The Lady’s Sinful Secret

by Kelly Boyce

  Had she not been listening? “We kissed!”

  “Ah, this time you kissed, but what has transpired before to make you ask for this kiss and for him to turn away after giving it to you? You have told me you knew each other previously, but you have been closed up tighter than Pandora’s Box on revealing anything beyond that.”

  Gloria had rejoiced in Louise’s arrival, thankful to have someone she could confide in. And yet she had kept her silence since then, too afraid of what speaking her secrets aloud would mean. But the burden of them had become too much and, try as she might, she could no longer carry them.

  “We were lovers.” The words whispered out of her on a breath. A sigh.

  “I suspected as much.” Louise laughed lightly. “Don’t look so surprised. Roderick and I were lovers first, before we married. Some loves cannot be contained inside the constraints society puts on us with its insistence upon ceremony. Love is love. It keeps its own time and has its own way.”

  “Well, it had its way with us, that is for certain. Unfortunately, the rest of the world had other plans. My parents had entered into a marriage contract with Blackbourne before my first Season. I begged them to reconsider, but they were more interested in their social standing than in my happiness. And Blackbourne was more interested in winning the jewel of the ton as a bride than in the fact his intended loved another. They allowed me to be presented at court and have my first Season, but my fate was all but sealed.”

  “And so you had no choice but to break it off with Sir Arran?”

  Gloria shook her head. “Perhaps, but I didn’t see it then. We made plans to run away. We were going to Gretna Green and then planned to stay in Scotland. Arran had relatives in Dumfries that would take us in. But my parents learned of our plans and they informed Blackbourne. Threats were made, threats to destroy Arran and his family. Blackbourne had the resources to make good on those threats and so I had to choose. I didn’t think I could live with myself if I allowed Arran and his family to be destroyed because of me. So I agreed to the marriage and told him good-bye.”

  The memory of that time, the utter devastation of watching the life she had longed for, was on the cusp of getting, crumble to dust at her feet still had the power to hurt as if it were happening all over again.

  She supposed in a way it was.

  “And how did he take this news?”

  “He was angry. He left and went to London, enlisted in the militia. I wrote him letters begging him to understand but he did not reply.”

  “Was that the end of it?”

  “No.” She had thought at the time it was. Despondent, she turned in on herself, numbed her heart and walked through each day an empty shell. Her parents took no notice and Blackbourne cared little. So long as he had what he wanted, that was enough. “Blackbourne procured a special license and we were quickly married. Perhaps he feared if he did not, I might still run. Had Arran returned, likely I would have. But Arran didn’t return. Not until it was too late.”

  Gloria shifted in her chair and stared into the fire. It had been in this room that she last saw him. Blackbourne had insisted they throw a large reception to celebrate their marriage, though in truth their marriage was little more than a sham. Blackbourne had done his husbandly duty the night of their wedding, but had barely touched her since as he spent most of his time in London. She was nothing more than a possession, purchased then set aside and forgotten. He left her behind at Sheridan Park and there she lived in a cage with invisible, yet very real bars. At only seventeen years of age, her life was over. Every dream and hope she’d harbored, set adrift.

  “And that was the end of it?”

  Gloria hesitated, then shook her head. “Arran’s father had passed away and he’d returned to the Sutherland Estates. When he learned of the party, he sneaked in through the kitchens and up to my rooms to await my return. I was overcome, seeing him again. I knew nothing could come of it. I was married, the property of the great Earl of Blackbourne, but in that moment, I cared little for such titles or the vows I had taken. All I wanted was escape. I found that with Arran.”

  In his arms, the rest of the world disappeared. She was no longer someone else’s wife, or a title, or the physical embodiment of her parents’ expectations. With Arran, she was always just Glory. A woman with a heart and a mind and a body that belonged to her alone.

  And that night, she shared it with him, heedless of everything and everyone else. Blackbourne and her parents could hang. This was where she belonged. This was who she belonged with, and if she could not have him for an eternity, then she would at least have him that one night.

  Even now, she could remember the weight of his body against her own, the warmth of skin on skin and the heat of joining and the passion it culminated in. She committed every moment of that night to memory, fearful it would be their last, and hopeful it was not. The night passed far too quickly and soon dawn came upon them, stealing what little time that remained. Arran slipped away. He had to report back to his unit, but promised he would return. They would find a way, he told her. And, unable to comprehend a life without him, she’d believed.

  The following day, Blackbourne left for London. Business, he told her, though she learned later it had been to see his mistress. The same mistress he’d kept for the entirety of their marriage.

  “Blackbourne stayed in London for almost two months. During that time, I waited for Arran to return, but he never did.”

  “And now he has.”

  She nodded.

  “But is that not a good thing?”

  “One would think,” Gloria sighed. “But things are never as simple or as easy as they look on the surface, I suppose. We have a history of disappointing each other and—” She stopped and shook her head. “Either way. We are ancient history. He has a new life now as heir to the Sutherland Estates and a son to care for. Not to mention his niece, Judith. I suspect there is little room left for me.”

