Perhaps she really did have something wrong with her brain.
Chapter 38
The door slammed, shaking the whole cottage. After waiting what he considered to be a decent interval, Jack came out of the lavender-scented linen cupboard and walked downstairs, ducking his head at the turn. The last thing he expected to see was Nicola sitting on his lumpy sofa. Steam rose from two cups of tea in front of her.
She had fixed tea. As if that would help matters.
He attempted to sound disinterested. “You’re still here?”
Of course she was. She would do the proper thing, apologize again for lying, explain that she was going to marry Richard, return to her old life, wish him good luck. It had been an amusing interlude for them both, if a near-death experience could be termed such. Last night was just an aberration, even if it was the best aberration of his life.
Jack had lost. But he knew that anyway.
She opened her mouth, then shut it. How hard could it be for her to say good-bye? She’d played her trick, and it was time to end this charade.
“Do you have something you want to tell me?”
He’d heard quite enough before he’d stuffed himself in the linen closet and plugged his ears with striped tea towels. Her old suitor Richard had come to his senses. Wanted her back. Could offer her a normal life, not one with the highest peaks and lowest valleys.
“Yes. I do. That’s why I came over in the first place. To—to explain. About what happened. And, um, apologize for keeping my secret. And to tell you I finally remember things again.”
Did she remember she was still engaged to Richard?
“What do you mean?”
“It’s about the train accident.”
Oh, hell. That was the very last thing he wanted to think or talk about. Before last night, he’d made some progress after her prodding. All that business about some plan. Maybe he was still here on earth for some all-important reason he wasn’t quite privy to. It didn’t change the fact that Nicola had gotten her revenge and made a fool out of him. Lied to him, even if by omission. As if he wasn’t guilty enough, he’d now ruined one of his victims.
He’d never eat peaches again.
He sat down in a chair opposite her anyway. His legs didn’t feel quite strong enough to support him, and his head was beginning to pound. But he was not going to resort to the draughts that Oakley had prescribed; his dreams after were worse than ever.
Jack examined his fingernails, which could have used a good buffing. He’d go see Mr. Trumper once he went back in Town. Get advice about growing his beard back. Change his cologne. Maybe drink it and end it all.
“Don’t you keep telling me it’s all in the past? That I should just buck up and put it all behind me? If I’d known you’d bully me so, I wouldn’t have looked forward to you talking.” He looked up to see the result of his harsh words.
Nicola flushed. Jack could watch that rose color stain her throat and cheeks all day, but that wasn’t in his future.
“That’s not very nice.”
“I don’t feel very nice. Not after last night. You lied to me. And your…personal business with whatshisname has disturbed my morning.”
“Richard. Richard Crosby. He wants to be prime minister someday, so remember his name. I wouldn’t vote for him, but then women don’t have suffrage. And I didn’t ask him to come here! I had no idea my father sent him—no one wrote to tell me. He’s gone now, anyhow.”
“And you may join him anytime you please. I’ve got a headache.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. Do you want Mrs. Feather to fetch you some medicine if—when she comes back?”
“No,” Jack said curtly. “I’m used to your lectures by now. Say your piece if you must, and then go.”
She clutched her hands together. “I know you feel betrayed that I didn’t tell you who I was, and you’ve revoked your proposal. But I didn’t know you were, well, you before Christmas Day. We were meant to be anonymous here, and when you told me everything, I couldn’t quite deal with it. Or believe it. It seemed absurd, the two of us in the same place. I—I liked you. I was afraid if you knew I was one of the injured people on the train, you wouldn’t like me in the same way. I wouldn’t be…me to you. Just a victim you needed to take care of.”
“Admit to more than liking, Nicola. You shared my bed. Or rather, I shared yours.”
She looked directly into his eyes. “Yes, I did, and I don’t go doing that with just anyone, as you must know. I was a virgin. I did my best to seduce you, Jack, because you wouldn’t seduce me. If you had known my name, it would have changed everything between us. You would have felt sorry for me. Treated me with kid gloves. Been even guiltier than you are already, and Lord knows, you’re guilty enough.”
Everything she was saying described his feelings perfectly. How damned aggravating for her to be so accurate. “So much so that I seem to remember that I annoy you,” Jack said, trying to distance himself.
“Yes, you do. I’m sick of it. I’ve tried to be understanding. Look—I’ve forgiven you, even though I don’t believe for one minute you were responsible for my accident. I didn’t speak for ten long months. What I went through was no picnic. My parents tried everything and every remedy with no result. It wasn’t until I met you that I felt hope.”
“There’s irony for you.”
He watched one hand become a fist. He could duck if he had to, though his reflexes were not up to par.
“You brought me back, Jack. Your…your attentions. From the moment you kissed me in the churchyard, I started to unravel. And then when you went and banged yourself on the head, I had no choice but to get help for you. To scream. I didn’t even think about it—the noise just flowed. I’m surprised they didn’t hear me in Stroud.”
“You think I cured you?” The idea was preposterous.
