And with her freedom came a returning confidence in her observations and in her responses. At dinner, when one of the Somerville men teased her, she teased in return. And when the duke scowled at some frustration or annoyance, she treated him as any other scowling man in her past. She did not assume she was the cause; she simply ignored him. When Aidan came to her—accompanied by Walgrave—with questions about her inheritance and her cousin, she did not hesitate to answer. And when they offered her their resources and their aid, she accepted. She would not again make the mistake of believing she could oppose Marner’s power alone.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
On the lawn below the terrace, Hallett seemed never to tire of throwing a ball for Boatswain to fetch. Lucy, her lap covered by a blanket, sat on the terrace steps, watching the two with pleasure. The boy and the dog were always close at hand if she needed them, and she was grateful for their care. But she was growing tired of being the invalid. Another week, she told herself, and she would be fully recovered.
Colin approached the terrace from the garden. Boatswain ran to Colin, and Hallett threw Colin the ball. For several minutes, Colin played the game, and Lucy watched him, admiring the economy and elegance of his movements, the line of his arm, the power of his throws. Colin could pitch the ball farther than Hallett, and the dog had to run farther and faster to catch it. It was a picturesque scene, two men, a dog, and a ball. She could easily imagine it painted by George Stubbs or John Constable. Soon, however, Colin made his way toward her seat on the stairs, and she felt his approach as a spreading warmth in the center of her chest. She smiled as he stood at the foot of the stairs before her.
“I was hoping to find you alone.”
“I’m alone enough. In addition to surveilling my visitors, Hallett is wearing out my dog before dinner.” She motioned to the top of the stair beside her. “Would you like to sit?”
He took the seat, then leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. “He’s a beautiful dog. I’m glad you have him.”
“Em taught him an amazing set of skills. I’m surprised every day at something he already knows how to do.” Lucy paused, watching Colin twist his hands before him, rubbing one palm with the opposite thumb. “You’re upset.”
“I need to speak with you. I have been waiting until you were well, and . . .”
“And now I’m well.” She examined his face, but he did not look at her, only stared at Hallett and Boatswain.
“I want you to know that, when you did not meet me at the British Museum, I searched for you, for weeks I searched.” He looked at his hands. “But . . .”
“I would have met you, Colin, except my cousin’s men found me first. But I loved you, love you. I’ll never love anyone else. Only you.” She put her hand on his knee, but he did not acknowledge it, only kept twisting his hands. She withdrew her hand.
She looked at him closely, at the dejected way he held his shoulders, at the hang of his head. “Something happened when we were apart. Are you married? Is that why they look away sometimes when I ask where you are?”
“No, not married.”
She breathed out in relief.
“But I’m engaged. The banns were already read before I found you. And the wedding is next week. The household leaves tomorrow.”
She couldn’t catch her breath. She felt immobile, her chest caught mid-breath, her heart frozen. “Who? How?”
“After weeks of searching, I returned to Hartshorn Hall. I needed Em’s friendship and consolation. But there was a party. Everyone from the town was there, her family, and she’d waited for me for years.” His voice drifted away. Then so softly that she almost didn’t hear it. “I believed you didn’t want me.”
She remembered Em’s graciousness, her kindness, and Colin’s strength, honesty, integrity. At the least she could do the noble thing, even if it broke her heart a million ways.
“No, Colin, you did right. Em had a prior claim.” She shifted her body to face him. “I should have told you from the beginning who I was, my troubles. I should have taken you with me when I was in London. But even though I knew in my heart what kind of man you were, I didn’t trust you enough. I was too used to relying on my own ingenuity. But in the end, you saved me. You found a way to free me, to convince me I was not mad, to give me powerful friends. If I have the possibility of a useful life now, I have that possibility because of you.”
“I’ve lain awake every night since I found you, trying to imagine how to set it right, how to break the engagement. If it were any other woman, I would, but . . .” He looked at his hands, the glint of tears in his eyes.
“But it’s Em.”
“Yes, it’s Em.” His voice held the finality of his decision. “For my whole life, she’s been my constant friend, and I’ll care for her until I die.”
She put her hand on his and left it there for a long time before she spoke again. “Whenever we are in the same company, I will greet your wife as a dear friend and you as her loving husband. We will sit through meals and dances, and remind ourselves of our obligations. And one day we’ll wake up and find that the longing has faded. And sometime after that, we will find it has disappeared entirely.”
“Never!”
“Yes, Colin. It will fade. Because it’s Em. Because we cannot hurt her.”
He rose and offered her his hand. She took it, savoring the feel of his hand in hers.
“You are of course invited to the wedding. But Aidan has arranged a house guard for you, if you wish to remain here.”
“Thank you. That’s very considerate.” She could hear their language becoming more distant.
“I have made some arrangements. I will be gone for some weeks after the wedding. Em wishes to see her father in France, and after that, we will return to Hartshorn Hall. I will not be much in London in the future, but I will, of course, always be at your service. In my stead, Aidan and Walgrave have agreed to act on your behalf, to protect you and resolve the situation with your inheritance. I regret I will be unable to do more.”
