16. A Homecoming

CHAPTER 16

A HOMECOMING

A week later

Although he would have been fine with riding the Royal Mail coach to Bampton in Oxfordshire, Donald was secretly glad his grandfather insisted he be driven home in the Devonville traveling coach.

The springs were fairly new, which helped make the trek more comfortable, as did the macadam covering the surface of the road. Despite the recent rains, the trip was smooth.

When the coach slowed, Donald looked up from one of his notebooks and glanced out to discover they were pulling into the Trout Inn. Located on the River Isis, the coaching inn promised a change of horses and a good meal—the last before his arrival on Gisborn lands and his boyhood home of Ellsworth Park.

He pulled his purse from his waistcoat pocket, relieved to find he had more than enough coins to buy an ale and some food. Earlier, he had discovered there were even some five-pound notes stuffed into the leather pouch.

Cherice had no doubt refilled it prior to his departure from Devonville House. Or perhaps his grandfather had.

The week spent in their company had been a balm for his aching heart as well as a boon to his stomach. Although he had inherited his father’s height and broad shoulders, he had grown far too lean whilst on his Grand Tour.

Stepping down from the equipage, he surveyed the grounds, not surprised to discover nothing much had changed in the two years since he had last been there. Located only a few miles from Gisborn Hall and Ellsworth Park, the nearby bridge over the river was the closest river crossing to the farms.

His gaze still on the trees lining the slow-moving water, Donald didn’t notice a man approaching him from the inn.

“For a moment, I feared you were my father,” Will Slater said, his steps growing more hurried the closer he drew to his son. He pointed to the coach bearing the crest of the Marquess of Devonville.

“Father?” Donald said in surprise.

Will Slater engulfed him with his larger arms, pulling him into a boisterous hug and nearly lifting him from his feet. “We’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Father,” Donald managed to say when he was finally standing of his own accord. “You look well.”

“That’s because I am. You, on the other hand, look as if you could use a meal or two.” He waved toward the inn and then paused to speak with the driver of the coach.

“Good to see you, Parker,” he said when the servant acknowledged him with a bow. “My horse is around back. If you could see to tethering it to the coach, I’ll ride the rest of the way with you.”

“Very good, my lord,” Parker acknowledged with a nod.

“Oh, and get something to eat. We may be a while,” Will added, waving to the inn. He handed several coins to the driver and turned back to his son. “Unless you’re in a hurry to get home?”

Donald shook his head. “I fear my stomach will disown me if I don’t eat something,” he said, matching his father’s strides as they headed in the direction of the inn.

“ W hat news from London?” Will asked when they finally made their way toward the coaching inn’s front door. “Other than what Cherice might have included in the letter that arrived yesterday?” he added. Although he liked his father’s second wife, he didn’t know her well, the two having wed while he was still a commander in the navy. “She mentioned seeing Henry and Hannah at the garden party and that you were there.”

Explaining the arrangement he had made with his uncle regarding the orangery and the horses, Donald watched for his father’s reaction, expecting he might put voice to a protest. When he did not, he added, “You’re not surprised.”

Will shrugged. “Henry and I have been talking about it for some time. With Nathaniel having flown the coop?—”

“I can’t believe he’s married,” Donald commented.

“—and since he claims his other sons are too young, you’re the logical choice to move into the cottage,” Will finished.

“I appreciate the vote of support,” Donald said as they entered the public room.

They received a hearty welcome from the man at the tap. “Back again so soon?”

Will indicated Donald. “Look who’s returned from his Grand Tour.”

Ales were poured and a board of meats and cheeses was set before them as they took a seat at a wooden trestle.

“I half-expected you to arrive with an Italian girl on your arm,” Will said when the server was finished and had stepped away.

Donald gave a start. “I wish I could have brought her.” When he noticed his father’s arched brow, he added, “She’s been promised to another. Probably already wed to him.”

Will straightened in his chair and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Him who?”

Sighing, Donald said, “The Marchese Montblanc.”

Rolling his eyes, Will leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Although she’s never met her, your Aunt Hannah thinks the girl you wrote about is related to one of her friends from finishing school. A cousin of Lady Bostwick’s, she said.”

Donald nodded. “Lady Nicoletta D’Avalos is the niece of Lady Morganfield,” he confirmed. “I delivered a note on her aunt Lady Armenia’s behalf to the marchioness when I attended her garden party last week.”

A low whistle sounded from his father. “So… are you relieved or?—?”

“Dismayed. Angry. I still feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut,” Donald ground out, before stuffing a hunk of cheese into his mouth.

Will showed a grimace. “So... you were in love with her.”

“Still am,” Donald managed before he ate some ham. He swallowed and glanced around the room before leaning over the edge of the table. “I believe I have been… poorly used.”

Furrowing his brows, Will said, “You think she was leading you on?”

“Not her. She would marry me right now if she could,” Donald claimed. When he noticed his father’s expression of confusion, he added, “Her father encouraged our courtship. Made sure we spent a good deal of time together. Alone .” Wincing, he finally added, “I think because he wanted to be sure I got a child on her. The marchese is old. Maybe too old to… to father a babe.”

Will stared at his son, his face unreadable in the dim light of the public room. “Did you?”

Donald shrugged. “I... I honestly don’t know.”

“Did you lie with her?”

“I did,” he admitted. “Several times. Many times,” he corrected sheepishly, before his father could ask.

Dropping his head into his hands, Will took a deep breath, as if he was doing everything he could to keep from scolding his son.

“I understand now what it was like for you and Mother,” Donald said softly.

“But I left your mother having given a promise of marriage when I returned, and I had no knowledge I’d left her with child,” Will argued.

