Chapter Twenty-Three

B elle hated carriages. She’d learned to ride late, as an adult, but had never become comfortable with horses or a sidesaddle. Besides, December was not conducive to riding any distance. So she fidgeted and squirmed on the narrow carriage seat. She hadn’t invested in a better-appointed carriage, as she only ever traveled around London. It was fortuitous that she’d chosen a landau that could be fully enclosed, at least.

Her maid sat across from her, serene. She worked on needlepoint when the light allowed and napped or watched the scenery other times. Belle could not even appreciate the company. She refused to contemplate her reasons for bringing a maid for propriety, given her past. It could not be that marriage still lingered as a faint hope in the back of her mind.

The wet and dreary weather did not allow them to travel at normal speed, so the trip Luke had estimated at five days took seven.

Refusing to think about it, she kept a flask of sherry in her bodice and a spare in her small traveling case at her feet. When her book stopped holding her interest, or she became nauseous from the hours of swaying, she sipped, napped, then sipped again.

Arriving a crumbled and parched mess, she called for a bath at the inn in Old Shoreston. Hating the idea of getting back in that carriage for even a few miles, she was determined to look her best on arriving at the castle. Seven days alone had also not provided her with a plan for what to say if she were even permitted entry.

She sent her favorite burgundy dress downstairs for pressing and splashed through a hip bath with the help of her maid before curling up in a chair near the fire to dry her hair.

Had Luke discussed his future or his past with his father yet? Damnation, what if they’d argued and he’d already left?

No, he’d be there. She knew Luke well enough to know he’d need time to shore up courage to broach difficult subjects with the man he called The Earl.

After a long night with very little sleep, she ate breakfast in her room and paced the length of it until a decent hour to call. Leaving her maid at the inn, she set out for Luke’s ancestral home.

She glanced out the carriage window as it turned through a gate in a wall. Set on the edge of the North Sea, surrounded by the wild heaths and marsh grasses, sat a half-castle, half-citadel sprawled across the top of a long hill. She groaned as the carriage followed a long drive winding around to a huge double wooden door set in the stone.

As if she hadn’t been nervous enough. What business did a whore born in the London rookeries have visiting this place? Even traipsing around to knock on the kitchen door felt beyond her—if she could find the blasted thing. She’d never had a problem with her vocation. Or at least, she’d thought she hadn’t until Charlotte and the Widow gave her cause for concern.

Charlotte’s voice rang in her head. I am equal to any man and better than most. Front doors it was, then. She inhaled long and deep, throwing her shoulders back.

These two men had both cared for her, and despite Luke’s condemnation of his father, she didn’t believe either had a mean bone in his body. If they turned her away, they’d be kind about it.

After what felt like hours, the carriage stopped in a large courtyard. Her heart hammered in her chest as she marched through a stone archway up to the double doors. She took a breath and rapped her knuckles against the wood hard before realizing the heavy iron rings were door knockers as well as handles. Banging one of those, she waited, unsure whether anyone was close enough to hear her.

She gave her calling card to the man who answered the door, which set off a swarm of insects in her belly.

Several agonizing minutes later, the footman returned with both the older and younger Lynwood following him. She noted new lines on North’s face in the miniscule glance she spared him before her eyes slid past him to feast on Luke’s tall loose-limbed form.

“Bellissima?” Luke’s voice overrode his father’s simultaneous, “Belle?”

This was even worse than she’d imagined.

In the moment she needed to regain her voice, North turned to his son. “You know Isabella?”

She silently begged Luke to not make a snide comment. Much as she loved his sense of humor, this was not the time.

Luke didn’t, proving his newfound maturity more than she’d dared hope. “Yes. Among other things, she was my inspiration for Free Your Spirits. She helped me past the worst of my drying out.”

“Ah.” North turned to her. “You have my gratitude, Belle, for taking such good care of my son.”

Luke chose then to smirk at her from behind his father.

She grimaced. “I did it for him. At the time, I did not even know he was your son.”

North came forward to take her hands and lean in for a kiss.

She turned her cheek so his lips skimmed her cheekbone.

He did not comment, tucking her arm through his to lead her into the house. “Welcome. I am still struggling to adjust to the sight of you here. I never thought the day would come when you’d be in Northumberland. However did you manage that carriage ride?”

She grimaced. “Not well, if I’m to be honest.”

He led her into a front parlor, done in dark blues and dark woods, with ecru seating and an oatmeal rug with patterns in maroon and several shades of blue to brighten the space. Cream-colored drapes hung at the windows.

Once in the room, she stepped away from North, glancing back for Luke.

He strode forward and bussed her cheek as well, murmuring, “I am thrilled to see you, love.”

Ugh. This was every bit as awkward as she’d imagined, but the endearment, said quietly enough that North didn’t hear it, warmed her heart, even if a future together still seemed impossible to her.

“Tea?” North asked. At her nod, he rang for it and gestured them all to seats. “What brings you so far out of your preferred environment? Not that it isn’t good to have you visit, but I confess to surprise and curiosity.”

Belle chose a chair and sat, twisting her hands in her lap. The men chose seats as well, North in a matching chair and Luke across from her on the closest end of the sofa. Directing her gaze to Luke, she countered his father’s question with one of her own. “How much have you two talked?”

Luke’s left cheek creased in a half smile. “Your timing is impeccable as always. We were at the heart of it when you arrived.”

North was frowning. “I don’t understand.”

Belle turned to him. “I got to know Luke quite well”—she shot Luke a glare when he coughed to muffle a laugh—“during his stay with me. When I realized your connection, I could not reconcile the image of the father he portrayed with what I knew of you. I thought...” She swallowed.

“I am at a loss, my dear. Could you finish that statement?” North asked gently.

“I thought I might help. Bridge the gap, so to speak.” She shrugged.

Luke leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Whilst I appreciate you coming, Belle, I must learn to fight my own battles. ’Tis overdue, don’t you think?”

“What is this about a battle? I am lost,” North said, swiveling his head side to side.

Luke was still staring at her, and Belle was enthralled.

He straightened in his chair. “Besides, how am I to prove myself ready for marriage and children if I cannot see my way through a conversation with The Earl?”

She widened her eyes and shook her head in minute gestures, attempting to stop him.

“Marriage?” North’s voice was tighter and louder. “Luke? Can someone explain here please?”

Luke smiled and bounced his eyebrows at her as if to say, You came here. I can do with that what I like.

She stifled a groan. Perhaps this hadn’t been her best idea.

Turning to his father, he said, “Yes. I fell in love with Belle during the weeks I stayed with her. I am determined that she be part of my future. However, she feels it is an inappropriate match. Finding out that I was your son cemented that in her head. I’d planned to continue my wooing after the holidays upon my return to London. But”—he sent her another smile—“I am glad to see I do not have to wait.”

“Luke,” she hissed, grinding her teeth at his brows raised in feigned innocence.