Twelfth Night with the Earl

by Anna Bradley

  Cleves Court was a part of her—it always had been, and one couldn’t tear loose a piece of themselves, could they? Especially not for a man like him, a man who’d left her behind because he was so tormented by shame and guilt over his brother’s death he couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore.

  God, he was such a fool—such a damn fool to think his fight with his past could ever have a happy ending.

  The boys continued to tumble about on the frozen ground, but Ethan didn’t see them. He watched blindly as Martha ran off in the direction of the house, but he didn’t call her back, or follow her. He stood there with the icy wind blowing down the neck of his greatcoat, and tried to remember another time in his life when he’d felt quite so cold.

  How far would Thea go to keep Cleves Court open?

  He already knew the answer.

  As far as she had to.

  * * * *

  “Ethan? The children were asking for you at dinner, but you never came.”

  He hadn’t responded to the light knock, but Thea entered anyway, and now she stood in the doorway of his study, her anxious gaze moving between his face and the glass of whiskey in his hand.

  He hadn’t gone to dinner because he wasn’t hungry. Despite the whiskey, he wasn’t thirsty, either, and he wasn’t angry, or sad, or even hurt.

  He wasn’t anything.

  When he didn’t answer, Thea stepped into the room and closed the door behind her with a quiet click. “What’s happened?”

  He drained his whiskey and poured another measure into his glass from the decanter sitting on his desk. “What would you say, Thea, if I told you I intend to close Cleves Court, after all? What if I told you I wanted us to leave for London together tomorrow, and never see this house again?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I’d do whatever I had to do to change your mind.”

  “Whatever you had to do,” he repeated. He’d known it, but hearing her say it aloud was like a blade slicing into his heart. “Take me into your bed, you mean? Would you try and convince me you loved me, so I’d keep Cleves Court open?”

  Thea’s face went pale. “I—how can you ask me that?”

  “That’s not an answer, sweetheart.” He lingered on the last word, twisting it into something ugly. “It’s a simple question. Tell me, Thea. How far would you go to save this house?”

  For a long time she didn’t answer. She looked down at her hands, clenched into fists in front of her, but at last she whispered. “It’s not about the house anymore, Ethan. It never was, really. You’re asking the wrong question.”

  “Oh? Enlighten me then, won’t you? What’s the right question?”

  She drew in a deep breath, and when she raised her eyes to meet his, her gaze never wavered. “You should ask me how far I’d go to save you.”

  “Me?” His laugh was bitter. “The best thing for me would be to leave this house forever, and never look back. I’d only ever keep it open for you, and you knew that all along, didn’t you?”

  “No. You can’t lock your memories away, Ethan.” She came around the desk, knelt at his feet, and took his hands in hers. “Don’t you see? You can close Cleves Court, and leave Cornwall forever, but you’ll take all this hurt with you. You can’t outrun your ghosts.”

  He jerked his hands away. “I’ve done a bloody good job of it so far. London’s a long way from Cornwall, love.”

  “It’s not far enough. No place is. You think you can run from your past, or lock it away by locking the doors of Cleves Court, but there’s only one way to make your peace with such intense grief, and that’s to go through it. Your father knew it. By the time he faced the truth, it was too late for him, but—”

  “My father? Don’t talk to me about my father. He was a bloody coward.”

  She didn’t argue with him. It was the truth, and Thea knew it as well as he did. As long as all was well and the sun was shining, John Fortescue was a loving father and a devoted husband. He’d been so proud of his sons, especially Andrew, his treasured heir, but as soon as Andrew’s fits started, his father had fled to London, leaving his family alone and broken behind him.

  “But you’re not a coward, Ethan, and it’s not too late for you.”

  Ethan looked down into her face, into that beautiful face that would forever haunt his dreams, and God, he wanted so badly to listen to her, to believe everything she’d done was for him, but how could he? She loved this house. It was part of her, and he . . .

  He was nothing but the man who’d walked away from her all those years ago, who’d left her here alone to struggle with unspeakable grief.

  “I’m just like him, Thea. I’m a coward, too.”

  “No, you’re not, and for all his faults, your father knew it.” Her green eyes pleaded with him. “You’re the reason he never closed Cleves Court, Ethan.”

  For a moment he simply stared at her, not sure what she meant, but then his throat tightened as suspicion began to claw to the surface. He gripped Thea hard by the shoulders. “He never closed the house because of me? How . . . how do you know that?”

  “I should have told you before now.” She drew in a shaky breath and let her forehead fall against his knee. “After Andrew . . . after we buried him, your father didn’t go back to London. You left, but he stayed at Cleves Court.”

  “How long?” He tore the words from his throat. “How long did he stay here?”

  “A few months. He hoped if he stayed here he’d find a way to accept it, to forgive himself, but in the end he knew it was too late for him, and he returned to London.” She lifted her head to look into his face. “But he never gave up on you, Ethan. He hoped someday you’d realize you couldn’t run, and you’d come back home. He asked me to stay here, and he made me promise . . .”

  Ethan didn’t want to hear anymore, but he had to know all of it—every last secret. “What? He made you promise what?”

