The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(59)

Hart reached with one large hand and grasped hers tightly. Erlington and Hart had been lovers for over thirty years.

When she’d first discovered the truth of their regard for each other, she’d been shocked. She would never have conceived two men could fall in love with each other. Nevertheless, just as her had parents had shared an undying love, so did Hart and Erlington. Somehow, they’d managed to build a life together. Though society ridiculed and punished such relationships, theirs was a thing of beauty, strong and pure.

She’d been in awe whenever she’d seen them together. Once a year, Erlington would come to Lawson Court for a visit. In return, Hart traveled to Erlington’s estate in Suffolk at least three times a year to “consult on his Lordship’s agricultural experiments.” Hart always came back from the visits renewed with a new vigor that was born from the intimacy the two men shared.

“What can I do?” Whatever he needed became her only concern. She’d help him through this grief as he’d done for her when she’d lost her parents. “Shall you and I go visit?”

“No. There’s nothing to be done, my miss. The family needs you here. I’m leaving for Suffolk this morning. I’ll stay with his Lordship until he passes. Mr. Garwyn will manage the farm with the help of a few others and Mrs. Oliver.” Hart rubbed his face with a hand as if he could wipe his grief away, but the strain was still visible. His knee bobbed up and down, and he fidgeted with the teacup handle. “I hate to be so far away from you.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry for us. London is child’s play compared with the estate.”

He nodded, and the gesture broke her heart. Lost and alone in his thoughts, he hung his head in defeat. Her eyes burned for the loss he was facing, but she refused to allow any tears to fall in front of him. She had to be strong or he’d never have the peace of mind to leave for Suffolk, where he rightfully belonged.

Hart stood and she followed. She found herself in his embrace as he pulled her tight against him as if trying to take some of her strength with him. She tightened her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “Write and tell me what you find.”

He nodded once. The letters would be cryptic as he never divulged Erlington’s name in correspondence. Hart would protect his love until the very end. How unfair they couldn’t celebrate their lives together in the open.

“One more thing,” he whispered. “Lawson came by the other day. I found him in Bennett’s study. Nothing was missing, but I’m not certain what he was doing. Mrs. Oliver hadn’t even heard him come into the house.”

“What could he have been looking for?” If he was looking for money, the man was a fool. There was no way she’d keep funds at the house without any of them there.

Hart shook his head. “I wish I knew. Be careful, March. I don’t trust him.”

“Don’t worry. We’re safe here in London.”

“Yes, you are. Lord McCalpin’s a good man and takes his responsibility for you and your siblings seriously. It’s the only reason I can leave.” He kissed her cheek once more. “Good-bye. I don’t know when I’ll return.”

She took a deep breath, hoping the air would help still the reeling emotions inside of her. Everything had changed with the uncertainty of his return, revealing how vulnerable they all were in this world.

“Tell his Lordship … I love you both,” she managed to choke out as the sorrow threatened to steal her breath.

With his anguish overcoming him, Hart gave her a final hug, then left without a word. The deep unsettling silence of the room felt like a weight holding in her place. How long she stood there alone, she didn’t know. Finally, she found herself curled into a tight ball hidden in a curtained window seat.

Maids came to dust and clean the room. Under-footmen prepared the fireplaces for the afternoon. If anyone saw her, they didn’t acknowledge her, nor she them. She was too transfixed with the heavy drops of rain that skated down the window. She stared off into the grayness of the day, hoping she’d be lost to the pain.

Her dearest friend was facing the ultimate heartache, and she couldn’t share his burden.

Because of that simple fact, London lost its allure and became nothing more than a tarnished and empty wasteland where she didn’t belong.

Yet she didn’t have any other place to call home.

Lawson Court promised to be just as barren without Hart or her siblings by her side.

Not to mention without the attentions of a certain marquess.

*

With the note from his brother still fresh in his mind, McCalpin entered Langham Hall. William had informed him of Victor Hart’s brief visit and the sudden malaise of the eldest Lawson sister.

As McCalpin handed his black greatcoat and beaver hat to a footman, the steadfast and ubiquitous Pitts waited for him on the other side of the large entry. In several steps, he stood before the loyal butler who volunteered the information without asking.

“Miss Lawson is in the yellow salon.” With a gentle smile, he continued, “She’s been in the window seat all morning.”

McCalpin nodded his thanks and proceeded down the carpeted hallway. His boots sunk into the plush pile as if he were battling against a particularly nasty bog on the Scottish moors. His exploding heart urged him to move faster and reach her.

What had caused Mr. Victor Hart to call upon her, and what had he said to leave her bereft and troubled? If that damn arse Rupert Lawson had anything to do with March’s current mood, he’d bloody every inch of his face.