by Sara Lindsey
She patted his arm. “I’m going to go inside to see my grandson. Why don’t you take a walk and think on what I said. Perhaps you’ll stop back at the rectory on your way home; it’s past time you made your peace.”
Jason slowly made his way back, contemplating Katherine’s words. If what she said about heroes was true, he knew he could make Livvy happy. There would never be another man who loved her and needed her the way he did.
He stood before his mother’s grave. On some level it was hard to let the anger and resentment go. They had been a part of him for so long, they almost seemed necessary to his wholeness. He wasn’t sure he knew how to exist, how to function properly, without them. But he knew he had to try.
He knelt down to trace the carved letters. Christine Traherne. The name was his mother’s, but the person was a stranger. A stranger who had made foolish choices, but he could see now that they’d had little to do with him. He thought of Edward. Of the joy his son brought him. Of the gift of such unconditional love. His mother hadn’t understood such love, and he pitied her for that.
He rested his forehead against the cool stone.
“Rest in peace, Mother.”
The next good-bye was easier in some respects, harder in others. He stood for a long time, trying to find the right words. He finally settled for what was in his heart.
“I’m sorry, Laura. I’m so, so sorry.” He swallowed hard, forcing himself to bring up an image of her smiling face in his mind’s eye. “I’m sorry I let you down. You should have known you could come to me with any problem. You’ve probably been laughing these past years as you watched over me and Edward. I’ve been an idiot. But you would have been the first one to tell me that, wouldn’t you?”
He felt tears begin to slide down his cheeks and didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“God, I miss you, Laura. I miss you so damned much. I always will. You always knew what I needed before I did, though, didn’t you?”
He pressed his lips to his palm and then placed the kiss over her name.
“I don’t know how you did it,” he whispered, “but thank you for sending Livvy to me. Edward and I will take good care of her.”
Today was her last day to cry, Olivia told herself, staring out her window at the rain that so matched her mood. Tomorrow would mark a month with no word from Jason, and she refused to shed any more tears after that. Tomorrow she would lock up her heart and throw away the key. She would tear up all the drawings she’d made of him.
Tomorrow she would let him go and begin the painful business of moving on with her life.
It wasn’t even as if she could fall back on her plan of a marriage of convenience, where she would satisfy her romantic cravings through her novels. She simply didn’t find the heroes appealing any longer. Even though they were perfect—because they were perfect—none could measure up to Jason.
As she had been unable to find a book she wanted to read, Livvy had begun writing one of her own. She had thrown herself into her work, and what had poured out of her was unlike any book she had read. There were no ghosts or ancient curses or forests full of strange and frightening beasts. It was just the story of an unremarkable girl’s quest to become a heroine.
The real trouble she was having was with the ending. She had lost the heart to write it as it should be written, with a celebration of Grand Passion. She simply could not seem to think of a way past the lovers’ insurmountable obstacles.
She had never before questioned her novels, but had accepted that love was a power strong enough to sweep aside all barriers and clear the way for a happily-ever-after ending. Having experienced love and passion for herself, Olivia had realized that all love did was temporarily blind you to all the obstacles that actually stood in your path, all the little warning signs. Until you came up against one you couldn’t get around.
Her heroine had experienced the joy of finding her hero, and now all Livvy wanted to do was to make them suffer as she was suffering. She had tried to write a happy ending for them, truly she had, but invariably one or both of them (usually the hero) ended up dead. But she couldn’t imagine a happy ending for them any more than she could for herself.
Perhaps Jason had been right when he’d said love was just as destructive as war. She had always imagined romances as ending happily, one of the reasons she’d never understood the appeal of Romeo and Juliet, but now she was forced to admit just how much tragedy was involved. She wasn’t speaking only of herself, though she did feel rather like a tragic heroine, but of all those who had gambled in the game of love and come out on the losing side.
Of course, even if one came out a winner, that was no guarantee of continued happiness. A thousand things could happen to steal that happiness away. Not that she was going to come out a winner. There was not going to be any happy ending for her. Jason wasn’t coming back. She realized that now. All his talk about postponing the wedding until they were both sure it was what they really wanted was just that. Talk.
Aunt Kate had gone to see Jason, and to make certain Edward was all right, but she was back in London now, and Jason had yet to appear. At the thought of Edward, Livvy began to weep. She couldn’t forget the sight of Jason dragging Edward into the carriage while the little boy kicked and fought and screamed for his “Livvy-Mama.” That’s what he had begun calling her. . . .
She pressed the heel of her hand against her chest, trying to soothe the ache that never seemed to go away. Everyone had assured her that she would feel better in time. Everyone except Izzie, that was. Isabella and James had been parted for close to a year, and her sister swore the pain never got any better.
There were times when she longed to be an only child.
She supposed Edward would always be an only child. She’d dreamed of giving him brothers and sisters. Grieving for the children she and Jason would never have, Livvy slid down to the floor and sobbed until she thought her heart would break.
