“I see.” Anabelle said and wondered what the link could be.
“Was Lord Morton at the Earl of Sotheby’s garden party this year? I ask only because I am trying to make a connection.”
“No, I have not seen Lord Morton for some time. I have never returned to his house in all these years, something which I believe he understands. That is not to say that I blame him, for I do not, and we have often been in company together quite naturally and get on well. But I can never go back there.” He let out a great sigh and Anabelle felt truly sorry for him. “And whilst he was not at the Spring garden party this year, Lucy has been Lord Morton’s company often enough that I cannot think the sight of him would cause her to close down in this way.”
“I know it is a long time ago, Your Grace, but can you think of any guests in common, people who had attended Lord Morton’s garden party as well as the Earl of Sotheby’s?”
“I cannot think of anybody particularly. Lord Morton’s estate is across the border and well into Bedfordshire. There are perhaps not many people who are acquainted with both men as well as I am, for I am very much situated between the two. And being a Duke, I am sure you realize that my invitations are rather wide-ranging at times.” He shrugged, and Anabelle smiled; she could see that he was perhaps not fond of receiving too many invitations.
“Then we are back to the man, Your Grace. I cannot exactly make sense of it, but Lucy said something which has given me pause for thought. She said that the man who frightened her at the garden party, the man who is now in her head, has been there for a long time. She said he has been there since she was a little girl and that he has been hiding.”
“Hiding?”
“I cannot be sure, but I have wondered if she means that he has been hiding in her mind. As if he was somebody that she had forgotten for some years and now she has remembered him for some reason and she finds herself afraid all over again.”
“You are thinking of the young man from Forton, the one who had tried to forget all that his mind kept trying to force him to remember?”
“I am. And I was wondering if there was something that Lucy saw on that day in Spring which opened the floodgates for just long enough for this man to wash through from the past.”
“But what?”
“Some time ago you told me that you remembered seeing a water barrel at the garden party you were at this Spring. You did not finish what you were telling me, but I have theorized that you perhaps thought that Lucy had seen the barrel too and been reminded of the terrible tragedy years before at the Earl of Sotheby’s garden party.”
“Yes, I had thought that. I had wondered if she had seen it and been transported back to that terrible day.”
“I think that you might be right, Your Grace. It may or may not have been the water barrel, but I do believe that everything your sister is suffering now leads back to that day. And I do not wish to upset you, or have you dwell upon such sadness, Your Grace, but I cannot help but think that the frightening man is also linked.”
“Linked to that day?” The Duke said every word slowly as if each was separate from the next.
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but perhaps the death of your sister all those years ago was not an accident.” Anabelle said, seeing the sudden change in his countenance and immediately regretting her words. “I do not wish to upset you, as I have said.” She added hurriedly. “But you have already told me that you have never known exactly how much Lucy was exposed to, how much she saw on that day. Perhaps she saw something so frightening that she had to block it out, just like the young man returning from Portugal.”
“You are suggesting that my sister Jennifer was murdered?” He said and rose to his feet so suddenly that Anabelle gasped. “You are telling me after all these years, when you have known my sister but two months, that she witnessed the purposeful murder of her twin?” Although his voice was still low, Anabelle knew that he was furious.
By instinct, she rose to her feet also and stood uselessly in the middle of the room with her arms out to her sides as if to placate him.
“I do not mean to upset you, Your Grace. But if you are to have any hope of reaching your sister now, I think you must face the truth, whatever it is. And I could be wrong, I do not hide that fact. I could have this all wrong, truly. But all I am doing is looking, searching for an answer.”
“My sister died in an accident, Miss Brock.” He said, his hazel eyes looking suddenly dark and threatening.
She was reminded of how she felt in that moment when he told her, so many weeks before, that if she crossed him, he would crush her. Was he about to crush her now? Had she crossed that line of protection, that invisible line he had drawn around his beloved sister? Did he feel some threat in her words?
“I am very sorry, Your Grace.” She said, trembling and willing herself to look away from his angry face; but she could not.
“My sister was not murdered, Miss Brock. I will not hear that from you again, do you understand me?” He said, and she nodded vigorously before he went on in a much louder tone of voice. “You will never come to me with such nonsense again, do you hear me?” By the time he had finished, the Duke of Westward was almost shouting.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Anabelle said, feeling tears of fear and regret pricking her eyes and threatening to fall.
“Get out!” He said, glaring at her.
Anabelle did not trust herself to speak again, not even to repeat her apologies. Instead she simply turned and fled from the room, running fast and not stopping until she had reached her own chamber.
Breathless and devastated, Anabelle threw herself face-down onto her bed, her whole body trembling as she wept.
Chapter Sixteen
Giles had spent the following two days battling both fury and regret. He could not bear to think that the little girl he had sworn to protect when his father had died had been murdered almost before his very eyes.
Perhaps not before his very eyes, but certainly within so short a distance from him that he ought to have been able to protect her. He ought to have known that she was in danger and he was so sure that he would have done, that he would have sensed so malicious an intent. He knew he had chosen not to believe it at all.
