“But Papa had a brother…”

“Who fell from his damned horse as a lad,” Della interrupted. “There are many traits that run in the Haddonfield and Harper lines, Nick, but madness and mental impairment are not among them.”

“But then, how did Leonie come to be as she is?” Nick asked, a world of miserable bewilderment in his voice. “She has been like she is since I’ve known her.”

“Fevers,” Magda supplied. “You didn’t meet the girl until she was well past two years of age, and until that winter, she’d been just another darling, happy child. She walked by one year, began speaking about the same time, and put her sentences together the same as any other child.”

“So what happened?”

“Leonie fell ill with the same influenza that took her mother,” Della said. “But Leonie eventually recovered. Magda first noticed the child wasn’t coming along as she had before, though physically, Leonie has always been vigorous enough.”

His mind could not absorb all that Della said, but he could comprehend that last. “She’s been healthy as a horse, except for that flu.”

“I thought we were going to lose her,” Magda said. “She shook with the fevers and shook with them, night after night, and grew so tiny it’s a wonder she lived.”

Another silence fell, as Nick began to consider the information the old women had just imparted. He ran his finger around the rim of his teacup. “You are saying Leonie was not born simple.”

“No more than any other child,” Della said. “No more than you were, Nicholas.”

“So I’ve put aside my wife for nothing?” Nick asked the room in general.

“You put her aside to try to protect her,” Della said, “and to protect your unborn children from what you thought would be a life of ridicule and judgment.”

“God help me. Ladies, you will excuse me. I have another call to make.”

Nick stumbled out of the kitchen, not even hearing what they might have said to him in parting.

* * *

Nick hadn’t lied; he did have another appointment. But it wasn’t for another hour, and he needed that hour to put his world back on its axis. He found himself in the park by the duck pond, his little scrappy friend nowhere to be seen.

The day was pleasant, the breeze soft, the sunshine warm on Nick’s face. Just another pretty afternoon in the park, though Nick felt as if his whole life was shifting.

He’d been so wrong for so long, and so sure of himself in his wrongheadedness. He didn’t know whether to cry with relief or cry with sorrow for the damage his misjudgments were still causing even as he sat in the afternoon breeze and listened to the laughter of children.

Normal children, like little John. Children who could learn cursive writing and Latin, do sums and see malice and contempt when it came at them.

A loud quacking disturbed his musings, and Nick looked up to see an indignant young drake flapping and hissing at him. His friend, well on the way to growing up, though a yellowish cast to his plumage betrayed his identity. Nick fished a tea biscuit left over from breakfast out of his pocket and tossed it at the young duck. The tea biscuit disappeared, and the duck waddled down to the water and paddled off to join his fellows.

They grow up—John and Leonie and children everywhere. They grow up, and their families shouldn’t miss the short window of childhood. God above, Leah was going to be reeling to find herself possessed of a half brother who’d been kept from her.

And then, when she’d recovered from that blow, or maybe before she sustained it, Nick was going to have to tell her about Leonie.

* * *

Leah had never had such a social week. Ethan and Beck came on Thursday. On Friday, David Worthington, Viscount Fairly, appeared and took her to visit with his wife and children. On Saturday, more of Nicholas’s friends, Lord and Lady Greymoor, showed up, with his lordship ponying a pretty mare behind his great black gelding, a wedding present to Leah. They stayed for luncheon before removing to Fairly’s, and while Lady Greymoor admired Leah’s gardens, she also admonished her hostess to bring that lackwitted Nicholas to heel.

Sunday saw a lull in the traffic, with Darius offering to escort Leah to services at the local church. It was a pretty day, and an innocuous way to meet her neighbors, so she went.

“I’m off to Town tomorrow,” Darius said as he handed Leah down from his coach when he saw her home. “I should be back by nightfall.”

“You’ll give my regards to Trent and the children?” Leah asked, searching her brother’s face.

“Of course, if I have time to stop by. I’ve a few appointments to see to first, and I thought checking in on Emily might be the higher priority.”

Leah regarded him sternly. “You are not to make her into your next damsel in distress. Wilton dotes on her, and her letters suggest she is enjoying the patronage of Lady Della. She’ll be all right, as I am all right.”

“Give Nick some time,” Darius said. “I like him, and I’m not easily impressed. What seems so insurmountable one day can often be managed the next.”

Leah glanced at him, wondering where such an encouraging sentiment came from, particularly as she needed to hear it—badly.

“Travel safely.” She kissed his cheek again, touched and a little surprised when he hugged her tightly, kissed her back, and then hugged her again before hopping up onto the box with his coachman.

“I’ll see you later in the week, Leah,” he called down. “Save some time for me.”

“Of course.” She waved him on his way, wondering what that was all about. She’d no sooner given the order for tea to be served in the garden when she saw the now-familiar groom trotting up the drive. Leah waved him over so they might dispense with formalities, and took the letter directly from his hand.

As she caught a whiff of Nick’s scent on the envelope, she felt a pang of longing for her husband—for his smile, his embrace, the sound of his voice, the feel of him shifting the mattress beside her at night.

She cut those thoughts off ruthlessly and made her way to the back gardens, Nick’s latest letter in hand.

Beloved Wife,

If you will receive me, I will call upon you Monday afternoon. We have matters to discuss. I continue to miss you, and though it flatters me not, I am cheered to learn you miss me as well.

