“I know, I know, but blister it, Reggie, how could he desert you, knowing—”
“I never told him! You don’t think I would try to keep a manthatway, do you?” She sounded genuinely shocked.
“Oh,” Anthony said, brought up short. Then he said somberly, “Honestly, puss, you really are just like your mother. Melissa gave birth to you only a few months after her wedding, too.”
Reggie gasped. “Really? But…why didn’t any of you tell me that?”
Anthony turned red and looked away. “Well, were we to say, ‘By the way, dear, you only just made legitimacy.’”
She giggled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Well, thank you for telling me. I’m glad to know I’m not the only promiscuous one in the family—besides Uncle Jason, I mean,” she teased.
“Promiscuous! At least your father didn’t desert Melissa. He adored her. He would have married her sooner if her stiff-necked pride hadn’t kept them apart.”
“I never heard any of this,” she whispered, shocked.
“They had some terrible rows, they did. She broke the engagement three times, swearing each time that she never wanted to see him again.”
“But everyone always told me how much they loved each other,” Reggie protested.
“They did, puss,” he assured her. “But she was as hot-tempered as I am. The slightest little disagreement got out of hand. Thank God you didn’t inheritthatfrom her.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Reggie mused. “If he ever does come back, I’m not going to forgive him. He made me love him, and then he wouldn’t even give our marriage a chance. I do have some pride, even if I did practically beg him not to leave. My love has turned to…well, it infuriates me even to think about him.”
“Good for you. Think about coming home, will you? There’s no reason you can’t be with your family for the birth. We’ll keep outsiders well away from you.”
“Well, I do have Meg, and I—”
“Think about it,” he ordered sternly.
She grinned at him. “Yes, uncle.”
Chapter 23
IT was another damp November morning, and Reggie walked down to the lake with her sketch pad. Uncle Tony had spent the night, and she had seen him off early, promising again to think about coming home. She would think about it, or at least think about returning to London, where she would be closer to the family. She could keep up appearances by moving into Nicholas’ townhouse. That was an idea. And it would even give her something to do, now that she was restricted as to physical activities. She could redecorate his London house, spend some of his money.
Trouble was, she had come to enjoy the tranquillity of Silverley. At least it was tranquil when Miriam wasn’t around. Reggie got along well with the servants, too. Even Mrs. Oates had unbent surprisingly the moment she learned Reggie was expecting a baby. It seemed Mrs. Oates loved babies. Who would have guessed?
Reggie looked at the gray mansion wistfully. She might have been truly happy there. She pictured her children running across the Silverley lawns, sailing little boats on the lake in summer, ice-skating in winter. She even pictured their father giving them their first ponies and showing them their paces. Somehow she knew Nicholas would have a gentle hand with children. She sighed, a deep, long sigh, pulling up the hood of her fur cloak and casting a look at the heavy bank of clouds above her. Meg was right. It was getting too cold to be sketching outdoors.
She tucked her sketchbook under her arm and turned to go back to the house. She would sketch the lake another time. It was then that she saw one of the servants hurrying toward her, coming not from the house but from the woods.
On the other side of those woods lay her own estate. She hadn’t gone there yet. The melancholy caused by thinking about that place where her parents had died was too much. She would go there eventually, she told herself. Eventually, yes. And someday she would show it to her child. The estate had belonged to his…her grandparents.
As he got closer she recognized the servant as one of the men she had sketched the other day. He was carrying an oversized sack used, she guessed, to gather dead leaves. He looked as strange as she remembered. A vague sense of danger rose in her.
Maybe it was the full, unkempt beard and long shaggy hair. Or maybe it was his bold demeanor. Whatever, she decided not to wait for him to reach her. She would run to the house.
She stopped, calling herself a ninny. She was letting her imagination run wild. Silly of her. He was only a gardener, after all.
Reggie had no sooner finished the thought than the man reached her, took a moment to catch his breath, then smoothly yanked the sack he carried over her head and shoulders. Her first impulse was to scream, but surprise overtook her until the sack was yanked all the way down her body, and her scream was only a tiny muffled sound.
Her assailant wasted no time shouldering his prize and rushing back into the woods. An expensive, well-sprung coach waited there, hidden, with two high-stepping grays straining to be off. A man was in the driver’s seat, ready to crack the whip at the first sign of pursuit. The man on the ground glared up at him.
“Ye could at least get your arse down ’ere and open the bleedin’ door, ’Onry. She might look like a light bit of fluff, but after that long trek she don’t feel light.”
Henri, or ’Onry, as his English friends were wont to call him, chuckled at Artie’s surliness, a sure sign that he was no longer worried about their mission. “Then no one is giving chase?”
“Not as I saw. Now give us a ’and. Ye know the cap’s orders about treatin’ ’er real gentle.”
