratulations are in order, Viscount Cadnam. Welcome to the family.”
He looked up and was genuinely shocked to discover that the duke was grinning from ear to ear.
