"Where she saved my life." As Grey spoke, he saw a shadow flicker across Peter's face. He'd been happy to find that his brother was alive, but now he was recognizing that the t.i.tle and inheritance he'd come to regard as his own had been s.n.a.t.c.hed away. It was a complication Grey hadn't considered, but should have. Peter was no longer a child, but a man. He'd not welcome being superseded.

Grey buried the thought for later since he could handle no more anxiety. Not tonight. Taking Ca.s.sie's arm, he said, "I a.s.sume Lord Costain is in his usual rooms?"

When his mother nodded, he set off, grateful to have Ca.s.sie at his side to keep his nerves steady. Bad enough that his family was staring at him, but servants were peering from behind doors and around corners. The attention made him twitch, but he couldn't let that show. This was home. He must appear sane, no matter how difficult it was.

There was something deeply unreal about striding the familiar corridors, climbing the marble steps with one hand on the polished railing he used to slide down. Yet at the same time, Summerhill seemed eternal, the ten years in France scarcely more than a bad dream. This disorientation must be one of the reasons he'd been reluctant to return. If not for Ca.s.sie, it would be easy to drown in the depths of his own mind.

His parents had a ma.s.sive suite of rooms in the center of the house. Grey entered his father's bedroom with Ca.s.sie beside him. Lamps cast soft light on his father's still form. The earl looked lost in the large bed, his powerful figure diminished.

His father's longtime valet, Baker, sat on the near side of the bed. He glanced up, barely noticing Grey as his admiring gaze went to Ca.s.sie. Then he saw Peter enter and his jaw dropped as he looked from Peter to Grey and back again.

Grey nodded to him and circled to where a lovely young blond woman was sitting, head bent and golden hair tied back. Lady Elizabeth Sommers. His little Beth.

He rounded the bed, then halted in his tracks. Elizabeth was nursing a baby.

It was Grey's turn to be shocked. His little sister, a mother? Yet she was twenty-three now. Certainly old enough to have a husband and child. He fought for composure, for nothing else had made him as aware of how much time had pa.s.sed.

His sister looked up from her baby and her gaze made the same journey from Grey to Peter and back again. In the dimly lit bedroom, it would have been possible to a.s.sume that Grey was Peter returning to the sickroom, but since they were together, the conclusion was obvious.

Elizabeth's mouth formed an O of surprise. She breathed, "Grey?"

"None other. Like a bad penny, I have returned." He was proud of himself for keeping a light tone as he brushed a kiss on her forehead.

The baby was blond and cherubic. Grey was no expert on babies, but he was pretty sure that compliments pleased doting parents. "Who is this lovely creature?"

"My daughter. Your niece." Elizabeth's expression blazed with excitement. "I named her for you. Grace."

He was touched and rather awed by this tiny perfect being. "A better name for a daughter than Greydon. Who is your husband? Someone worthy of my sister?"

She smiled. "Johnny Langtry."

The Langtry family's estate marched with Summerhill. As the two highest-ranking families in this part of the shire, there had always been easy communication between the households.

John Langtry was a couple of years younger than Grey, and his father's heir. Solidly built and with an infectious smile, he was a thoroughly good fellow. Far more reliable than Grey. "Minx! You had your eye on him since you were in the nursery."

Elizabeth grinned. "Johnny never had a chance. Not that he's complaining!"

Grey studied his sister and her daughter, the images of a blond northern Madonna and child. "He's a very lucky man."

"He is indeed," his mother said as she joined them, putting her hand on Grey's arm as if fearing he'd vanish. "You must be tired if you came from London today, Grey. Let's adjourn to the morning room for refreshments. Baker can stay with your father. We all want to know what happened to you for all these years." Her gaze went to Ca.s.sie. "And I wish to become acquainted with my future daughter-in-law."

Grey guessed Ca.s.sie cringed inside to hear that, but her face remained calm. Of course his family was wild with curiosity, but he couldn't answer their questions. Not tonight. Some questions he'd never answer.

His gaze went to the earl's still face. "I want to sit with Father. There are things I need to say to him." He gave a humorless smile. "Even if he can't hear me."

"Maybe it's better if he can't talk back," Peter said with a note in his voice that made it not quite a joke.

Ca.s.sie asked quietly, "Do you want me to stay?"

"Thank you, but no." Grey drew a deep breath. "Some things must be done alone."

Chapter 33.

"Please ring if there is anything lacking in your room, Miss St. Ives," Lady Costain said as she ushered Ca.s.sie into a guest room. "I'm sorry I didn't read Kirkland's message yesterday. I would have had time to prepare for you properly."

"No need to worry, Lady Costain." Ca.s.sie had excused herself from the family supper as quickly as possible to avoid more questions. It had been a tiring day, and facing the Sommers family without Grey beside her had been a strain.

She stepped into her room, which was immaculately clean and warmed by a quietly crackling fire. The rose floral draperies and bed hangings glowed in the lamplight and a vase of out-of-season flowers sat on the desk. "This is lovely. I've stayed in much humbler accommodations." An understatement of ma.s.sive proportions. "Does Grey know where his room is, or are his old rooms available?"

