When Luke asked Gil how his brother, the Lord of Tempest now, had reacted to the scandal that ensued, Gil had evaded the question, instead extracting a promise from Luke that, if anything happened to him, Luke would make certain Naomi and his child were taken care of.
It was almost as though he’d known.
Luke pulled up on The General’s reins when the road he’d been riding along split off in two directions. The one on the right would take him to the most unimpressive village of Hull Crossings, where he could take a room for the night. The other would lead him to the home he’d grown up in, what was now his brother’s estate in Sussex, Crescent Park. Luke needed to offer his condolences to Gil’s mother and brother, who would have been notified of Gil’s death officially by the soldier he’d dispatched for just that purpose.
And Luke would have to tell Blackheart his decision.
Surely, both discussions could be delayed.
Luke chose the road to the right. He’d stay in the area overnight and return to speak with Mrs. Gilcrest one last time. He’d assist her in making arrangements to return to her family. Or to Gil’s. Whichever she preferred. She could not remain alone.
Luke had promised Gil that he’d see to her well-being.
Gil would never meet his child. The child would never meet his father.
It was obvious that Gil’s wife had loved him desperately. Holding her, breathing in the sweet fragrance of a woman for the first time in months, Luke had wished he could absorb her pain. He’d kept her from falling prone in the dirt, and he’d done his best to provide her with some comfort. She’d felt fragile, brittle as she’d sobbed unrestrainedly into his jacket. By the time he’d left, her eyes had had a frighteningly hollow look about them, red-rimmed and glassy.
And it was only the beginning. She’d been lost in her grief today, but tomorrow, she would wake up and face her new reality all over again.
She’d have to put her life back together again, but first, she must mourn.
It didn’t matter that she was hauntingly beautiful, or that in time she’d remarry and be able to put all of this behind her. The news of Gil’s death had shattered her.
Late the next morning,Luke rode once again onto the small property where Gil’s widow had made their home. Clouds loomed in the west, dark and threatening.
A charged energy hovered in the air but, in Luke’s opinion at least, the gloomy weather was only appropriate. He’d slept fitfully when he’d slept at all, memories from the day of the ambush taunting him whenever his body tried to claim some much-needed rest.
This was something he was getting used to—the not sleeping.
He doubted Mrs. Gilcrest had slept either. He wondered if she’d eaten anything after he left her. She was carrying a child. Luke would speak with the housekeeper. Gil’s wife needed to take proper care of herself.
He dismounted, tied The General off, and stepped up to the porch, careful to skip the second step which was cracked and caving in, and then knocked on the door. While he waited for it to open, he glanced around at the property with a frown.
Only a small plot of the acreage had been cultivated, and much of the land was overrun with brush and weeds. The railing around the porch leaned out precariously, and at least the one step needed to be repaired, though the rest should probably bechecked and reinforced as well before another gave way. As his gaze roamed about the yard, he spotted a large strip of wooden trim laying on the ground, with another threatening to work its way off the edge of the roof as well.
“Major Cockfield.”
Luke pivoted at the sound of Mrs. Gilcrest’s voice and then bowed formally. Dark circles were etched beneath eyes that closely resembled the colors of the very storm clouds hovering on the horizon. She looked unusually pale standing in the partially opened door.
Even tired and drawn, she was just as beautiful as he’d remembered. He tamped down his awareness of her.
“I—” She dropped her gaze. “I apologize for yesterday. I am not normally…” She brushed back a strand of hair, and he noticed that her bottom lip trembled.
Clenching his fists at his sides, Luke itched to wrap his arms around her again. “It was perfectly normal. No apology is necessary. I am only sorry…” He remembered how those words had not brought her any comfort the day before. How many times would they be uttered to her in the near future? “May I come in?”
She paused but then nodded and stepped back. “Have you broken your fast yet? It wasn’t necessary for you to return.” She gestured for him to enter a tidy—if sparsely furnished—parlor. “I can manage?—"
“But it was,” Luke insisted and waited for her to be seated before lowering himself onto a chair across from hers. Rather than attempt to make small talk, Luke spoke to the heart of why he’d come back.
“I wondered if you had decided on a course of action.” The moment he uttered the words, he realized how ridiculous it was to expect that she’d begun to make any plans for the future already.
But she didn’t seem to take offense. “I’ll remain here.” Her right hand rested on her belly, and she circled her palm over it protectively. “Arthur and I…” She blinked and shifted her gaze away.
“Quite understandable,” Luke conceded. “But Gil’s family, of course, is going to want you with them. And I imagine your own parents will be concerned as well. You will send for your mother?” She was the eldest daughter of a prominent family. She ought not to be alone. Especially with a baby coming. He glanced around again. Something about her circumstances seemed… off.
She didn’t meet his eyes but was staring at the floor. He didn’t want to notice that her lashes were thick and a darker gold than her hair or that when they dropped to cover her eyes, the contrast lent her skin an alabaster appearance.
“I am not acquainted with Arthur’s mother. We planned to visit Galewick Manor after he’d returned. He’d said she would be more accepting of the circumstances surrounding our marriage if she could meet her grandchild at the same time.”