  “To help you.” She looked up at him, her dark lashes wet with tears. “He knew you’d come here to close the house after he died, and he made me promise, when that day came, that I’d do whatever I could to help you find peace.”

  For a moment Ethan couldn’t speak, but then he jerked away from her and shot to his feet. “So these few weeks—they were all about fulfilling a promise to my father? Did you promise him you’d let me between your legs, too? Was that part of your agreement?”

  Thea staggered to her feet, but she was shaking. “Don’t do this, Ethan.”

  God, he didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to hurt her or himself this way, but Cleves Court, and Thea, and now his father—they were all tangled in his head, and he didn’t know how to tear them free from each other. He’d been a fool to believe he ever could.

  He couldn’t stay here.

  “I’m leaving for London tomorrow.” His voice was hoarse, his throat scraped raw. “Alone. I’ll write out instructions for closing the house and leave them with you. I expect you to carry them out. Dismiss all the servants when it’s done.”

  “Ethan, please listen to me—”

  “No.” He shook his head, but he didn’t look at her—couldn’t look at her, because the stark despair on her face was breaking his heart. “This is over. I’m leaving Cleves Court, and this time, I’m never coming back. Do you know why I’m so sure of that, Thea?”

  She didn’t answer, and he turned to face her.

  “There won’t be anything left to come back to.”

  Chapter Eleven

  January 4, 2:00 a.m.

  She should go to bed.

  Thea sat on a stool and stared down at the spotless surface of her kitchen workbench. She’d scrubbed it earlier, but when she was finished the silence of the house pressed in on her, so she’d scrubbed the dining table, as well, and then the floors, and the hearth . . .

  Every inch of the kitchen was gleaming now, but it still wasn�
�t enough, because once she stopped and silence descended again, all she’d be able to think about was Ethan, alone in his study, the guilt and pain eating away at him while he tried to drown his memories in glass after glass of whiskey.

  She should have told him sooner, about the promise she’d made his father, but over and over again she’d convinced herself he wasn’t ready to hear it.

  Her mistake was in thinking he’d ever be ready.

  She’d always been afraid her love wouldn’t be enough for him to overcome such terrible pain, and now she knew it wasn’t.

  She wanted to rail at him—beat her fists against his chest and scream at him so he could see how much he was hurting them both, but . . .

  I’m leaving for London tomorrow. Alone.

  His face, when he’d said it. His eyes . . .

  They’d been empty. Blank. It was too late. Before she’d even walked into the study tonight, it was already too late, and now there was nothing left for her to do but mount the stairs, go to her bedchamber and lose herself in sleep.

  For a little while, at least, she could forget this night had ever happened.

  But oblivion came with a price. The more time she lost in unconsciousness, the sooner tomorrow would come, and it was true, after all, what she’d told Ethan. You couldn’t run from your pain, no matter how much you might want to. He was leaving, and she couldn’t think of anything more she could do or say to stop it.

  That would still be true tomorrow.

  But she could do one thing for him, insignificant as it was.

  It didn’t matter that Christmas had passed, because the gift she wanted to give him wasn’t a Christmas gift. It was more than that. To her, it was more, and she hoped it would be more to Ethan, too. She couldn’t make him stay at Cleves Court, but she could make sure he took a tiny piece of it with him. If he was ever ready to face his ghosts, maybe it would help him to have it. Years from now, when he looked at her gift, maybe he’d understand she’d loved him, and he’d know that before he’d even left her behind, she’d forgiven him for doing it.

  She fetched a bit of the paper she kept in the kitchen for writing recipes and brought it back to her work table, along with a pen and some ink.

  A brief letter would do. There wasn’t much to say, after all.

  But brief as it was, she sat there for a long time, trying to think of the best way to put her love for him into words.

  In the end, she didn’t say much at all, but it was enough.

  Dear Ethan,

  Andrew found this a month after you left for Eton. It was half-buried in the dirt on the west lawn, where we used to have picnics with your mother. Do you remember those picnics? He gave it to me, but I’ve always thought of it as yours, and from the first I intended for you to have it. I should have sent it to you years ago, but I knew you’d come back to Cleves Court someday, and I wanted to give it to you myself, so I could see your face when you held it. It was selfish of me, I suppose. Forgive me. Your mother’s dearest wish for you was that you’d be happy, Ethan. I hope when you look at this you’ll think of her, and of me, and remember it was always my dearest wish for you, too. Merry Christmas.

  Love, Thea

  She reached behind her, unclasped the crucifix from around her neck, and held it up to watch the weak firelight play over the gold chain dangling from her fingers.

  Ethan’s mother’s crucifix.

  Thea couldn’t remember ever seeing Lady Isabel without it. She’d worn it every day, until one day it had slipped from her neck, and she hadn’t realized it was gone. They’d turned the house upside down searching for it, but they’d never found it, and Lady Isabel had been inconsolable at its loss.

  Thea closed her fist around the delicate necklace, her throat so tight she couldn’t breathe. She’d worn it every day, too, just as Lady Isabel had, tucked carefully into her shift to keep it safe, and she knew her hand would seek it out long after it was gone. She’d miss it dreadfully, but after a long moment she tore a bit of paper from the bottom of the letter and wrapped the crucifix in it.

