The Earl's Pregnant Bride

He had a streak of dirt on his cheek and he glared at her mutinously. “Now you have time for me.”

She went over and dropped to the damp, patchy grass at his side. “Yesterday, it was just one thing after another. I kept meaning to...” She stopped herself. He deserved better than a bunch of lame excuses. “Geoffrey, I messed up. I didn’t make time for you. And I’m so sorry. Sometimes... Well, sometimes even a true friend will mess up.”

He pressed his lips together and looked away. “I’m not going back. I’m running away forever and I’m never going back.”

“I wish you wouldn’t run away. We would all miss you way too much.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. You won’t miss me in the least. You don’t even care about me. Nobody does. My father has new children. He’s forgotten all about me. He lives all the way over there in America and if he never sees me again, it won’t matter in the least to him.”

She wanted to demand in outrage, Who told you that? But she had a very strong feeling that Brooke might have done it. Brooke too often forgot that she was supposed to be a grown-up. “Your father loves you,” she said, for lack of anything better. Geoffrey’s reply was a scoffing sound. She asked, “Do you want to go and live with your father?”

Geoffrey gasped. “No! I want to live here, at Hartmore, with you and Uncle Rafe and Great-Granny Eloise.”

“And you do live at Hartmore. But you go away to school.”

“Because nobody wants me here.”

She braced her arms on her knees and rested her cheek on them. “That’s not true. We want you here and we love you, Geoffrey. I love you. I know I let you down yesterday, but if you think back to all our times together, you’ll remember that I do care about you, that you’re very important to me. And if you left, if you ran away, well, I just couldn’t bear it.”

He looked at her then, narrowing his eyes, as though trying to see inside her head and determine whether she really meant what she said. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he leaned her way, sagging against her.

She dared to hook an arm loosely around him, and he rested his head on her shoulder. He smelled of dirt and clean sweat and she ached to grab him hard and close and never let him go.

“I hate boarding school. I’m only almost nine. Most of the boys my age there are day boys. I have to live in a house where everyone is older and they treat me like a baby. Why can’t I stay at Hartmore with you and Rafe and Great-Granny? Why can’t I go to the village school and have my tutor back until I’m at least thirteen like Uncle Rafe was when he went away? Or even go to St Anselm’s in Bakewell, like the Terrible Twins?” He meant Dennis and Dexter, Fiona Bryce-Pemberton’s ten-year-old sons. “Why can’t I just wait to go away until I’m old enough to attend St Paul’s?”

“Because you are very smart, that’s why. And it’s important for you to get the best education possible.”

“St Anselm’s is one of the top prep schools in the country. It’s not fair. Mum just wants to get rid of me.”

Even Genny, who was no fan of Brooke’s, didn’t believe that. Brooke was self-absorbed and a hopeless drama queen, but she loved her son. She just didn’t know how to deal with him. “No, your mother does not want to get rid of you. Your mother wants the very best for you and your new school is the very best.”

“I hate it.”

“Well, then, you will have to find ways to learn to like it.”

“I will never be able to do that.”

“Yes, you will. Also, I know it must seem that you’ll never get home, but doesn’t the summer term end soon?”

“No. It’s forever. It’s practically a whole month.”

“Well, a month may seem like forever now, but it will pass. You’ll be home for all of July and August, here, with us. I’ll be looking forward to that.”

“All the boys are awful. I don’t have any friends.”

“Well, then, you will find a way to make some.”

“Making friends takes effort,” said a deep voice from the ridge above them. “But you can do it.”

“Uncle Rafe!” Geoffrey jumped up, so happy to see Rafe that he forgot to be angry.

Looking much too big and manly for Genny’s peace of mind, Rafe hobbled his Belgian Black gelding and came down the slope to them. His gaze found hers—and then they both looked away, to Geoffrey, who stared at Rafe with mingled guilt and adoration. Rafe knew what to do. He held out his arms.

With a cry, Geoffrey flung himself forward. Rafe scooped him up, hugged him and then put him down again. They both dropped to the ground, Geoffrey on Genny’s left, Rafe on Geoffrey’s other side.

Rafe took out a cell phone and called the house. “Yes, hullo, Frances.” Frances Tuttington served as housekeeper for the East Wing. She took care of the family. “Will you tell my sister we’ve found him?...Gen did, yes.” He gave her a quick nod and she felt absurdly gratified. He spoke into the phone again. “He’s fine. He’s well. We’re at the castle....Yes. We’ll be heading back there soon.” He put the phone away.

Geoffrey was looking sulky again. “I mean it. I don’t want to go back.”

“We can see that,” Rafe answered gently. “But you will, won’t you? For me? For Gen? For yourself, most of all.”

Geoffrey groaned and looked away.

Rafe said, “You know, I hated school myself when they first sent me away.”

“But you were older.”

“I was, yes, a little. But still, I hated it. Until I started realizing that I could learn things there I couldn’t learn at Hartmore.”

“I like science class,” Geoffrey grudgingly admitted. “I don’t much care for cricket. But aikido is interesting.”

“Ah,” said Rafe. “And you wouldn’t be studying aikido at the village school, now, would you?”

Geoffrey picked up a twig and poked at the mossy ground with it. “Did you...make friends at St Paul’s?”

“Not at first. I was sure they all hated me and I was determined to hate them right back.”

“Yes,” Geoffrey muttered. “Exactly.”

“But then I found out that some of them missed home as much as I did. I found out that they were a lot like me.” He chuckled low. “Or at least, more like me than I had thought at first. It worked itself out. By second term, I got on well enough. I even made a lifelong friend or two during my years at school....”

Genny watched the two of them—the blond, delicate-featured eight-year-old boy and the scarred, dark giant. Rafe didn’t hurry things, didn’t rush them back to the house. He took his time. Watching him being so good to Geoffrey, saying just the right things to ease a confused eight-year-old’s loneliness and fear, Genny couldn’t help but be reminded of all she so admired about him.

Surely they could overcome this strangeness and distance between them and forge a union of mutual love and respect.

“All right,” said Geoffrey at last. “I guess they’ll all be waiting, wondering. Mum will be crying. We should get back.”

“Excellent,” said Rafe.

They stood up and brushed the bits of grass from their clothes.

* * *

They all three walked back together, the gelding trailing on a lead behind Rafe, Caesar taking up the rear. As they approached the East Wing, a groom appeared and took charge of the horse.

Brooke was waiting in the East Entrance Hall, still in her dressing gown, crumpled on a delicate white-and-gold side chair, sobbing into her hands, her long hair falling forward. At the sound of their footsteps on the inlaid floor, she yanked her shoulders up and raked all that hair back off her forehead. “Geoffrey. My God. You have scared me out of my wits!” She leapt up and ran to him. Dropping to a crouch in front of him, the long, filmy skirts of her robe fanning on the floor like the petals of some giant flower, she grabbed him in a hug and sobbed on his small shoulder. “How could you?”

Genny and Rafe shared a glance. She knew he wanted to intervene as much as she did, to try to get Brooke to ease off. But intervening would most likely only make things worse.