Because of You (25 page)

“His father was angry?”

“Not at first, but he grew angry when Master Yale showed no remorse. The lad was in with a bad crowd and had been fleeced shamelessly at the gaming tables. I believe Master Yale was embarrassed, but as is so often the case with youth, he’d hoped to extricate himself from these embarrassing debts with false bravado.”

“So they argued.”

“Bitterly. The son was not about to admit he was wrong; the father grew more angry that his son was not more obedient. So the duke decided to teach Master Yale a lesson.”

“One that didn’t work out the way he’d planned.”

Fenley shrugged. “I could have told him that.
The lad had his father’s pride. He would not come begging back.”

Samantha thought on everything he’d said. She hugged her arms against her waist. “He refuses to stay in England. He wants to leave.”

“Of course he does,” Fenley said. “His brother doesn’t understand that it was easy for him to follow his father’s orders because someday
he
would be the duke. But Master Yale had no such opportunity before him. He is ambitious. Nor is he the kind of man who can easily do another’s bidding. He would not be happy to stay here and do nothing more than carry out his brother’s orders.”

“Have you told His Grace this?”

“He has not asked me.”

Samantha studied the old servant. She liked him. She trusted him. And because she had need of someone to confide in, she whispered, “He wants to leave me.”

Fenley considered her words a moment, then said sadly, “I am sorry.”

“I love him.” She raised her eyes to meet his.

The manservant touched her shoulder. It was a fatherly gesture.

“Have you been in love?” she asked.

“I spent thirty-two years with my sainted wife. She was the light of my world. She died five years ago. I think of her every day.”

“I fear I will feel the same way about Yale. He’s exasperating and stubborn and independent, but I don’t think I will ever love another
as I love him. Oh, Fenley, what shall I do?”

“Love isn’t something you cage, my lady, and keep to yourself. It’s given from one person to another. If that person does not wish to be with you, you can’t force him.”

Samantha drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Another woman might manage to make him stay. A woman who is more beautiful and sophisticated than I am.”

Fenley laughed. “Master Yale is made of sterner stuff than that. The only way you can keep him is if he wishes to stay with you.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

A sad look stole into Fenley’s eyes. “Then you will build a life without him. Your heart will hurt, but you will mend. You are a strong woman, my lady. You will go on.”

Samantha shook her head, denying his words. “I wish I’d never fallen in love. Death would be preferable to the pain I’m feeling now.”

“No,” Fenley answered, clasping her hands between both of his. “Love enriches the spirit. It gives meaning and depth to our life. When my wife died, I prayed that my life might be taken, too. I wanted to crawl into the grave with her. But now I think back on our years together and all the pain I felt at her loss is balanced by memories of unequaled joy and happiness.”

“But your love was returned,” Samantha reminded him sadly. “Will I feel as you say, even if my love is never returned?”

He smiled at her, his expression that of a gen
tle grandfather. “Would you be happier never to have loved at all?”

Samantha thought on his question. She erased the fears and doubts and instead just considered her love for Yale and what those words really meant.

It appeared in her mind’s eye almost as something set apart from the rest of her, a bright, shining thing, pure and unwavering…filling her with the beauty of its presence. Her heart soared with the gift of it.

She loved Yale Carderock just the way he was. She saw his flaws, the differences between her character and his…and none of it mattered. What did matter is that he’d changed her in ways she hadn’t even noticed until this moment. Before, she had been adrift, a shadow of a woman, incomplete and half-formed.

Now, in spite of the fact that he did not return her love, she felt stronger. Yes, that was it. In this moment of realization, she almost felt powerful. Yale had done more than take her out of Sproule; he’d taken her out of herself.

His presence in her life was a gift.

And she would never regret having fallen in love with him.

“I love him,” she said, and then repeated it, her conviction stronger than before. “I will always love him, but you are right. Love is not a reason for despair but a cause for celebration.”

“I hope someday he returns your love.”

Samantha kissed Fenley’s aged cheek. “I hope
so, too. But even if he doesn’t, you have helped me to understand. Thank you.”

With those words, she left to see the duchess, her heart much lighter.

T
he butler’s jaw dropped open when Yale sailed through the door of Penhurst in his new finery. The man’s reaction was everything Yale could have wished.

The tailor Yale had patronized before he’d left on his journey to Northumberland—and from whom Yale had heard of his father’s death—had finished the new wardrobe and delivered it to the ship.

Yale took off his greatcoat to reveal a marine blue jacket cut in the latest fashion. He knew he looked the very model of a wealthy man. His buff breeches hugged his thighs, while the gleaming black leather of his boots reflected the light from the room’s candles. He even had a new hat.

His fine attire excited an even better reaction from Fenley, who almost missed his step and walked into a marble column at the sight of Yale. His recovery was quicker than that of the butler. “Lord Yale, I must say you look splendid.”

“Mr. Carderock,”
Yale corrected, as he handed his hat to the butler. “And thank you for the compliment, Fenley. It is not often I’ve had a chance to dumbfound you.”

“Not that you didn’t try years ago,” Fenley answered complacently.