“I didn’t even suspect I had until the captain of The Fairweather mentioned it was a possibility,” Donald admitted.

“ The Fairweather ?” Will repeated, his brows rising in surprise as he lifted his head.

“The ship I took from Rome to London,” he explained.

“You spoke with St. John.” Will once again straightened in his chair.

“You know him?” Donald asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

Will scoffed. “St. John’s been running that barnacle bed since before I was captaining the Greenwich ,” he claimed. “Leave it to him to be the one to suggest you might have left a bastard behind.”

“He won’t be a bastard, though,” Donald said. “Or she,” he added in a whisper. He hadn’t even given a thought to the sex of the baby. “If it’s a boy, he’ll be heir to a marchesato.”

“And if Montblanc is truly old…”

“He is positively ancient, Father. Older than Hatfield, I think,” Donald claimed.

Will angled his head to one side. “So, not long for this earth,” he whispered.

“I told her I would wait for her as long as ten years. If he dies before then, I’ll go collect her or?—”

“ We will go collect her,” his father said firmly. “And the child.” When he noted Donald’s look of shock, he added, “If you think I’m going to let you go back to Sicily by yourself?—”

“I would come back to England, Father,” Donald assured him.

Finally nodding, Will seemed to settle before he said, “You cannot tell your mother about this. In fact, you cannot tell anyone.” His eyes rounded. “You didn’t tell Cherice, I hope,” he added. His stepmother would surely share the news in every Mayfair parlor she visited, although she would manage to make it sound more positive than it was.

“I know better than that, Father,” Donald replied. Although it would have been easy to claim he had fallen in love with an Italian woman, he knew his grandmother would have done everything in her power to find him an English bride. Despite her friendship with Lady Morganfield, Cherice would not easily welcome a European into the family, even given Donald’s inability to inherit a title.

Right now, an English bride was the very last thing he wanted. And he had made sure his grandfather and Cherice knew it before he had left London with the comment, “My Grand Tour has taught me I should not be in search of a wife until I am near thirty years of age.”

“You mentioned the orangery,” Will stated.

Donald gave a start, surprised by the change of topic. “Aunt Hannah said she’s been asking for one for years.”

“It’s almost finished,” Will said with a smirk.

“Already?”

His father shrugged. “I might have employed a few of the locals to help,” he admitted. “Henry left me with some blunt, and I thought to spread it around a bit.”

“Is there anything left for me to do?”

Will gave him a smirk. “The roof.” His expression turned into a full grin as he watched his son’s grimace show. “And then we’ll have to move all the orange and lemon trees from the greenhouses into it.”

“So Aunt Hannah can start growing lime trees in the greenhouses,” Donald remarked.

“Lime trees?” his father repeated. He scoffed. “Does Henry know?”

Donald smirked. “Oh, he knows. He was standing right next to her when she mentioned it.”

The two were practically laughing when they took their leave of the Trout Inn. On the road to Bampton, they intercepted the Royal Mail coach, where the driver handed off a number of missives addressed to the residents of Ellsworth Park and Gisborn Hall.

Donald’s amusement abated when his father handed him a note written in a feminine script. The multiple markings on the outside showed it had passed through several hands on its way to England, although the wax seal was still intact.

“That from her?” Will asked, his attention on another missive.

Donald popped the wax seal and unfolded the letter, his gaze going to the bottom. “It is,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Although the words were written in a form of Italian that was mostly Latin, Donald struggled to make sense of what Nicoletta had written. When he finished reading it a second time, heartened to discover it included an address he could use to write to her, he lifted his head and stared at his father.

“What is it?” he asked from the other side of the coach.

“My child is a Montblanc,” he stated.

“So... she is with child?”

“Mine, yes,” Donald acknowledged, his heart pounding in his chest.

Will frowned. “Well, he—or she—will be considered a Montblanc due to the fact she’ll be married to him,” he reasoned.

Donald shook his head. “She’s not. She won’t be. Because she already is,” he blurted in his excitement.

Confused, Will set aside the letter he had been holding and stared at his son. “Already is... what?” he asked.

“A Montblanc,” Donald replied. “Nikky is Montblanc’s daughter. A secret daughter, apparently. Their marriage is merely a ruse. A means for the marchese to have a true blood heir.”

Will stared at his son for several seconds before he scoffed. “Did she know she was his daughter?” he asked. “Before all this?”

Donald shook his head. “She didn’t. And no one else knows. Her mother died giving birth to her.” His eyes suddenly rounded. “No one can know,” he stated suddenly.

Acknowledging the words with a nod, Will glanced out the window of the coach to see they were turning into the drive in front of Ellsworth Park. “Then we won’t speak of it again,” he said. “At least, not until we’ve learned the marchese has died,” he added.

Grinning in delight, Donald began chuckling. “She’s going to be my wife,” he said happily, waving the letter. He suddenly sobered when he saw his father’s expression. “What?”

“You have to keep this from your mother,” he warned. “She finds out you have a son or daughter out there in the world... a potential wife...” He let the sentence trial off as he shook his head.

Donald nodded his understanding. “I won’t say a word.”

L ater that night

Moved into the dowager cottage and settled in front of a small desk lit with a candle lamp, Donald opened a bottle of ink and penned a long letter to Nicoletta. Although he acknowledged her good news with congratulations, he made sure to be vague as to her relationship with the marchese in the event someone read the letter before it reached her.

He did mention the ten years, though, and how he looked forward to their reunion then, if not before. He also provided his address at the dowager cottage, deciding it best her letters be delivered there instead of at Ellsworth Park.

He didn’t wish to risk his mother learning about Nicoletta.