“Uncle William?”
“He was named before he came to me,” he offered.
Leo stared blankly at the dog. “They die, you know. Best not get yourself attached. Especially to an old one like this fellow.” With that, his godson stood and backed away from Bear.
The last dog he’d had the boy’s devil father had wrapped in a sack and tossed out into a lake on one of his many properties. William had beat the marquess senseless for the cruelty to the dog… and child.
The heart that Elsie had put back together splintered all over again under this display of cynicism from a child who’d been almost like his own. And I failed him. I failed him. I failed him.
The same guilt that had controlled him this past year reared its head once more, and he fought back the overwhelming sense of failure that gripped him.
Elsie’s singsong voice drowned out the litany in his mind.
What happened to your wife, the fault does not lie with you. It lies with soulless men who carry out that evil. Your guilt… nearly destroyed you, and it will once more, if you let it.
William drew in a steadying breath. I am here now. He urged Leo to the leather sofa at the center of the room. “You’ve no books tucked under your arms,” he noted once they’d sat. “Or in your ha…” As one, their gazes went to Leo’s fingers. Oh, God. It was a prayer and an entreaty. “Hands,” he forced himself to finish as rage spiraled through him. Vivid purple and blue bruises stood out upon the boy’s pale skin.
Belatedly hiding his hands behind his back, Leo stared intently at the floor. His bent head and hunched shoulders, along with the fingerprint bruises, marked the child as one who still bore the abuse of his hateful father, the Marquess of Tennyson.
“He did not heed my warning,” William murmured in quiet tones he used for the most skittish of men and women he interacted with through the Brethren.
Leo lifted his spindly shoulders in a little shrug. “He did… for a while.” Until William had disappeared. His godson shot his head up. “It is not your fault. No matter what you’d have told him, it would not matter.”
He seeks to reassure me. The boy was remarkable, and he’d deserved more in a father, and in an uncle.
“Not really,” Leo went on. “It never did. Just for a bit, but he never stopped. Not truly.” Despair clouded the boy’s eyes. “And he never will. So… yes… that is the way it is, and I’d really rather we not speak any further on it.”
They would. In time. But William wouldn’t spend their reunion forcing his godson to relive all the horrors he’d endured. “I have something for you.”
Leo sat up a little straighter. “Oh?” For, despite the horror that was his life, he was still a boy.
Reaching for the small leather volume on the rose-inlaid side table, William handed it over to the child.
“The Poetical Works of the Late Mrs. Mary Robinson,” Leo murmured, turning the pale green leather tome over in his hands.
“It contains pieces that have never been published before.”
Leo glanced up. “Have you read it?”
“I have.” Bear trotted over and rested his giant head alongside William’s thigh. He absently patted the dog. “I believe it bears the knowledge base of civilization as we know it.”
“My father says women are empty-headed twaddles who should open their legs and not their mouths.”
Hatred descended like a black curtain over William’s vision, and he forced himself to speak calmly. “I know a good many women who are cleverer and more skilled than most men.”
Leo puzzled his brow. “Indeed?”
“Your mother was one of them.” His heart spasmed with that loss.
“Hmph,” Leo said noncommittally.
“She could speak Latin and French faster than even her tutors and would debate them with such skill they often fled their placement.”
A rare smile ghosted his nephew’s lips. “You’re just partial because she was my mother.”
“Perhaps a bit,” William conceded. “But she was clever.”
“Was Aunt Adeline?”
Leo’s question gave him pause. She’d been gentle and polite and proper and skilled at ladylike pursuits. But she’d despised reading and scholarly topics. “There are different kinds of knowledge,” he settled for. “Your late aunt had different skills.”
“You know one scholarly woman, then. My mother.” His godson gave him a pointed look. “Who was also your sister.”
The boy had a tenacity with debating suited for a barrister. William dropped his hands atop his knees. “Do you know why I’ve not”—he grimaced—“left the house in a year?”
