The Mistake

by Lily Maxton

  But she didn’t want to go back.

  She couldn’t be with Adam and not tell him about the child. Her conscience had become a growling, violent thing, gnashing its teeth every time she turned a corner.

  “Perhaps I should stay here,” she said.

  Cassandra tidied up the deck of cards and pushed them to the edge of the table. “Why?”

  “He’s used to his privacy. I’ve been imposing on him too long.”

  The other woman snorted. “I doubt he would ever think of it as imposing.”

  “Still, two people should have their own space. The cottage is rather small.”

  Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “It’s a nice cottage.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Julia exclaimed.

  “Does he not have enough of an income for your taste?” Cassandra asked evenly.

  Julia stiffened like she’d been prodded with a hot poker. “How dare you ask me that?”

  Cassandra looked unperturbed. “Why shouldn’t I ask you? It was the determining factor in your past lovers, wasn’t it?”

  Fury twisted in Julia’s chest. Fury she probably didn’t have a right to. “Yes, it was,” she admitted harshly. “But Adam isn’t simply a past lover. He’s… He’s more than that.”

  “Then what’s wrong with staying at his cottage?”

  “How long do you think he’ll want me there after I’ve told him?”

  Cassandra didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. “If he loves you, I would think forever.”

  Julia slumped in her chair, all of the anger sweeping out and leaving her weary. “Love is all well and good, but it doesn’t give me the right to ask him to raise another man’s child.”

  “He’d do it,” the other woman said. “In a second.”

  “Perhaps,” Julia conceded sadly. “But will he want to? Will he cherish Riverton’s bastard?”

  Or would he come to resent the babe? Would he wish for a child of his own? A wife who had a spotless past? Would he someday look across the dinner table at her and wish she was someone else, or that she wasn’t there at all?

  She might not break easily. But that…that would break her.

  “You won’t know until you’ve given him the chance,” Cassandra said.

  “But I can’t risk it. My child shall have only love—not resentment. I won’t allow it. I know—” She hesitated. “I know what it’s like to grow up with a parent’s resentment. I won’t inflict the same on my own child.”

  Cassandra lifted her eyebrows. “You’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what Adam might do and how he might feel.”

  “Yes,” she snapped, sensing her friend hadn’t reached the end of whatever she wanted to say.

  “Perhaps it would be better to talk to him and see what he actually does do.”

  But once she told him, there’d be no going back. She might be strong enough to survive without him, but that didn’t mean she wanted to move too quickly to the inevitable parting. It was like being in the middle of a wonderful dream and fighting to wake slowly so it would linger.

  “I don’t know if I can,” Julia murmured.

  Sometimes it was easier to run than to stay in place. If you ran fast enough, nothing could touch you. Nothing could hurt you.

  When she went outside, the sunlight was bright on her face. She walked away from the hall, stopping abruptly when she noticed a small blue wildflower that she’d narrowly missed stepping on.

  It was in the middle of the grass, by itself. It shouldn’t have been there—the gardeners kept the lawn pristine. It had probably only survived by luck. Or maybe it was just a hardy little flower.

  She knelt to peer at the wildflower more closely. Shock bolted through her and she pressed her hand to her lips, stifling a sob—it was the same type of flower that was tucked away in her rosewood chest. Its shape was burned in her memory. Adam had given it to her all those years ago. She’d never asked where in the world he’d found a wildflower in London. She’d thought if she knew, the gift wouldn’t seem quite as magical.

  Now, as she looked down at the little flower, her heart laden with memories, something shifted inside her. Something changed.

  Why had she kept that flower for so long?

  The answer was simple, really—she hadn’t been able to let him go completely, even back then.

  Tears pricked her eyes. Was this what her life would be? Love pressed carefully into the pages of a book, where she could admire it from a distance and never be hurt by it?

  There were moments in life that irrevocably shaped a person—molded one into something different and new. She saw clearly, now, what she was letting mold her—she was terrified of loving someone so much that watching their regard fade would destroy her. As it had almost done with her father. She was terrified it would happen with her child if she didn’t give everything she possibly could. She was terrified it would happen with Adam when she told him about her pregnancy.

  Her childhood had taught her that love was perfidious. It had taught her that love could be withheld or lost all too easily, all too permanently, through no fault of one’s own.

  But the intervening years had shown her something vital—a strong person wasn’t just clay to be molded by another’s whim, or outside circumstances. In some ways—not completely, maybe, but enough to make a difference—a person could choose which people and which moments shaped one’s fate. In some ways, a person could shape oneself.

  Julia didn’t want fear to be the thing that molded her anymore. She didn’t want her mother’s death or her father’s neglect to be the guidepost for the rest of her life.

  She wanted hope.

  She wanted Adam.

  He hadn’t turned away from her when she’d told him the truth of her past. So many years between them, and he still called her the love of his heart. How many trials would she force him to endure before she said, “Stop. You’ve done enough. I believe in your love.”

  Suddenly, she understood that, in the end, she wouldn’t lose him because his love had faded. She would lose him because she hadn’t been strong enough to accept his love in the first place.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of that.

