The Earl is Mine (32 page)

Over her friend’s shoulder, Pippa looked at Gregory one more time. It was torture being separated from her, as lovely as the reunion with Eliza was. Gregory winked to assure Pippa he was going nowhere she wasn’t—and that soon,
soon,
he’d have her to himself again.

She sent him a saucy wink back, which made him even more desperate to get her in his bed—any bed, for that matter. A carriage would do, too. Or a hayloft and a blanket. He didn’t care—although, he reminded himself, he wanted their first time together to be special.

He’d have to think about where he’d take her, and he’d have to plan the wedding that was going to come sooner rather than later, too.

Eliza took her old schoolmate by the hand, and together, they entered the carriage, Pippa going last. He enjoyed the view of her bottom in those breeches and was tempted to slap it, had an audience of gawking men and his mother not been watching.

He didn’t show it, but Gregory hated to shut the door behind Pippa … hated to be parted from her even for a second.

“The marchioness and I will meet everyone at the house,” Father announced, and looked up at Lord Thurston, one of the riders. “Sorry to spring a visit on you with no notice, Thurston.”

Their host waved a careless hand. “I’m always honored to host the Marquess and Marchioness of Brady at Thurston Manor,” was his gracious reply.

As they approached him, Father and Mother wore perfectly neutral expressions on their faces, but Gregory knew—

He knew they couldn’t wait to get him alone to talk to him.

“See you at the house,” he told them as they walked by.

Father allowed his brow to furrow. Mama blew him a kiss.

It was odd how Gregory wasn’t frightened anymore about what was to come.

Once they’d entered the Brady carriage, he went to Prince, mounted him, and led him out of the way. “Make room,” he told the riders, who obeyed without a word. He noticed they’d chosen to stay rather than lead the carriages home.

Oh, well. The reckoning had to come at some point.

“You can go now,” he called to the footman-driver.

As the vehicles rolled away, he saw Pippa’s and Eliza’s heads bent together inside the first one. They were probably overseeing the care of Mr. Dawson. Mama and Father looked straight ahead in the second, and when they, too, were past, Gregory looked to the cluster of men on horseback. “Thank you for coming out. All’s well that ends well.”

“Wait a minute,” said Marbury. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,
Westdale
.”

“Not to you,” he said bluntly, then looked at Lord Thurston. “But I certainly owe you and Lady Thurston an apology.”

“Right.” Lord Thurston cleared his throat. “I’m all ears, young man.”

“Under the guise of a valet named Harrow,” Gregory said smoothly, “Lady Pippa Harrington has been hopelessly compromised by her presence in my bedchamber at Thurston Manor, and the right thing will be done. She and I will elope to the island of Guernsey, where no special license is required to marry immediately. It’s obviously much closer than Gretna Greene. We’ll depart in the morning and sail in a private yacht from Torquay.” He looked confidently around at them all. “You’ll each receive an invitation to the postnuptial celebration at my father’s estate in Ireland, although the date, of course, has yet to be set.”

“So the cheeky valet is really a lady.” Lord Thurston scratched his ear. “You know, Westdale, my wife’s going to love this story. I’m not so sure about Lady Damara.”

“Whether they love it or hate it, I’m assuming it will be all over London in the next few days,” Gregory said dryly.

“You’re probably right,” Lord Thurston agreed.

“By the way, I withdraw from the dog cottage competition,” Gregory told him quietly. “Thank you for the opportunity, but I must decline. I’ve other, more pressing projects that will demand my time.”

Lord Marbury gave a yelp of delight.

Gregory sent him a wry look. “I’m delighted you’re delighted, Marbury.”

“Indeed I am,” he said with a grin.

“It’s a shame,” said Lord Thurston, “but I understand.”

The other riders nodded their heads sympathetically.

“Those other projects you mentioned,” the architect Mr. Forrest said, “the ones that will demand your time … we commiserate with you, old chap. Parson’s mousetrap isn’t an easy thing to enter.”

“It’ll
squeeze
you,” said Marbury.

“Good luck,” said another rider. “You’ll need it.”

There was a chorus of weakly offered
good lucks
from some of the others.

“He doesn’t need luck, you idiots,” said Dougal. “He’s got love. Excuse my poor manners, Lord Thurston.”

