So very poised at times, had she experienced the same tumult as he? Or was her love already cooling? An impractical impulse within him hoped not, but the practical side knew this would be best. For if she still considered herself in love with him, then perhaps this was not finished at all. For Lady Natalie Spencer with a notion in her head could be like a dog with a bone. It would be unlike her to concede so easily.
A smile tipped up the sides of his mouth. Although delicate and genteel, she possessed the tenacity of her father. Hell, she was the perfect woman for him.
He hoped her family would pounce upon a quick resolution to right her social situation. Struggling to be free of her wentagainst the urges of his heart…and other urges. He’d nearly changed his mind about everything this morning. She was just so…damn it, if he allowed his mind to continue in this vein, he’d be saddling Rumble and chasing her to ground within the hour.
Garrett pivoted on his heel and returned to the house. He’d just received some drawings from an architect he’d met with before leaving London. Best look them over now. He needed to move forward. And if Natalie continued to be a thorn in his side, then so be it. He would deal with that problem when the time came. If the time came. Best for all if the earl sent her off to America. He swallowed hard at the thought.
Natalie spentthe next couple days in a solitary mood, her inability to remember why she had climbed into the trunk clawing at her. For she did remember doing just that. But why? What on God’s earth had compelled her to embark on such a foolish errand?
At first, she rested.
And when she’d had enough of that, she prowled.
She retraced the walks she’d taken with Garrett, the wilderness path around the lake, the forest where Baby Bear liked to go, and the meadow where they’d been together that last afternoon. She even rowed herself around the lake a few times. She didnotjump into the water. Much like a fatal disease, Garrett had taken hold of her. She lurked about the estate just as he lurked within her thoughts.
She told her parents she was not willing to travel to the Continent nor America. They discussed forgoing the Little Season in London that fall, but her father retained obligations in Parliament and felt he had little choice in the matter. He didnot relish the thought of leaving his wife and daughter in the country without him for several weeks. Many thought it fashionable to spend time apart from one’s spouse, but in this matter, he chose to forgo fashion. He would have his wife with him if possible. And leaving Natalie alone was not an option.
If they were to leave, it would be in a few short weeks, as the entertainments were to begin in early September.
But would Natalie be shunned? Had she pushed too hard against the rules of society? There was, as of yet, no solution to her problem. So very un-Spencerish to ignore the situation, but her parents still had concerns for her health. Nobody wanted to cause her undue stress. Even her mother avoided the subject of the Earl of Hawthorne.
Nearly a fortnight after her return, late in the afternoon, Natalie found herself wandering around the manor on the third floor. She’d done much of this as of late, wandering like an aimless ghost. She’d lost both her appetite and her ability to laugh, or so it seemed. Upon reaching the end of the corridor, she realized she’d arrived at the threshold to the room where she, Garrett, and Aunt Sheffield had unveiled his mother’s paintings. She pushed the door open and entered the room. It smelled of lemon oil, having been recently dusted and cleaned. The sheets had been replaced on the chair, and an emptiness met her where the crates once sat. Natalie relaxed into one of the covered chairs and took a few deep breaths. Closing her eyes, she remembered that day.
She remembered the vivid colors of the paintings and Garrett’s reaction to seeing his mother’s work. He had been moved emotionally, she was certain of it. She also remembered Aunt Eleanor recalling the sad time when her brother had been killed. And the scandalous portraits of him.
The portraits!
The dimple!
She sprung to her feet.
Garrett’s dimple had been drawn on the face of…what was his name?…Arthur. Yes! She’d climbed into the trunk to look at the portraits again! She’d needed to discover if she had merely imagined it.
And she had not! When she’d climbed into the trunk, she’d verified that Lady Sheffield’s brother and Garrett Castleton shared a dimple in precisely the exact corner of each of their respective mouths. Could it be a coincidence? It could not. It was too uncanny.
Hurrying into the hallway, she felt a spurt of energy she’d not experienced for days. She must find Lady Sheffield. She must ask her. Aunt Eleanor would know the truth. Surely she would have the answers.
Where would she be now? What time was it? Glancing at the large clock at the end of the corridor—half past three—Natalie considered her mother’s schedule. Lady Sheffield and Mama would be in the drawing room. Taking tea most likely.
Natalie dashed down the stairs, not willing to waste a moment. Upon throwing open the doors of the drawing room, Natalie faced two sets of eyes. Both her mother and Lady Sheffield seemed quite taken aback at her abrupt entrance.
“What’s the matter, my dear?” her mother enquired, setting her teacup and saucer to the side. “Are you unwell?”
Natalie could not hold back her excitement. “I have remembered! I have remembered how I ended up in the trunk! Oh, Mama, I was not being foolish.” And then she looked over at Aunt Eleanor. “I needed to view the portraits again, the portraits of your brother.” Seeing the woman’s brows rise, Natalie made her way into the room and took the empty seat beside her on the settee. “Arthur was Garrett’s father, was he not? Your brother fathered a son before the old earl killed him.” Natalie held her breath as she awaited the older lady’s response.
Her godmother sat the teacup aside and let out a long, deep breath. “He is.” And then, as though in agony, she turned to her dear friend, Natalie’s mama, and said, “He did. Perhaps it is time for the truth.”
Natalie, experiencing great relief, thought she would have fainted if she had a more delicate constitution. Garrett wasnotthe biological son of the Earl of Hawthorne. But did it affect his inheritance? Surely not, for legally, he was the son of the earl. He had been born to the earl’s wife. The earl never denied paternity.
“It is your truth to tell, Eleanor,” Lady Ravensdale said. “You lived through the scandal once. It is your choice if it is to be unearthed and bandied about again.”
“Please.” Natalie implored the woman beside her. “Garrett has decided he will not sire any children, ever, because of the old earl’s mental deficiencies. He refuses to marry because of this…well, in part because of this.”
“Oh, you poor child.” Aunt Eleanor turned and took Natalie’s hands in hers. “It is true, then? You have developed atendrefor Garrett? For my…nephew?” Tears glistened in the woman’s eyes.
“I love him. I do not want to go through life without him.”
Her aunt stood and paced the room slowly, her hands steepled in front of her lips. After a few tension-filled moments, she announced her decision. “Well, goddaughter of mine”— she smiled—“I will do whatever I can to assist you. I cannot bear to see you unhappy, especially after what you did for Lilly.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye and took her seat once again. “Now, explain to me how things were left between the two of you when you last spoke.”