The countess frowned. "I'd forgotten about that. Peter moved into those rooms when ... when we gave up hope that Grey would ever return. I'll have another room prepared for Grey to stay in tonight. It's too late to move Peter's things."

"Is it necessary for Peter to move?" Ca.s.sie asked, surprised.

The older woman looked puzzled. "Peter has been living in the heir's suite. Now that Grey is back, it belongs to him."

Ca.s.sie hesitated before saying, "Surely in a house this splendid, there are other suitable quarters. Even happy news can be disruptive. Since Peter will have other major changes to adjust to, perhaps moving isn't essential?"

The countess frowned. "I take your point. I shall discuss this with Grey before any plans are finalized. He has the right to request his old room back." Lady Costain's scrutiny turned to Ca.s.sie. "I didn't wish to have this discussion in front of Peter and Elizabeth, but I do wonder about your background. The St. Ives family doesn't mingle much in the beau monde, but I had the impression that there are only sons."

Her tone equally cool, Ca.s.sie said, "Your real question is whether I'm a fortune hunter taking advantage of Lord Wyndham's vulnerable state." Her head was aching, so she began pulling pins from her hair. "I am who I claim to be. I'm not a scheming s.l.u.t sinking my greedy claws into your son."

Lady Costain drew a sharp breath. "You believe in directness."

"When appropriate." Ca.s.sie's lips twisted. "But I lie well when that's required."

"And I have no way of knowing which you are doing now." Lady Costain sighed. "I'm sorry for my bluntness, but surely you can understand that I'm concerned for my son's welfare. I never thought ..." She bit her lip. "You aren't making this easy for me. You were remarkably evasive when we talked over supper. Is there anything you're willing to tell me that might soothe my maternal concerns?"

Ca.s.sie moved to the dressing table. The image in the mirror was of a red-haired temptress. A sophisticated and ruthless woman of the world. No wonder Lady Costain was worried. If Ca.s.sie had a son, she'd want to keep him out of such a woman's clutches.

"Grey's story is his to tell, and I will let him decide how much he wishes to say." She picked up the silver-backed brush and began brushing out her hair. "The current Lord Ives is my father's younger brother, and indeed he has only sons. My mother was French. All of my family except me died in a ma.s.sacre during the Reign of Terror. It was many years ago, so it's not surprising you were unaware of what happened to them."

The countess gasped. "Your whole family was killed? How horrible! How did you survive?"

Ca.s.sie continued brushing. Her natural hair color might be outrageous, but it was rich and beautiful in its way. "My nurse had taken me out for the afternoon. Of course, I could be lying and the real Catherine St. Ives died with the rest of her family. As it happens, I'm telling the truth." Wanting to ease the countess's concerns, she added, "The betrothal will be a long one. I will not hold Grey to his word if he changes his mind."

After a long silence, the other woman said quietly, "I believe you. What have you been doing these many years?"

"Surviving." Ca.s.sie gazed at her reflection, seeing circles under her eyes. She'd known that coming to Summerhill would be difficult, but she'd only be here for a few days. Telling Grey's family some truth about herself meant they'd be happy to say good-bye when the time came.

"Are you Grey's mistress?" Lady Costain asked.

Mistress. Such a simple word for such a complex relationship. "Yes." Ca.s.sie removed her small gold earrings.

"It didn't take him long to find one," his mother said disapprovingly. "I hoped he'd outgrow his womanizing by this age."

Suddenly furious, Ca.s.sie spun away from the mirror. "Imagine ten years in solitary confinement, Lady Costain. Ten years of never seeing or touching another living being. No hugs, no kisses from your children or granddaughter, no husbandly pat on your derriere when no one is looking. No scent of another human, no sight of a human face. Imagine all that-and don't you dare criticize your son!"

For a moment the countess looked ready to explode. Then her expression changed. "You're in love with Grey."

Throat tight, Ca.s.sie turned and pulled the bell to summon Hazel, which would end this painful conversation. "That is between Grey and me. But I a.s.sure you that I'm not here to cause trouble for the Sommers family."

"I shall take you at your word." The countess turned to leave. "And ... thank you for bringing my son back to me."

Ca.s.sie closed her eyes in exhaustion. She didn't need Lady Costain's thanks. Everything she'd done had been for Grey.

After the family and his father's valet left, Grey settled down in the chair his sister had occupied. His father's still face showed more wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and there were silver strands visible in the Sommers blond hair. But the strong features hadn't changed. Lord Costain looked ready to wake at any moment.

Grey took his father's hand. It was limp, neither warm nor cold. "I've come home, Father," he said softly. "I'm sorry for all the worry I caused you. You did your best to train me to be a strong, compa.s.sionate earl who knew about farming and law and everything else a peer of the realm should know. You were a good teacher so I couldn't help learning, but I know I'm responsible for a good number of those white hairs."

