Scandal with a Sinful Scot. Karyn GerrardЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 same.
“Edwin Seward contacted me, stating he’d located Aidan. It is why I journeyed to London,” Garrett said. “Well, that and Durning’s court hearing.”
Julian’s face turned thunderous. “And you thought not to inform us? He’s my son.”
“Hold in your anger and hear me out,” Garrett replied. “Edwin suggested that we not descend on Aidan. Once I arrived and found where he had been holed up for the past several months, I agreed with Edwin’s assessment.”
Garrett, not one for long, drawn-out conversation, proceeded to paint a horror-filled narrative of invading a St. Giles rookery in the early morning and finding Aidan with a group of thieves, prostitutes, and other deviants in a filthy doss-house. How, along with Edwin’s men and a few hired toughs, they had snatched him up and made their escape.
To Hertfordshire, of all places. As he described the clinic and the Welsh doctor who ran it, Julian’s face crumbled and all anger vanished. “Opium? Gin? How…how did he look?”
“Ghastly.” Garrett answered in a quiet voice. “He’s lost weight; the doctor claimed that it could be two stone or more. His skin is an unhealthy gray shade. He’s malnourished, dehydrated, and sick to his very core.”
Oliver’s insides twisted at the news, but in shrewdly watching Garrett he had the feeling that there was more to Aidan’s injuries than his younger son let on.
“It will take months for him to recover, weeks to come out of the worst of the withdrawal. And before you demand that we head to Hertfordshire, Dr. Bevan recommended we all stay well clear until Aidan wishes to see us. The doctor said that his recovery will move ahead at a more rapid pace if family is not around to add to his guilt and shame.”
“I would never admonish Aidan, not in this condition. He’s ill,” Julian said, his voice shaking.
“Yes, precisely. He is ill. The doctor suggested that we not blame ourselves for how low Aidan has sunk,” Garrett replied.
“And how does this damned doctor propose we do it?” Julian snapped. “All I did was reprimand and lecture him. It never even crossed my mind that his behavior was a call for help.”
Oliver stood and laid a hand on his oldest son’s shoulder. “None of us recognized the signs. Why would we? He was always a little wild. Never liked being told what to do. Bucking us at every turn. I thought him merely rebellious, as many young heirs are. I believed that he would grow out of it. There is enough blame to go around, but I agree that it is best we avoid such self-indulgence.”
Julian glanced at Garrett. “I am his father. You should have told me. I should have been there when you extracted him. I will not forget this.”
“Julian,” Oliver said. “Enough. I know you are upset…”
“Upset? Try devastated. I have failed my son. Failed as a parent,” Julian barked.
“You are not thinking clearly,” Oliver replied, his voice gentle. “Garrett did as Edwin instructed, and hearing the circumstances, it was for the best. Think how distressed Aidan would have been if you had seen him in such a condition. It would not help his recovery. I truly believe this.” He squeezed Julian’s shoulder. “We wait for word. The doctor will be keeping us apprised?”
Garrett nodded. “Regular updates. He promised.”
“Julian, you are the farthest thing from a failure as a parent. When Fiona died, when the twins were four years old, I observed how you bravely hid your grief from them and focused all your attention and love on them. Instilled in them a sense of honor, of service to one’s fellow man, and deep down, I believe Aidan embodies all that and more. He will prove it to you someday soon; I know it in my heart.” Oliver gave his son’s shoulder another affectionate squeeze.
Because of the many tragedies in their lives, the Wollstonecraft men shared an unshakeable and solid bond. Much like soldiers in a field of battle. They were trusted allies, confidants, brothers-in-arms, bound by the curse but more importantly by blood and mutual respect. They were close friends, and they supported each other no matter the crisis. More than anything, however, love cemented the connection. Enriched it. Enhanced it. Hearing of Aidan’s fate and witnessing Julian’s anguish reminded Oliver of how devoted they were to each other.
Julian buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving. Good God, he was crying. Oliver’s heart twisted with pain at seeing his son’s desolate grief. Oliver was about to comfort him when Gordon, the footman, appeared at the door.
“Master Garrett, Mrs. Eaton has arrived.”
Alberta Eaton stepped into the room, her gaze falling to Julian. “Tensbridge.” Without hesitating, she ran to his side, fell to her knees, and embraced him. Julian held her close, his face buried in her neck. She smoothed his hair, whispering what Oliver supposed was words of comfort, though he could not make them out.
Garrett took Oliver’s elbow and they both left them alone. Gordon closed the door and resumed his position in the hallway.
“Very shrewd, Garrett. For a man who claims women are nothing but a complication in a man’s life, you’ve showed acute instincts. Well done,” Oliver said, proud of the way his younger son handled this difficult situation.
They strolled toward Oliver’s study. “It’s obvious he has a tendre for her. And since I’ve been helping with her renovations, I’ve come to know her. I believe that she is what Julian needs at this moment.”
Oliver arched an eyebrow. “And the curse?”
“Oh,