Bound by Love

by Edith Layton

  “He comes from the same beginnings as you do,” Della said, drawing herself up to her full height, which looked more impressive because she was now standing a full step above Fiona. And moreover, she thought with pride, Fiona still held her skirts up high over her knees and looked ridiculous. Della looked down her short nose at Fiona, and Fiona, realizing the sight she made, let go of her skirt so fast it bobbled as it settled around her ankles again. “Yes, the same beginnings,” Della went on, “and he made much more of himself than you have of yourself, because he was forged in fire. Low? Base?” she said with her best imitation of a sneer. “Only in your low and base thoughts, my lady, because he is a nobleman born, and a gentleman to the bone.”

  “So say you,” Fiona said, “and how else should you say? You’ve hankered after him since you were a babe, everyone knows that. And,” she said with killing arrogance, “you are a colonial.” She collected herself, sniffed, and raised her chin. Because she was tall she could look Della in the eye. “I wouldn’t be so smug, were I you,” she said, “because this is as much of a surprise to you as it was to me, isn’t it? More—because at least he told me. He never even consulted you. He doesn’t want you, either, does he?”

  “Well…well—why should he?” Della retorted, forcing herself to ignore the words that lanced through her like knives. “He can have any woman he wants, can’t he?”

  Fiona’s eyes widened as the shot went home, and she gasped audibly. Then she closed her lips to a tight line. She turned to the side to avoid having her skirts touch Della’s, and she followed her raised nose up the stairs. Della admired the fact that she didn’t run again until she reached the corridor that led to her room. But she herself had nowhere to go but down, and that was where she must go now. She understood nothing and feared everything, but she still knew what she had to do.

  There was no one in the great hall, so Della told a footman she was going to the library to see the earl, but that if he wasn’t there, she’d wait. He’d be bound to come there eventually. He loved that room, with its rich, leather-bound volumes and its tall, mullioned windows; it was a place of refinement and light. It was a room fit for a nobleman, or any man who wanted to feel like one. She too loved it, because it was where he always sought shelter—and where he’d kissed her with real passion that she could pretend was love. Sooner or later he’d come home, and then she could go home, with him or without him. She didn’t know where he was going; Fiona had been right about that. Why would he leave now? Because of what had happened between them last night? The thought brought her up short. That would be awful; there was no need for him to go, because she was leaving. She had to speak to him at once.

  Once at the library, Della opened the door—and heard voices inside. She froze, her hand on the ornate knob, door ajar, when she heard her name. It wasn’t being called, it was being spoken to someone else. Although she would have sworn she was an honest person without a drop of sneakery in her soul, she waited, holding her breath to hear the rest of it.

  Eavesdroppers never heard good about themselves—she knew that. She knew she was wrong, but she couldn’t help herself. She was confused and hurt. There was only so much will power she had left, though it wasn’t really a matter of will: her body seemed to have taken over her mind—she found she couldn’t walk away or announce her presence. She almost hoped someone would notice her standing there, in order to save her soul. And then she listened more closely and forgot about herself entirely.

  They filled the room, just the two of them. Both brothers were big, vital men, each capable of dominating a room himself. They were so angry and frustrated with each other that their presence seemed to crowd even the spacious library. They didn’t shout. They were too polite, their voices too controlled. The tension filled the room. Justin sat as if posed, too obviously not at ease in a chair by the fireplace. Jared stood by a window, looking out and not at his brother, although they were speaking to each other.

  “No. I see nothing to make me change my mind,” Justin said calmly.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jared answered. “I’m sorry you feel this way, but it’s decided. I know what I have to do. I’ve thought it out.… No,” he said, suddenly turning to look at his brother. “that’s not true. I couldn’t think at all for a while. I paced, then I rode, then I took pity on the horse and walked—halfway across the country, I think. And then, there it was. It just was, brother—like the sun after a storm. It was there, and so clear and simple and right. I didn’t think it; it came to me. And I knew it for the truth.”