“Because you were hurt in the carriage accident?”
He nodded. “Because I was hurt here.” He touched his jawbone. “And here.” William pressed his fingertips against his heart. “My soul was hurt, and I was lost. Your uncle Edward, he did not accept that as my fate. He brought doctor after doctor. Some of the most skilled men and minds in London. And do you know who healed me?”
Wide-eyed, Leo shook his head.
“A young woman,” William said, his voice hoarse. “A woman who possesses more skills than could ever be taught in a classroom, but who also has an understanding of ancient texts, and she is more remarkable than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“You love her,” Leo said with a dawning understanding.
Of course, even a child should see.
“It is hard not to admire such a woman.” Nay, I do not just admire Elsie Allenby. I love her.
“She’s the woman you sent away?”
William opened and closed his mouth several times. “How…?”
“I hear more than people credit,” Leo said dryly. “Uncle Edward was speaking briefly to Stone about it when I arrived.”
God, with Leo’s wit and skill, the Brethren would one day likely call him a member of their ranks.
His nephew persisted. “If you love her, why isn’t she here?”
William shifted awkwardly on his seat. In sharing what he had with the boy, he’d not intended for this to be the direction of the conversation. “Life is complicated.”
“You worry she’ll die like Aunt Adeline?” the child correctly surmised.
William rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Yes. There is that.”
His nephew scoffed. “Fear seems like a silly reason to send away the person you love. I’d never do that.”
The air left him on a whoosh. The boy was… correct. He had sent Elsie away in fear, with her safety and well-being the motives for doing so. He’d never allowed her a choice. Just as he’d not shared with Adeline the threat that marriage to him represented. In the end, he’d chosen… for both of them. Reeling, he squeezed his nephew’s shoulder. “You’re right.”
Leo smirked. “Of course I am.”
There was a quick rap at the door.
Edward ducked his head in. “The marquess wanted him returned by the top of the hour.”
His fingers curled around the boy’s shoulder in a light squeeze. Bloody controlling bastard.
Leo’s expression fell, but then he quickly composed himself in a way that no child ought and stood.
William came to his feet beside him. “Just a moment more,” he commanded, waiting until Edward backed out of the room. “Leopold?” he urged in grave tones.
“What?” the boy mumbled, avoiding William’s eyes.
“Look at me.” He waited until his sister’s child slowly lifted his gaze. “I’m going to do better to be the uncle you deserve. I won’t leave you again. From now on, I’ll always be there. Do you hear me?” Leaving a person… did not sever the bond or eliminate the danger or peril presented by life. It only left a different kind of hole in one’s heart.
“Yes,” Leo said, his voice threadbare. He started for the door with long, loping strides and paused in the doorway. “You’re going to her, aren’t you?”
For the first time in the whole of a year, the chains of guilt he’d donned were finally cu
t free.
William smiled. “I am.”
Chapter 23
Snap.
Elsie’s heart pounded at the unexpected crack of brush. From where she stood at the multipurpose table, she stared through the dusty window that overlooked the gardens and woods beyond. Or… she attempted to. Squinting, Elsie struggled to see clearly through the cracked lead pane.
Remaining absolutely still, she lifted her palm and rubbed the window until she’d cleared a neat circle that afforded her a greater view of the grounds outside.
Elsie did a quick sweep.
A fawn lifted its head from the brush it had been chewing. The magnificent creature’s ears went up as it went motionless. After several long moments, it ambled off.
All the tension lifted from Elsie’s frame, and she sighed. “What in blazes has become of you?” she muttered.
She had lived alone for almost five years.
And yet, it had taken just three, nearly four, weeks for her to forget how very heavy the silence of living without another soul in the world in fact was.
Gathering the baskets set out on the small, scarred wood dining table, Elsie paused to stare at the hooked wool rooster rug her late mother had made by hand. The faded floor cloth had served as Bear’s favorite place, so much that she could still see him there now.
