Page 25 of The Homecoming (The De Montforte Brothers #6)

Chapter Twenty

C harles stayed upstairs with Amy and his new son as long as he could without appearing rude.

He saw the coach being brought out of the stables, and Lucien’s matched team, groomed to a sheen, shaking their heads and jangling their harnesses in their eagerness to be off. He heard the clamor of voices downstairs, felt the heavy energy of sorrow, heard the puppy barking.

“We should at least go say goodbye,” Amy said, getting up from the bed. She had been nursing the baby, and the sorrow that seemed to permeate the very walls of the castle was reflected in her face, her eyes, her voice. “It’s rude to stay up here. I’m going down.”

Charles sat and put his head in his hands. He did not speak.

“Come with me, Charles. It will be your last chance,” she said softly.

He hooked his arms around the back of his neck and stared down at the rug, saying nothing.

She moved close, bent down, and passed little Simon to him.

He caught her eye as she did so, and the look on her face made his heart break all the more.

He turned away, unable to bear the sorrow and regret he saw there, and with the baby in his arms, stared out the window at the clouds scudding across a blue, blue sky. What was there to say?

She made her way out of the room. She, who would not let her sister-in-law and family leave without a proper goodbye.

Charles took a deep breath, got to his feet, and with Simon cradled to his chest, went to the window.

Down on the drive below, footmen carried trunks—most of which probably hadn’t even been fully unpacked, he thought sadly—out of the house and to the waiting coach.

Another footman was letting down the steps, and a groom held the waiting team.

Bugger it all.

He turned and left the room.

He was halfway down the stairs when he met Ruaidri O’Devir, moving painfully, just coming up.

“Good morning,” Charles said stiffly, not knowing what else to say.

“Mornin’, Lord Charles.” The other man smiled. “I was just coming up to say goodbye. And thank ye for savin’ me life last night.”

Charles just looked away.

“Listen,” the Irishman said, leaning against the wall behind him, “I know you and I didn’t get off on the right foot ... I just wanted ye to know, I’ve no hard feelings.”

“None here, either,” Charles murmured, still looking away.

The Irishman put out a hand. “Until next time, brother.”

Charles looked at the offered hand for a moment, then took it. “Until next time, Captain O’Devir.”

The other man turned and made his way back down the stairs.

Charles watched him go, his keen eyes noticing much.

That Ruaidri O’Devir was in more pain than he was letting on.

That he was limping when he reached the downstairs floor and trying very hard to hide it.

Several hours in a coach—because why else had Lucien had the boot affixed to his vehicle unless he planned to have Nerissa and her family driven all the way back to the coast so they wouldn’t have to take the stage?

—was no good for a man who had nearly been killed just hours before, no good at all.

Charles started back down the stairs.

He caught up to them all as they were gathering in the Great Hall and heading out the great medieval doors, both of which were standing open to frame the coach and team outside on the drive.

The household staff lined the steps, some of them in tears.

Charlotte and Gabriel stood on either side of their father, Charlotte holding his hand, Gabriel looking down at the dirt and kicking aimlessly at a pebble.

Baby Aidan was being passed around and given a final kiss on the cheek, a last hug, just one more cuddle.

The puppy looked downcast for once and was quiet as he looked up at the adults above him.

Captain O’Devir moved around the circle of family members, shaking hands and allowing a quick embrace by the women, and then it was Nerissa’s turn.

Nerissa, proud and composed, no longer the young, innocent girl he’d grown up with, Nerissa, a grown woman now with her own family, Nerissa who, according to servants’ gossip, was the one who had made the decision to take her family back home.

Nerissa, not Ruaidri O’Devir.

She, the girl that he and his brothers had spent a lifetime protecting, was now protecting her beloved husband.

A de Montforte, through and through.

Leaving.

Charles glanced up at Lucien. His brother stood with the others, implacable as always, watching the farewells behind an inscrutable gaze. The duke remained that way as Eva embraced Nerissa and then moved to O’Devir, her hand on his shoulder as she murmured words of farewell.

Again, Charles glanced at Lucien, his heartbeat quickening as his desperation rose.

Do something, Charles thought.

Lucien, though, did nothing.

Nerissa turned and moved toward the coach, Aidan back in her arms. She looked up at Charles, and in her eyes, Charles saw the hurt, the sadness, and the sudden awful realization that he would probably never see her again.

