The only man she could truly be herself with was Papa. Powerless wasn’t the right word. She couldn’t think of a substitute, but the meaning held the same feeling. With Papa, she could be powerless while he slew the dragons for her. Only with Papa.
“Did you want him, my bird?”
“I don’t know, Papa,” she whimpered. “Yes. No. I liked the idea of him. It’s all too late now. He’s forever away. I gave him every reason not to want me, but I thought maybe, just maybe he could be the one.”
“There it is, Lizzie. He’s a dolt not to fall for you.” He rubbed her shoulders and kissed her hair as she nuzzled against his shirt. “There’s a good girl. I’m happy we found yer worries so we can feed them to the sea. Let’s go tomorrow and toss those worries into the sea like.”
Lizbeth nodded against his chest.
Chapter 14
Drake stretched out his legs in his favorite chair, slinking into the cushion in a most ungentlemanly manner. Folding his fingers over his chest, he said complacently, “I had her calling my name for three hours straight. Drake! Drake! You young buck. Ride me!”
Sebastian grimaced at the image of Maggie in the throes of pleasure. “I really don’t want to know about your exploits with your mistress.”
“Listen and learn. You could pick up a trick or two.” Drake sighed with satisfaction, reaching for his snuff box. “There’s something to be said about being with an older, experienced woman, and especially one beyond childbearing years. I don’t have to worry about accidents or those wholly uncomfortable French letters.” He shuddered. “Nothing worse than thrusting and feeling nothing but tight sheep skin.”
“Wonderful. Now I’ll need to pour alcohol into my eyes to burn out that vision.”
“Sebastian, what you need to do is get out more. Live a little. Whatever happened to the man who enjoyed ale and women by the bushel? I remember when you used to favor your nights wild with a penchant for fawning ladies. The more the merrier,” he added with a waggle of his eyebrows. “You’ve grown dull and celibate, my wayward cousin. You know, I could always ask Maggie if she has any friends who prefer young grass for grazing.”
“Don’t you have a new wife you’re supposed to be infatuated with, making love to every night?” Sebastian probed, ignoring Drake’s absurdity.
Drake waved a hand. “Mother keeps her busy learning her duties. They’ve been planning dinner parties and socials enough to make my eyes bleed.”
“Too busy in the evenings, as well? I would have thought she would have kept you too busy to even think of the marchioness.”
“She’s exactly what you would expect her to be.” Drake scoffed. “Stiff as a board. I like my women experienced. If she’s not climbing on top to use me like a stable boy, I’m frankly not interested. My wife? Frigid. I tell you, it took me almost an hour to get her to come out from behind the bathing screen on our wedding night. Just not my thing, Sebby.”
After turning the snuff box over in his hand for several minutes, he took a pinch, sneezed, then wrinkled his nose. “I’m not overly fond of this blend.”
“Be serious,” Sebastian prompted.
“Couldn’t be more serious.” Drake poked at the snuff. “Winston recommended it. Clearly he has terrible taste.”
“Focus. We’re talking about your bride. We’ve been home less than a fortnight, and you’re already dallying.”
“I hardly call Maggie dallying. Mother says it’s my duty, but I don’t want to poke a board.” Drake’s voice turned nasally in imitation of his mother. “‘You must produce an heir. Don’t let my sacrifices be in vain. Do your duty to your lineage, Drake.’ If I must hear that one more time, I’ll throw myself into your moat.”
“I don’t have a moat. I have meres, and they’re all quite shallow.”
Drake grinned. “All the better. More dramatic to drown in a few feet of water, don’t you think?”
Sebastian rolled his eyes.
“I think, Sebby, we should talk about your bumble with the bluestocking.”
“I’d rather not.” Sebastian’s voice edged with warning.
He didn’t want to be reminded of her. The last few weeks had been spent ardently trying to forget her, not that she would be so kind as to get out of his dreams, waking or sleeping.
“Yes, let’s. Botched that, didn’t you, old man? She was ripe for the picking and clearly fancied you. I thought you’d thank me for all of those times I distracted Charlotte to leave the two of you alone.” Drake smirked.
“You did no such thing. You were off fondling your betrothed in dark corners, leaving us in the lurch.” Sebastian glared at his cousin. “And I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Nonsense. It was all part of my plan. I had my blushing bride to myself and the two of you alone to become better, er, acquainted. What’s wrong with you, man? Don’t you have any interest at all? If I hadn’t seen you in your heyday, plowing the fields of the brothels, I would think you a molly. You aren’t a molly, are you? Not that I would judge if you wanted a romp in the stables with the coachman, mind.”
“You’re unbelievable.” Sebastian stood, striding to the cellaret in Drake’s billiards room to pour himself a drink.
“What you should have done is get her into one of those dark corners, pretend you dropped something on the floor, and then wrap your hand around her ankle. You could have followed that leg all the way up her thigh, lifting her dress as you went. Then, with that skirt hiked up, you—”
A shoe hurled across the room at Drake’s head, narrowly missing him and thudding against the wall behind him.
