by Syrie James
“Difficult, I agree. But not impossible. I understand why you ended your friendship with Lord Saunders. But he is just one member of the Grayson family. I’m deeply sorry for what you’ve gone through. But is it fair to make Julia and Lillie suffer for something that had nothing to do with them?”
Longford stared at her across the desk. “Are we back to that again?”
“You ought to—”
“Miss Watson,” he interrupted heatedly, “you have an unpleasant habit of telling me what I ought to do. You demanded a new menu? I gave it to you. You requested sketchbooks? Done. You insisted that I spend time with my sisters? I did. Enough! I will hear no more on this subject.” He gestured to the door. “You are dismissed. Please close the door on your way out.”
At dinner that evening, Alexandra could barely appreciate the flavor of the roast pork Mrs. Nettle had prepared. Her mind was too full of all that she’d learned.
Her ruminations continued in the quiet hour that followed, while Lillie practiced at the piano and Julia continued to sulk and weep. Alexandra, on the other hand, at last understood the motive behind Longford’s refusal to let his sisters go to Trevelyan Manor.
What a terrible blow he’d suffered, in losing both his fiancé and his best friend in one fell swoop. What a tragedy that his relationship with Miss Townsend had become so inexorably intertwined in his mind with art, that her betrayal destroyed his passion for the subject.
The point that rang closest to home for Alexandra, however, was the fact that the woman who broke his heart was American. A title-grubbing American heiress.
Another wave of guilt washed over her as she considered the great lie that still stood between them. Should she have told him the truth about her identity from the beginning? No, no, her instincts had been right all along. If she’d told him then, he would never have hired her. She would never have met his sisters, who she’d come to love, or come to Polperran House, which she’d grown to adore more with each passing day. She would have never gotten to know Lord Longford himself. A man who sometimes exasperated her, yet for whom, she could not deny, she had developed feelings.
He’d said those feelings could never go beyond a professional capacity. But what if they already had?
She’d hoped a time would come when she would be able to tell him the truth, without fear that he’d fire her on the spot. What would he think, if he discovered that she had the money he needed to save his estate? Was it possible they could be together? Was that something she even wanted? Would he want it? Would he want her?
His words came back again to haunt her, stabbing her in the gut like a knife:
She was no different from any of the other title-grubbing American heiresses who’ve been invading our shores, as unwelcome as the cheap American wheat that has ruined our agriculture.
How could she ever tell him the truth about herself now? If Longford ever learned who she was and her real reason for coming to England, wouldn’t he despise her?
The crisp morning air invaded Thomas’s lungs as he strode across the lawn to the stables. Impossible woman, he thought, his irritation growing with every step.
Miss Watson was constantly stirring up emotions that he had no desire to feel. One minute, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. The next minute, she was provoking him beyond reason.
When she had cornered him in his study the afternoon before with that business about Lord and Lady Trevelyan’s invitation, he had hoped to put an end to her inquiries by telling her the truth of the matter. Any reasonable human being should have been able to comprehend, after what had occurred, why he could not consider that family in any light other than revulsion.
Yet even when in possession of all the facts, she had still insisted that he allow the girls to attend that blasted party at Trevelyan Manor. What on earth did she think gave her, a governess, the right to tell him what he ought or ought not to do? He was the lord and master of this house. His word was law. He knew what was best for himself and for his family.
Despite the strength of these convictions, a tiny voice in the back of his mind responded with a comment she had made: Is it fair to make Julia and Lillie suffer for something that had nothing to do with them?
Perhaps not, he admitted with grim reluctance. But was it fair that he had been betrayed by the two people he had loved best in the world? Sometimes life wasn’t fair. One simply had to deal with adversity as best one could.
He was nearly to the stable door, intending to ride out to inspect the fences along the northern edge of his property, when he heard a shout from behind him, and observed the very object of his reflections running toward him across the lawn.
“My lord!” Miss Watson cried, waving a hand at him.
He turned back to meet her. She was hatless and breathtakingly, infuriatingly beautiful. As he took in her worried expression, his annoyance vanished. “What is it, Miss Watson?”
She stopped before him, struggling to catch her breath. “Julia is missing.”
The hairs raised on the back of his neck. “What do you mean, missing?”
“She didn’t show up for breakfast or her morning lessons. I can find her nowhere. Martha says she glimpsed Julia walking this way early this morning. I thought she might have gone riding, and hoped she’d soon come back. But it’s nearly eleven o’clock now, with no sign of her.”
A quick check in the stables proved that Julia’s horse was gone, and the stable boy admitted she had indeed left many hours earlier.
“Did she say where she was going?” Thomas asked the boy.
“No, my lord,” answered the lad.
“It is not like her to go off without permission, or to stay away so long, is it?” Thomas inquired of Miss Watson.
“No,” she agreed, “but Julia was very upset last night, over the matter of the invitation. She may have just gone out riding as a way to deal with her disappointment. But I think it likely that she had a specific destination in mind.”