Her dog had been such a part of her life for more than thirteen years, like a friend and sibling, in what had become an increasingly lonely world. Bear, however, was needed elsewhere, by a man who’d not known he needed him, but who’d taken every offering the dog held out.
Only for Elsie to find, even as the void of Bear’s loss hurt like a physical ache, it was the loss of another who’d left her heart forever ravaged.
Unbidden, her gaze went to the small velvet sack Stone had carried into her cottage, along with her belongings, before he’d taken his leave a week earlier. That bag had remained atop her mantel, where it had taken on a life-like force. One she’d resisted. Until now.
Of their own volition, Elsie’s legs carried her across the small quarters of her cottage. Dragging the sack from the mantel, she fiddled with the tie and then reached inside, fishing out—
“Money?” she whispered in disbelief. He’d given her—her eyes widened—a fortune. He’d given her a not-so-small fortune. Resentment stung her throat, making it a struggle to swallow. This was what he’d given her? She cringed. Like a whore. Elsie jammed the monies back inside and froze as her fingers collided with an altogether different texture. A note.
Wetting her lips, she drew it out.
My Dearest, Elsie—
Butterflies fluttered in her chest. Elsie brushed her fingertips along the bold, slashing letters inked there, lingering upon a single mark of punctuation that transformed William’s greeting. The letter went on without introduction.
You’re insulted by the contents of this package.
For the first time since she’d taken her leave of London… of him, a smile played on her lips. How very well he knew her.
The money isn’t any form of… payment, but rather, a deserved gift so you can begin again. Not in some forgotten corner of Bladon, a stranger to the world, but as a woman whose works should be known and celebrated by people appreciative of you. There are funds enough to set you up in whatever new life you wish for yourself. But please know… when… and whatever you do, I shall remember you… with the greatest fondness and affection.
Ever Yours…
“William,” she whispered. She caught a sob in her fist, crinkling the page.
That was all. A letter that was… everything. His words a testament to her strength and his belief in her and her place in this world.
“And I still want more.” Tears blurred her eyes. “You are a fool,” she whispered into the quiet, just to hear her voice. To hear something in an otherwise silent world, when so very recently there had been laughter and discourse and a reminder of what life truly was—
Elsie jammed the note back into the sack and returned it to the mantel. A single tear trickled down her cheek. “Fool,” she repeated, swatting at it angrily. She hurriedly retrieved her baskets and snapped her fingers twice… before remembering.
There was no loyal dog. Bear was off enjoying the one person’s company Elsie so desperately craved for herself.
With four jerky strides, she let herself out of the cottage. The early afternoon sunlight streamed through the doorway, once invigorating and healing, and she drew the Bladon air into her lungs, letting it fill her, forcing the tension from her shoulders.
Elsie took in the gardens that had begun to reflect their neglect at her absence.
This was to be celebrated, too. She’d never have William or a life with him, or children of her own, but she’d have peace in this lush, green sanctuary in the corner of the world… forgotten by all. She didn’t need more. What he’d spoken of in his missive? Of her beginning again? It was not something she wanted to do. She was perfectly content.
Except, why, as she strode down the moss-covered stones lining the walkway, did it feel like she fed herself a pathetically weak lie? Setting her baskets down, Elsie knelt alongside her herb garden.
Over the next hours, Elsie poured her energies into cutting deadened leaves away from the wild plants and snipping off a collection of the vast array of herbs and spices to be preserved, returning them to the basket.
She worked until she developed an ache in her neck that eventually faded to a distracted throb. The sun climbed higher and higher into the sky. Pausing, Elsie brushed back the perspiration along her brow.
Just then, her nape prickled.
Yanking off her bonnet, she glanced around as something all too familiar to this place traipsed through her—fear. It held her immobilized as the darkest memories that had haunted her for nearly five years paraded through her mind. The rapid, too-loud intake of her own ragged breaths as she’d crashed through the brush. The sick anticipation as her would-be assailants followed in swift pursuit. A little moan spilled from her lips. Do not think of it… Do not think of it…
The memories had come far less and then nearly not at all while she’d been with William.