“No offense taken,” Lord Thurston said mildly.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Morgan.” Gregory shifted in his saddle. “Actually, I wasn’t choosing an amusing way to say my future wife’s demands will take all my time. I really do have other design projects to work on. And I can’t wait to get to them. It might have to happen in Paris, but it will happen.”

“Paris?” Marbury scoffed. “What kind of place is
that
for design inspiration?”

Nobody said a word.

“Oh, right.” Marbury had the grace to look down at the ground. “Paris.”

Everyone burst into laughter, even Marbury.

“I’m such a dunderhead,” he said.

No one disagreed. And then they raced each other back to the stable, hollering like banshees, pretending that nothing could rein them in—not even love. They knew it was a lie, and they were
glad
it was a lie.

But while the horses streaked down the road, they were knights-in-arms together, upholding the old code that—given a chance—boys will
always
be boys.

Chapter Twenty-three

It was time. Well past time. Gregory knocked on his parents’ bedchamber door at Thurston Manor.

“Come in,” trilled Mama.

Pippa,
Gregory thought, his hands loosely curled at his sides.

Just
Pippa
.

He walked over the threshold.

Father stood with his arms out while his valet brushed down his coat. “Done yet, Patrick?”

“Yes, my lord. You’re looking very well, too.”

Gregory met Patrick’s gaze and nodded pleasantly. He’d never think of valets in the same way ever again.

Mama sat in a rocking chair, sewing. She looked up with a bright smile. “You’ll never guess what I’m stitching,” she said, as if nothing untoward had happened that day.

“What?” Gregory peered over her shoulder.

“It’s your father’s old wedding coat. The one he wore to marry your mother. It’s in need of repair, and I took it on a whim to Dawlish.”

Gregory was dumbstruck. “Why would you repair it? Especially when … he wore it to marry my mother?”

Mama sighed. “Because it’s an important part of the family history, my dear.” Her tone was puckish. “I’ve mended your mother’s wedding gown already. And mine. A mouse got to it and nibbled a hole in the corner. And then there’s the family baptismal gown. It’s getting so fragile, it’s almost frightening to attempt any fixes, but I believe it’s imperative to preserve important clothes. They take us back to certain moments in our lives. Don’t you think?”

He thought of Pippa’s yellow velvet spencer with the oversized buttons. And her brown striped cravat, and a smile curved his lips. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

Mama held up the coat. “One of you boys might wear this someday,” she said in breezy fashion. “Maybe even you. If it will fit.”

“It’ll fit all right,” said Father. “We’re the same size.” He nodded at Patrick, who left the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

Gregory waited for the change he knew was to come.

And it did. Father’s face was icy when he turned to face him. “It’s whether you’ll have a wedding that worries me,” he said in an ominous voice. “I’m thinking we’re in need of one.
Without delay
. The integrity of the House of Brady is at stake.” He threw out his hands. “Good God, Gregory, my boy, what kind of
shenanigans
have you been up to? A young lady dressed as a man? In the middle of an inn yard telling her driver she’s under your protection and that of the entire House of Brady?”

Gregory gave a short laugh. “She said that?”

Mama nodded gravely. “I’m so glad she did.”

Gregory blew out a breath. “Mama, Father, I understand your anger, and I’m sorry for it.” He was amazed how steady his voice was. “And I agree, Father. There will be a wedding without delay. We leave tomorrow morning.” He told his parents his plans to take Pippa to Guernsey via Torquay.

“All right, then.” The news mollified his father somewhat. “But tell me how it came to this, that my son is running off with his bride to Guernsey.” He crossed his arms and frowned at Gregory.

Mama let out an exasperated breath. “The usual way. He fell in love.” She glared at Father. “Now don’t you be forgetting how it is, Michael Sherwood, when you meet your soul mate.”

Father shifted his feet, a stubborn cast to his mouth. Mama’s taking on his Irish accent whenever she was riled with him never failed to amuse Gregory, although he’d be a fool to show a trace of amusement now.

“I’ve already talked to Pippa,” Mama told Father in a more indulgent tone. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know tonight. In
bed
.” She angled an arch smile at him. “Meanwhile, let’s give the two young people credit for doing the right thing.”