Thomas looked at her, catching her drift. “You think she went to Trevelyan Manor?”
“It’s possible.”
“Thank you for alerting me. I will go in search of her.”
Thomas ordered his horse to be saddled, and took off in the direction of Trevelyan Manor. As he crossed his own property, he called out his sister’s name, but received no response. What if she had been thrown? The idea that he might find her lying in a ditch, injured and in pain, filled him with dread. He prayed for the alternative: that she had in fact gone to Trevelyan Manor, and had arrived there safely.
That notion brought him no comfort either, however, for he had no wish to see the Graysons, or to visit that house.
He had just left his grounds and crested a hill, when he saw two riders on horseback not far off, heading his way: Julia on Windermere, looking, thankfully, unharmed, and on a mount beside her, Charles Grayson, the Earl of Saunders.
Thomas froze inwardly. He had successfully avoided all contact with Saunders for years. Now, such a meeting would be unavoidable. The bastard was directly in front of him, the same picture of health and good looks as the last time Thomas had seen him.
As he approached the two riders, Thomas silently cursed Julia for putting him in this unhappy position, determined to get this over with quickly. Julia’s eyes widened with nervous surprise at the sight of him. When they came abreast of each other, all stopped, retaining their positions on their steeds.
“Longford?” Saunders stared at him. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Another reminder of how long it had been since they had seen each other. And why Thomas had grown a mustache, cut his hair. Without comment, he turned his attention to his sister. “Julia, where have you been?”
Her cheeks flamed and she stared at the ground. “I . . .” she began, then fell silent.
“Your sister paid us an unexpected visit this morning,” Saunders cut in. “I did not think it safe or proper for her to ride all the way back to Polperran House on her
own, so I have accompanied her.”
Thomas would have thanked anyone else for the service, but not this man. “Let us go, Julia.” He gestured to her to join him. As Julia silently trotted up, he added: “I am very disappointed in you. Miss Watson and I were greatly worried.”
To his surprise her lips trembled, and tears formed in her eyes. “I am sorry.”
He had expected defiance from her, not such a timid, emotional response. Uncertainly, he began to turn his horse around, when Saunders said, “Wait, Longford. Please do not leave.”
Thomas responded with a silent glare.
“I beg you,” Saunders continued. “Allow me one minute. For all the years that we were friends—”
“You are no friend of mine,” Thomas insisted bitterly. “I am astonished that you have the temerity to even speak to me.”
“One minute, that is all I ask. I hope it will be worth your while. If you do not agree, I promise to never make any attempts to speak to you in future.”
Every molecule in Thomas’s body urged him to refuse, to ride off that instant. But the image of Miss Watson suddenly popped into his brain, admonishing him: He has been trying to speak to you for years, but you refuse to see him, and you really ought to reconsider. . . .
If one minute of his time would get her off his back, and get this bastard to leave him alone forever, it would be worth it. “Fine. One minute.” Whatever Saunders was about to say, though, he did not want his sister hearing it. “Julia, we are close enough to home now. You may go ahead on your own. Return directly to the stables, and then to the nursery. We will talk later.”
“Very well.” Her voice caught in her throat. “Thank you, Lord Saunders, for escorting me home.”
“It was my pleasure, my lady,” Saunders replied with a tip of his hat.
Julia dashed off without further comment, disappearing through the trees that bordered his estate. Saunders dismounted, so Thomas reluctantly did the same. After leading the horses to a patch of grass to graze, Thomas took out his pocket watch and turned to Saunders. “One minute. Go.”
“You have every right to hate me, Longford,” Saunders began quickly. “In your position, I would feel exactly the same. What I did was very wrong, and I am desperately sorry. But you do not know the whole story. For years I have tried to apologize and tell you what happened, and have been absolutely miserable that I could not.”
Thomas made no comment, waiting.
“The thing is,” Saunders went on, “I did not pursue Elise. She—”
“Oh please,” Thomas interrupted. “Is that your defense? You are going to try to blame all this on her?”
“It is my one minute. You said you would listen.”
“Go on.”
“Elise was attractive and rich. I admit I was a little envious at first that you had made such a good catch. Even more envious, I think, that you had the freedom to choose your own wife, whereas I had long been expected to marry my cousin Sophie. But I saw how much you loved Elise, and wished only the best for you both.” Saunders removed his hat and raked a hand distractedly through his wavy brown hair. “However, I do not know if you are aware of this, Longford. Every time I saw Elise, whether it was at your house or mine, she made it her business to flirt with me. I have never been one to turn away from the attentions of an attractive woman. I saw no harm in it—she was your fiancé, and it was my aim to become friends. So I flirted right back.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed. He had witnessed the flirting, but had just seen it as Saunders’s and Elise’s fun-loving, gregarious natures at play.