She did not come running back to say goodbye.

She did not say a word to him. She merely turned and continued her steps toward the waiting vehicle.

O’Devir handed her up and the coach settled on its well-oiled springs as the Irishman followed her inside, calling for the puppy.

Damn it, Lucien, do something!

The footmen climbed aboard, the coachman hoisted himself up, and the duke himself walked forward and shut the door.

“Goodbye, Lucien.”

“Farewell and be safe.”

“Goodbye!”

“Oh, goodbye!”

“I love you, Auntie Nerissa! Love you, Uncle Ruaidri!”

“Please come back soon!”

Each voice was a knife to Charles’s heart.

He willed his feet to move, but they would not.

The driver picked up the reins and clicked to the horses and now the coach was moving away, wheeling around the drive, heading out past the row of old copper beeches, over the bridge of the moat and through the gatehouse.

The puppy began barking from inside, its mischievous little face pressed against the glass.

The team’s hoofbeats began to fade as the conveyance drew farther away.

Watching it, Amy and Juliet stood together, tears streaming down Amy’s face, Juliet hugging her in quiet, shared sorrow.

Andrew and Celsie turned and went back into the house, Gabriel and Charlotte trudging dejectedly in their wake.

Gareth picked up little Laura, and with his niece’s arms wrapped around his neck, slowly climbed the steps after them.

And Lucien, with Eva beside him as they watched the coach grow smaller and smaller, stood still and unmoving.

The puppy’s yapping grew faint, then disappeared altogether until the only noise was the whisper of wind through the copper beeches.

A moment later, the coach was gone from sight, lost beyond the trees as it headed out onto the road that would take it to Ravenscombe, the coast, and finally, back to America.

Back inside, the mood was dark and empty and worse than awful. The energy that had lit the ancient home, even for a short time with Nerissa’s and her family’s arrival, was gone, sucked away like shells clawed back by an outgoing tide and leaving gloom and sorrow in its midst. Nobody said much.

They must all hate me, Charles thought. And I don’t blame them.

He cleared his throat. “Amy, I think it’s time to go as well. Are you all packed?”

Unlike with his sister’s departure, there was no clamor, no sudden outcry. All sorrow must have been expended with Nerissa’s parting. Or maybe they were all just glad to see him go.

“I’ll just need a few moments,” she said quietly, and turned and went upstairs.

Gareth and Andrew walked past him, neither of them looking at him.

Lucien said something about his morning walk, previously delayed, which he now felt compelled to undertake.

Gabriel ran off, his sad mood quickly abandoned, giggling now .

.. so much like his father, Charles thought, never serious, always in a good mood.

Charlotte, taking the hands of Laura and Augustus, adjusting her stride for the younger children as she led them out of the Great Hall.

And from upstairs, a scream.

Amy’s.

“ Charles! ”

He turned and ran for the stairs.

“Charles, come quickly!”

He took the steps three at a time, ran headlong down the corridor, and charged into his old apartments.

There he found his wife, stricken and white-faced, frantically pulling back the covers on the bed, dropping to her hands and knees to peer under the furniture, rushing to the windows to haul aside the drapery and look behind them.

“Amy, what are you doing? You should be resting, not—”

“Mary! She’s gone!”

“What?”

“She’s missing! Nurse just came to ask where she went, because she thought she was with us, out on the drive, saying goodbye, but—”

“She wasn’t with us,” Charles said, feeling the blood drain from his face.

“Mary!” Amy screamed. “Mary!”

Charles spun on his heel and there was Lucien, leaning against the door. He raised an imperious brow. “Another crisis, Charles?”

“Mary is missing!”

“No, she’s not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have just been ... informed that she is in my coach. Which is exactly where I suspected she would be.”

“What? Your coach?”

“Well, of course. You see, it appears the ... children had a plan to keep Nerissa and you both here, and spirited our dear Mary aboard the coach. I do believe you’ll find her in the boot.”

“ What! ”

“Yes, the boot.”

Charles’ mouth fell open. “The children were responsible for this? Their doing? You were the one who had the boot affixed to that vehicle. This was your plan, wasn’t it?”

Lucien shrugged. “I daresay you should go rescue your daughter, Charles.”