They walked away, leaving Phillip with only his bitter thoughts as companions. For several minutes, he watched the fire, contemplating his world and his future without Jane and Emily. How could life be so unfair that he would lose the both of them before he'd hardly found them?

As always these past months, the questions flew through his mind with lightning speed. Where could they be? Were they all right? Would he ever find them? And, most importantly, if he di find them, would they ever forgive him?

Were they still alive? No, no, no, he'd not go down that road again. That question always crept in with the others, and he refused to pay it heed. Somewhere, Jane was out there; he felt her presence as surely as he felt his own heart beating.

Groaning in frustration, he left the parlor and walked to the door. On the front walk, he stood for a moment, wondering where to go next. With the step of a forlorn, old man, he trudged toward his carriage, not hearing the door open behind him.

"Lord Wessington, wait, please."

He turned at the sound of Meg's voice. Hope flared. During all the times he'd visited, asking if they'd heard from Jane, she'd not spoken a word. "What is it, Meg?"

"I just wanted to say ... to say I'm sorry for your troubles." She came down the steps. "I can't bear seeing you like this. Is there anything I can do?"

"You can tell me where she is."

"I don't know, sir, truly I don't."

Meg was simply too honest to tell such a lie, so he believed her. "You spent the most time with her, Meg. Where would she go? She must have said something to you."

"I'm sorry. I've thought on it so often, but I just don't know. John and I would go after her ourselves if we could figure out where she is. I wish I could help."

"Just promise me you'll tell me if you hear from her."

Meg knew John would strangle her if she ever told Wessington anything, but she couldn't stand another moment of his anguish. "You have my word, sir, if I hear from her, you'll be the first to know."

"Thank you." He walked on, oblivious, to his waiting carriage. The driver flicked the reins and lumbered along next to him. Finally deciding on a destination, Phillip climbed inside, and they headed to Thumberton's offices.

He was announced and shown in right away. Thumberton leaned across the desk and shook his hand. "Any news?" the solicitor asked.

"Not a word. And yourself?"

Thumberton shook his head.

"How about the trust account?"

"I'm sorry, Phillip," Thumberton shook his head again. Phillip had placed a large amount of money in an account for Jane. In case she contacted Thumberton for assistance, the solicitor was authorized to give her anything she needed, even if she refused to disclose her whereabouts. "Any word from Bow Street?"

"No," Phillip sighed. "I sent a man to Portsmouth again, although I can't believe she'd go back there."

"Keep trying, Phillip. She's bound to turn up." Phillip looked so despairing that Thumberton wanted to round the desk and hug the poor lad. Only the watchful eyes of his clerks kept him from doing so.

Feeling each of his thirty-one years, Phillip stood slowly. "Good-bye, sir. Contact me immediately if you hear anything."

"I promise I will."

Phillip stumbled out into the morning, seeming surprised that the sun could be shining and the day progressing as though everything was normal. Nothing had been normal since that fateful November night. Jane and Emily had vanished before he reached London the next day, taking with them only a few items of clothing and a handful of coins, and leaving behind only a short note.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled it out and reread the words. Long ago, he'd committed them to memory, but he loved looking at the scroll of her hand.

Dearest Phillip, It is tvith the greatest regret that we leave you now, but Emily and I have talked over the situation and feel we cannot stay. Not in London and not at Rosewood. We've never belonged anywhere, the two of us. No one has ever cared for or about us, so perhaps it 'sfor the best that we take care of each other at this dreadful time.

How I wish things could have been different between us. I think I loved you from the very first time I ever saw you, but my love was never enough. How broken is my heart! I feel as though it may simply quit beating.

I hope you find whatever it is you are so desperately seekinga"whatever it is that Emily and I could not give you.

Love always, Jane "Oh, Jane, where are you?" he whispered, running his fingers over and over the ink as though by doing so he might glean some idea of her whereabouts.

At the house, he was greeted by the cold, accusing stares of his staff. No one knew why Jane and Emily had gone into hiding, but given Phillip's reputation, everyone was open to the conclusion that he'd committed some horrible deed against them. Phillip had never corrected the misconception. He'd make no excuses to anyone, because Jane's forgiveness was all that mattered.

In his study, he leafed through the pile of mail. The first piece was a cryptic note from Richard on conditions at Rosewood. He was one of the few who knew what had occurred, probably informed by Graves, and it was clear from the tone of each of his scant missives that whatever chance they'd had to reestablish their bonds of friendship was now completely destroyed.

He tossed the letter aside, then briefly glanced at the others. On the bottom of the stack was one in a feminine hand. Curious, he broke the seal and looked at the neat script. It was signed Elizabeth Carew. The name meant nothing to him, but he began to read.

Lord Wessington, I doubt if you'll remember me, but I met you when I accompanied Jane to London last spring when the two of you first became engaged. Recently, your messenger was 'round asking questions about Jane, and I couldn't kelp thinking that I might know where she's gone. Jane owns a small cottage she inherited from her mother many years ago . . .