For a moment she thought she heard Jason saying her name, but she told herself that was ridiculous.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She raised her head, blinking against the tears, and found Jason bending over her.
“Are you really here or am I imagining you?” she whispered.
“It’s me, pet.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. For all that she’d dreamed of him showing up at Weston Manor, now that he was here she hadn’t the faintest notion what to do. She scrambled to her feet.
“What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a man visit his betrothed without needing an excuse?”
“I didn’t realize we were still betrothed,” she said stiffly. “I hadn’t heard from you in so long I thought you had changed your mind.”
He shook his head. “No. I wanted to give you time to think, but I realized that was a mistake.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve done a lot of thinking since I left here.”
“About Laura?”
“Yes, partly, but—”
She looked down, afraid he would see the tears still in her eyes. Because she loved him. And he was going to tell her that he still loved Laura.
“Wait. I have something for you.”
She went to her desk and pulled out a slim leather-bound notebook. “I meant you to have this before,” she said as she handed it to him, “but I never managed to give it to you.”
“Laura’s diary?”
“Yes, I can leave you alone if you’d like to read it.”
He walked over to her desk and dropped the diary back into the drawer she had pulled it from.
“You keep it safe. I’m never going to read it.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, those writings were private. I don’t mean to judge you for reading them, but Laura obviously never intended for me to see what she penned.”
He thought a moment.
“There are good times and bad in every marriage,” he explained, “and that diary
was Laura’s place to express what she felt without worrying it would ever be found by anyone else. I failed Laura when I doubted her. I will not betray her memory by prying into her secret confidences.
“But there’s another, more important reason why I’m not going to read Laura’s diary. Now I’ve let go of the ugly suspicions, I can remember the happy times I spent with her. But memories alone are not enough to sustain a man, to fill in the missing pieces of his heart and help him move forward, out of the past and into the future.”
He took her hands.
“Laura is my past. You are my future, Livvy. I don’t need to read Laura’s diary and relive all those old memories because I’m ready to make new memories with you. I love you, Livvy. I realized it when you ran off with Charles, but the feelings were there from the first. I was just too scared and stupid to acknowledge them. I didn’t want to risk having my heart broken again. I know pain and loss are always a risk you take with love, but I don’t know what pain could be worse than living my life without you. Tell me it’s not too late. Say you’ll marry me, Livvy.”
She knew this was the part where she was supposed to fling her arms around him. To tell him she loved him and couldn’t live without him. To kiss him and tell him yes with all her heart.
“I want to, but I can’t.”
He was silent for a long moment.
“Have your feelings for me changed?” he asked.
“No! I love you. But I’m so afraid.”
“Of what?”
“You. Me. Us. Oh, just everything!” She blew out a frustrated breath and swiped at the tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s just—What if we mess this up again?”
“Then we’ll mend it again.”
“But if something has so many problems, so many faults, isn’t that perhaps a sign that it isn’t meant to be? Shouldn’t love be easy?”
“I would think you of all people would know the ‘course of true love never did run smooth.’ ”
“And then there is that appalling habit of yours,” she said shakily.
“What? Quoting Shakespeare?”
Olivia nodded and then began to cry, great heaving sobs that rocked her whole body.
Jason drew her into his arms.
“You had b-better not b-be laughing,” she hiccuped.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her, patting her back.
“You’re smiling. I can hear it in your voice.” Livvy pulled away to see his face. “It isn’t funny. All that Shakespeare . . . it’s a character flaw. I’m not a person who accepts character flaws. And yet your faults only seem to make you more endearing.”
Jason’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Now that is most upsetting.”
“What?”
“Why, that I have faults, of course. I cannot ever recall a person telling me before that I am possessed of any.”
“But of course you have faults. Everybody has faults. Nobody is perfect—Oh!”
The truth of her words suddenly struck her.
“Exactly.” Jason nodded. “We’re none of us perfect. Life isn’t perfect and neither is love. You would find it endlessly boring if it was. How many novels do you suppose I would be able to buy for you if love was just two people meeting, falling in love, getting married and living perfectly ever after?”
“That does sound rather dull,” she admitted.
“I know I’m not the perfect hero you envisioned, but a perfect man wouldn’t need you as I do. I understand it’s usually the hero who rescues the damsel in distress, but it was you who saved me. I love you, Olivia Jane Weston, and if you’ll agree to marry me, I promise to give you a lifetime of adventures.”
“In that case, how could I possibly refuse?”
“You’ll marry me?”
“Only if you agree to go lock the door,” she said, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
In a flash he’d locked the door and tumbled her onto the bed. They tore at each other’s clothes, careless in their need. It had been far, far too long for both of them.
As he braced himself above her, Jason cupped Livvy’s face in his hands. “I love you,” he said raggedly, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks. “You are my heart, my very heart.” And then he kissed her deeply and there were no more words. None were needed.
