Page 79 of The Vagabond Viscount
She lowered her head, then glanced up, offering him a soft, knowing smile. “With Mama’s sudden arrival as we were about to depart, it was better than I had expected. Of course, poor Gideon was ill again, but Serafina nursed him through the worst.” She paused, then added. “I was also unwell for some of the trip, but not due to seasickness.”
Her hand dropped to her belly, and Flynn’s gaze followed. He was silent for a moment, then he drew in a shaky breath. “Oh, G. My love, that is the most magnificent, the most precious news. You have made me the happiest man alive.”
His fingers settled over hers, and he bent and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I am so glad I am here with you and our baby. Coming home early was the best thing. I promise we will never be parted again.”
Flynn would make a wonderful papa, she was sure of it.
“Have you seen your uncle? I paid him a visit the day after we got home. He knows we are married.”
“I came straight from the ship to here. To you. But yes, I will go and see him shortly. After that, I am going to Bramshaw House.”
Dread settled heavily on Augusta’s heart. This day had been coming, but she still couldn’t imagine how hard it must be for Flynn.
“Are you going to confront your father?”
He shook his head. “I have put a lot of thought into things and decided he is not worth my time. I will go to his house, collect my belongings, then leave. An account of my life from the day he stabbed me until now has been written, and copies made. If the earl tries anything, those documents will be made public.”
There was a knock at the door, and when Augusta opened it, the duchess stood on the threshold. She nodded to Flynn. “I was wondering if I could steal Augusta away from you, Flynn. Now that you are here, we need to sort out accommodation for the two of you. And since your rooms will be your private suite, I thought it made sense for your wife to be making decisions about where things should go.”
It was lovely to hear her mother speak to Flynn in such a warm manner. And for her to acknowledge their marriage. August slipped out of her husband’s embrace. “I shall be with Mama while you go to visit your uncle. I am sure Charles will be delighted to see you.”
“That sounds like a sensible plan, wife,” replied Flynn. A happy smile sat on his face.
Augusta followed her mother. As she reached the door, she stopped and looked back. She had slept her last night in this room. From now on, it belonged solely to Victoria.
“I wonder how long before Matthew starts pressuring Victoria to give up the biggest bedroom,” she muttered.
As far as she was concerned, if her brother had half a brain, he wouldn’t bother. It would take more than his sweet persuasion to move Victoria and her growing library of cookbooks from the corner bedroom. The view from the window, which overlooked Berkeley Square was priceless.
ChapterForty-Eight
“My boy. My boy.” In a morning full of welcome-home embraces, it was the hug which Flynn received from his uncle that was probably the most emotional. The last time he had seen Charles Cadnam weep was the day they buried the late Countess Bramshaw, Flynn’s mother. That day, his tears had been ones of barely restrained grief. Today they were floods of joy.
His Aunt Erin and cousin, Christopher, were also effusive in their welcome. It took some time for the tears and hugs to finally subside.
Charles pressed a glass of whisky into Flynn’s hand. His aunt disappeared, no doubt going to talk to the household cook and see what food could be quickly prepared for their unexpected guest.
Flynn took a seat on the bright yellow sofa next to his cousin. He smiled gently to himself. He doubted that anyone else in the world would own such a horrid, garishly hued pair of sofas. They were the ugliest of couches, but they also signaled that he was finally home.
“Augusta came to see me when she returned from Rome. I am thrilled that the two of you are married. With her blue-blooded background, she will one day make an excellent Countess Bramshaw. As will you be a fine earl,” said Charles.
Beside him, Christopher cleared his throat. “Speaking of earls. I think you should be made aware of how things have been since your untimely demise.”
He glanced at his father, to which Charles replied, “Go ahead. Tell him all that you know.”
Christopher nodded. “Your father has made it clear that he considers you dead. Over the past few months, he has taken to treating me like I am his heir. Offering gifts. Pressing money into my hand at every opportunity.” He slowly shook his head as if in disbelief. Flynn could just imagine what his cousin thought of being courted by a man who, only a few years ago, had made threats against his person. Like himself, Christopher had also been a pawn in the battle between the two Cadnam brothers.
“He wanted me to move in with him at Bramshaw House. Couldn’t understand why I said no. Every time I see him, he mentions that your room could be mine—I only have to say the word. Heartless, selfish knave.”
A lesser man might succumb to such an offer, but Christopher was cut from the same cloth as his father. When his cousin spoke of Earl Bramshaw, his voice dripped with disdain.
“I am going to go to Bramshaw House this morning and collect what I can of my personal items. After that, I am done with my father. I won’t set foot in that place again until he is cold in the ground,” said Flynn.
“Let me come with you,” offered Christopher. “He is keen for me to visit as often as I can, but you never know—he might not let you in. He has told the world you are dead, so you deciding to turn up on his doorstep and asking to come inside might be a tad inconvenient for the earl.”
Christopher did have a valid point. And Flynn didn’t have a key. He’d never had one. And if the servants of Bramshaw house thought him dead, they were unlikely to welcome him inside the house. If he came alone, there was every chance the door would be closed in his face.
It was with a good deal of reluctance that he accepted Christopher’s offer of help. His cousin might well be family, but Flynn had long kept the shame of his life under his father’s iron fist a closely guarded secret. Charles knew the details of various incidents, ones where Flynn had been forced to seek medical attention. Augusta had been told some things. But the truth was, no one knew the full extent of what and how Flynn had suffered over the years.