  “Revelations at Hawkstone Hall,” Justin said sarcastically, crossing his long legs and sitting back. “How biblical.”

  Della winced at Justin’s coldness. Jared didn’t. “It doesn’t matter what you think, Justin,” he said. “It was a true revelation. I’m sorry you don’t understand, but I know what to do now. Then as I said, I came back here to begin to do it and Fiona told me about Della! Can’t you see? There’s no more time for argument. I’ve made my decision; the thing is done.”

  “Only in your mind,” Justin said, looking at his nails. “Or…did you tell Fiona?”

  “Yes.”

  “Umm. That must have been a pretty sight,” Justin said with a glimmer of a smile, but not a nice one. “But it makes no difference. It’s absurd.”

  “It is done,” Jared said. “Believe it. Accept it. It will be so.”

  He paced from the window, and when Della got a clear look at him she stifled a gasp of dismay. She’d never seen him so careless of his appearance. His long coat was open—his vest, too—and his shirt billowed out from his slender waist instead of being tucked smartly into his breeches. He had to keep brushing strands of his golden hair back from his face; it moved when he turned his head, because it had been loosed from its tie. Knowing his habit of running his hand through his hair when he was troubled, she suspected it wasn’t mussed just from the wild ride or long walk he spoke about.

  She’d never seen Justin so cold before, either. Gone was the friendly, gentle man she thought she knew. He was handsome, but almost inhumanly immaculate, his face so glacial he looked as if he would shatter or explode if anyone touched him. He was the complete English aristocrat, the kind the children jeered at, at home—a true mate for the Fiona she’d just met and battled with on the stairs. She didn’t like what she saw. Even if she had wanted to speak from her shadowed corner, she wouldn’t have dared now. The atmosphere was darkening, the storm not far off.

  “Madness,” Justin said, shaking his head. “I won’t allow it.”

  “You can’t stop it.”

  “Oh, can I not?” Justin asked with a glint in his eye. “I can renounce you. And then the title, too, you know. And then, to whom does it go? Ah, yes, one of our wicked uncle’s boys. That will be nice, won’t it?”

  Jared seemed as stunned as Della was. Then he took a long breath. There was something in his face that she had not seen since the night she had seen Brown, his former master, call him a fraud: it was a look of utter despair. He held out his hands to his sides, as though to show he was unarmed.

  “Justin,” he said, “it’s not easy. Do you think it is? Don’t. I do what I must. Isn’t that our family motto? I know how strange it must seem to you. Yes, I did fight to get back here all my life. It was a good thing, too—it kept me alive. I don’t think anything else would have, at least in those first years. Obsession can sometimes be a good thing, but it can turn on you, too. I learned the hard way that blind ambition and thoughtless desire can keep a man going when it’s not helpful for him to see or think, when the only important thing is to live to reach his goal. But that’s the point: he doesn’t see or think. He can’t. The trouble is, once I had achieved my goal, I finally began to see and think.”

  He closed his eyes before he looked at his brother again. “I came to England looking for revenge,” he said. “I found triumph, vindication, acceptance—love.”

  Della drew back a little, her heart knotting, wishing she had
n’t stumbled into this, anguished to hear what she did but not breathing for fear of missing something.

  “Indeed,” Justin said tersely. “We’ve all had ample evidence of that.”

  “Have you?” Jared asked quietly.

  “You claimed the title, and then my—your—promised bride. We both know you have her. What else do you want?” Justin asked in a hard voice.

  “We were talking about Della…”

  “So we were,” Justin said, leaning forward, anger slowly fanning to fire from beneath his cold reserve, “and you weren’t happy about what I said about her, either, were you? So what else do you want now, brother? You have the title, the estate, the lady-wife; you swept all to yourself. Now you want the lovely disciple, too? There’s to be nothing for me, is there? You’ll leave me nothing? Is it that you’ve never forgiven me for not being the one who was kidnapped? Or some other bizarre thing? You seemed determined to take everything I had, as well as everything I even wished to have. What if I make eyes at a serving girl? Will you want her, too?”