Drake roared with laughter before rising from his chair, his head shaking as he stood. “You’re an imbecile. I’m only being honest with you. You’re an imbecile who let go of the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Drake swaggered to the mirror above the mantle, licking his hand and running it through his hair. He brushed his hair forward then tussled it. “Date night, old man. Stick around if you like, but I’m off to see my special lady.”
Without awaiting a reply, he left Sebastian alone in the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
“Unbelievable,” Sebastian said to an empty room. He took a seat and stared into his glass absently.
He didn’t need his cousin to remind him. He knew himself a fool. But what choice did he have? He acted in the best interest of Lizbeth, knowing she deserved someone better, someone whole, someone who wasn’t broken and beaten by his past. His leaving her behind was for her benefit, no matter how it ripped his heart to shreds.
Despite knowing he made the right decision to walk away, he kicked himself for being a coward. So vividly Liz’s image shown in his mind, laughing with twinkling eyes. It seemed such a great loss that her strong spirit, her independent mind, her soulful eyes would one day blend in with the wallpaper as someone’s employee. Could she truly be happy as a lady’s companion?
She would certainly be happier than married to him.
His night dreams replayed the kiss with variations on the theme. In one dream, she slapped him and stormed away. In another he lifted her against one of the museum display cases and made love to her. In yet another she told him she loved him. His worst dream, which returned more frequently than the others, ended with her so repulsed by the kiss that he turned into a grotesque goblin, chasing her as she screamed in terror.
His day dreams replayed the kiss as it happened, only with him making different choices—asking if he might court her, telling her how deeply he had fallen for her, begging her not to return to Cornwall but to run away with him. As much as he wished he had made a different choice, he knew he had made the correct decision for them both. He had survived a great many traumas, but only because he encased his heart in a steel trap. Sebastian wasn’t sure he could survive if he unhinged the steel and left himself vulnerable.
More to the
point, he had no right to live happily, not with blood on his hands.
On the edge of his memory, he saw a girl no older than eight. Black hair and dark brown eyes. Knee deep in the ocean, calling his name. His soul despaired at the memory. Violently, he shook his head of the recollection and scorched his throat with whatever liquid was in the glass.
He did not have the right to happiness.
Chapter 15
Days passed. Days of confusion, depression, relief. Days of longing for her, rejecting her, wishing he had done something to keep her, congratulating himself for letting her go.
She had been the first real person he had met. He could have talked to her for hours and never grown tired.
After another week of torturing himself, an idea struck. It came to him while he sat in his study, eyes trained on the tapestries of Arthur and Guinevere. The idea was not without risk, not without scandal, not even without heartbreak.
But he knew he couldn’t carry on like this. He couldn’t have her but damned if he would live without her.
They lived on opposite sides of the country, so no real harm could come of his idea. The idea, if it worked, would enable him to sustain himself on the merest contact without risking her future happiness or risking rejection. He could reach out and hold onto her from the safety of his stone walls.
It was perfect. Given what a lurch he had left her in, he wasn’t at all confident she would respond, but it was worth trying. For sanity’s sake.
That very evening, he sat at the desk to write her a letter.
Light of my life,
Darling Liz,
Lizbeth,
Miss Trethow,
I write to you from lonely stone walls, dreaming of your lips. Run away with me.
Yours always
Yours faithfully
Yours
Your humble servant, Lord Roddam
Crumpling the letter, he pulled a fresh sheet for a sensible letter devoid of strikethroughs.
Dear Miss Trethow,
I hope you returned safely to Trevena. Forgive my rudeness at our last parting. I knew not what I did. If you could find it in your heart, then I am
Your humble servant and friend,
Earl of Roddam
Dear Lord Roddam,
You need not ask for my forgiveness, for I will always consider you a friend. Are you well? Do you know how my sister fairs in her new home?
Always your friend,
Lizbeth
Dear Lizbeth,
I was both surprised and pleased to receive your reply. I trust this letter finds you well. Thank you for inquiring of my wellbeing. I am fair to middling.
I was honored with a dinner invitation at Lyonn Manor with the Duchess of Annick &co. I am pleased to inform you she is adjusting well. She has taken a shine to the dowager duchess (known to me as Aunt Catherine, for she is my father’s sister). If I’m not mistaken, and I could be in the way of young women, the duchess and her new sister-in-law Lady Mary appear to be the closest of friends. Are they not just two years apart in age?
I detected the aroma of lavender in your letter. Intentional? I remain faithfully
Your dearest,
Sebastian
Sebastian,
I challenge you to guess the scent of this letter.
Thank you for the information about Charlotte. I have received only one letter from her and longed for news.
I have wondered at the kinship between you and Annick. Were your father and his mother close siblings? Did you and Annick grow up together in a close-knit family? I do wish to know more about your family, if you’ll permit me the familiarity.