Phillip's heart pounded with excitement. He couldn't help feeling optimistic. This was the first real lead they'd had in months.

Jane stirred the soup and tasted a bit on the tip of the spoon. "That will do nicely," she murmured to herself. As if in agreement, the babe which had swollen her belly gave a swift kick. "You think so, too, do you?" With a half-smile, she absentmindedly rubbed her hand across the spot where the tiny feet were pushing so hard, trying to find a way out of her womb.

If she did say so herself, she had developed a knack for cooking and was becoming quite proficient at it. There was something greatly soothing about preparing food with your own hands, and she wondered why she'd never tried it before. Mrs. Higgins had taken time to show her the basics before hurrying off to stay with her dying sister, leaving Emily and Jane alone to fend for themselves. Her departure turned out to be the best thing that could have happened.

Their days were now filled with the ordinary tasks of living. Cooking, cleaning, washing, scrubbing. The mindless chores kept them busy and tired, and they had no time for fretting over whether they'd done the right thing.

They were happya"or as happy as either of them could expect to be under the circumstances. They had each other, a family of two. If Emily wasn't recovering as quickly as she might, that was no matter. The days stretched ahead of them like an endless river. There was plenty of time for her mind and soul to heal. As for the babe, when she came in a few weeks, she would be delivered into a loving home. She might not grow up with mansions and ponies and gowns, but she would know, each and every day of her life, that she was dearly loved by her mother and sister.

As usual, Jane experienced a terrible twinge of guilt as she thought about the fact that Phillip would have another child and not know. Quickly, she pushed the thought away. What possible difference would it make if he knew? He wouldn't care. He didnat care. He'd had his chance to love and raise a daughter and had shirked his responsibility toward her. His feelings toward tins child would be no different Her mind in torment, pictures whirled through her head before she could stop them. The London Season was in full swing, and she imagined balls, parties, women. So many women. Was Margaret still his mistress? Di he have others? The images were so wrenching, so heartbreaking, she closed her eyes against them, trying to force them back down deep inside where they belonged.

How could he care so little? How could she have been such a blind, naive fool? And how could she continue to care about him so much after all this time? "Water under the bridge," she scolded. "Stop torturing yourself."

The babe kicked hard, and Jane took a deep breath, held it, then sank into the chair by the small table. With her head resting in her hands, she heard the brisk knock on the front door. It was rare when anyone visited, especially so late in the day. They had few neighbors, and the distance to the village was lengthy. The knock sounded again, and she didnat have the heart or the energy to answer. "Emily, could you get the door, please?"

She heard Emily's footsteps, heard the door open, heard her words of greeting, then gasped with shock and surprise.

"Hello, Father." Emily eyed him dispassionately. Standing there in his casual clothes, he looked the same but different. Thinner. Older.

"Hello, Emily." Phillip had to swallow past the lump in his throat. She looked so changed that at first he hadn't recognized her. Her aged, wise blue eyes were too big in the thin face. Her beautiful hair was cut short and slicked back, and wearing black shirt and pants, she looked like a boy. He reached a hand out to rest it on her shoulder, but she flinched away before he could.

Jane appeared behind her, explaining, "She doesn't like anyone touching her."

"My apologies, Emily," he murmured. This was none of what he'd expected. Gad, it had been months since the attack. Would the girl ever recover? His mind in turmoil, he searched for a way to start the encounter again by turning his attention to Jane.

She looked beautiful. Sad and tired, but her face was filled out, her skin lustrous and smooth. He wanted to reach for her as he'd done with Emily, but it would be too painful if she flinched away in the same fashion. Standing silently, he tried to locate some of the words he'd carefully rehearsed, but found they'd completely disappeared.

No longer able to abide the tension, Jane finally broke the silence. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?"

"I've no idea."

"I've come to take you home."

Emily huffed. "I'll never go back." With beseeching eyes, she turned to Jane. "He can't make us go, can he?"

Jane didnat know how to answer. "Go inside, dear. Let us talk for a moment."

Emily hesitated, then slipped away, leaving Jane standing alone. Phillip was finally able to see what Emily's body had hidden. Jane was pregnant. Severely so, her stomach rounded, her breasts huge and full. His first urge was to shout at her for keeping such a secret, but he knew he was on shaky ground. He'd be lucky if she let him inside. Taking a calming breath, he held it, then let it out slowly.

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I can't imagine why you'd want to know."

"You think I wouldn't want my child?"

Jane merely shrugged. "I don't know, Phillip. Where you're concerned, I truly, truly don't know."

"But it's my child. Perhaps my son ..."

"I feel it will be a girl."

He couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. "And you think the fact that it might be a girl makes this all right?"

"You already had one girl you didnat want. I couldn't see any reason to saddle you with another."

"I did want her. I. .." Unable to believe the emotion warring inside, he looked away, staring down the road until the unbidden tears passed and he could once again face his wife in an unruffled, neutral manner. "I need to speak with you. May I come in?"