Lord Brady drew himself up as if he hated to be chastised by his slip of a wife, but there was a gleam in his eye, too. Of respect for her, that was clear. And no doubt there was also the other usual reason a man’s eye gleams when his wife talks about bed.

“Gregory needs a good dinner that will sit well in his stomach,” Mama continued peaceably, and went back to sewing. “And he’ll require a good night’s rest before he leaves in the morning. Carping parents will only give him a headache.”

“Whatever you say, Lady Brady,” Father said, a mild scowl still in place, but his voice was soft and full of love.

Gregory restrained a smile. Mama had Father wrapped around her little finger, she did.

“Thank you, both of you,” he said, “for being so generous with your patience and your love.” The lump in his throat he hoped wouldn’t appear did. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you and love you in return.”

“That’s enough, lad,” Father said gruffly, but Gregory saw a sheen of tears in his eyes.

What could he do but walk to his father and hug him? Who knew if it would be the last time, considering the news he was about to share?

And then he did the same for Mama, reaching down to lay a kiss on the top of her head.

“We adore you,” murmured Mama, reaching up and placing her hand on his cheek, “and we’re so happy for you. I love Pippa already. She’s to be my fourth daughter, and I couldn’t be more pleased with your choice.”

“Thank you, Mama. I’m glad.” Gregory moved a few steps away. He put his hands behind his back and spread his legs. His palms were sweating, and his heart was going a mile a minute. He was back to being thirteen.

They both looked at him expectantly.

“Is there something else?” Mama asked.

“Swear you won’t tell, Gregory.”

“I swear, Mother. I’ll never tell.
Never.
”

Gregory took a deep breath. His knees began to tremble.

Pippa,
he thought.

Just
Pippa
.

“Lad?” Father squinted at him. “What’s wrong?”

Mama had her hand to her heart. “Gregory, darling, tell us. Please.”

“Mama?” he said calmly. “Father?”

“Yessss?” they said in unison. By now, Mama, still seated, was gripping Father’s hand.

Gregory looked straight at the father of his heart. “I need you to reconsider the question of the coat. It may fit me well, but I’m not meant to wear it. I’m not your son,” he said, his voice cracking. “Mother told me the day she died.”

“Gregory—” Mama gasped.

“Son—” Father said.

“I’m so sorry, Father.” Gregory clenched his hands tighter behind his back. “I hate to disappoint you and to be the person who besmirches the memory of my beloved mother. But I can’t go on like this. I know I was born within the confines of the marriage and am your legal heir, but I’d much rather be your bastard son and get nothing.
You
are my true father. No one else. And I can only pray that you’ll forgive Mother.”

There was a palpable silence in the room, and in it, Gregory felt them both struggling to come to grips with his words—with the truth.

He looked at Mama and hoped she’d understand. “My mother never meant to hurt anyone. But she wasn’t like you. She was careless. Like a child, in a way.” He dropped his head. “She didn’t mean to hurt you, Father. Or me. And I’m sorry”—he looked back up and saw both his parents quietly wiping their eyes—“I’m extremely sorry that I’m hurting you now.”

The pain contorting their faces was like a body blow, and he found it difficult to breathe.

“But it’s time for me to release this secret,” he choked out. “I want to be able to love Pippa and you and my siblings freely, without shame, without any darkness weighing me down. I hope you’ll forgive me. And I hope—I pray—you’ll still love me.”

“Oh, Gregory,” Mama whispered, tears streaming down her face. She stood and held out her arms. “Come here. Of course, we still love you.”

“Thank you, Mama,” he said softly, and entered her embrace.

But Father had turned away. He was at the fireplace, and his shoulders were shaking. One soft sob punctuated the silence.

“He’ll be all right,” Mama whispered in Gregory’s ear. “Give him a minute.”

Oh, God, it was the worst pain on earth to see his father cry!

“I shouldn’t have said—”

“Yes you should have,” Mama assured him. “Long ago. But I understand you wanted to respect your mother’s wishes. I wish she hadn’t put such a burden on you, but she’s your mother, and I don’t want to speak ill of her in any way. She did what she thought was right, I’m sure.”

Gregory was only half listening. “Now Father will hate her. He’ll hate me. I’ve brought him such grief and disappointment.”