by Sara Ramsey
“Doesn’t Thorington look happy?” Portia gushed.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Serena said. “Of all our brothers, I never would have guessed Thorington would be the one to marry for love.”
Rafe wanted to strangle both of them. They’d been going on for days about how happy Thorington was.
And when they weren’t talking about Thorington, they were giving him the latest count of how many proposals Octavia had received.
The number was beyond twenty at this point. If there had been any in the hour or two before the wedding, he hadn’t heard. So far, she hadn’t accepted any of them.
“Are you ready to go to Brighton in the morning and find love for yourselves?” he asked.
“You can’t really mean to give up, can you?” Serena asked.
“Give up on what?” Rafe said. “Thorington achieved his goal. And you’ve already said you’ve no interest in the men here. There’s no reason for any of us to stay in Devonshire.”
“Don’t you have a reason to stay?” Portia asked.
“No. I didn’t come here looking for a house or a love match. I would have left a month ago if I’d thought the lot of you could survive without me.”
His sisters looked at him sympathetically. “Did Octavia turn you down?” Serena asked gently.
“She’s turned everyone down,” Portia said, as though he should be consoled by that. “What if it’s a test, and she’ll accept the man who asks more than once?”
“That must be it,” Serena said, warming to the idea immediately. “She obviously loves you. You obviously love her. It must be a test.”
Apparently his love was obvious to everyone but him. He drained his champagne and wished that it was whisky.
“Go to her,” Portia urged. “It’s not too late.”
He couldn’t go to her. For one, he hadn’t seen her anywhere in the last two hours. She’d disappeared with Lucy almost immediately after the wedding. As far as he’d observed, she hadn’t come back.
Not that he should be keeping track of her whereabouts, since they would never speak again.
But that phrase felt bleak and awful. It was safe to say it. Knowing that they would never speak had a finality about it, a kind of negative security.
He wouldn’t have to worry about losing her if he was already sure he could never have her. And she could have the life she was meant to have, in the house she was meant to inherit, if she stayed away from him.
But he’d grown certain, as he had stood in the chapel earlier, that he’d made a mistake.
He’d attributed it to desire at first. He had watched Octavia before the ceremony, and she had looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her. It wasn’t her dress or her jewels that made her beautiful, although those were impressive. It was the complete clarity in her eyes. It was the confidence with which she carried herself. She practically radiated strength and joy, even with the pensive looks she occasionally threw his way.
She looked like a princess from a fairy tale. But she didn’t need anyone, including him, to save her.
And then he had watched Thorington marry Callista. Thorington remembered their parents’ example as clearly as Rafe did. Thorington had spent most of his life, from childhood onward, caring for their siblings. He’d already had a terrible marriage, one that he had been forced into a decade earlier. No one had thought Thorington would remarry.
Yet Thorington, who had never expressed any interest in love, was completely, irrevocably in love with Callista. And she was daring enough to give her heart to Thorington, one of the most powerful, autocratic men in England.
Was Thorington really braver than Rafe was?
It couldn’t be borne.
He left Serena and Portia without making his excuses. The last he’d seen of Octavia, she had walked into the gardens — he would start searching there. He had no idea what he would say when he found her — but he didn’t want to end things like this.
It wasn’t safe, and it wasn’t easy, and it would destroy him completely if their love ended badly someday. But he’d realized, finally, that he didn’t want the security of “never” — not when it might cost him all the futures he might have with Octavia.
But on the terrace, Ferguson found him instead.
“Just the man I was looking for,” Ferguson said, clapping him on the back.
“If you’ve come to make idle threats, I’m not interested in hearing them,” Rafe said.
“Idle threats?” Ferguson looked offended. “My threats are never idle. But that’s neither here nor there. Can you tell me why my cousin has gone completely mad?”
“Which cousin?”
“Octavia, obviously.”
Rafe didn’t know whether Ferguson was baiting him or if something else was afoot. But he didn’t sense a trap. There was no antagonism in Ferguson’s voice — instead, he sounded entirely amused. Almost sympathetic.
“I haven’t spoken to her,” Rafe said. “Care to tell me what happened rather than making me guess? It would save time.”
Ferguson made a show of looking at his watch. “Yes, time is rather of the essence. She’s well on the way to Exeter by now.”
Exeter. His stomach twisted. There was only one reason he could think of that she would go to Exeter. She could get a marriage license from the bishop of Exeter and only have to wait seven days to wed, not three weeks.
“Whose proposal did she accept?” Rafe asked.
Ferguson laughed. “I said she went mad, not that she had decided to marry. And anyway, if she does marry, it won’t matter to me. She forfeited her right to the inheritance.”
“She did what?”
“She forfeited. Must be the first Briarley in history to forfeit something. She said she needed to find happiness elsewhere rather than marry for this bloody house, as she put it. And she said she wanted Lucretia to have it. Not that I’m necessarily of a mind to give it to Lucretia, although I didn’t tell Octavia that. She didn’t act like she wanted me to talk her out of anything.”