He looked so desperately lonely standing there. Her maternal instincts warred with her good sense; she wanted to embrace him and offer comfort until the look of loss and hurt was gone from his eyes. She knew better. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Just then, the skies decided to cooperate with Phillip. The gray clouds which had threatened rain all day let loose with a deluge of huge, cold drops. "Would you send me on my way in this downpour?"

"I suppose not." Resigned, she stepped back and he entered.

Phillip eyed the small front room. It was plain but clean. The interesting aromas coming from the kitchen gave it a homey feeling. No fire burned in the fireplace, though, and the room was cold. Emily sat in the corner on a stool. "Emily, why don't you get one of the servants to light the fire."

"We don't have any servants."

"But who's taking care of you?" He whirled around to face Jane.

"I usually have a woman here, but she had family obligations to attend." Phillip looked so shocked that Jane wanted to laugh. "It's not a big deal, Phillip. No one ever died from doing a the cooking and cleaning."

Phillip ran a frustrated hand through his hair, wondering how much they must hate him if they'd rather live like this than suffer his presence at home. "Fine, I'll start the fire." There was a tiny bit of kindling next to the fireplace, but no logs for burning once the fire was going. "Where are your logs?"

Emily shrugged. "We're out."

Phillip raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

"We don't have any right now. We bring wood up from the beach, but it's hard now that Jane's gotten so big. I'm not very good at chopping the stuff into pieces, and Jane can't do it at all anymore. We're going to wait until after the babe, then restock our pile."

"You are, are you?" He reached out and grabbed Jane's hand, running his thumb over her fingers. Besides the fact that her hands were freezing, they were rough with calluses. "You've been chopping wood. And cooking and cleaning and Lord knows what else in your condition. Don't you have any sense?"

She jerked her hand away, hating the fact that she loved the feel of his warm skin on hers. What a fool she was. Would she never learn? "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm perfectly capable of doing my fair share of the work."

"Aren't you listening to me?" His voice rose in direct proportion to his temper.

"Yes, I am. You want a fire, and a fire you'll have." She stomped to the door, ready to fling it open just as he grabbed her hand and turned her around.

"I've had enough of this. You're both coming home with me. Right now. Emily, go upstairs and pack your things."

"I won't."

Jane braced her hands on what she could still find of her waist and readied for a fight. "You can't coerce your way in here and then start ordering us around."

"Can't I? Just watch me." He turned his attention back to Emily. "This is the last time I'm telling you. Go and pack your things. If you refuse, we'll leave without them."

The panicked look in Emily's eyes was Jane's undoing. She softened her angry stance. "I'll never force Emily back to London. Besides, even if I wanted to go with you, I can't travel in my condition."

Phillip looked back and forth at the two females who meant everything in the world to him. This encounter wasn't going at all as he'd planned. He'd anticipated calm and reasonable discussion, followed by apologies and forgiveness. He didnat want to fight He loved them both so much his heart was nearly bursting, and he couldn't bear to have them staring at him as though he'd just sprouted a second head.

"Fine. If you can't travel, we'll remain here until after the babe arrives." They both gasped. "I smell something wonderful in the kitchen. What's for supper?"

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

"You can't stay here," Jane insisted.

"Of course I can." Realizing that he hadn't had any sound nourishment since early morning, he turned toward the kitchen. "I'm starving. Let's eat."

Without waiting to see if they would follow, he went into the other room. It was warm and cozy with an aroma that promised delicious food. There was a pot of something on the counter, and two bowls were sitting beside it Since it was one of the few times in his life that he'd ever been in a kitchen, Phillip had no idea how to dish up the food. Thinking to pick up the pot and pour, he began to reach for it just as footsteps sounded.

"Don't touch that! It's hot." Jane's voice was filled with irritation. "I'll do it. Sit down before you hurt yourself."

He sat on one of the chairs and watched silently as Emily set the table and Jane finished the supper preparations. Her long, nimble fingers stirred and sliced as she easily worked her way around the small room. The sight was fascinating and soothing. The food was simple, just a stew, fresh bread and summer garden greens, but it looked wonderful and smelled even better. His first bite proved it was tasty as well.

"Di you prepare this?" he asked Jane.

"Yes," she answered stiffly, as though waiting for a criticism to follow.

"It's very good."

She hesitated as though she'd heard him wrong. "Thank you."

No other words were spoken until Phillip finished his bowl and asked for a second helping, which Jane provided. He finished that one as well and asked for a third. With hearty aplomb, he ate as though he hadn't a care in the world. Jane and Emily, on the other hand, barely swallowed any food.

Jane could feel his eyes on her. She tried to keep her attention focused on her bowl, but Phillip's presence was so overwhelming that it did no good. The urge to look at him was uncontrollable, and every time she risked a quick glance, he was staring at her as though he wanted her to speak. What did the man expect her to say? The tension mounted, and the pieces of meat in the stew seemed to grow until each bite nearly choked her.