her no relief. Abbie understood that she would not find respite until she met with Garrett in person.
But first she would have to speak to Megan. Tell her the truth. And ask if she even wanted to meet Garrett. Regardless, he would be told of their daughter. What Abbie needed to hear more than anything? An apology. She also wanted Garrett to admit that he’d been wrong when he cruelly turned her away, for whatever reason. Surely it couldn’t be because of that family curse he had told her about.
Regardless, it became rather important that she heard those words from him.
* * * *
Oliver Wollstonecraft, the Earl of Carnstone, had not been looking forward to saying goodbye to Riordan. He’d enjoyed having his grandson at the hall the past six weeks. As much as he had enjoyed it, and becoming acquainted with Riordan’s bride, Sabrina, it was Mary Tuttle, former lady’s maid, who had held his full attention at this moment.
Since she’d discarded her servant title and the plain outfits, a mature attractiveness had emerged. She wore colorful day dresses and styled her chestnut brown hair differently. She also had a well-rounded and luscious figure. But it wasn’t her looks or figure that made him give her a second look. Mary Tuttle was honest and humorous, with no counterfeit emotions or sly machinations. She had a ready smile and a full-throated laugh that made his insides heat. They were of a like age, and had much in common.
Now they must say goodbye, at least temporarily. Riordan and Sabrina had already said their goodbyes and were outside, seeing to the new carriage and horses that Riordan had bought and making sure the trunks were well secured before their imminent departure.
Oliver only had Mary alone for a few minutes. She gazed at him, unblinking, waiting for him to speak. Damn it all, tongue-tied at sixty-four.
“My lord—”
He clasped her gloved hand. “I’ve asked you to call me Oliver when we’re alone. Carnstone when we’re not. You agreed.” He smiled.
“Yes, I did agree. It feels strange to use your first name. I must be still thinking with my servant’s mind…Oliver.”
His eyelids lowered briefly, savoring the way her voice deepened when she said his name. “I will miss you, Mary.” He opened his eyes and caught her gaze. Let her see the heat simmering in them.
“As I will miss you,” she replied, her voice soft.
“Then will you allow me to start a correspondence with you, until we meet again in June?” he asked hopefully.
Mary pulled her hand out of his. “To what purpose? I’m merely the daughter of a sailor. Not fit for the proper company for an earl.”
“I believe that is for me to decide. Besides, you said that your father was a sailing master on a sixty-gun frigate. An important position. You were not poor.”
She scoffed. “Until he died at sea and left us with nothing and I had no choice but to head into service.” Mary smoothed her skirt. “At age fifty-five, I’ve seen plenty. Though I have not been intimate with a man in decades, I recognize…I…” Mary stammered. “Oh, blast. I’ve tried to hide how flustered I am when I’m with you, but it’s to no avail.”
Oliver stepped closer. “Only flustered?”
Mary smiled. “No, blast your beautiful blue eyes. Much more than that.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. Mary froze, but for only a moment. Then, as if remembering what to do, she met his kiss with decided enthusiasm. Oliver deepened it, plunging his tongue into her sweet, hot mouth and taking complete possession.
A soft moan escaped the corner of her mouth as the exploration continued. Mary rubbed against him, turning up the heat sizzling between them. Slowly and reluctantly, Oliver ended it. She had to leave. Someone could walk in on them. He cradled her cheeks with his hands, gazing into her eyes. “We are too far along in years to play games. I want you, but I can be patient. We will write each other. Deepen the friendship that already exists…you agree one exists?”
She nodded, her eyes glistening with emotion.
“Come June, the school term ends and you will all return here. By then we should be certain of what we both want.” He stepped back. “Goodbye, Mary.”
She blinked, her lower lip trembling. “Goodbye…Oliver.”
With a swish of her skirts she was gone, leaving an alluring scent of vanilla lingering in the air. Like a lovesick schoolboy, he moved to the large window and watched as the footman assisted Mary into the carriage. Before she entered it, she paused, looked up, and caught his gaze. Her warm smile made his heart stutter in his chest as it hadn’t done since he first met the love of his life, his second wife and Garrett’s mother, Moira, so long ago.
Once the door closed, the driver gave a command and the horses whickered in response. The carriage was off. Oliver stood at the window and watched until, at the bottom of the long drive, the carriage made its turn and disappeared.
He’d made his peace with the fact that he would never have deep feelings toward a woman again. Never imagined that he would experience it at this late stage of his life. He had no right to pursue the lovely Miss Tuttle. He already had three wives and a baby daughter buried in the family cemetery. Why place another woman in harm’s way? The curse had played a huge part in his life—how could it not? Caution would be needed. Even though Riordan had decided love would triumph over all, Oliver knew it had not been enough to save his true love.
Well, he had the next several months to decide how to proceed with Miss Mary Tuttle. Taking a seat by the fire, he stretched out his long legs and started to nod off. Forgive me, Moira.
“Da, wake up.”
Oliver woke with a start. God, he’d fallen asleep. Rubbing his eyes, he looked up. “Garrett. I did not expect you for at least a couple of days. What is it?”
His younger son had spent a large segment of his life tucking away outward emotions, but they often broke free when least expected. Or they blazed in his hazel-green eyes, as they did now. Oliver knew how to read his son’s often shuttered expressions.
“I’ve sent Gordon along to collect Julian. I have news on Aidan. Did I miss Riordan?”
Oliver glanced at the mantel clock. Three hours had passed. Well, he did not get much sleep the previous night. No wonder he was exhausted. “He left hours ago; he must be close to home.” Oliver stood and stretched his back. “What about Aidan?”
“Damn,” Garrett said softly. “I should’ve returned sooner.” He shook his head. “Let us head to the main library. I instructed Martin to pour us generous tumblers of whiskey.”
“That bad?”
“Yes. Come. Julian is no doubt awaiting us.”
As they headed to the library, Oliver found it strange that the footman, Gordon, was not standing in his usual place. Was he still looking for Julian?
Yet when they stepped in the room Julian was already seated, whiskey in hand. Martin, their venerable butler, efficiently served their drinks, stirred the fire to life, then left them alone. Oliver had a terrible feeling of foreboding. Glancing at Julian, he could see his oldest son felt the