  Louise smiled and sat back in her chair. “Then perhaps you need to convince him to make room.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Louise countered.

  But Gloria had traveled that road before and knew the truth. With everything ventured one could still walk away with nothing gained. And everything lost.

  “Come,” Louise said, standing from her chair with her hand held out. “Let us leave this melancholy behind. There is a party to plan, is there not?”

  Chapter Eight

  “I am pleased you have decided to come to the party after all, Uncle.”

  Arran smiled down at Judith as she straightened his cravat after his incessant tugging at it had set it askew. He did not care for feeling trussed up like a dandy, though both his nieces assured him he could not appear dandified if his life depended on it. He determined this was meant to be a compliment, though Patience seemed less inclined to think so.

  “I worried my status as favored uncle might be in jeopardy should I refuse,” he said. “Also, your Aunt Beatris would have me drawn and quartered should she return to discover I had not kept good on my promise.”

  His niece gave a gentle smile and patted his lapel to signify she had finished. “I am sure she would have done nothing of the sort. Though I must admit, had you chosen not to go, I would have been only too happy to stay behind and keep you company.”

  He shook his head. He worried over Judith’s insular nature. She’d had only one Season, sponsored by Beatris, which had proven less than successful with nary a proposal in sight. A fact he found difficult to belief. She was smart, lovely and accomplished. Any man should be lucky to have her as his wife.

  Beatris hadn’t shared the particulars, but when the time came for a second Season, his niece had refused, causing her father much concern. He’d written to Arran when he’d become ill, worried what would become of his daughter should he not recover, a fact which became more and more likely as his illness progressed. Judith had ignored her father’s pleas for he
r to return to London and instead took up his care, playing nursemaid to him for the last two years of his life.

  It had changed her from the light-hearted young woman who had visited him in Dumfries five years earlier. She possessed a depth and a maturity that only harsh reality could create, but along with it came the quiet solitude and acceptance that life did not always work out the way one had imagined it would.

  If only his travails had crafted within him the same such acceptance. They hadn’t. Decades later, he still wrestled with fate. Fought against it. Wanted to change it.

  “If either of you had begged off this party there would be nothing left for Mother to flail her anger upon,” Patience announced, sweeping into the room with all the aplomb of a young lady secure in her beauty and the power it wielded. “For I would have done the job for her.”

  Judith gave a small, indulgent laugh. “Then I guess it is best we prepare to leave, Uncle. For our own safety if nothing else.”

  Arran joined in his niece’s laughter, enjoying the way it lit up her features and showed what a truly beautiful woman she was. Her quiet nature left her at risk of being discounted, overshadowed by her cousin’s more deliberate and vivacious beauty. It would be a great loss to any man should he not look a little deeper.

  But men were not the most astute or observant of creatures, and young men were the worst culprits of all in this charge.

  “Come along then, my beauties,” he said, holding out an arm for each to take. “Let us get this ordeal over with, shall we?”

  “Uncle,” Patience chastised. “I am going to make certain you have the absolute best time this evening, you wait and see. And when we are done, I assure you, you will wish to never leave Sheridan Park ever again.”

  Arran lifted one eyebrow. “I’m afraid you have set yourself a rather Herculean task, my dear.”

  Though he recalled clearly one such morning when he awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows and illuminating a certain Countess, giving her ivory skin an ethereal appearance, that he wished just that same thing. To never leave her bedchamber again. To stay with her forever.

  * * *

  “Miss Cosgrove, you are a wonder with a needle and thread,” Gloria said, turning this way and that as she stared at the final touches Rebecca’s housekeeper had made to a gown a couple years out of fashion. Gloria had finally relented to her daughter’s pleas and enlisted Miss Cosgrove’s assistance to update a gown purchased before Blackbourne’s death. She was more than happy to leave the mourning colors in her past, along with the memories of her marriage. The black had made her appear pasty in her estimation, though the grays had played up the silver shade of her eyes. Regardless, she eagerly returned to the warmer, brighter shades once a year had passed.

  “Thank you, my lady.” Miss Cosgrove spoke little as she worked. Though pleasant in nature, Gloria had never been able to draw the young woman into any conversation that went beyond mistress and servant. Not that anyone in either household considered her as such. She merely filled the role of housekeeper until Rebecca and Marcus could find a suitable replacement. Though, in Gloria’s estimation, they were dragging their feet in that regard. Not that she blamed them. All would sorely miss the young lady’s capabilities in running a household, not to mention her ability to transform an ordinary gown into the spectacular concoction that reflected back in the mirror.

  Miss Cosgrove gathered her things and left as quietly as she came. Gloria stared at her image in the full length mirror. The gown was a deep claret red with black lace overlay, pulled up in arcs to expose the ruffled hem. The neckline plunged, almost dangerously so, but gave her locket a clear canvas to stand out upon. She did not look even a little like a doddering old widow. She smiled at her reflection and took a deep breath.

  Would he notice? Would it change anything if he did?

  A soft rap interrupted her thoughts. “Come in.” She turned to find Nicholas standing in the doorway, resplendent in the unrelenting black of his evening clothes. Her breath caught. Oh, how much he reminded her of his father in that instant.