  “Good. So I’ve drawn blood, and the poison is finally out. This is much better,” Jared said approvingly, and he didn’t seem to be joking. “Let’s lance the ugly thing; let’s have it in the open at last. I never really believed in the damned saint I met, brother. Or if I did, it only made me feel worse about myself.”

  “Saint?” Justin asked, shocked.

  “Yes, saint. Saint Justin the divine. You never complained about my taking over the hall or anything else. I came, I saw, I conquered. ‘Take more, brother’ was all you said.”

  “How could I complain? I owed you everything! And you took nothing that wasn’t yours—until now.”

  “You don’t understand,” Jared said bitterly. “I might have been lowly, and I knew it, but I also knew I could never be as saintly as you were. It made me feel even lowlier.”

  “Lowly?” Justin asked, his voice rising, breaking his frigid calm at last, his hands tightening to fists as he rose from his chair and confronted his brother. “Damnation! How many times must you hear it? How many times before it gets through your thick head? No one cares that you were an indentured servant.”

  “I do!” Jared shouted, his eyes bright with anger and pain. “I care. I can’t forget it—never, not for a minute, nor can I believe anyone else can. Do you know what I was, Justin? I was--nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “You were an innocent victim,” Justin said in a voice filled with suppressed rage. “Can’t you understand? You’re returned to us, everyone’s happy, all’s right with the world at last. No one but yourself cares about that unhappy time—except those of us who grieved because it happened, and because it obviously still grieves you so.

  “How many times do you think I’ve wished the boy they found that night and sold into bondage had been me?” Justin gave a bitter laugh. “You can’t count that high, believe me. Lowly? Do you want to talk about feelings of unworthiness, brother? It was bad enough knowing I ruled here in your place even before I knew you’d survived. It was much worse finding out how you suffered in those years. Oh God, how I wished I bore your scars, real and imagined!”

  Justin didn’t seem to see Jared now that he’d started talking. “I have scars too,” he said angrily. “Not spectacular ones like yours, of course. You must always have more of everything, mustn’t you? But they thought I’d lost an eye that night. I thought so, too, but it was only that I couldn’t see for all the blood. I fell on a rock, or the water pushed me into one—I don’t know—and I was half blinded by the blood as I cowered there in the reeds. Yes, cowered. Do you think you’re the only one with nightmares? I laid low, my face in the dirt, crying, praying they wouldn’t find me. If I’d lifted my head, I might have found you or seen what happened to you, but I was afraid. Don’t you think I’ve thought of that a thousand times since? You saved me from drowning, yet I couldn’t even lift my cowardly eyes to see if you still lived. But all I have to show for it now is a thin line on my brow—they stitched me well—while you… I’m sorry for that, too.”

  “You were only six, Justin,” Jared said quietly. “There’s no such thing as cowardice at six. I would have done the same thing.”

  “You were only seven, and you didn’t,” Justin spat it like an oath.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jared insisted. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say. That’s what I saw today, what I came to understand. I can’t forget what I was. Maybe it’s a shame, but you’re right: it doesn’t matter anymore. It all happened. I was a bond-boy, you became the earl, and you did it well. I might have, but I didn’t. You see? You’re right; let’s bury the past. I’m tired of it. I need a future.”

  “And you want mine, too?” Justin asked bitterly. “You want Della now, too?

  “No,” Jared said, “no. I don’t want Della.”

  Della felt her blood still in her veins and pool in her chest, a heavy, solid sorrow, too thick for tears and robbing her of breath. She wished herself thousands of miles away, taking cold comfort from the awful fact that that was where she soon would be.

  “No,” Jared said. “You don’t understand; I don’t want her—I need her.”

  “Oh, wordplay now,” Justin said. “Excellent—games. Just what we needed. You want everything I ever had, anything I ever showed any interest in. ‘Does Justin want it? Then it must be of value; I want it, too.’ What will be next, my heart? My skin? Would you like that to hang on the wall? And when I ask why, you play with words. Want, need—it’s all the same.”