Yale smiled at the memory. “Ah, but you were always more than equal to my youthful transgressions.”

“You tested me, my lord, you tested me.”

Yale laughed and then asked the question uppermost in his mind: “Tell me, where is my wife?”

“She is in the nursery with the duchess,” Fenley answered.

Yale dusted a piece of imaginary lint from the sleeve of his jacket. “I believe I will go see her.” He started for the stairs.

“You will be joining the family this evening, won’t you, my lord?” Fenley asked.

“No, I won’t be able to. I’ve been asked to dine with the Prime Minister.” It gave him great pleasure to say those words. “Timothy, please see that Beast is brought round to me at half past seven.”

“Yes, my lord,” the butler said with a bow.

Yale climbed the stairs, eager for Samantha to see him in his new finery and to tell her the good news about his dinner with the prime minister.

He was disappointed to find only his sister-in-law in the nursery. She carried the baby on one shoulder.

“Oh my, Yale, you appear quite the Corinthian,” Marion greeted him. “You’ve even cut your hair.”

He self-consciously flicked his fingers through the short curls cut in the latest style. “Thank you,” he said and then paused. “Actually, I should say th
ah
nk you.” He drawled the words out with the practiced boredom of a well-established dandy.

Marion laughed at his clowning and turned the baby to look at him. “There he is, Charlie, your Uncle Yale. Isn’t he fine? All he needs now is a snuff box.”

The baby blew a bubble from his mouth and it was Yale’s turn to stare. He’d never seen such an ugly baby. Charlie had a big, bald head, protruding ears, and a nose that looked uncomfortably like Yale’s own.

“Isn’t he adorable?” Marion asked proudly.

Yale grasped for words. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Here, hold him.” She didn’t wait for a response but shoved the baby into Yale’s arms.

For a long second, uncle and nephew stared at each other with uncertainty.

“I must run to my room for a moment,” Marion said. “Nurse is taking a much deserved rest. You don’t mind watching Charlie for a few minutes, do you?”

“Well…no, I guess not.”

Marion smiled. She was already on her way to
the door. “I knew you wouldn’t. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Yale said, following her to the door and still awkwardly holding the baby. “Where is Samantha?”

“Getting ready for this evening,” Marion said over her shoulder. “You are going to join us, aren’t you? Twyla and her husband will be here, as well as Uncle Norris and the rest of the family.”

“I can’t,” Yale said and then told her, with no small amount of pride, his momentous news. “I dine with the Prime Minister tonight.”

Marion paused in the door, her eyes widening in surprise. “Lord Grenville?”

“The same. I met him while having a late lunch with some bankers today. He wants to hear my thoughts on the Indies trade.”

“Why, Yale, that is wonderful.” Marion’s expression turned wistful. “We will miss you, of course. By the way, Samantha and I had a lovely afternoon. She is a very special person.”

“Yes, she is,” he answered perfunctorily.

Marion shook her head. “It is all right, Yale. She told me the two of you weren’t a love match. I must have sounded silly, babbling on the way I did last night.”

“You didn’t,” he murmured, because he felt she expected an answer.

“Anyway, Samantha explained to me that the two of you have agreed to live apart.”

“She did?” The news surprised him. When
had she changed her mind about their arrangement?

“Yes. She also told me that Wayland had wanted you to stay, but she’s made it very clear to both of us how important your other life is to you.”

Yale didn’t know how to digest this piece of information. “Really?”

Marion nodded. “She is an eloquent spokesperson on your behalf. Wayland is not completely satisfied, but he is growing accustomed to the idea of your leaving again. Besides, you are giving us Samantha. She is such a joy. Please have no fears. We shall love her like a sister.”

“I…” Yale paused. He didn’t really know what he was going to say. He hadn’t expected that his plans to leave would meet with such blessing. “I appreciate that.”

Marion smiled. “I’ll be right back.” She left the nursery, closing the door behind her.

Yale stared after her, not even thinking about the baby in his arms—so he was completely unprepared for the child to let out a peacock-shrill wail.

He looked down at Charlie. The babe’s forehead was puckered with worry. “She’ll be right back,” Yale assured him. “There’s no sense in getting worked up.”

His words didn’t seem to reassure Charlie, who scrunched up his face in preparation for a good cry. Yale panicked.

He started walking and talking to the baby—
foolish stuff, nonsensical. He told him about meeting the prime minister and being invited to dine. It was silly to talk this way to a baby, but Charlie actually seemed interested. He grabbed Yale’s lapel with one hand. His short little legs kicked beneath the long skirts of his baby dress. He kicked the dress high enough for a sock-covered foot to stick out. Shifting the baby’s weight to balance on one arm, Yale couldn’t resist touching that small foot. He could feel the tiny toes inside the sock.

Charles watched him intently while chewing on his free fist.

“That’s what your problem is. You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Yale told him. He held up his finger.

Charlie reached over and started gumming his uncle’s finger just like a trained bird. Yale watched in amazement. The wee lad drooled something terrible.

“You will be the bane of your tailors,” Yale warned him. He studied the baby’s profile. “Actually, your nose isn’t that bad. Rather distinguished, I think.”