She nodded. “Knowing you was the beginning. What if you hadn’t come here? I don’t want to think of more months of silence. I might never have spoken again. My whole life constricted by silence. You cannot know how miserable it made me and everyone around me.”
“I have a fair idea.” He’d only know her a few days before he had come up with his manual alphabet scheme. He’d wanted to reach her in a special way, give her one more tool to communicate.
“The puzzle pieces fell together for me. I haven’t told you, but I’ve had a few bad dreams too. I kept seeing you—or someone I thought was you. You were injured. Just…just lying there. When I found you in the snow, it was as if that dream came to life.
“But I don’t believe in portents or the occult. It wasn’t you in my dreams for all these months after all.”
His curiosity got the better of him. “So, who was it?”
“A man on the train. A nice man, for I’d spoken to him coming back from the dining car. He had a dark beard, like yours. He was next to me on the floor of the carriage after it fell, and he…died. But not at first. He groaned. Tried to speak. Looked at me with such need. There was blood on his face, but then it stopped flowing and I knew.
“I—had to push him away, but he just kept sliding up against me. Again and again until I had no strength left. I crawled into the corner of the car and thought he’d follow me. His eyes were open as if he could see me hiding.” She took a breath. “No one came. Not for hours. I thought I was dreaming, but it was I. I was the one screaming and screaming until I couldn’t catch my breath anymore.”
Jack could see it all too clearly now. Did she think this was helping him? Her nightmare was now his. Could he feel any worse?
Yes. The woman he loved was going to marry someone else.
Chapter 39
“He—you know what happens to people when they die, don’t you?”
Jack’s eyes widened and he nodded.
“For months I couldn’t get the smell out of my nose, but couldn’t remember exactly wh
at it was. I knew it wasn’t truly there all around me, but I could conjure it up just the same. I hate myself for the ungrateful coward I was that day, alive but so useless. Afraid. I couldn’t help that man, no matter how much I shrieked.”
Nicola shuddered, the memory as fresh now as the day it happened. When she had stopped making noise, the man himself had…vanished. So had a part of her.
Jack leaned over and squeezed her hand. “Don’t speak of yourself so. You were—are—brave.”
“Am I? I retreated into my safe little silent world, making all those around me unhappy. I didn’t—couldn’t speak, for that way when no one came to help, it wouldn’t be a disappointment. I hadn’t asked and been denied.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“I don’t think I do either. I’d just…given up, exactly as I accused you of doing. No one came to save me, no matter how much noise I made. No one came to save that poor man. There was no point in talking anymore.” She plucked at her skirt, chosen so carefully today to make one last lasting impression on Jack. “I don’t even know his name.”
“Harry Prentiss. He was a jeweler. His son has taken over the business, and is doing well.”
“I suppose you gave the family a fortune.”
Jack left his chair and went to the window, the weak sunlight limning his profile. “Not enough. How can money replace a life? Do you see, Nicola? Nothing I ever do will be enough.” He traced a frosted pane with a fingertip.
The exasperation rose within her. Did the man not listen? “Maybe it was his time, Jack. Written in some book somewhere: Harry Prentiss dies on the train to Bath, The End. You must stop blaming yourself, or you’ll never get out of Puddling. Get on with your life.”
“I’m not sure I want to now. Look at all that damn snow out there. I might get frostbite. Much better to stay in and have Mrs. Feather poison me. If she ever comes back.” He attempted a joke, but wasn’t smiling.
“Forget the snow. They need your cottage for some other unfortunate soul, and you are malingering. So am I, when it comes to it. I need to find a place to live.”
He turned to her, his expression uncertain. “You’ll not go back to your parents’ house?”
Nicola shook her head. “I can’t. I’m not their dutiful daughter anymore. The thought of running into Richard at every turn is another strike against Bath as well.”
“He wants to marry you. I heard him. Until I put my fingers in my ears.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to marry him. Not if he was the very last man on earth,” she said with vehemence.
A crooked grin appeared. “Good. Then you can marry me. I’ll reinstate my original offer.”
Nicola stared into his eyes. They seemed free of the drugs, but he was still ill. “I can’t marry you, Jack. I’d never know if you offered because you love me, or if you were sorry for me now that you know who I am. And you don’t trust me.”
“I asked you yesterday when I didn’t know,” Jack reminded her. “And I can learn to trust you again.”
She hadn’t said yes when he’d asked, and had been surprised at the piercing sting she felt when he’d withdrawn his offer in his anger last night. She’d manipulated her way right into his arms and had been awfully proud of herself—who knew she had wanted more?
“Who was the one who hit his head on a tree here?” he continued. “Of course, I love you, Nicola! Haven’t I shown you again and again? Right since Christmas, I’ve done everything to convince you my intentions were honorable.
“I proposed last night, I’ve proposed today, and I suppose if I have to I can propose tomorrow until you say yes. Look, remember all those times when you threw yourself at me and I pretended I couldn’t catch you? I didn’t want to saddle you with my problems, but then I saw a ray of light. Of hope. You made me see it, Nicola. All your nagging—the Puddling Rehabilitation Foundation should hire you.