  “No, it isn’t. I’m not playing games. It’s nothing but truth,” Jared said. “I need her. Just that. I need her. It’s simple; I need her more than the title, the hall, and the honors. They’re nothing to me, after all. Isn’t that amazing? After all these years, all my scrabbling, that’s what I finally saw today. I was blind to everything but reclaiming what I’d lost. Until today, I didn’t see that if I didn’t have her, I’d have nothing, no matter what else I had. Can’t you see? I’m giving it all back to you—you make a better earl than me anyway. I don’t want it; I’ve found what I need. The rest was always a dream; when I lived it, I felt wrong in it.

  “So take it back. Be the earl of Alveston again. I’m going back to the Colonies. It will be as though I’ve never been here, the way it was before I came, only this time you won’t have to feel guilty about me. And you’ll have someone to visit, if you ever want to. I’ll be fine—more than fine. I have money and a profession and a place in Virginia. We don’t hold with titles anyway, and I’ve got a good life there.

  “I hand all the rest back to you, brother. All but the one thing I thought you were going to take from me. It was the possibility of losing that, that made me realize it was the one thing I had to have—absolutely—in order to live. In order to laugh, to have a future of any kind worth living—my heart, my Della.”

  In the hallway, Della felt her breath stop.

  It seemed Jared could say no more. He turned abruptly back to the window so that the play of light on his gray eyes could account for their sudden brilliance, because they glistened now.

  “But—I thought she was like your sister,” Justin said, stunned.

  “So did I. But she’s not, thank God. She’s closer. She’s the other half of myself.” Jared bent his head and busied himself by drawing invisible circles on the window with one long finger, to avoid his brother’s eyes. “I’m not talking about saintly love, either. I’m talking about desire, too—a lot of desire, desire I denied for years. Don’t fool yourself the way I tried to fool myself. I want to put the halves together—so I can be whole at last, in every way. I give you everything else, Justin, but you can’t have her.”

  “And Fiona?” Justin asked in a hard voice.

  The back of Jared’s neck grew red, and he shrugged his wide shoulders. “I’m sorry. She came with the title, didn’t she? We—never did anything but talk, for what that’s worth. She’ll recover; there was nothing of her heart in it.”

 
“She has nothing of a heart,” Justin said with a sigh, “but we all thought it was going to be a match. Della thought so, too. After the insult of that, do you really think she’ll take you now?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” Jared said, and his voice broke. He lowered his head and cleared his throat. Justin looked away, so caught between anger and pity that he couldn’t speak, either.

  “I’ve been a damned fool,” Jared finally said, “and I have to try to convince her of that. I can’t let you take her without a fight. I won’t. I’d hoped we could be friends, but if we have to fight over this, so be it.”

  “I can’t give her back to you…” Justin said slowly. Jared stiffened, then swung around to his brother. They stood there, face to face, each with his hands fisted.

  “…because I never had her, in any way. She was always yours, brother,” Justin said sadly, his hands uncurling, holding them up in surrender, “like everything else. How can I hold what was never mine? I asked for her hand today. She refused me—because I reminded her of you.”

  Jared’s eyes widened.

  “Don’t look so anxious, my fool of a brother,” Justin said with a huff of a laugh. “If she couldn’t have the real thing, she decided she wouldn’t settle for a replica. She said I deserved better. But I knew that it meant too that she could accept no substitute. She’s beautiful and clever, but take care if you court her. You see, she’s not perfect. The woman has either terrible vision or awful taste in men, doesn’t she?”

  He blew out a long breath, turned, and walked away from Jared. As he went toward the library door, he turned his head toward the shadow where Della stood. His eyes widened. “Ah, yes…mimosa,” he said, “that accounts for it. I knew it wasn’t spring. I wondered if I’d gone mad. But I always liked it when you wore it.… Of all of it,” he called to Jared as he left the room, “this is the one right thing, brother. And the only thing in which I’ll allow you to have your way.”