His sister simply could not have been murdered.
And if she had, Lucy would have told him, he was sure of it. She would not have kept that quiet for ten solid years. She was a little girl, she would never have been able to so successfully hide something.
But then he thought again of the young man in Forton, Anabelle’s neighbor who had, as a grown man, fought to hide such horrible scenes from his own mind and heart. And he had done so at the cost of his own mental stability.
Was it so hard to believe that Lucy, a human being the same as Anabelle’s young neighbor, could do the same? And was it not possible that she had managed it so successfully that she had kept it at bay for a decade? Had she held it down until one day, there at that garden party, she had seen something which reminded her, which brought it all back? Or at least had brought fragments of it back, enough for her to know that she was frightened. Only now the gate had opened, enough of the past had slipped through that it would not be denied.
Whilst her mind sought to protect her by pushing it down again, her heart sought to have the truth known at last. And the consequence of that battle was her confusion, her distress, her fear of seemingly unknown origin.
The idea of it all had been so shocking to Giles, so shattering that he could do no other than resist it. But who would that resistance help in the end? Surely it was only himself.
Had he fought so hard against Anabelle’s words to protect himself from the truth? Was he defending himself, silently declaring that he had been such a young man, just eighteen when he had lost his father so suddenly and been left with the responsibility of two little girls? Was he ashamed that he had not done better, that he had not protected them when he ought to have done, when they needed him the most?
If he continued in
this vein, if he stood stubborn as a mule and refused to look at the possibilities, surely Lucy would be the only one to suffer. And her continued suffering in this world surely heralded Giles’ own continued suffering.
He felt the swirling of dark emotions in his chest and rose from his seat in front of the fire to pace the floor of his study. It was almost eight o’clock, but he knew that Anabelle would not come. He had not set eyes on her since he had treated her so badly, roaring at her to leave him.
If she had come back the following evening, he did not know it. Giles had stayed in the drawing room after dinner that next evening drinking himself into an aching brandy-fueled stupor.
He had crept about the halls of Westward like a ghost all day, choosing not to encounter Mrs Arklow who would know that there was something wrong. And he did not visit Lucy either, however much it pained him to stay away. The truth was that he could not face Anabelle, not after what he had done.
And in that moment of admission, Giles felt every ounce of fight go out of him. The misplaced anger which had bubbled and boiled in his very blood for two whole days had suddenly gone, evaporated. And all that remained was the deepest sense of regret, the feeling that he would be lost without Anabelle there.
He knew that she had only sought to help his sister and, in doing so, to help him also. But his own fear that he had let his sisters down so badly had swallowed him, had raged through him and made him a different man, a hateful man.
What would he do if Anabelle went? How would Lucy ever be set free without the care, attention, and wisdom of that young and clever woman?
And he knew well that Anabelle Brock did not suffer to be tormented by any man. She was the woman who had walked away from the only roof she had, never once looking back for security from the cousin who would have treated her so badly. And now that he had shouted at her, now that he had been so unjust and unfair to her, would that smart, brave young woman not already be planning her escape from Westward Hall? If there was ever a woman who could survive the world without assistance, it was Anabelle.
How had he become so lost? Why could life not simply be as it once had?
With a long-drawn-out sigh, he knew that he would have to do something.
He knew that Anabelle would not come to him, not again. He would have to go to her.
Anabelle had felt too shocked and afraid in the last two days to continue in her quest to help Lucy. They had not gone out and they had not talked of times gone past. Anabelle had simply spent two long and tiring days reading aloud. Lucy did not seem to suffer for it at all, seeming to enjoy the pastime which always served as a means of keeping the frightening man at bay. But Anabelle could not think of the frightening man without thinking of the Duke. Such a large part of her wished that she had never broached the subject of foul play in the tragic death of his sister.
But there was another part of her, the stronger and overriding part, which knew that she could have done no other. She had never intended to hurt him. Goodness, she cared for him more than that. But Lucy was suffering, and she was lost in a world she could not get out of. If Anabelle had not been so determined, Lucy would be doomed to remain there.
Only now she wondered if Lucy was truly doomed. The Duke had looked so angry, his face so changed. But as afraid as she had been in that moment, Anabelle had not genuinely been afraid of him. She had seen the pain in his eyes, the very pain she had caused, and she had seen the shock.
And Anabelle was wise enough to know that, whenever the Duke bridled and became intimidating, it had only been in fear for his sister’s safety. Whether that be the idea that the whole county would declare her to be mad, or the idea that she had suffered for so long with knowledge that only she had, knowledge that was buried deep inside, his need to protect her was the same.
But when Anabelle had returned to the Duke’s study at the appointed time the following night, she had found it empty. The dying embers of a fire which must surely have burned throughout the day were the only light that could be seen in the room. She had stepped in a little further, as if he might be sitting there somewhere in the dark. But he was not, she knew he was not. The room had a horribly deserted feel, cold and abandoned.