“But then—to find out who you were—that you lied—it seemed pretty impossible. I was furious. With you and with myself. I caused your affliction. Your unhappiness. I can’t cause you more, I swear it. I won’t. I was even resolved to stand aside and let that wretch Richard take you away from here this morning.”
“Never. Ever.”
“That is excellent news. I don’t know why you didn’t say so sooner in this conversation.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
He blinked. “I shall never understand women.”
“For a rake, you are somewhat obtuse, it’s true. It was only through my devious methods that I lost my virginity.” And the peaches.
“Who said I was a rake?”
“Your secretary, Mr. Clarke. When he walked me home, he was most informative.”
“The blighter. I’ll fire him.”
“Oh, don’t do that. He was your champion, admonishing me not to believe the worst of you. He seems to be a capable young man. And you need someone to organize you.”
“A wife could do that.” He slipped ungracefully to one knee and took her hand. “Marry me.”
“This is a really dreadful proposal, Jack. Worse than Richard’s, and on the same rug. One doesn’t want to be asked to organize.”
“There are no flowers available—it’s the dead of winter, you know. Come with me to Ashburn. I have a glasshouse there. I’m sure someone is keeping it stocked with roses or some such.” He was circling her palm again, causing her to shiver.
He was pure temptation. And impossible. “I can’t go to Oxfordshire with you.”
“Why not? It’s only the next county over. Won’t take any time at all, even with bad roads in all this weather. You can examine the house and see if you want to be mistress of it. Be my mistress until you decide.” He sprang up like a child’s spring-toy and sat next to her, practically in her lap.
Nicola knew her face was flaming. Two proposals in one day, three in as many days if you counted yesterday. “Worse and worse! First you ask me to marry you, then instead I’m to be your mistress! Despite the fact I am a fallen woman, I have not fallen so far as to…as to…” Her newly acquired voice failed her.
A woman did not simply visit a gentleman’s house without a chaperone. She saw herself being looked down upon by a wealthy baron’s servants, who would be much more aware of their own consequence than her mother’s small staff.
And a solicitor’s daughter was not really proper baroness material. She reminded herself that she’d come here to explain and say good-bye.
He kissed her knuckles, one after the other, despite her trying to pull her hand away. “Stop being so silly! Of course, I want you to be my wife! Old Fitzmartin can marry us. When Ezra Clarke came, he brought me a special license.”
“He what?”
“Apparently when I was off my head, I asked him to get a special license. And bring the family ring. I didn’t get the chance to give it to you yesterday. We rakes are sure of ourselves, Nicola, even when we have spiked a fever. I won’t take no for an answer. I never take no for an answer. Or at least I didn’t until the train accident. You might say I was derailed myself these past ten months. But I know what I want now. I want you, and I’m pretty sure you want me even if you think you don’t.”
Jack was becoming harder and harder to resist. Nicola was forgetting why she felt she had to.
He had such an overdeveloped conscience, which in some ways was admirable. Look at what he’d done for the victims of the accident—she was set for life financially thanks to him. But did he really love her, or just feel obligated? She might never know for sure.
And there was the additional complication that she had given herself to him. Was he feeling duty-bound to offer her the protection of his name? Even if he had wanted to marry her before, it was different now. He was such a gentleman, after all.
Nicola didn’t feel much like a lady. With him so close, she was swept away b
y the scent of his shaving soap and the starch in his collar. She could count his long eyelashes if she chose. Admire his teeth. Feel his breath against her forehead. Tip her head back so he could steal a kiss.
No, not steal. It would be freely given. Nicola needed someone to talk some sense into her, but Jack was an unlikely candidate.
“Don’t overthink it. That’s what you’ve accused me of doing, isn’t it? Just say yes.”
Was it that simple? Nicola had been an overthinking sort of person her whole life.
“I can’t. We hardly know one another.”
Jack chortled. “I’d say I know you very well. You are kind. And beautiful.”
“Saying I’m beautiful—which I’m not, by the way—isn’t knowing me.”
“All right. You cannot draw. You are willing to give up peaches with abandon, so I suppose you like other fruit better—I’ll find out which ones eventually when I watch you over the breakfast table. You can make raisin sauce. You miss your dog, whose name is Tiptoe. Uh, that’s not right. Tiptop?”
“Tippy.”
“Exactly. You cannot skate. You play the piano like a virtuoso. You have a keen sense of justice and sympathy for those less fortunate. You enjoy reading romantic novels, although you doubted their veracity until you met me.” He leered at her, winking, and she had to laugh.
“We can get to know each other, Nicola. We have our whole lives ahead of us, as you keep telling me. Say yes.”
So she did.
Chapter 40
January 15, 1883
The wedding this morning had been a hasty and quiet affair. Nicola hoped her parents would forgive her someday, but it had seemed best to get it over with and get out of Puddling as soon as possible.
Redeeming Lord Ryder Page 23