“Thank you, but you have done more than anyone could expect, particularly under the circumstances.”
“You have friends here, Lucy. Real friends. Let them care for you, for my sake.”
He took one last look at her face and returned to the house.
She sat back on the stairs, wiping away tears and watching Hallett throw a ball to Boatswain.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The day of the wedding arrived. The gathering was to be a small one—friends, family, the community near Em’s estate, but not the ton. Lucy had been invited, and, though it would be painful, she told herself that she needed to attend. She needed to hear the vows and know that he was never going to be hers. When Walgrave had offered to escort her, she had accepted.
She wore a blue-violet day dress, borrowed from Colin’s cousin Kate. Her money was not yet her own, her cousin having filed a petition in Chancery declaring that his missing cousin was incompetent. Few knew where she was, and those who did were sworn to silence. Marner’s suit put her inheritance at risk, but Aidan, using his status as a duke, had begun to work on her behalf.
Everyone was already seated when she arrived, chatting quietly as they waited.
The church was crowded, but there was a seat in the back row of the church next to a solemn-looking man in a dark red suit. He looked at her with an odd recognition as she slipped into the seat next to him, and she dreaded thinking that he was one of those members of the ton she’d met while drugged on dawamesk.
“Lady Lucia Fairbourne? It is Lucia, am I correct?” he whispered. “We met once when your great-aunt was still alive, shortly after you returned from the Continent. She held a party for you, on the lawn, and invited the whole countryside.”
“Yes, I remember. But there were so many people there, I’m sorry that I don’t recall your name.”
“My friends call me Adam.”
“And are we to be friends . . . Adam?” He was a handsome man—dark hair, gr
een eyes, his voice cultured. In other circumstances, she would have found him attractive.
“We have much in common, Lady Fairbourne, much more than you imagine. For one,” he spoke low, leaning close to her shoulder without touching it, “both of us have come here to end an affair: you with the groom, and I with the bride. We must see them marry”—his voice grew sad—“must we not, to know that our time is over?”
He looked so sincere, and his words fit her motivations so closely that she did not object to his forwardness.
He leaned away from her, sitting upright in his seat. “But we should talk of something else. I was one of your great-aunt’s protégés. My father held a living on one of her Irish estates, and she sponsored my education.”
“I would never have known from your accent.”
“My parents were English, but even so, any hint of my Irish childhood was a necessary loss. Ultimately, though, your aunt grew a bit disappointed in me.”
“Why, sir? My great-aunt was rarely disappointed in anyone, other than my cousin, that is.”
“Ah, yes, the grasping Archibald. I am pleased to see you escaped his plans. No, I think she hoped I would visit the estate and fall in love with you. But by then I’d already found someone I’d hoped to love.”
He looked to the front of the church, and they grew silent together.
A small boy, one of the baker’s youngest, tapped Adam on the shoulder, and handed him an envelope. Adam looked at the hand on the envelope and turned white. He broke the seal with his finger and let the contents fall into his palm: a small charm shaped like a mermaid.
He looked surprised, then disbelieving. He carefully unfolded the note that accompanied the trinket, then he spoke quietly to the baker’s boy. She watched as he handed the child a shilling, then rose and picked up his hat from the seat beside him.
“Lady Fairbourne, I must be going. I think perhaps my luck is changing.” He stepped into the aisle, then turned back to smile at her. “Perhaps yours will change as well.”
Some minutes after Adam left, the baker’s boy carried a letter to the front of the church, where the Somervilles sat as a group. Aidan stood and took the letter. She watched as he read it, then, holding it open, strode to the back of the church.
He paused as he approached her, both surprised—and not surprised—to see her. “Lady Fairbourne, I would talk to you after . . .” His voice trailed off, and she was surprised at his indecision. It was unlike Aidan, except where his brother was concerned. “Would you please wait here until we can speak?”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” She owed him too great a debt to refuse.
* * *
Colin stood in the vestibule, talking to one of the Shelton spinsters and the minister. When he first entered, he had seen Lucy in the back row, but he’d forced himself not to look at her. He could not bear her tears. He knew his duty, and he always did it.
The wound in his side barely hurt him anymore, but he knew that till his dying day the puckered scar on his side would remind him of her touch. Even now, the thought of her hands ministering to him was enough to make his body tight with desire and regret. He forced himself to smile at something the minister said, having heard enough to know it was a joke of some kind. He tried to replace the images of Lucy, naked and kissing him, or Lucy, drawing a sword to challenge him, with those of Em, quiet Em. But his mind was unwilling.
Miss Shelton was saying something about Em, and he forced himself to listen. Even if the old woman was a shrew, Em deserved his attention.
“Of course, Miss Emmeline has always pleased us for being everything her father is not. Dependable, concerned with the well-being of her cottagers, trustworthy.”
“That’s Emmeline for you,” he agreed heartily, “Always dependable.”
“Well, and of course, you know about her father . . . the absent lord, off in France raising a second family with his French mistress.”