They spoke to each other in the language of lovers from the beginning of time. Moans and gasps, sighs and cries, gentle, soft caresses and hard, bruising grips—all mingled together as they learned each other, loved each other, soared over the edge and shattered with each other.
Sated, they clung together, preserving the precious intimacy for as long as possible. It was Olivia who finally broke the silence. “Jason?”
“What?” Jason murmured.
“You lied to me. You said that life wasn’t ever perfect. After what just happened, I have to disagree.”
“That wasn’t perfect, pet.”
“It wasn’t?” A worried frown came over her face.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “No. It was better than perfect.”
Epilogue
“Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a postscript.”
Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene 5
Five Months Later
Livvy clambered up on the ladder and pulled the remaining books from the shelf before hurriedly climbing down. Jason would be furious if he caught her engaging in what he called “strenuous physical activity.” She patted the growing mound of her stomach and was rewarded with a vigorous kick. The feeling never failed to make her heart swell with happiness.
Jason entered the library and groaned when he saw her standing by the ladder with a pile of books in her arms. “Tell me you didn’t get those books down yourself,” he pleaded, coming forward to take them from her. He set the books aside and pulled her back against his chest, his arms encircling her and their child. He dropped his head so his chin was on her shoulder. “How many times do I have to tell you not to engage in any strenuous physical activity?” he growled, tilting his head to nip at her earlobe.
Her head lolled back against him. “If I recall correctly, we both engaged in far more strenuous physical activity this morning, and you didn’t complain then.”
“That’s different.” He pressed a kiss into the curve where her neck and shoulder met.
She shivered in response. “H-how is that?”
“The doctor assured me that particular activity was still safe for you and the babe. He said nothing about climbing ladders.”
“You do know you can’t keep coddling me for the next four months, don’t you? I’ll go mad.”
“I happen to enjoy coddling you.” His inflection left little doubt as to his meaning.
“You are impossible,” she huffed. “But I love you anyway.”
“Not as much as I love you,” he insisted, turning her to face him. He brought one hand up to cup her face and smoothed his thumb over her cheek. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “So very precious to me.”
Livvy felt tears well up in her eyes, but that happened quite a bit these days. In the grand tradition of Weston women, no sooner had she got with child than she’d become a watering pot.
She leaned into him, resting her cheek against his chest and listening to the beat of his heart. “I love you.” No matter how many times she said the words, they never felt trite. They always felt just right.
“I love you too, pet.” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “Gower said you wished to see me. Were you climbing the ladder because you are in need of some strenuous physical activity? Shall I lock the door?”
As always, she had only to look at him to want him, but she shook her head. “Not yet. I found something I want to show you. Here, come look at this.”
She pulled him over to the small writing desk across the room where she had placed the fragile paper, brittle and discolored with age, but in remarkable condition for a document some four hundred years old. She watched as Jason slowly deciphered the ornate medieval script. When he had f
inished, he looked up, lost for words.
She knew the feeling. She had read the letter written by Rhoslynn’s son to one of his uncles several times now, and she was still scarcely able to believe the contents. Rhoslynn had not leapt to her death, but had left the castle via a priest hole attached to the old chapel. She had traveled on foot to Haverfordwest, determined to see what destruction her family had wrought and to heal whomever she could. The guards told her of one prisoner who had hovered between life and death for days. When she went to tend him, Rhoslynn wept with joy, for Sir Philip had not been killed after all. She nursed him back to health, and they escaped to his family home in Herefordshire, where they had raised a family and lived long, happy lives.
“You realize what this means, don’t you?”
Jason had been reading the letter again, but he looked up at her words. “No, what?”
“This proves happy endings really do come true.”
Jason pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “But I already knew that, love. I see it every time I look at you.”
Read on for a sneak peek of the next book in Sara Lindsey’s Weston series
A Rogue for All Seasons
Available from Signet Eclipse in January 2011
“I still can’t believe Olivia is married,” Henry Weston’s sister Isabella remarked with a sigh as she poured out tea from a Meissen teapot, which her brother estimated was worth more than his life.
Henry leaned forward to take the dainty porcelain cup, which appeared even daintier in comparison to the size of his hand, which, like the rest of him, could only be described as large. “A mountain of muscled masculinity” was the term his tailor used, much to Henry’s disgust. Monsieur Bazalgette was pleased to have the cut of his clothes shown to advantage without the need for any padding, though, he lamented, Henry was simply too grand comme un éléphant to wear the most fashionable colors. A très jolie jonquil waistcoat was simply out of the question. As Henry had no intention of going about town looking like an overgrown canary, he had threatened to take his trade elsewhere if the little Frenchman ever made such a ridiculous suggestion again. Of course, both men knew Henry’s threats of finding someone new were empty. Monsieur Bazalgette was the very best at what he did, and Henry was accustomed to the very best. He accepted nothing less.