  “You are even more a vision than usual, Mother. If you keep this up, the younger ladies are going to start refusing to come to our parties for fear of always having to compete for the gentlemen’s attentions.”

  “You are a flatterer of epic proportions, my dear.”

  “I tell nothing but the truth. Which is just as well, as my wife informs me I am an abominable liar.” He smiled and again her heart gave a little twist. His father’s smile. “Shall we go? The guests have all arrived and it is time for the guest of honor to make her appearance.”

  “Everyone has arrived?” More importantly, had Arran arrived? She feared after their last encounter, she would not see him again. And she must. The time had come for the truth. For explanations. For going beyond their past to a place where they could both find peace.

  Nicholas nodded and held out his arm for her. “According to Rebecca and Abigail who, I swear, were mentally checking off names as people swept through the entry way on their way to the ballroom all are present and accounted for. They would not allow me to come for you until they had tallied their lists.”

  Arran was here.

  She took in a calming breath, but it did little to quiet the nerves roiling around in her belly. What if he refused to speak with her? To answer her questions or listen to her explanations? What if he simply turned and walked away after announcing he could go the rest of his life without ever setting eyes upon her and be only too happy?

  “Mother?”

  She had taken Nicholas’s arm but her slippered feet remained rooted to where she stood. She gave a mental shake. Courage, her heart whispered. She nodded in answer and forced her legs to move down the sweeping stairwell and long hallway until they reached the closed doors of the ballroom. Nicholas nodded to the footmen. The doors swept open and the music swelled to greet her, full of pomp and circumstance. The crowd parted and Nicholas led her up to stand on the dais occupied by the musicians and their instruments. Once atop it, Gloria’s gaze raced through the crowd, searching faces for the one she wished most to see.

  Where was he?

  The music had stopped and next to her, Nicholas made his speech, but the words drifted past her. Oh, why had they invited so many people? How was she ever to find him amongst the sea of faces filling the ballroom? Panic lifted within her, riddled with the fear he had not come. She needed to speak with him. To set things right. She could not fathom a future without him in it, not now, not that he had finally returned after such a long absence. They deserved this final chance and she was determined to see they had it.

  But what if she was the only one who felt that way?

  The memory of their kiss invaded her memory and her fear abated. He had kissed her as if no time had passed. As if she were the only woman in the world. As if he loved her still, regardless of how their lives had changed.

  Surely that meant something, didn’t it?

  Arran kept to the outer edge of the crowd as it parted and allowed Glory passage to the dais on the arm of her son. She was a vision, every bit as lovely as the young girl he first met traipsing through the fields on a warm summer’s morn. No. Not as lovely. More so. Girlhood had given way to womanhood, and she glided across the floor with a poise and regality that rivaled any queen.

  How had he ever thought he deserved a woman such as this? He had been nothing but a boy. The third son of a knighted soldier with no prospects and no skill beyond farming and horses. She had been the daughter of the aristocracy, a shining jewel destined to marry well and live a life of luxury and privilege.

  Yet she had loved him. Not only loved him, but been willing to throw away an easy life to make a future with him, at least in the beginning. Could he really blame her for deciding an easy life was better than one filled with struggle or uncertainty?

  The question sat uneasy with him. He didn’t want to think too hard on it, afraid if he did, his insistence on playing the injured party
would begin to crack and peel. If it did, where would that leave him? Would he then have to shoulder some of the blame for the years—decades—they had lost? He did not want such a burden. He had written her repeatedly after their night at Sheridan Park, each letter filled with uncertainty and fear as to why she hadn’t responded. When he’d left her in that bed, he had been filled with the confidence of youth that they would find a way to be together. They hadn’t, but the blame for that rested on her shoulders, not his.

  Didn’t it?

  The question tormented, worming its way into the crevices doubt created. He tried to shake it off and concentrate on the proceedings.

  The new Earl of Blackbourne, who embodied every opposite trait one could imagine when compared to his late father, assisted Glory onto the dais and then turned to speak to the crush of well wishers in front of him. With a confident grin, he began to extol his mother’s many virtues.

  “Oh, my heavens!” Judith’s hand flew to her mouth and her dark, expressive eyes grew wide. She turned to face Arran, and the rest of her words slipped between her fingers. “He looks just like you.”

  Arran shook his head, rejecting her claim. It made no sense. But as his gaze left his niece and returned to Blackbourne the repeated phrase from others drifted in to haunt him.

  You look familiar.

  You remind me of someone.

  Impossible. His mind rejected the idea outright, but his sight did not lie to him and as he watched the man on the dais—his smile, his gestures—even he reached a point where he could no longer refute the impossibility of it all.

  Still, a part of him tried, insisting his eyes deceived. She would have told him! Glory would never have kept such a vital truth from him. His gaze shot to her, to the way her hand rested nervously on the locket he had given her. The locket that housed a lock of her son’s hair. Myriad emotions rushed through him with such ferocity he could catch only a hint of them. Anger. Disbelief. Incredulity. Betrayal.