“I believe that the proper term is wife.” Colin found it strange to be defending the man, but Em would wish him to do so, even if it meant he spread a little lie on her father’s behalf.
“Well, in my day, a man didn’t marry below his station without repercussions being felt through the whole estate.”
“Perhaps that’s why her father has not come home. He knows what reception he’ll receive. Perhaps it’s kinder this way, allowing Em to run the estate.”
“He always was a flighty one, running off to the wars though he was the heir presumptive. But I suppose you will take over now. Certainly you and Lady Emmeline will wish to begin a family, and it wouldn’t do to have the lady of the manor mucking about in the fields, as Lady Emmeline has often done.”
He thought of having children, but none of them looked like Em. Instead, they all had the shape of Lucy’s face and her dark curling hair.
The minister saved him by escorting the shrew to her pew.
Colin brushed his hair back from his face and took a deep breath, as Aidan appeared at his side.
Aidan took his arm. “I need to speak with you in private.”
“Can it wait? The ceremony is about to begin. Em will be here in just a moment.”
But Aidan’s grip on his arm was tight, too tight. Colin noticed the thin line of Aidan’s mouth.
“What’s wrong? Is Em unwell?” He allowed himself to be led to the vestry at the side.
Aidan shut the door behind him.
“A boy brought a note for you, but I thought whatever it was, it could wait. He insisted, so I opened it.”
Aidan held out a crumpled piece of paper. “I’m sorry, Colin.”
Colin saw the letter was written in Em’s most formal hand, the one she reserved for declining invitations and writing letters of condolence. Colin took it, turning his back to read.
My oldest, my dearest friend,
I appear to be my father’s daughter after all.
Please forgive me.
No signature. Colin dropped the letter to his side. “Two women running away from me. At least this time there was a note.” But his voice held no hint of humor.
“Lucy didn’t run,” Aidan offered gently, putting his hand on Colin’s shoulder. The two men stood silently for a moment.
“I need to find her, convince her to come back.” Colin’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
“Is that what you wish?” Aidan turned Colin’s body toward him by the shoulders. “Because if it is, I will call for my carriage, and we will search for Lady Hartley until we find her. She can’t have gone far. But before I do that, consider the great gift Em has given you: the chance to marry Lucy. Can you tell me that your thoughts haven’t turned to Lucy even once today? That you haven’t wished that somehow, someway you could marry her—instead of Em?”
Colin looked up into his brother’s eyes. “I can’t.”
“Then Em was the wiser of the two of you.”
* * *
Aidan, Duke of Forster, made the announcement, Colin and Sam standing at his side.
Since a feast had been prepared at the manor and all the neighbors and tenants were already invited, Sam encouraged everyone to join them at the manor house. A neighborhood dinner, he called it, instead of a marriage celebration.
Colin stood stoically at the front of the church, flanked by his brothers, waiting for the church to empty. A line formed of friends who wished to offer their condolence, and Colin, as any good soldier doing his duty, held his shoulders back and his head high. Her heart broke for him.
As the family waited for the line to wend its way past Colin, Walgrave took a seat beside her. Both waited in silence.
Colin never looked at her, and then, when the church was almost empty, he left through the vestry with his brothers.
“Forster has asked me to remain with you until he returns.” Walgrave offered her a piece of hard candy. The action, so incongruous with the situation, made her stare, then laugh. “See, hard candy has amazing properties. It can soothe an anxious stomach, improve the breath .
. . and make a lady who faces an uncertain future laugh.”
She took the candy.
“I imagine you would prefer to return to London rather than attend the festivities . . . a decision that suits me as well. And, besides, Colin’s guests are unlikely to remain here past tomorrow in any event. Ah, the great man approaches. I will wait for you in the carriage.” Walgrave shook Aidan’s hand, then took his leave.
Aidan sat in the row before her so that he could face her. “I am sure that you are as surprised by today’s events as the rest of the family. Unfortunately, despite the fact that Lady Hartley compared her behavior to that of her father, my brother believes himself somehow at fault, that somehow he conveyed to Em some reticence or reluctance to marry her, and that in doing so, he forced her to this course of action. It is, in his eyes, a breach of honor, duty, and friendship. I fear that he will respond by denying himself a marriage to the one woman he truly loves. As you will continue in residence at the ducal mansion until, at the least, we can determine that you are no longer in danger from your cousin’s machinations, I have suggested that, when he returns to London, he withdraw his lodgings to his club. I hope he will come to the right decision, given time. But until he does, there is no good served by his distressing you.”
“May I ask a question that may seem impertinent, given all you have done and continue to do for me?
“Of course.” The corner of his mouth twitched momentarily into a sort of smile.
“Some months ago, you wanted nothing more than for me to reject his offer of marriage. Yet today you advise me to wait patiently for such an offer. Why? What changed your mind?”
“I have regretted that conversation many times in the last several months. But Colin is more himself when he is with you than he has been since he left for the wars. Even if I had not come to admire you, your courage, your resilience, these past weeks, I would still wish to do whatever I could to ensure that my brother remains that man.”
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