It was then that she realised that she had made such a mess of things, even if there had been no other way. But how would it help Lucy now if the Duke was going to simply dismiss Anabelle from Westward Hall? And if he did that, where would she go?
Anabelle sat in the armchair by her fire and felt truly exhausted. She was tired and aching to the very core of her being, to her very bones, and she did not have even motivation enough to move and change into her nightgown for bed.
It was only nine o’clock, but what else was there for her to do? She had been reading all day and she knew that she could not bear to read another chapter. Nothing could divert her now from the dreadful sensations which had swirled throughout her body for two days. She would simply have to work through them, to let them be, to allow them to claim her and have their way with her until they were done.
She was so deep in thought and misery that when the knock on her door came, she hardly registered it.
When she made no response, she turned to see the door slowly opening inward. She rose to her feet; surely it was Lucy in some need and she would have to pull herself together.
But her mouth fell open when she saw the Duke of Westward standing there, his mighty frame filling the doorway and the look of pain and regret on his face almost unbearable.
“Miss Brock, may……” He said and seemed lost for words as he stood there looking at her. “Miss Brock…. Miss Brock.” He said, and his pain was so great that she could almost feel it inside her own body.
She wanted to reach out to him but knew that she could not. But she could not leave him simply standing there in the doorway, even if to invite him into her chamber at that hour was undoubtedly improper.
“Come in for a moment, Your Grace.” Anabelle said and waved an arm to indicate that he should at least walk in and close the door.
“Miss Brock, I really am so very sorry for the way I treated you.” He said and fixed her with those wonderful hazel eyes. “There is no excuse for my behavior on that evening.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, but you must not worry about it for another moment. And there is an excuse, a very real excuse. And it is one I understand, truly. You seek only to protect your sister and I do not blame you for that. I do not hold any grudges and I am not going to leave this place unless you ask me to.”
“Thank God.” He said and seemed to relax, although he raised his hand to his forehead in a way which reminded her a little of Lucy. But rather than striking himself, he rubbed his hand back and forth with his eyes closed. “I do not know what I would do without you. I shall never ask you to leave, Miss Brock.”
“I am so very sorry that I hurt you.” Anabelle said and meant it genuinely.
“I know you did not mean that as your objective. I know there was no other way for you to tell me what I needed to hear.”
“But I should not have suggested that… that….”
“That Jennifer was murdered?” He said, opening his eyes finally and staring so intently into her own.
“Yes.”
“But I have to face it, do I not? It is a distinct possibility. If my poor dear Lucy witnessed something so awful, it would explain so much. And yet you are the one who could see that, even though you have been here only two months. I could not see it, I would not see it.”
“You must not blame yourself for things you cannot control.”
“But I can control my refusal to look. I can control hiding from the truth to protect myself from the idea that I let them down so badly.” He said, and his voice trailed away leaving a silence in the room that was so heavy it was oppressive.
Anabelle knew that the Duke could say no more. He was fighting his own emotions and it was breaking her heart to see it. Once again, she wanted to reach for him, but she had to fight it. Had they not
just come so close to parting company, to Anabelle leaving the place for good? What a fool she would be to do something that would finish things once and for all.
“You did not let them down, Your Grace. If somebody did something so cruel, so evil, it is their burden to shoulder, not yours.”
“How kind of you to give me some way out. But there is no way out for me.” He said, and she was certain she heard the vaguest tremor in his voice. “I was supposed to protect them, Anabelle.” He said, using her Christian name quite without thinking, as if he were in a dream.
“How could you protect them from something you did not know existed?”
“I should have known. I was all they had in the world, I was their brother, their protector. They were so little.” He said and closed his eyes, keeping them tightly closed.
Anabelle feared greatly that he was fighting against tears of pain and emotion and she could feel her own eyes fill on account of it.
“I truly do not believe that this is your fault.” She said, walking slowly towards him, afraid of what might happen next as she reached out and laid a hand on his arm.
He did not move, and he did not open his eyes. He gave no sign at all that he even knew that she was there before him, touching him.
“If I do not admit my own negligence now, I will not be able to help Lucy. And I have to help her, I have to free her from whatever hell she is in.” He opened his eyes finally and they shone like beautiful glass.
“And I will help you. I will be here.” Anabelle said, her own voice cracking in a way that meant she would not be able to speak for some moments.
Her throat felt tight, almost painful, as the emotion gripped her.
Without another word, the Duke wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to him.
His body felt warm and strong and she closed her eyes as she laced her own arms around his back. She held him tightly too, almost fiercely, and there they remained for some minutes clinging to one another as if each were an island in the middle of a cruel sea.
They held one another without speaking for so long that Anabelle knew she never, ever wanted to let go of him. She had never been held by any man who was not her father before and it was the most comforting thing in the world, despite the raw emotion and sadness of the moment.
The Duke's Heartbreaking Secret: Historical Regency Romance Page 13