He thought he felt the barest squeeze of his father's hand, though it was probably his imagination. "Let me tell you about how I came to be imprisoned in France. If I'd had a whit of sense, I would have come home before the Truce of Amiens ended, but no, I was the golden boy to whom nothing bad could happen."

He continued talking, his words sometimes halting and painful as he described the imprisonment, the near madness, the blessed company of Pere Laurent. Everything he'd been unable to say to the rest of his family. "Pere Laurent was my second father. You would like each other if you ever met."

Grey smiled as he tried to imagine such a meeting. "Though he's a Catholic, he didn't seem at all disposed to invade England and convert all us heretics by the sword." That ambition belonged to Napoleon, and there was nothing religious about it.

Several times he halted until he regained his composure, but he needed to say all this to his father even if he was too late for a real conversation. When he finally ran out of words, he said softly, "I really wish you wouldn't die, Father. I'm nowhere near ready to become the next Lord Costain. I need you. We all need you."

His words choked off. Trying for a lighter note, he said, "But I've done one thing right. You wanted me to marry and secure the succession, so I've brought my fiancee to Summerhill."

"Is she pretty?"

The whisper was so thin that Grey was sure he'd imagined it. Bending over his father, he asked in a hushed voice, "Did you say something?"

The pale eyelids fluttered open. "Is she pretty?"

Stunned, Grey choked out, "She's beautiful. A redhead."

"Redheaded grandchildren?" The earl sounded disapproving. "Tell ... more."

"Her father was Lord St. Ives. She's the most incredible woman I've ever met, and she saved my life several times."

His father blinked. "Sounds ... too good for you."

"She is." Grey wanted to stand up and shout his exhilaration at his father's improvement, but that seemed disrespectful for a sickroom. "You'll get to meet Ca.s.sie, but now you should rest."

"Tired of resting." The earl's eyes closed. "Could hear people talk, but couldn't answer. Till you came. Had to tell you you're a d.a.m.ned young fool."

"Yes, Father. I have been. I'll try to do better." Silent tears were sliding down Grey's cheeks. "I'll get Mother. She'll want to talk to you."

A faint smile softened the earl's face. "Need my Janey."

Jubilant, Grey squeezed his father's hand. "She'll be here soon."

Outside the room, he was unsurprised to find Baker quietly waiting to return to his master's bedside. "Good news! He woke up and was talking to me. Entirely coherent, too." Grey grinned. "Called me a d.a.m.ned young fool."

"Sounds like he's in his right mind," the valet said with a glimmer of humor. "Shall I go in?"

Grey nodded. "He wants to see her ladyship. I'll tell her."

Despite the late hour, he found his mother in the morning room. She was sitting by the fire, neglected needlework in her lap as she gazed into the flames. Looking up at Grey's entrance, she asked, "Did you make your peace with your father?"

"I hope so, but if not, I'll have other chances later. Mother, he woke up! He's weak, but he spoke clearly. He wants to see you. I think he's going to be all right."

The countess stood, her face luminous as her embroidery fell to the floor. "Thank G.o.d!" She hugged Grey, clinging to him as she struggled to control herself. "What a day of miracles this has been!"

"It has indeed." He held her a moment longer, remembering how she held him and sang lullabies when he was very small. He'd given up hope that he'd hold her again like this. "I'm sorry for all the trouble and grief I caused you."

"Children exist to cause their parents trouble and grief," she said wryly. Releasing him, she added, "But they also give life's greatest joys. You were sometimes too heedless, but there was no malice in you. Being caught in France when the truce ended ..." She shrugged. "It was abominable luck, but not a sin on your part."

He didn't agree, but he was too tired to discuss that. "What did Ca.s.sie tell you about my time in France?"

"Very little. She said the story was yours to tell."

That was his Ca.s.sie. Discreet to the bone. He wasn't sure himself how much he wanted to say, but knew he'd avoid details. He hoped his father didn't remember them.

His mother said, "Why do you call her Ca.s.sie? Is it a nickname for Catherine?"

He nodded, since the real reason was too private to reveal. "I think it suits her."

"What an extraordinary young woman she is." His mother's voice was neutral. "Formidable, even."

Formidable. A perfect description. "She is, isn't she?" Grey agreed. "Now go to Father. He'll be looking for you, if he hasn't drifted off again."

"He was in his right wits?" she asked, looking younger than when he'd arrived.

"Yes. I think he was on the verge of waking up on his own, and hearing my voice made him curious."

"I prefer to call it a miracle." She gave him a radiant smile. "I half expect to wake up in the morning and find you're a dream."

"If I were to appear in your dreams, I probably wouldn't be as thin and eccentric," he said wryly.

She studied him more critically. "Definitely thin, but your usual elegant self."

"Thanks for the elegance are owed to Kirkland, who lent me decent clothing."

"I hope you start patronizing his tailor!" Her face sobered. "Have you become eccentric, Grey?"

"That might not be the right word." He studied her beloved face and knew that she could never really understand. "I just ... I'll need time to become used to normal life. I require more peace and quiet than when I was younger."

She laughed and patted his arm. "We all do when we grow up. Good night, my darling. Sleep as late as you like in the morning."