She’d forfeited Maidenstone. After all the time she’d spent nursing a grudge against Lucretia, and all the knowledge that her only way back into society was to behave herself and win the house.
Ferguson was right. She’d gone mad.
“I’ll find her and bring her back,” Rafe said. “She must have taken a carriage — I can catch her on horseback.”
“She took my carriage, as it turns out. I think she’s on the way to London, but I’m sure they’ll rest in Exeter tonight. I told my coachman to expect you to overtake them. He’s wearing blue livery and my horses are bays, if that helps.”
Rafe was already making mental preparations, but he paused. This still didn’t feel like a trap — but Ferguson’s attitude had shifted dramatically since their last interaction. “Dare I ask why you’re helping me?”
“As always, I’m not helping you. I’m helping her. If Octavia wants to forfeit Maidenstone and society and everything else, that’s her choice. But I’d like to know that she’ll be safe. And I would wager that any man who loves her would want the same.”
Ferguson gave him a meaningful look.
Could everyone see how much Rafe loved her?
“I’ll thank you for your meddling this time,” Rafe said. “But don’t grow accustomed to my gratitude.”
Ferguson sighed mournfully. “No one is ever grateful. I’ll take whatever meager thanks you’ll give me.”
Rafe gave him a mocking salute. He managed a sedate walk through the house, relying on training and instinct to maintain appearances when all he wanted to do was run for the stables. He stopped briefly in his room to change into his riding gear and fill a saddlebag with a pistol and a change of clothes — five minutes either way wasn’t going to change whether he caught her before Exeter, given the distance. He’d gone on enough unexpected missions to know that a few moments of preparation was worth the time spent.
And then he walked to the stables, catching a footman on the
way and ordering him to tell Serena and Portia that Rafe had been called away. He should have told them himself, but he didn’t want to answer their questions.
Octavia was all that mattered. Rafe didn’t know why she’d given up Maidenstone, or why she’d left, or where she was going.
But he loved her. He loved her, and he still couldn’t bear the thought of a future in which he lost her — but it was harder to bear the thought of never having her at all.
He would take every moment he could get with that brave, beautiful woman. All he had to do was convince her to give him another chance — and hope that she hadn’t given up on him yet.
* * *
The road to Exeter was familiar to her. Octavia had traveled it with both her grandfather and with Somerville. But no coachman had ever driven her as slowly as this one.
“Shall I offer the driver some encouragement, miss?” Agnes asked.
Octavia laughed. She hadn’t known whether Agnes would want to come with her on this next adventure. Octavia had no idea what life she wanted to pursue, but she intended to start in London. Ferguson had agreed to give her the dowry she should have received through marriage, in exchange for relinquishing her claim to Maidenstone. And Lucy would let her stay at Briarley House until Octavia decided where to go next. Now that Octavia had given up on reentering society, and now that she didn’t need to take the first protector who offered to pay her way, London would be a good place to start rebuilding her life.
It was more than a little mad to run away from Maidenstone. But Octavia knew, beyond any doubt, that she didn’t want to marry merely for the sake of her reputation.
It was sinful to even consider any option other than marriage. And it would justify all the gossip about her. Everyone would know that she was a reckless, wild wanton who didn’t deserve to be part of polite society.
But she would have far more fun as Madame Octavia than she would ever have if she married a man who thought she was beneath him.
She didn’t have to go into her next adventure alone. Agnes had said she was happy to leave Maidenstone again. She liked Octavia’s ramshackle ways. And there weren’t many ladies who would have allowed their maid to make a joke about seducing the coachman.
“If he is as slow with everything as he is with driving, you might not want to make the effort,” Octavia said drily.
Agnes grinned. But she didn’t continue — there was a certain amount of camaraderie between them, but Agnes still knew her place.
That was the only problem with Octavia’s new plan, or lack of plan. Now that she’d had the experience of a partnership with Rafe and made up with Lucy, it was hard to picture going back to that vague loneliness she’d had in London. She was always busy there, but rarely satisfied.
She just had to trust that she could make more friends. Real friends.
Friends who weren’t like Rafe, and could accept her love without fleeing from it.
The carriage slowed again, then came to a complete stop.
She pounded on the roof. The carriage rocked as the coachman jumped down from his seat. He opened the door a moment later.
“Should I walk to Exeter?” Octavia asked sarcastically. “I might make better time.”
The driver doffed his hat. “Begging your pardon, miss, but there’s a highwayman here for you.”
A highwayman in broad daylight on the Exeter road would have to be desperate. She was instantly alert, which was more useful than dissolving into tears. “Stay here,” she ordered Agnes quietly.
Her jewels were in a case under the seat. Her pistol, the one with the mother-of-pearl grip that her grandfather had given her, was in one of her hatboxes on the roof of the carriage. She regretted that Agnes had packed it before Octavia had thought to put it in her reticule. She wondered whether she could bluff her way into getting it, or whether the driver might finally demonstrate some usefulness by displaying a weapon.
She took the driver’s hand, letting him assist her to the ground, and steeled herself.
But the man on horseback was no highwayman.
“Rafe,” she said, startled.