  She’d been living without the other half of her heart, just pretending she was whole. How could she ever be whole without him? She couldn’t be. She wasn’t. And she wouldn’t try something so futile any longer.

  The little blue flower caught her gaze again. No, it wasn’t just lucky. It was a hardy little thing—not to be torn from the earth, but to take root and grow and thrive.

  She smiled through a sudden sheen of tears, and stood, intent on finding Adam.

  …

  Adam had been planning to send a letter to Riverton with his resignation. It didn’t matter if the marquess gave him a good reference or not. His name was well known as the head gardener at the beautiful Blakewood Hall, enough so that any lord with a lesser estate would want him as an employee.

  The truth was, whenever Adam thought of Riverton, he wanted to strangle the man with his bare hands. But he didn’t particularly want to hang for the bastard’s murder—that would interfere with his time with Julia. She was the most important thing in the world to him, more important than seeking revenge—no matter how good it would feel.

  So Adam thought it best not to see Riverton again in person, lest his darker feelings get the better of him.

  And, indeed, Adam wouldn’t have met him again if the marquess had decided to travel straight through from his London townhouse to his Brighton townhouse without stopping. But Riverton was, regrettably, growing less patient with discomfort now he was past the first blush of youth, and bumpy carriage rides made him wearier than they used to. So he told his coachman to stop midway at Blakewood Hall so they could rest.

  Even then, Adam might not have run across his employer. But that evening, Adam had gotten restless waiting for Julia to arrive for dinner, and was outside the cottage pruning some shrubs, rather violently and distractedl
y, by the fading light of day. When he heard the rattle of horses and wheels, he turned to look, and froze when he saw the familiar red lion crest painted on the side of the black-lacquer carriage.

  The marquess spotted Adam from the carriage window, and he heard him rap on the roof with his cane. The equipage rolled to a stop right in front of the cottage.

  The pruning shears dropped from Adam’s hand. Something primal and possessive and protective roared through him as the Marquess of Riverton stepped gracefully down from his carriage and strode toward him, the sun glinting off golden hair.

  “Mr. Radcliff,” Riverton said smoothly, obviously not noticing the fierce tension that had grabbed hold of Adam’s entire body. “I do hope you have more of those purple roses.”

  “Aye,” he said, battling not to move a muscle.

  “Capital,” Riverton said smoothly. “I’d like a dozen to give my newest paramour. And two more bouquets to be sent to the Brighton townhouse in the next sennight.”

  Adam had to unclench his jaw just to speak. A tempest was roiling inside him that he didn’t think he could control for very much longer. “Aye,” he managed to say again.

  Riverton tipped his hat. He glanced toward the hall and instantly stilled. Adam followed his gaze. Even though they were some distance away, it was clear the small figure walking in the direction of the cottage was Julia. She must not have noticed the marquess’s carriage yet, because she was smiling as she walked.

  When she was close enough for Riverton to recognize her, too, he swore under his breath. “The bitch is still here?”

  Unfortunately, he didn’t swear softly enough. Adam easily made out the words.

  Something inside Adam broke, and the swirling tempest poured out, intent on blood and destruction and fragile, aristocratic flesh tearing under his hands. With a cry as raw and chilling as a tiger’s roar, he lunged forward, tackling the swine to the ground.

  Riverton only had enough time to shield his face. “What the devil!” He kicked out at Adam, which only made him angrier.

  Adam knocked aside the bastard’s arms and grabbed the front of his coat. “You have no right to call her that.”

  “What?” Riverton was staring up at him like he was a madman.

  He certainly felt like a madman.

  “No! Adam, stop! Stop!”

  He fell back at Julia’s cried plea and staggered to his feet. Riverton was still on the ground, utterly stunned. The coachman, who’d swung down from his seat when Adam lunged at Riverton, helped his master to his feet.

  “I should have you hanged for this,” Riverton snarled. “Bloody lunatic!”

  Julia reached them. She stopped at Adam’s side, breathing heavily from running. “There’s no need for that,” she said. Her face was pale, her lips almost colorless.

  Riverton looked back and forth between them, realization etched on his face. Then he tipped his head back and barked out a laugh. “You crawled into the gardener’s bed?” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize you could sink so low, Julia.”

  Adam snarled deep in his throat. Julia’s fingernails dug into his wrist, a sharp warning.

  Riverton eyed him with wariness, along with something more vengeful, something hard and glittering. “She’s only a few steps above a street whore. I don’t think her honor can be besmirched.”

  If Julia hadn’t dug her nails in even deeper, Adam would have gone for the bastard’s throat. But her touch was painful, and it anchored him to the earth. Smelling her light, pleasing scent pierced the fog of his fury. If she required it of him, he would grit his teeth and not murder the man, even if he desperately wanted to.

  “If you call her that again,” Adam said, his low-spoken words redolent with barely leashed violence. “I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

  A sudden vengeful smile twisted Riverton’s lips. He glanced icily at Julia, and Adam felt her go absolutely still beside him. “I forgot to tell you, I’d like to name our child after me. Henry is a fine name for a boy, don’t you think? And, of course, it can always be changed to Henrietta should it be a girl.”

  It took a moment for Adam’s mind to register what he’d said. Our child.

