A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(86)

“But I thought you wanted to be my papa?” She peered up at him, her beautiful blue eyes alight with confusion.

Carl wanted to groan with the agony of having to say good-bye. He turned to Annalisa, beseeching her to help him. How could he explain the complexity of the situation to Gretchen?

But Annalisa pressed her lips together, and her eyes told him she wouldn’t be of any assistance to him, that if he wanted to leave, he would have to figure out a way to soothe Gretchen all on his own.

“You know I’d be honored to be your papa.” He laid his hand on the girl’s head. “I couldn’t imagine a better daughter than you.”

“Then you’ll stay?” Her face sparked with hope.

Slowly he shook his head. “I can’t—”

“I promise to be a good girl.”

“You’re already a good girl.” He swallowed hard past the ache in his throat. “And I know you’ll continue to be a good girl for your mama.”

Her lower lip trembled.

He could sense the smugness in Dirk’s expression. The man seemed to be taking pleasure in the pain of their parting. He supposed Dirk had every right to be upset at him for winning the affection and allegiance of Annalisa and her daughter. Still, he ought to allow him the chance to say good-bye privately.

At least Peter and Uri had the kindness to go on with their meal, licking and chomping noisily as if doing their best to ignore the situation.

Carl stroked Gretchen’s head and spoke softly. “I’ll miss you very, very much.”



Tears glistened in her eyes.

The knot at the base of his throat burned.

Sophie began fussing loudly, echoing his pain.

“Then you won’t stay and be my papa?”

Oh, God, his heart cried. Won’t you help me? He’d never expected leaving Gretchen would rip his heart into shreds. And if leaving her hurt this much, how could he possibly say good-bye to Annalisa without ripping out his heart altogether?

A tear rolled down the little girl’s cheek.

He couldn’t squeeze any more words past the tightness of his throat. Instead he shook his head.

She gulped out a sob and spun on her bare feet, away from the table. Leaving a trail of sobs in her wake, she dashed across the long, dry grass of the farmyard and headed in the direction of the barn.

Annalisa’s expression was tight, and she silently berated him for hurting Gretchen. She handed the baby to Eleanor and started after Gretchen.

With a shaky sigh, Carl started to rise.

“Sit down and eat,” Peter boomed. “You’ll only make matters worse if you go after her.”

But Carl climbed off the bench and jogged toward Annalisa. He had to figure out a way to offer some solace to Gretchen.

“Let them go,” Dirk called after him.

Carl ignored Dirk’s words. He reached Annalisa, circled her arm and tugged her to a stop.

“Let them go and come back here!” Dirk’s voice grew harder with anger. “Or else—”

“Or else what?” Carl spun around. He’d had enough of Dirk’s threats. Who did the man think he was, anyway, lording over him? Did Dirk relish the fact that for once in his life he had power over a nobleman? “What are you going to do?” he shouted. “What?”



Dirk rose from the table. His glare sparked with jealousy.

“Are you going to tell them the truth about who I am?” Carl said. “Is that it?”

Annalisa stiffened. Peter and Uri stopped eating, their greasy fingers suspended over their plates.

“Well, why don’t I save you the trouble?” Carl continued. “I’ll tell them myself.”

Dirk’s eyes widened, and then a cough burst out and bent him over with the force.

Suddenly Carl knew that telling everyone the truth was the right thing to do—the thing he should have done from the very beginning but had been too afraid to do.

“Herr Bernthal, Uri . . .” He nodded at them, then turned and looked at Annalisa. “Annalisa . . .”

She shook her head, as if she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

He took a deep breath and spoke before he lost the courage. “I’m not Carl Richards. There’s no such person. It’s just a name Matthias gave me when he was helping me escape from prison.”

“So you had to take a false name to hide from the duke,” Peter said. “So what? That’s understandable.”

Annalisa’s hands began to tremble.

“And Matthias wasn’t just my friend.” The words stuck in his mouth, but he pushed them out. “Matthias was my manservant.”

“Manservant?” Peter said. “My brother wasn’t your manservant. From the time he was a lad, he worked as a household servant for the cursed Baron von Reichart.”

Annalisa’s eyes filled with sudden understanding. She jerked away from him, a cascade of emotions flitting across her features—first revulsion, then hurt.

She knew. His heart tumbled into a rapid fall.



“I told Matthias year after year that the baron didn’t deserve a servant like him,” Peter went on. “That he should leave the baron’s household and find work somewhere else. The baron didn’t pay him well and treated him no better than a slave.”