Your Nicholas,

Bellefonte

Leah eyes scanned those three sentences several times before it sank in that Nick was coming back to Clover Down, the very next day. She set the letter aside and reached for the teapot, thinking to pour herself a cup to steady her nerves.

Except her hands shook too badly to manage even that, so she simply went inside, jotted off a reply, and settled down to await her fate.

* * *

“Well?” Nick’s eyes bored into the hapless groom who’d pulled the duty of delivering Nick’s Sunday epistle to Leah.

“She seemed quite well, your lordship,” the man said, handing over the reply. “But I met her brother, Mr. Lindsey, at the foot of the drive, and he bade me pass along another message.”

“Go on.” Nick did not tear open Leah’s reply, not while the groom was still in the same room.

“He said he was making calls in Town tomorrow but would be expecting you and your lady on Tuesday for luncheon.”

“Thank you.” Nick nodded in curt dismissal. “But Druckman?”

“Your lordship?”

“Tell the lads I’ll be sending another note out to Kent tomorrow, this one to Blossom Court,” Nick said, his fingers itching to open the letter.

Druckman nodded resignedly. “Aye, your lordship.”

When he’d taken his leave, Nick crossed to the brandy decanter, eyeing Leah’s reply like a squirming sack. It could hold the key to his future, but was it snakes or kittens? Condemnation or happiness? Nick tossed back a brandy, marshaled his courage, and opened the letter.

Husband,

It will be my pleasure to receive you tomorrow afternoon.

Leah Haddonfield

Nick stared at the letter, trying to will insight from a mere handful of words. She would receive him—that was good—but that was all. No hint of concern for him, no admission that she missed him, no humor. Nick frowned and looked closer, thinking her handwriting was maybe not so tidy as usual.

Ah, well, tomorrow would come, and it would go, perhaps taking Nick’s last chance at happiness with it. Where were his friends when there was a brandy decanter and a long night to get through?

Seventeen

“I never anticipated how tiring separation from one’s husband would be,” Leah said as Buttercup was led off to the stables, “nor how many people call you friend, Nicholas.”

Leah sank down onto the front steps leading up to the Clover Down front door, and Nick realized his wife was delaying the moment when they were private. Well, to hell with that. He moved up a couple of steps and sat behind her so one of his legs was on either side of her. When Leah only watched him with veiled caution, he wrapped his arms around her and propped his chin on the top of her head.

“I love you,” Nick said, his voice a low, fervent rumble. “I need to get that out, before any of my well-meaning, infernal friends come trotting up that drive, your brother drops by, one of my brothers drops by, or some servant comes around to eavesdrop.”

“I beg your pardon?” Leah’s cheek was resting against his chest, her ear over his heart, where she’d once told him she liked to have it.

Nick pulled her away from him enough that their gazes could meet. “I said I love you, Leah Haddonfield. I hope it matters.”

He folded her back against him, unwilling to see her reaction in her eyes. What if he’d left it too late? What if he’d been too ridiculous, separating from a perfectly luscious wife because she was perfectly luscious? What if she laughed at him?

“I love you too,” Leah murmured against his chest.

Relief leavened his anxiety. At least she wasn’t laughing. All she’d said was… His hand in her hair went still, and he stopped nuzzling her temple.

“I’m not sure I heard you aright, Wife.”

Leah peeled back, met his gaze squarely, and pronounced sentence on him slowly.

“I love you, Nicholas Haddonfield,” she said, “but that is only a start. Why are you here today with me when you left a week ago, hell-bent on separation?”

“You love me?” Nick took visual inventory of the front court of his favorite little estate, then took a deep breath through his nose. Leah’s scent filled his awareness, assuring him he hadn’t fallen asleep on his horse, only to dream this moment.

“I love you.” Leah smiled, but there was sadness in that smile, and Nick’s initial bubble of joy began to drift away.

“I’ve hurt you,” Nick said, “and I am sorry. I’d like to show you how sorry.” He rose, drew her to her feet, and laced his fingers through hers, tugging her into the house and toward the staircase.

Leah tugged back, bringing him to a halt. “Nicholas?”

“Come upstairs with me, please?” His eyes pleaded, but he didn’t resort to overt groveling. Not yet.

“I cannot.” She dropped his hand, and it might as well have been Nick’s heart she cast aside. “I cannot bear for you to leave me again, Nicholas. If you take me up those stairs, you must promise you will not leave me, not for some wrongheaded notion, not for some other woman. I know you are a man with needs, but I am your wife, and I will try… No.” She stopped herself. “I will not beg. I will not.”

“I will not leave you.” Nick drew her into his arms. “Not ever, though you might send me away. I don’t just love you, Wife, I am in love with you, and I can promise you I’ve never said those words to a woman before, not a human woman anyway.”

Leah frowned up at him, in puzzlement.

“I might have said them to my horse,” Nick amended hastily, “but you mustn’t worry I’ll leave you or be tempted to mischief or ever want another in my bed. I know we have much to discuss, more than you know, in fact, but please for the love of God, Leah, let me love you now.”

She searched his face then nodded once. Nick swept her up in his arms and all but ran for the bedroom.

Thank you; thank you, Jesus; thank you, God; thank you, Leah. This wasn’t what he’d intended when he’d cantered his mare up the drive. He’d intended to sit Leah down in his study with a tumbler of spirits, and clear the air between them of all the mistakes and deceptions. He should stop and do just that, because she might not be amenable to this reconciliation once she knew what he’d withheld.