This may strike you as a non-sequitur, but I know you’ll be honest and educate me. I know not who else to ask. I must say, it is disconcerting not to be taken seriously by men who know the answers yet refuse to divulge to a woman, telling me instead not to worry my pretty head over such matters and that all is well. All is not well. There remains severity towards my sex when discussing matters of war and politics, even among friends and family. I find myself blind even in an enlightened age. My concern: There is, of late, a stir of local skirmishes, namely between the young men and older generations. Many of the young men have enlisted in the regiment. Not unorthodox, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, the elders disapprove of the enlistment. I do hope there won’t be another war in the Americas. Papa is usually forthright about politics, but he says it is all too loathsome to discuss. Enlighten me if you know the cause to the rising hostility in and around my humble parish.
Your Cornish pixie,
Lizbeth
To a silly Cornish pixie indeed,
I feel absurd sniffing paper. Was this previous letter scented with jasmine, perchance? In keeping with your game, I have crushed a scent to these pages. I challenge you, in return, to guess the aroma. Sniff if you dare.
The answer to your question of rising hostility is not simple. While I’m not versed in the dynamics of your parish, I can attest the rumblings in Parliament. We have decided to strengthen our naval fleets and take advantage of France’s weakness. Their country is in chaos with one faction attempting to restore the monarchy and the other attempting a radical revolutionary republicanism. We can’t possibly know how the shift will affect sentiments towards us, so it is an opportunity to conquer France while it is in turmoil; thus, recruitment of new soldiers has increased. The decision is contentious at best.
Enough of politics. How is Mr. Trethow? I had grown fond of our talks in London and should pen him a letter. I never had a chance to discuss mining. My own fault, I know.
You are most welcome regarding the news of my nearest neighbors and kin. The dinner I attended with your sister would have been far better with you at the table to laugh at my jokes. No one at the table appreciated my cynicism or my puns.
Your bravest,
Lord of a Haunted Castle
Dearest Sebastian, Lord of a Haunted Castle,
I have sniffed your paper in a most lady-like fashion and deduced the smell of grass. In response, I’ve included eau de mint for your olfactory pleasure.
Is your castle haunted? Does the ghost rattle chains or merely hide your toiletries in ghostly humor?
By the by, I eagerly await stories of your family. What is your aunt like? Did she help your father after your mother passed as my Aunt Hazel did for Papa? Do you have any siblings or cousins aside from Annick and Lady Mary? Don’t think I didn’t notice your careful avoidance of my questions.
Today was splendid, and I only wish I could have shared such splendor with a dear friend. I visited the cliff overlooking the inaccessible remains of King Arthur’s birthplace, a sight to behold. One can sense the mysticism.
Do you favor the sea at all? I don’t know what I would do without the sea at my fingertips. How does anyone live in a landlocked city like London? A rhetorical question, of course.
Your favorite cliff sitter,
Lizbeth
Lizbeth of the grassy cliffs,
You’ve guessed right. I pressed grass against the paper and hoped it would stump you. Your nose knows no bounds.
I hope my castle isn’t haunted. I wanted you to imagine me fighting ghosts while reciting poetry. A romantic image, no? I don’t believe such an image could be more gallant, unless perhaps I battled windmills. I hope you’ll enjoy the humor of the windmill reference.
I would have enjoyed sharing the view with you, although I may have been too distracted by you to admire ruins. If you didn’t blush like a proper miss, then I have failed at flattery.
Should you ever visit, I would love to take you north into the Scottish highlands. The vistas are spectacular, and if you were brave, we could hunt the mighty haggis. You’re missing opportunities to explore rugged lands while hiding out in your pirate cove. In the wilds of the north, I am
Your haggis hunter,
Sebastian
Sebastian,
Do you think me so gullible as to believe there’s such a creature as a haggis? You’re teasing me, and I shan’t fall for it.
Your flattery, however, succeeded. Blush achieved. My only consolation is that you cannot see it to enjoy the victory.
I will not reproach you for not answering my more personal questions, as they were presumptuous of me. All the same, I am disappointed not to learn more about your family. Could you at least humor me as to how you and Annick came to be such good friends when the two of you are so very different? I am
Yours,
Lizbeth
To the fairest flower,
I have, admittedly, intentionally omitted information about family. It is not a subject on which I wish to dwell. I will answer your question about Annick, however. He is, after all, your new brother-in-law, and despite your dislike of him, he deserves your favor.
Annick has a heart of gold, and I am forever in his debt. I hesitate to write the origin of our friendship, for it does not shine me in the best light. I do not wish you to think less of me since there is not much to recommend me as it is.
I grew up estranged from my relatives. I met Drake for the first time when he saved my life. He developed a habit of rescuing me over the coming years.
I believe I was around sixteen or thereabouts when I left home with no intentions of returning. My feet took me into the duchy where I found a pub. I did the only sensible thing I knew to do, drink away my sorrows. At sunrise, Drake found me face-first in a ditch, battered and bruised, heavily intoxicated, and drowning in mere feet of water. He saved me from whatever fate awaited me in that dank hole.
These next words are difficult for me to write, as I keep the darkest parts of my past under lock and key. I do him a disservice by saying he only saved me from a ditch, for, you see, before he found me, I had no will to live.
I stayed with him until Aunt Catherine notified my father of my whereabouts. My cousin is a good man, despite his pomp. He is mostly show, you should know. He has hidden depths beneath the vanity and lace.
The Earl and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 1) Page 13