A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(88)

Her words were reminiscent of what he’d once admonished her regarding comparing him to Hans. “True. I don’t claim to be my father. I’ve made enough mistakes of my own without taking on his too.” He tossed the words over his shoulder, hoping Annalisa could sense the apology in them.

Peter pointed the gun at him again and stared down its long barrel. His gaze was unforgiving.

Carl didn’t flinch. He wasn’t his father, but he was still a nobleman. And over the years he’d done his share of scoffing and demeaning the peasants too, though perhaps not as purposefully as his father. But his pride and callousness had hurt them as well.

By living among them, laboring with his hands, and learning their ways, God had humbled him. Maybe he hadn’t become one of them. But at least he’d begun to understand and empathize with their plight.

“I may not be my father, but I’ve still hurt you with my own uncaring and insensitive attitude. And now I’ve added to the pain with my deception.”

The gun wavered.

“I deserve whatever punishment you wish to give me.”

Sweat rolled down Peter’s forehead and dripped into his eyes. He lifted his arm and swiped the wetness with his sleeve.



“Let him go, Vater!” Annalisa jerked, trying to free herself. “Bitte!”

A gust of hot wind swelled and pushed at Carl as if it would drive him away if it could.

Slowly, Peter lowered his gun. Anguish rippled across his face. “Get off my land.”

Carl sagged and his breath came out with a whoosh.

Annalisa ripped free of his hold and stepped away from him.

“Get off my land and don’t ever step foot on it again,” Peter boomed louder. “Now. Before I change my mind and put a bullet into your black heart.”

Carl took several steps backward and turned toward Annalisa.

Her face was tight with anger. Whatever feelings she’d had that motivated her attempt to save his life had apparently blown away.

“And leave my daughter alone,” Peter said. “Don’t ever step foot on her land again either.”

Carl wanted to ask Annalisa to run away with him. To go get Sophie and Gretchen so that they could stay together.

But her eyes spoke the words she would never say aloud—she hated him just as much as her father did. She would never want him now. Never.

The ache in his throat swelled. “So I guess this is good-bye?”

She jutted out her chin.

Peter waved his gun at him. “Go on. Get out of here. We don’t want to see you again.”

Carl nodded, first at Peter, then at Uri. Surprisingly the boy’s eyes were the only ones not blazing with resentment. Instead, Uri peered at him with disappointment, as if somehow he’d expected more from him.

With a sigh that echoed all the sadness squeezing at his body, Carl walked over to Eleanor, who was still holding Sophie. Peter kept the gun trained on his every step.



But Carl ignored the man. He had a right to say good-bye to Sophie. No one could stop him. Not after he’d helped bring her into the world. In his heart, she was his daughter.

At the sight of him, she squealed and kicked her legs.

“Good-bye, Sophie,” he whispered.

The baby grabbed one of his fingers and lifted it to her mouth. If he let her, she would gnaw and drool on it, as she’d started doing recently.

Eleanor glanced at her father for his direction.

Quickly Carl bent and placed a kiss on Sophie’s head, before Eleanor could take her away from him. “Good-bye, my little princess.”

Then he pulled his finger out of her grip and stepped away, leaving part of his heart with her.

He tossed one more nod to Annalisa, but she lowered her head and refused to look at him.

Pain ricocheted through his chest. But he did the only thing he could do. He turned and walked away.



Annalisa sat on the ground and rocked back and forth with Gretchen. She cradled the girl and stroked her hair. Even though Gretchen’s sobs had subsided, Annalisa couldn’t imagine that the agony would ever go away.

She leaned her head against the scratchy bark of a tree and let the gusting wind lift the loose tendrils away from her face.

The men had finished their Sunday dinner. For a while all they’d talked about was Carl and how different he’d been and how they should have known he wasn’t one of their kind. And of course Dirk had shared every last incriminating detail he knew about Carl’s past—everything from shirking his duty in the Franco-Prussian War after sustaining an injury to running away from England after one of the lords there had accused him of sleeping with his wife.

When they’d finally exhausted the conversation about Carl and Baron von Reichart and what horrible men they were, Vater had gone back to discussing the weather and the wildfires.

Annalisa brushed her fingers across Gretchen’s flushed cheeks. The girl’s eyes had begun to droop with weariness. Annalisa had been putting off the walk back to her farm. As much as she tried to tell herself she was taking full advantage of the day of rest, she knew the real reason she hadn’t left was because they would have to walk home alone—without Carl.

He’d always walked them back to the farm, every time, no matter how late and no matter how tired he was. And he’d always given Gretchen a horsey ride.

How could they make the trip home again without thinking about him and missing him?