Charlie raised his gaze to meet his uncle’s but did not offer comment or stop his chewing. Yale thought he could feel the beginnings of teeth against his finger. He wondered what they looked like and might have opened his nephew’s mouth to peek except for the sudden rush of warmth he felt on his arm…directly on the spot where Charlie’s little bum sat.

A man didn’t have to be intimately familiar with babies to know what had happened. Charlie had soiled his nappy.

With both hands, he held Charlie out and away from him. “What have you done?”

Charles had the audacity to smile, kicking his feet in excitement.

Yale raced over to the door, still holding the baby in out in front of him. However, when he got to the door, he found he couldn’t open it unless he changed his hold on Charlie.

Yale wasn’t about to run further risk of staining his new clothes. He yelled. “Marion? Marion! Someone! Come help me.”

He listened for footsteps. He heard nothing.

“A house full of servants,” he muttered to the baby, “and when you need one, not one can be found.”

Charlie blew bubbles at him. He was quite good at bubble blowing.

Then, Yale heard footsteps coming toward the nursery. He stepped back from the door expectantly. It opened…

…And in walked Samantha—but she looked completely different than when he’d last seen her.

Her glossy brown hair had been gathered up high on her head. A gold ribbon threaded through it tamed the riot of curls. He had the impression that he could pull on that ribbon and her hair would tumble down around her shoulders to where breasts swelled daringly above the
low-cut neckline of a rose muslin dress.

The rose color gave her skin a healthy glow and a sparkle to her brown eyes. A sash of the same gold hair ribbon around the high waist of the dress emphasized the fullness of her breasts. In fact, Yale found it very difficult to take his eyes off them. He could almost swear he could see the pink of her nipples.

As she moved toward him, the material clung and outlined her legs, including an entrancing V at the top of them.

“Dear God, Sam. Are you wearing anything beneath that dress?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”

Too late, Yale realized he’d said the wrong thing. “I don’t mean that you don’t look fetching and all that.” She looked more than fetching—she looked delicious.

“But,” he continued, stumbling for words, “is that really the sort of dress a vicar’s daughter should be wearing?”

Her cheeks turned bright red. “It is the height of fashion. Marion picked it out for me.”

“Marion?”

“Yes, it’s hers. The dressmaker cut it down for me.”

Yale stared. His conservative sister-in-law would wear such a thing? And then he realized he never would have noticed. Whereas with Sam—

Charlie’s cry interrupted his thoughts. He still
held his nephew straight-armed in front of him.

“What is wrong with Charles?” Samantha said. She moved forward and took the baby from Yale. She held him with a practiced hand.

Grateful for her intervention, Yale confessed, “He has messed in his nappy and I can’t find anyone to change it. Watch out for your dress, now.”

“Oh, pooh,” Samantha said to Yale, but with her gaze on Charlie. “I can change a baby’s diaper and not worry about my dress.”

Charlie smiled up at her.

She carried him over to the dressing table and laid him on it. Yale trailed behind them.

“If he’s all dimples and kisses now, it’s because he saved the odious part for his Uncle Yale.”

Samantha laughed, lifting Charlie’s baby dress and working to unfasten the knots of his diapers. She removed it and wiped his bottom with a damp cloth.

Yale stood at the edge of the table, feeling a bit out of place. “Do you like my new clothes?” She hadn’t said anything about them yet.

Samantha stared at him as if just now noticing his finery. She gave a rueful smile. “You look very handsome. And you’ve cut your hair.” She reached for a clean diaper from a pile on the table for that purpose. “I like it.”

But his earlier wish to impress her seemed flat and false. Instead, he studied her carefully. “Actually, you are the one who has changed.”

She laughed silently. “Do you mean my new hairstyle?”

“No, I mean, yes.” He shook his head at his verbal fumbling. “I like it. I also think your dress is very attractive, too.”

She blushed prettily and said, “I am wearing a petticoat.”

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. He should have reacted with more sophistication. “I was being silly. You caught me by surprise.”

“Oh, you will be taken by surprise when you receive the bill from the dressmaker. Marion kept ordering one dress after another. I don’t know when I shall wear them all.”

“Marion was quite right to see you outfitted properly. Don’t even think about the bills. I would not mind even if you ordered a hundred dresses.”

“I’m not so sure Marion didn’t.”

He laughed, but then added softly, “Still, there is something different about you. Something that has nothing to do with the dress or the hairstyle.” He reached over and tipped her chin up to look at him. He drank in every detail of her face before he said slowly, “You almost seem more relaxed. More at peace.”

“I am.” She lifted Charlie up in her arms, taking his fisted hand in hers. “I’ve finally accepted my fate.” She kissed the baby’s tiny fingers.

“Your fate?”

“I do not want to force you to stay. What is the word men often use to describe marriage?
Shackled.
I do not want you to be
shackled
to me.”

Yale wasn’t sure of her meaning. She was saying she was cutting him loose? Without recriminations? Or at least a few tears?

For a second he felt as if the floor had disappeared beneath his feet. He placed a hand on the changing table for balance, not certain how he should react, how he wanted to react.