by Lauren Smith
There was a wide window behind her, and it gave her a sudden idea. She rushed to the window, opening it wide. She dug through the armoire until she found extra bed linens. She worked to knot the sheets together, then dropped one end of the makeshift rope down the side of the house. It worked for Lady Leticia in a Gothic novel, so it just might work for her. Of course, she wouldn’t use it the way Leticia did, but it would serve a purpose all the same.
She tied the other end to a metal pole at the base of the windows used to hold back the curtains. She feared there was no way her rope would carry her, but if she could trick Stamford into believing she had escaped, it would give her time to slip away while Stamford’s focus was elsewhere. She slipped under the bed to wait and prayed her plan would work.
16
Martin gazed unseeing at the snow falling outside his study window. Stacks of letters lay unanswered, their words left unread. His cup of tea, hot only a short time ago, was now tepid. The room was icy despite the fire some kind footman had lit for him during his distraction.
His happiness, what little of it he’d claimed in the last few days, was gone. It was like losing his mother and his home all over again. If he didn’t know better, he might have sworn his black heart was broken clean through. If it was, it would never heal.
My Livvy is gone. Gone because I was too much of a coward to fight for her. Regret weighed so heavily upon him that it was hard to draw in a breath without his chest aching.
He knew his servants would be worried, and his clients’ letters needed answering, but Martin couldn’t find the strength or desire to care about anything at the moment.
His thoughts were miles away, on Livvy and how she’d been so brave to touch the elephant at the frost fair. How she had made him do it as well and face his fear. She’d brought out the best in him over and over.
And yet I was afraid of what she made me feel.
He rubbed his eyes, suddenly very weary.
“Sir?” Harris’s voice came through the closed door.
He turned away from the window. “Yes?”
“I hate to disturb you, sir, but Mr. Hartwell is here.”
“I will not see him,” Martin growled.
“Sir.” Harris’s voice was louder now and more insistent. “He’s been badly beaten. He told me he needs your help. Someone named Stamford has kidnapped Miss Hartwell.”
“What?” Martin leapt out of his chair so fast he knocked it over. He opened his door and faced Harris. The butler nodded toward the front door. Edwin Hartwell stood just inside the doorway, hat in hand, his face swollen around one eye.
“Livvy’s been taken? What the devil happened?” Martin demanded.
“She’d only been home a few hours. She was sleeping and he showed up, demanding to take her for a debt. It seems word of your arrangement with her has spread around town.” Edwin’s face darkened.
“A debt? I paid him for that debt. He has no right to her. Why didn’t you stop him?” Martin wanted to blacken Edwin’s other eye.
Edwin stared at him, his face stony. “I refused his demands, and the bastard hit me hard. When I awoke, they were gone. I would’ve done anything to protect her.”
“You didn’t protect her from me!” Martin snapped. “How was I any different than Stamford?” He hated the truth of those words, but he couldn’t deny them either.
Hartwell looked at the floor. “My shame for not standing up for her more with you is what drove me to stand up to Stamford. But you are not the same kind of man as him. I saw the clothes and books you sent back with her. I saw her face when she talked about you. My daughter loves you, and I think perhaps you might love her as well. Whatever you feel for me, hatred, loathing, I am sure I deserve in full measure. You must understand that everything I did was to protect my own family. I was not lining my pockets with your family’s money—I was keeping my own family in our home. It doesn’t erase the villainy of my actions toward you, but what I did, it was for Livvy. If you at all care for her, you must help her now. Please, I’m begging you.” Edwin’s eyes were full of desperation. “What I did to you was beyond despicable, but please don’t let Livvy suffer for my sins. I fear what Stamford will do with her.”
Martin cringed inside. He shared that fear. The man was dangerous. “Harris, have my coach brought round at once.”
“I have a hackney already waiting,” Edwin said. “I’d hoped you would come with me.”
“Then let us make haste.” Martin didn’t bother to fetch a coat. He was on fire with a building rage. If Livvy was harmed in any way, he would kill Stamford.
Livvy listened to the pounding on the bedroom door.
“You little—aargh!”
The door broke open with a thud, and the desk blocking it shifted a few inches. Another thud and the desk shifted yet again. Each time the wooden legs scraped harshly on the floor, the sound made her ears hurt. She covered them with her hands and watched the desk shudder and slide inch by inch as Stamford threw himself at the door. Then he had space to squeeze through and stomped around the room. Livvy watched his boots as he paused at the window.
“Think she can get far? We’ll see,” he growled and left the room. Livvy held her breath. After several moments, she slid out from under the bed and tiptoed toward the desk and open doorway. She heard Stamford’s distant yelling from below on the first floor. There weren’t any servants about as she quickly rushed down the stairs and headed for the front door. If she could just get to the street…
Pain ripped through her skull as she was yanked backward by her hair.
“Think yourself a crafty bit of muslin, do you?” Stamford’s deadly purr pushed her to fight. She reached up and clawed his cheek, drawing blood. He hissed and released her, only to strike her with a closed fist. It caught her cheekbone, driving agony through her. Her knees buckled, and she fell at his feet. Stamford kicked her in the stomach, and she curled up on one side, gasping for breath. He began to lift his foot again, and she curled into a tighter ball. A rap on the door made Stamford back away. He stared down at her.
