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“I think it is both. I think it is everything. Mariah is…everything.”
Petra’s hand twitched at his last words as her husband bit the inside of his cheek as if holding in a laugh.
“You wish to go write that down, do you not?”
Petra made a sound in the back of her throat. “I believe Lord St. George has an idea for how he can support his wife’s writing. But what to do about Barrymore…”
“I do not want this debt over my head. And the property does not mean more to me than Mariah. Not anymore. But I still hate to think of it being flattened for a railway.” Despite his resolve to use the funds to support Mariah, the destruction of Bedford Grange still hurt. Still left a heavy residue of grief to settle within his spirit like cold ash.
“Wait a second…” Petra began staring ahead without seeing. “Bedford Grange, I’ve heard of that. It is in Derbyshire, is it not? And you said this was a place you loved to visit growing up?”
James nodded.
“That is not so far from your seat, my love,” she said quietly to her husband, biting her lip. She rose and went to stand before James.
“If you succeeded in using this information against Barrymore to retain your property, would you consider selling Bedford Grange to us? There is someone I should like to give it to as a gift. A family. They do not have a place that is truly their own. And we always said our children would grow up together. If that is agreeable to both of you? A bank draft tomorrow would allow the funds to reach Yorkshire within two weeks.” Her wide brown eyes darted between the two men as her hand went to her mid-section.
“Petra?” Wolf rose with a start, his voice trembling in a way that James had never witnessed.
Turning back to her husband, the lady’s eyes filled with tears. “There was a reason my mind was so discombobulated of late, my love. And this way, Lord St. George could have the funds to help his wife, and our child could grow up near Jillian and John.” Her voice broke, and James wished he could disappear. This was far too intimate a moment to be intruding on.
Yet, the profound solace of finding a family to steward Bedford Grange toward a new age and era, while he used the sale to help Mariah sparked a previously unknown sensation within his chest. It was a feeling that, after much contemplation, he could only define as hope.
“Petra,” her husband repeated, sinking to his knees before her, he buried his face at her waist. “Are you well, my love? Is it the baby?”
“We are well.” She swallowed. “Apparently increasing just makes me rather forgetful.” Running her hands through her husband’s hair, she turned back to James.
“I do not wish for Barrymore to get away with blockade running. It is wrong. But I also want you to use this information to help your wife and your town.”
Wolf rose at last, his embrace still tethering his wife to his side. “I suspect that, by our combined efforts, St. George and I shall arrive at a resolution. Yet, I fear I must resort to the unpleasantness of threatening a summons to your father.”
The couple shared a grim look, before Wolf’s features transformed with a sudden, buoyant light. “But why do we squander this moment upon the likes of Barrymore? We are to be blessed with a child! Come, James, you must join me in a glass of port!”
James spent one of the most enjoyable evenings he could recall celebrating with Lord and Lady Wolfridge, or Petra and Wolf, as his friend insisted after several glasses of port.
Upon rising to take his leave, James cast a final glance toward the hearth, where Petra sat upon Wolf’s lap, her features alight as she recounted the intricate threads of her current mystery. Wolf’s fingers toyed idly with her hair while his other hand rested upon her stomach. A smile of something beyond contentment crossed the man’s once-jaded face, an image that served to drive a sharp shard of longing into James’s own chest.
He could have had this with Mariah. Years ago.
As he received his great coat and hat from Wolf’s butler, he turned the collar against the biting chill that surged from the street as he departed
He may be too late to have such joy in his lifetime. But damnit, he would make sure Mariah had some joy in her life.
Even if it was not with him.
9
Aweek later, James found himself again waiting at the Crown and the Loom, this time though, he only ordered an ale ought of politeness to the barkeep. When the man brought him a foamy ale, James took the opportunity to ask after his savior from the other night.
Or tormentor, he could not decide.
“Have you seen that Irishman, the older one who drank alone, since I was in a few weeks ago?”
The barkeep gave him an odd look, leaning over the bar with two thick forearms.
“I don’t know any Irishman who drink here alone, my lord.”
“Ah, never mind.” James took a small sip of mostly foam and set it down far from his person once the man walked away. He had no wish to cloud his head with either ale or wondering after the man from that night. Not when he needed to get this right.