He slid off his horse and tossed the reins to the driver. “Octavia.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. She took in every detail — the riding breeches and boots, and the saddlebag tossed over his horse. He looked prepared to spend the night away from Maidenstone if he had to.
And the determined, desperate look in his eyes would have made most people believe he was a highwayman in truth.
He took off his hat. His hair was ruffled. The hand he shoved through it didn’t help. “Will you take a walk with me?” he asked.
She crossed her arms. “I’d rather reach Exeter before dark.”
He glanced at the driver, who stared at them both with slack-jawed interest. Agnes was probably listening too, although she’d be more circumspect about it. “I’d rather not grovel in front of the peasants, your majesty,” he said.
She barely stopped herself from grinning. Hope flared, but she had to remind herself to stay firm.
One joke was not enough to prove that he was ready for her, or for the love they could have.
But she offered him her hand and let him escort her a few hundred feet down the road. They were in the middle of Devonshire’s rolling hills, not yet over the River Dart, which spilled out from the wilds of Dartmoor on its way to Dartmouth and the sea. The fields surrounding them offered complete solitude — no one would interrupt what might be their last meeting.
She didn’t want it to be their last. But could she dare to risk anything with him again?
She halted before he did. “The driver can’t possibly hear us, and he drives so slowly that we could outrun him if he tries to catch us. What do you want, Rafe?”
“Ferguson told me that you forfeited Maidenstone.”
“I did.”
He frowned. “What are you going to do now? You can’t go back into society if you run away like this.”
“If the price of going back into society is marrying any of the men who proposed to me this week, I’d rather see society go hang,” she said tartly.
Rafe laughed. “There are other men, Octavia. Men who would love you, if you would consider giving them the chance.”
That was the kind of statement she could read everything into — that, and the way his eyes had softened, and the way he looked at her mouth as though he wanted desperately to kiss it but needed to wait for her answer.
“If a man wanted a chance, he would have to ask for it,” she said.
She got the tone all wrong — there was too much tension, and not nearly enough flirtation. But Rafe didn’t seem to mind. There was no flirtation in his gaze anyway — it was all too intense for that.
“I was a fool, Octavia,” he said, his voice low and threaded through with regret. “Such a fool to think that I could let you go when you already had my heart in your hand.”
Was this how it felt in battle, right before victory was achieved? The feeling of hovering on the verge of complete success — but knowing that a single misfired cannon or fallen commander could still change the tide and ruin everything?
She had to hold the line. “What are you trying to say?”
“I don’t know. I thought about it all the way from Maidenstone. And for days before that, not that I could admit it.”
He paused.
“You can say anything,” she said. “Even if you don’t think I want to hear it.”
“I watched you in the chapel today,” he said. “You probably already knew that. You were beautiful, but you probably already knew that too. But it wasn’t your dress, or the way you’d arranged your hair. It was the way you held yourself, Octavia. You sat there like you could have been a queen. Like you didn’t need anyone or anything to take care of you. Like you were destined for something greater than all of us and you were merely passing time at Maidenstone.”
There was wonder in his voice. Other men — the men who had proposed mar
riage to her that week — would have wanted her to be Miss Briarley or Madame Octavia. They wanted her to be something they could understand. If they could understand her, they could manage her.
But the woman Rafe saw — the woman he described as though he’d worshipped her — was something else entirely.
That woman was who Octavia wanted to be.
And Rafe was the only man who saw her.
Her breath caught in her throat. But Rafe kept talking before she could respond. “I love that about you, Octavia. I love that you’re strong. I love that you’re brave — braver than I’ve been. You gave me your heart, without any hope that I could ever return it. And I, fool that I was, couldn’t see the gift you’d given me because I was too afraid of the price.”
He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his watch. He didn’t check the time, though — he left it closed, pressing it into her palm and closing her fingers around it. He held her closed hand within his, as though giving her a blessing — or begging for one.
“I don’t have a ring for you yet. But my mother gave my father this watch on their wedding day. I’ve lived my whole life trying not to repeat their mistakes. And I can’t see the future, and I don’t know whether we’ll be perfect, and I can’t guarantee that we’ll have a fairy tale instead of a failure. But I love you, Octavia. I love you more than anything, beyond anything I could have imagined. I can’t control how my heart speeds up when I see you. I can’t control how it breaks when I think about losing you. But I know I’ll regret it forever if I don’t give my heart to you. I’ll regret it forever if I don’t cherish your heart as it’s meant to be cherished. And I’ll regret it forever if I’ve lost my chance to give you everything you deserve.”
His hands were warm over hers. His words felt like a benediction. There was redemption there, hovering between them, if they were both brave enough to accept it.
“Are you asking me to marry you?” she asked.
He laughed, and the sweetness of it made her want to cry. “Of all the words I practiced, I forgot those.”
He dropped to one knee in the middle of the road, his hands still cradling hers. “Will you marry me, Octavia Briarley? Will you give me the chance to love you, and to hold you, and to share your destiny? Whatever life you want, I want to be the man who’s by your side.”