“One bloody sound out of you and you won’t live to regret it,” he warned.
Livvy cowered in the shadows behind the door, and Stamford opened it.
“What are you—”
The scuffle and sounds of a fight made Livvy close her eyes at first. Then she opened them to see Stamford staggering back. A second later Martin, her avenging angel, advanced on Stamford, his fists raised.
“Where is she?” Martin demanded.
“I’m here!” Livvy choked out.
Stamford took advantage of the distraction to lunge at Martin, tackling him to the ground. Stamford seemed ready to drive Martin’s skull into the floor when someone else suddenly knocked Stamford off of him.
“This is for my daughter!” Her father had mounted Stamford and was punching him over and over. Livvy watched in horror while Stamford groaned and writhed, her father attacking him like a wild animal. Martin gripped her father by the shoulders and dragged him off as Martin said something in her father’s ear. Only then did he get off Stamford, though he kicked the man in the ribs and then dusted himself off before he was done with him. He looked up and saw her.
“Livvy!”
“I’m here.” Livvy used the wall to stand up, though her legs were still shaky.
“Thank God.” Her father embraced her. “Did he hurt you?”
“Yes, but not as much as you hurt him, I think.” She winced as her ribs screamed in protest. Fire lit her father’s eyes as Martin put a steady hand on his shoulder.
“Take her to the coach,” Martin said. “I’ll handle this.”
She followed her father outside but turned to see Martin as he stood above Stamford, his hands curled tight at his sides. He looked at her a moment, then, without expression, closed the door. It was for the best. She didn’t want to see whatever he might do, even though Stamford deserved it. The coach swayed as she and her father climbed inside. She sank back against the cu
shions, breathing hard. Her father watched her anxiously.
“Why did you bring Mr. Banks?” she asked quietly. After everything she’d just gone through, her body felt like it was on fire. She wanted to cry. She wanted to go back in and punch Stamford herself. She wanted Martin to come back and hold her. The conflicting desires were almost too much to bear. She clasped her hands in her lap to conceal their trembling.
“Why? Because it’s obvious the man is in love with you.”
“You are mistaken.” He wouldn’t have sent me away if he was.
“When I told him Stamford took you, he was enraged…”
“He’s a gentleman. I am sure he came to my aid for only that reason.”
Her father stared at her as if she were mad. “Trust me. I know that look. It is the look I carry for you and your mother. That love I have for you both made me do things I now regret to keep you safe and happy. I see the same look in his eyes. That man adores you.”
Martin finally entered the coach and wiped his bloody knuckles on his trousers. He glanced away from Livvy when he caught her watching. For a second it was as though her father wasn’t in the coach with them at all. They were alone, just the two of them, and that was all that mattered.
“I shall see you both home,” Martin finally said, tugging his gaze away from her.
Livvy recoiled at the cold response and tasted bitter disappointment on her tongue, but she forced herself to speak.
“Thank you for coming to my aid, Mr. Banks.”
Martin nodded stiffly and looked out the window. Livvy looked to Martin, praying for some sign that he was hurting as much as she was. But he didn’t even spare her a glance. He kept his focus on the window opposite her.
When the coach reached her home, she motioned for her father to leave, but he shook his head. “Let me have a moment with Mr. Banks.”
She left the coach and headed inside. Livvy put a hand to her mouth as she turned away, swallowing a fresh wave of pain inside her heart. Was it possible for a heart to break a second time? Because she was quite certain it had shattered again.
“Tell me you don’t love her,” Edwin said.
More than you can ever know. More than I ever dare admit to anyone.
“I…” The words were there on the tip of Martin’s tongue, but they wouldn’t come. It wasn’t easy to admit his feelings to a man who had taken so much from him.
“I know you and I will never be friends, and the barest cordiality will exist between us, but please do not let my sins destroy your future with her, if that is what you desire. I can make no excuses for the wrongs I’ve committed against your family. I can only say that I was fighting to prevent my own family from being ousted from our home. I made regrettable decisions to protect Livvy and her mother, but I don’t regret trying to protect them. I know you understand that, if nothing else. If you love her, don’t let the past ruin that.” Edwin’s eyes held no cruelty, no mockery, no evidence of the man he’d been over a decade ago. Was it possible the man really had changed?
“I will think on it,” Martin said finally, but even as Edwin exited the coach, Martin knew how he truly felt. After seeing Livvy bruised and hurt, his rage filled him with a blinding need to protect her.
I cannot live without her. If that means forgiving her father in some small way, I shall do it. She was worth keeping, worth protecting. Worth loving at any cost.
He rapped the ceiling of the carriage with his cane. The cane she had convinced him to buy at the frost fair.
There was much to do.
17
He didn’t come for me.
Livvy sat in the drawing room, a book clutched in her hands, the words unread. The embers were dying in the fire, and outside the snow was falling thick in the early morning. It’d been a full week since she’d been rescued from Viscount Stamford, and it felt as though she’d been trapped here. All she could do was replay that moment when Martin came to her rescue. But then he’d let her go home with her father, and she knew then that she would never see him again. She’d carried hope within her that he might come and whisk her away to be married. But he hadn’t. He’d cared for her, but it wasn’t enough for him to come back.