  Our child.

  He swung his head around to look at Julia, and the bald panic on her face was all the confirmation he needed.

  The impact was immediate, nearly knocking him off his feet. Pain writhed in his chest, burned his stomach, squeezed his lungs. How long had she known? How long had she kept it from him?

  “Oh, weren’t you aware?” Riverton asked Adam casually. “Julia is carrying my child. I’m not surprised she didn’t tell you. Did you think a courtesan has any sense of honesty?” Riverton laughed cruelly, no doubt enjoying every play of anguish across Adam’s face. “Poor man. Surely, you can’t love her?”

  Adam didn’t think he’d heard less sincere words in his life. He stepped away from Julia. His fingers curled into a tight fist.

  He was vaguely aware of Riverton tipping his hat and bidding them both farewell. “As enjoyable as it is to watch this tragedy play out, I have better things to do. And, by the way, if I wake up in the morning and you’re still here, I’ll call in the magistrate and have you both arrested.”

  A moment later, the carriage rolled away, leaving Adam and Julia alone. The silence between them wasn’t like the comfortable ones he’d grown used to. It was fraught and tense and ready to snap, a bow string that had been drawn too far back. He didn’t want to be alone with her. He turned and blindly shoved his way into the cottage.

  Because he couldn’t even look at her without feeling as if he couldn’t breathe.

  …

  Julia followed Adam into the cottage. He could hear her footsteps behind him as he crossed over to the fireplace and stared at the dead coals with unwavering attention. He crossed his arms tightly in front of him—as though that could protect him from the turmoil of his emotions.

  He wasn’t going to speak. He didn’t know what to say in the face of her betrayal.

  But then she whispered his name, softly, the way she might whisper to a fragile hatchling that had tumbled from a nest.

  Well, it felt like he’d taken a nasty tumble, all right.

  She was carrying another man’s child—a marquess’s child.

  How could Adam ever hope to keep her? How could he—How could he…what? Lie down and crumple like a child?

  Hot anger flooded his chest, and he slammed his palm against the wall. All of that anger was directed at one person—himself.

  You’re going to let her go? Cassandra had asked him.

  Yes, he realized. He’d been about to do just that.

  Riverton was back, and Julia was carrying his child.

  And Adam had been prepared to let her go. Without a fight.

  What kind of a man was he?

  A coward.

  All his worry about Julia not wanting a man of his simple means—that had just been an excuse. Because the truth was, he’d never believed he was good enough for her. Ever. Even when they’d both been young and poor, he’d felt large and uncouth next to her delicate gracefulness, a little too plain next to her brightness. A drab crow against a colorful robin. Then she’d gone off and become the mistress of lords, while Adam had lived a staid, modest life…and the gap had grown even wider.

  He’d always thought she was too high above him.

  Except…she wasn’t.

  Not because she was lower than he’d thought, but because he was higher.

  He was a good man, and he would be a damn good father, and he would love both Julia and her child with everything in him.

  Julia had said it herself—she thought he was a true gentleman.

  It was high time he started believing it, himself.

  …

  “How long?” Adam asked.

  Julia didn’t recognize his voice, raw-edged as it was. Her heart quailed at his anger.

  “How long have you known?” he demanded. His rigid back was turned to her, and it
was clear he didn’t intend to look at her.

  She swallowed hard before she could speak. “Since just before I arrived.”

  His hands flexed where they gripped his arms. They were white and strained against the dark blue fabric of his coat.

  “In all these weeks, you never thought to mention it?”

  She wanted to cry out in protest. There were days she’d thought of little else! She wanted to strangle Riverton for showing up before she’d worked up the courage to tell Adam about the pregnancy. Even more, she wanted to strangle herself for waiting so long—she would never forget the devastation in his eyes as Riverton’s cruel words sank in. “I was going to tell you today. And before today— I…I thought about telling you all the time.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” he asked.

  She licked her dry lips. When she spoke her voice trembled. “I was terrified you wouldn’t care about me anymore.”

  He swore, a vulgar word she’d never heard him use before. He uncrossed his arms, turned, and stalked over to her like a cat seeking its prey. She sensed the restless, explosive energy that was barely contained and moved back a step.

  “When I call you the love of my heart what do you think it means?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

  Her pulse thrummed. With fear, yes, but with something else, too. Something that was much, much stronger than fear.

  But before she had the chance to answer, he exploded, “It means you can trust me!” He dragged his hands through his hair, looking pushed to the end of his endurance. “It means if you tell me about something that happened before you came back to me, I’m not going to punish you for it. Damn it, Julia! It means I love you, as you are, unconditionally.”

  Her heart soared.

  “It means,” he added, more quietly but just as vehemently, “I don’t deserve what you’re doing to me. You can’t let me touch you and love you but still withhold a part of yourself. If you ask that of me, it will kill me a little more each day, until there is nothing left.”

  “You’re right. You deserve better. You deserve the whole truth.” Her throat had tightened unbearably, but she drew in a shaky breath and forced herself to choke out the words, telling him everything about the hated agreement she’d made with Riverton. She didn’t withhold anything. Including how she’d broken it.