  She’d loved his mother with the fierce devotion a child who’s never known a mother of her own. To have the crucifix Lady Isabel had loved so much meant the world to her.

  There was only one thing that meant more.

  Ethan.

  She read her letter to him one last time, tears blurring her eyes. There was so much more to say, but she didn’t know how to say it. She’d have to let her gift to him say it for her, and hope he’d understand she wasn’t just giving him a necklace. She was giving him a piece of herself.

  She rose from her worktable, the letter and package clutched in her hand, and made her way to Ethan’s study, intending to leave it on his desk, but once she reached the door, she hesitated. It was closed, but a faint light was visible underneath.

  It was so late. Surely he’d gone up to his bedchamber by now?

  But what if he hadn’t? What if he was there when she opened the door, and demanded to know why she’d disturbed him?

  She slipped the letter and package into her pocket and crept back toward the entryway.

  You’re the coward, not Ethan.

  Perhaps she was, but if he opened her gift and his eyes remained cold, she didn’t want to see it. It cost her a great deal to part with the crucifix, but it might not mean to Ethan what it did to her. He might dismiss it and her letter without another thought, and if he did, she couldn’t bear to know about it. As much as she wanted to give her gift to him in person, her heart wouldn’t survive another blow.

  She’d find a way to give it to him, but not tonight. Tomorrow, when she wasn’t so unutterably weary she could hardly find the strength to climb the stairs.

  Thea was thinking of Ethan when she neared the top floor landing, so much so she imagined she could hear him, his voice echoing in the silence between each of her heartbeats.

  But then this house had always been thick with ghosts.

  And now Ethan’s mine.

  Her name—he said her name, but there was such anguish in that one word, she couldn’t understand how her heart could still be beating at all.

  She was still thinking of him when her foot caught in the hem of her gown and she lost her balance, and it was his name that rose to her lips when she toppled backwards. She didn’t have time to scream it, or say it, or even to whisper it before she fell.

  She only had time to think it, and then darkness took her, and she didn’t think at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  January 5, 12:30 p.m.

  Twelfth Night

  “Why hasn’t she woken up?” Ethan sat next to Thea’s bed, her hand in his, his heart filled with dread and hope as he watched her eyes flutter under her pale lids. “Her eyes are moving. Why doesn’t she open them?”

  Please, Thea. Open your eyes.

  “As I told you before, Lord Devon, head wounds are complicated. I see no reason to believe Miss Sheridan’s injury is severe. If you hadn’t broken her fall, well . . . it could have been much, much worse. It’s a good sign her eyes are moving, but beyond that, we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “She was murmuring earlier.”

  His name.

  It was soft, the word indistinct, but she’d said his name. “I thought for certain she’d wake up then, but she hasn’t said anything since.”

  “It’s another good sign she’s speaking. I’m hopeful she’ll make a full recovery, but she needs rest.” The doctor laid a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “You should rest yourself, my lord. You haven’t left her bedside since her fall. You’ll be no use to Miss Sheridan if you make yourself ill.”

  Ethan didn’t move. “No. I won’t leave her.”

  The doctor sighed. “Very well. I’ll come back this evening, but send for me at once if there’s any change.”

  Ethan nodded, but he didn’t
answer, and he didn’t turn when he heard the door close quietly behind the doctor.

  This wasn’t happening. Not again. Not to Thea.

  You should ask me how far I’d go to save you, Ethan.

  As soon as she’d left the study last night, he’d known he’d made a mistake. Thea was honest down to the very depths of her heart, and he knew her too well to believe she could pretend a love she didn’t feel. She’d taken him into her bed because she loved him, and whatever promise she’d made to his father, she’d made for the same reason.

  Because she loved him. And he . . .

  There’d never been anyone for him but her. Nothing else mattered. Only her.

  He should have begged her to forgive him at once, and told her he’d never leave her, but he’d let the same fears that had controlled him for too long overrule his heart, and now he may never have the chance to tell her again how much he loved her.

  When at last he’d stumbled from his study into the dim entryway last night, he’d seen Thea at the top of the stairs, near the first floor landing. He’d called out to her, but she hadn’t seemed to hear him. Her shoulders had been hunched into her chest, her feet heavy on each stair, and then . . .

  Even now he didn’t understand how he’d known—why he’d shot up the stairs after her, his heart in his throat, and every hair on his neck raised in sudden panic. Had she made a noise before she fell? Had he heard it, or had he just sensed, somehow, that something was about to go terribly wrong?

  It had happened so quickly, and yet at the same time he’d felt as if he were moving underwater, battling against a sucking current determined to drag him back, to hold him down as he fought to reach her in time.

  Five steps. Perhaps six, but no more. That was as far as he’d gotten before she lost her footing and began to plummet to the hard marble floor below. He’d known at once he’d be too late to stop it. He’d only had time to throw himself in her way, and pray his body would break her fall. The impact had knocked him backward those few steps, but Thea had fallen the entire way, down all those stairs . . .