She put the book aside. It had been like that for days, a listless wandering of her thoughts, a lack of desire to even rise from her bed most mornings. Food seemed to lack taste, and the world seemed grayer than it used to be. Life itself had become pale. She knew she suffered from a broken heart. It hurt enough that it might kill her, and yes, she knew that sounded terribly dramatic, like something from one of her Gothic novels, but it was true. Frighteningly true.
“Livvy, dear?” Her mother’s voice disturbed her from the dark gloom of her thoughts.
“Yes?”
“I’ve had a new gown made for you. I would love to see how it fits.”
It sounded like a dreadful way to spend her time, but what else was she to do? She joined her mother upstairs in her bedroom. A large white box sat on the bed, and upstairs maid Sally was waiting to assist.
Her mother nodded at the box. “Well, go on and have a look.”
“Mama, I don’t need a new gown. I have plenty from—” She didn’t finish. She noticed her mother’s threadbare purple gown and wished her mother had bought herself a gown instead.
“Please, Livvy.” Her mother sounded oddly desperate.
She sighed and opened the box. Inside was a stunning rose-colored gown of expensive watered silk. It was too fine for a day gown, it looked more suited for an evening gown, but the décolletage was higher. She pulled the gown from the box and held it up, spinning a little in front of the mirror, fascinated and a little confused. How could she afford this? She caught sight of her mother’s watery smile in the mirror.
“Mama, what’s the matter?”
Her mother wiped tears from her cheeks. “I am just picturing how lovely you will be in it. Please, put it on.” She motioned for the maid to help Livvy change.
Once Livvy was finally dressed, her mother took her gently by the elbow.
“Your father and I would like you to meet someone.” Livvy’s stomach knotted with nerves as she followed her mother downstairs. Her father wore his best black coat, holding up her new cloak.
“Papa, who are we meeting?” she asked. Her parents were acting far too strangely. It was creating a ball of tension inside her.
“Someone I hope you will be happy to see,” he said. He kissed her forehead, and the three of them climbed into a hired hackney outside. Livvy studied her parents apprehensively, trying not to think of who she would be happy to see. Please let it not be some suitor Mama met over tea.
There was only one man who would make her happy, and she was too afraid to hope it would be him.
Martin.
Her heart gave a jolt with hope, but it couldn’t be. He had let her go. Now more than ever, she felt a kinship with Lady Leticia from her favorite Gothic novel. She’d been cast out by the duke and sent home for her own safety, and the duke had whispered in her ear, “My time in the sun has ended, and now I must face the winter of my life without you.” Lady Leticia had of course returned and rescued the duke from his treacherous younger brother, and the danger had passed. It would not be the same for Livvy, and she knew that. There was no happy ending waiting for her. The coach stopped, and Livvy peered out through the windows, shivering as a slight chill seeped through the window of the coach. They had arrived at St. George’s Church.
“Papa?” She looked to her father, but he was smiling, expressing a blend of joy and melancholy. He got out of the coach and then helped her and her mother out. Together they walked up the steps to the church. Her father ushered her mother inside, but he and Livvy remained on the steps a moment longer.
“Papa, what is happening?” Livvy demanded, her heart racing wildly.
He brushed his knuckles down her cheek the way he used to do when she was a little girl.
“You gave yourself to save our family, Livvy. That was…” His voice
roughened. “That was once my job. But I failed you, my darling child, in more ways than you know. But now I can make it right.”
“There’s nothing to make right.”
“There is everything to make right. You deserve the life I’ve always dreamed to give you. And now I can.”
He moved toward the heavy wooden doors of the church and opened them, then offered her his arm. Livvy struggled to breathe as she entered St. George’s, her eyes darting over the beautiful interior of the church. It was empty and quiet except for her mother and three men who stood at the front by the altar. A clergyman, a dark-haired man with a gentle smile, and one other man with golden hair that was illuminated by the morning sunlight like the halo of a fallen angel. Her angel.
“Martin!” she gasped. Those blue eyes she’d once thought were so cold now shone like the surface of a summer lake reflecting the bluest sky. She looked to her father, and he was wiping at his face, brushing away his tears.
“Yes,” her father said with a chuckle. “His friend, Mr. Bennett, agreed to be an extra witness.”
“But he didn’t come back for me,” she whispered, her heart so fragile and so full of hope. She feared to believe what she was seeing.
“He wanted to more than anything, but he had to make things perfect for you before he did.” Her father gestured to her new dress. “He’s done so much for us, all of us, Livvy. As long as you love him, I will do whatever I can to win back his trust and respect.”
Livvy bit her lip hard enough that she almost drew blood.
“I do love him.” So much it hurts.
Her father chuckled. “Then let’s make a husband out of the boy.”
When she reached Martin, his eyes searched hers, worry lines creasing his eyes and mouth.
“This doesn’t have to happen if you don’t want to,” he said quietly.
“Do you love me?” she asked. That was the only thing that mattered to her.