The Viscount’s Vendetta by Kathy L. Wheeler
Epilogue
May, Spixworth Hall
H
arlowe slapped some cyan on the canvas and blended it with white and the slightest touch of gray, giving the Atlantic waves a foamy quality. He then slashed the canvas with a brilliant splash of orange to lighten the darkened skies he’d already painted, his thoughts careening in all directions.
Maeve had done a splendid job on the crumbling, tumbling house that was his entailment. Since coming to Spixworth, she had been consumed with righting the household and caring for the children they’d taken in. It was only fair, he’d told her, today, that he would look after them so she could have a minute to herself.
Only to have Lady Ingleby show up on their doorstep. The woman was not what one would consider soothing to the nerves. To the older woman’s credit, she did not seem to take exception to the children in his and Maeve’s care. It had been a stunning revelation. The more Harlowe observed, the more he realized all the woman desired was grandchildren. She loved her daughter and truly wanted her taken care of.
“Good heavens, what is wrong with you?” Maeve’s furious voice cut through his irritation, jarring him to his surroundings. The muted sun, the soft breeze off the North Sea that whipped his unfashionably long hair into his eyes, the uneasy silence hovering amid the usual children’s screams and laughter.
A faint sound hit his ears. “Papa.”
The flash of cobalt dashed by, heading straight for Spixworth’s one large pond.
He heard it again. “Papa.”
The skirts—rather, the wearer of the skirts, the very pregnant wearer of the skirts—disappeared from sight.
“What the hell?” Harlowe dropped his pallet and brush and took off after her. The stretch along the open field was uneven at best. The last thing he wanted was his wife falling and injuring herself.
In the five months since they’d arrived, Harlowe had built a low wall around the pond at Maeve’s insistence since she absolutely refused to allow him to teach the children how to swim. Her fear of deep waters was too ingrained.
Harlowe didn’t believe the children would go down to the water alone. All but one of them knew of her fear and adored her too much to disregard her wishes. Only one child would dare go against her explicit instructions.
The one opening to the pond was closed by a small gate he’d constructed and was too far away to reach in a timely manner. Harlowe jumped over and found Penny standing off some ways to one side. She held a metal pail.
Trepidation crawled over his skin like painful welts.
The pier he’d built stretched halfway out to the center of the large pond. Two small boats and a raft were tied to the moorings. They were there by design. For safety, should the need arise. And currently, were empty.
He reached the water’s edge in time to see eighteen-month-old Nathan crawling along the shore.
“You are in big trouble,” he shot to Penny. “Where’s your mother?” The question was rhetorical—he already knew the answer.
Harlowe pointed to Nathaniel and shouted in her direction. “Watch him.” He dashed out on the pier, searching the dark depths. Her blasted skirts would sink her to the bottom. There, kelp or hair? With no time to discern the difference, he jumped.
A minute later he dragged his wife to the surface and to the shore, his heart pounding furiously.
The cold seeped far beneath Maeve’s skin. It reached her bones, reminding her how much she hated ponds, lakes, oceans. They were nothing like the hot springs one could find in Bath or Bristol. Or the warm tub she could order at will, and did so on a daily basis. The May water had been freezing.
Brandon hadn’t said one word to her or Penny the whole distance back to the house. “Get a blanket,” he barked to Agnes. “And assemble the household. Everyone. Servants included.”
He carried her in through the library’s terrace doors. Her mother was sitting near the fire with a book in her hand. “What on earth is going on—Maeve, you looked like a drowned rat. What on earth possessed you to jump in the lake this time of year?” She dropped her book and came to her feet.
Maeve would have told her swimming hadn’t been in her plans for the day but her teeth were chattering too violently. It wasn’t as if she had intended to jump in. By the time she’d seen Nathan, it had been too late, being midair as it were.
“It’s much too cold. Harlowe, how dare you allow this. And in her condition.”
Her unborn child.A blanket fell around her shoulders. Her fingers were too stiff to grip it sufficiently, and tears pooled in her eyes.
“Take Nathaniel,” Brandon said to her mother. His words were as glacial as her wet, shivering skin.
He stalked over and poured out a tumbler of brandy and came over to her. “Drink this.”
“But—”
“Do it.”
She didn’t dare argue and sipped. It burned going down. She handed the still half full glass back to him. “Enough.”
Her husband set the glass on the table and secured the blanket tightly around her. “What have I told you about jumping in the water?” he railed at her.