William.
Elsie clung to his visage in her mind: of William when he’d been teasing, his chiseled features softened, his laughter.
The nightmare of her past snapped.
Breathing deep, she patted her cheeks. “I am safe,” she reminded herself. Picking up her half-filled basket, she carried it on to the next portion of overgrown space and set it down.
Snap.
She whipped around quickly, shooting her arms out to steady herself.
And her heart caught.
Elsie shook her head.
She’d merely conjured him from her own dreams.
His hair drawn back in a neat cue, his black garments immaculate, his Hessian boots shining, William stood before her, too perfect to be real and just five paces away. When he should be in London. She’d left him in London.
“William?” she whispered, afraid to move or breathe or blink.
Doffing his hat, William tapped it against his side and surveyed her gardens. “Do you know nature is surrounded by gifts that have the ability to help us? But we have to be respectful to those gifts, honoring them.” His deep baritone washed over her. “Your gardens are in need of care, Elsie.”
Dumbly, she followed his stare. When she was a girl, she’d journeyed but once from Bladon to London with her papa. While there, he’d taken her to a Drury Lane production, and one of the characters on the stage had needed to be whispered his every line. In this instance, Elsie felt very much like that at-sea actor. “Yes. They are… in need.” Was this real? Were she and William truly conversing… about her gardens?
He took a step forward, and every muscle and nerve in her body thrummed to alertness, but he stopped alongside a yellow flowering plant. With his spare hand, William trailed reverent fingers along one bloom. “It is called arnica. A healer once told me it�
�s been used as far back as the 1500s,” he murmured, echoing the words she’d spoken to him not so long ago.
“Did she?” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
“Oh, yes. A very wise, skilled healer.” William lifted his gaze from the flower to hold Elsie’s eyes. Those deep sapphire pools glinted. “It soothes aches. Reduces swelling. Heals wounds.” He released his gentle grip upon the bud. “They were neglected,” he gently noted.
“Yes. They have been.” What game did he play? “Is this why you’ve come, to speak about my gardens?” she asked, fluttering a hand about her breast.
“No.” He drifted closer, and then stopped as he reached Elsie. The warmth reflected in his eyes robbed her briefly of breath. “I came to tell you that I’m an utter arse.”
Elsie wet her lips. “You came all this way to tell me that?”
“Yes. No.” William dragged a hand through his hair, freeing the strands from the…
She gasped, catching sight of the familiar scrap holding the remaining tresses in place. Her ribbon. Upon her return, she’d searched for the small velvet piece, and all the while, William had retained it. Her heart knocked an unsteady beat against her chest. What did it mean? Any of this?
“I am an arse,” he said, and she jerked her attention back to his words. “I spoke to you about not hiding here in this forgotten corner of England. I encouraged you to begin again and all but called you a coward for not making more of your life.” He lowered his voice, and his next words emerged hoarsely. “And all along, Elsie, I was the coward. I was the one afraid to begin again when I wanted that so desperately.” William closed the handful of steps that still separated them and took her trembling palms into his own. Slowly, he raised first one and then the other to his mouth, bestowing a tender kiss upon each. “When what I so desperately wanted was… you.”
Tears flooded her eyes, distorting his beloved visage. She shook her head.
“Yes.”
Elsie gave her head another shake. It could not be.
“Yes. It is you,” he whispered. “It was always you.” William caressed his palm over her cheek. “From the moment I met you, I was hopelessly and helplessly lost, and sending you away”—the long column of his throat convulsed—“left me broken all over again, Elsie.” He dropped his brow atop hers. “I cannot promise you safety. I cannot promise your life will not be a struggle because of who… of what I was—”
Her Duke of Secrets Page 25