“I thought Nathan had fallen in. I only saw him when I was in the air.”
“I cannot worry every second you are out of my sight. You little fool.” He gave her a gentle shake. “You will drive me to Bedlam.”
“Quit yelling at me. Is that any way to talk to the love of your life? Who almost drowned, incidentally?” Maeve glanced around as the servants shuffled in. McCaskle, his wife, his son, two daughters, Cook, and another young man she didn’t recognize.
Maeve pointed to him. “Who are you?”
“Davie, m’lady.”
“He’s Niall’s younger brother,” Penny informed her.
Maeve rolled her eyes to the ceiling and huddled deeper within her blanket.
The group formed a semi-circle around the library, Miss Bristol, Rory and Baird pulling up the rear. So, this was to be an ambush. If Maeve could have quelled her shivering, she would storm out. Tempers came in handy, on occasion, for red-haired pregnant women. If only she weren’t so cold. She shifted closer to the fire.
The children formed an inside circle: Mary, Stephen, Melinda, her mother holding Nathan. He had his thumb in his mouth, looking innocent as you please. This was all his fault, she thought with a testiness that took her by surprise.
Brandon stood and, with his hands clasped at his lower back, paced before the gatherers.
“Beginning tomorrow morning, I shall be instructing everyone on how to swim. These lessons will occur in shifts.”
A whoop of cheers mingled with groans went up around the room.
“Surely you don’t mean me,” her mother said in her haughty Ingleby snit. “And the baby! Why, the very idea is ludicrous.”
“Nathan will do wonderfully,” he said. “You, Lady Ingleby, may choose to decline.”
Her mother’s face paled to a chalky white.
“Harlowe.” Maeve tried speaking sharply, but her voice still quivered with cold. “Nathan is too young.”
He knelt before her. “He’s the perfect age, my darling.”
She stared at him a long time, then nodded. “Yes, all right. As long as someone is there with him the entire time. I shall agree.”
He rose to his feet and dropped a kiss on her nose. “Other basic rules I expect to be obeyed are that no one”—he stalked over to Nathan and plucked his thumb from his mouth, put his nose to his heir’s—“no one is to enter the water without another person nearby. Do you understand?”
A wave of soft assents sounded throughout.
All except Nathan. In his adorable Nathan style, he gave his father a toothy grin and held out his arms. It was a gesture no normal person could resist. Even a glowering viscount.
Brandon took Nathan on his hip and resumed his pacing.
“The first group shall meet me at the pond at eleven.” Brandon laid out four teams and dismissed the horde amidst giggles and groans. “Agnes, prepare a bath for your mistress.” He sent her, and even handing off Nathan to his grandmother, on their way.
Her mother was not yet convinced. “You cannot be serious about having Nathan learn how to swim. He isn’t yet two.”
“Bah. I wager he’ll be the fastest one to learn, Lady Ingleby.”
“Maeve is with child. Her condition is much too delicate,” Lady Ingleby insisted.
Harlowe dropped down beside Maeve. “What of you, my darling? Can you see your way to learning past your fear? How else am I to keep you safe? This is the only way I can think of, since you have no regard for your own safety. I could have lost you today. I shall have nightmares for years.”
He wrapped her in the warmth of his arms. She laid her head against his chest. “I’m sorry, my love.”
“Perhaps you are not getting enough oxygen.” Brandon leaned in. “Perhaps you need me to show you again how to breathe air into someone who is having trouble breathing.” He touched his lips to hers, and the shiver that went through her had nothing to do with the cold.
“Yes, I believe that might be wise, my lord,” she said meekly.
“I love you, my darling,” he whispered. “In the future, please have a care for my delicate sensibilities.”
“Oh, Brandon. Yes. Yes, I will, my love.” She threw her arms around his neck and let his heat warm her more thoroughly than the hot bath awaiting her. “I shall endeavor to learn too. Will that make you happy?”
“Thoroughly and completely, my love.”
****
Thank you for reading The Viscount’s Vendetta – please consider leaving a review.
If you didn’t read Harlowe’s initial disappearance, here is a link to The Earl’s Error: Lorelei’s and Thorne’s story.
Read ahead for a snippet of Lady Felicity’s Feud with Christmas
Part of the Regency Christmas Kisses Anthology w/Amanda McCabe
Lady Felicity’s
Feud with Christmas
Rebel Lords of London
Book 6
A short novella part of the
Regency Christmas Kisses anthology
Kathy L Wheeler