“She commented on the beauty of Trevelyan Manor, and several times mentioned how thrilling it was that a marquess was just one step beneath a duke. Then one night—do you remember the party we gave, when it was raining cats and dogs, and everyone stayed so late waiting out the storm? I’d had too much to drink, and had excused myself to go upstairs. Elise followed me to my bedroom. I insisted that she leave, but she undressed and threw herself at me. Before I knew it, things progressed, and we . . .”
Thomas was stunned. “Are you saying that she seduced you? You expect me to believe this?”
“It is the truth, as embarrassed as I am to admit it. I woke up the next morning with the world’s worst hangover, and only the vaguest memory of what had happened. She called to remind me of it. She claimed that she had never been with a man before, which meant that she had never done it with you. Is that true?”
“Of course it is true. I think you know me well enough to realize I would never compromise such a woman.”
“Well, I never meant to, either. But she insisted that she loved me, and that I was now obliged to marry her.”
Thomas could see where this was going, and he didn’t like it. He knew Elise had chosen Saunders over him to secure the title of marchioness, and he had hated her for it. He hated Saunders for stealing her away. But could it really be true that Elise had been so cold and calculating as to stoop to seducing his friend and forcing him into marriage? If so, although Saunders certainly wasn’t blameless in the affair, it did remove a bit of the sting from it.
A memory from that summer three years ago surfaced in his mind: he was strolling on the beach along the cliffs below Trevelyan Manor, enjoying the wind in his face and the sight and sound of the crashing waves nearby. He had lost sight of Elise and Saunders. When he rounded a bend in the cliff, he saw Elise stroll up behind Saunders. He was seated on the rocks. She threw her arms around him. Saunders had immediately risen and backed away; even though he tried to laugh it off, his discomfort upon seeing Thomas had been immense.
It was there right in front of me, all along, he told himself. But I was too blind to see it.
“I felt like a total heel, Longford, but don’t you see? After what happened—for all I knew, she might have been with child. I felt obligated to do the right thing. I didn’t care about her money. I was attracted to her. I told myself that all is fair in love and war, that I was the woman’s choice. All miserable excuses, I know.”
“Why did you not tell me this at the time?”
“I wanted to, but I couldn’t face you. I agreed to marry her, even knowing it would greatly disappoint my parents and my cousin.” Saunders shook his head and let out a disgusted sigh. “I lived to regret it. On board the ship to America, I began to see that we were very different people who wanted different things from life. When we reached Cincinnati, this became even more clear. I understood, then, that she wanted the title of marchioness to improve the social standing of her family in that city, where she insisted she preferred to live, at least part of the time. I did not think much of her family, and was not fond of Ohio. I came to realize that if I married her, I would be a miserable wretch to my dying day. She also came to see that a union between us would be a mistake. When a month had passed, and it became certain that she was not carrying my heir, we amicably broke it off, and I came home. Ever since, I have been trying to explain and apologize, to no avail.” The look of sincere contrition in Saunders’s eyes was unmistakable. “Longford: I am more sorry than I can say.”
Thomas processed all this for a long moment. He believed Saunders was telling the truth, but gave him a hard look. “I still think you are the biggest bastard who ever lived.”
“I know I am. The question is, Can you forgive me?” Saunders’s entire heart seemed to be contained in those few words.
With a tight smile, Thomas said, “I will try.”
“That is all I can ask for.”
The two men climbed into their respective saddles. Thomas was about to head off, when he suddenly heard Miss Watson’s voice in his mind: I hope, someday, you can forgive the Earl of Saunders. . . . Resentment and hatred are wounds that only fester as time goes by. But they can be healed by forgiveness.
The pain of it all still seared him, and he had hated this man for so long. Was he ready to let go of that? He paused. That he could see even an inkling of anything remotely positive in this situation was almost unth
inkable. And yet . . . “Saunders,” he called out.
The man looked back at him.
“I am beginning to think,” Thomas acknowledged slowly, “that you may have helped me dodge a bullet.”
“I know I did. Indeed I hoped, prayed, that you would come to see it that way.”
Thomas hesitated, then silently tipped his hat to his old friend.
Saunders’s mouth widened into a smile as he returned the gesture, before the two men rode off in separate directions for home.
“I am so sorry, Miss Watson,” Julia said through her tears.
“As you should be. Promise me you’ll never disappear like that again.”
“I promise,” Julia vowed. “Thomas was so angry when he saw Lord Saunders. Do you think he will ever forgive me?”
“I’m sure he will.”
Alexandra had been relieved when Julia returned to the nursery after her ride, but the stern reprimand on her lips had died at the sight of Julia’s anguished face. Something, Alexandra thought, must have happened at Trevelyan Manor to upset the girl. Wanting a private moment with her, Alexandra gave Lillie permission to read in her favorite window seat in the gallery. Now, reaching across the nursery-room table to take Julia’s hands, Alexandra added softly, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Julia burst into fresh tears and pulled her hands away, covering her face as if to hide her embarrassment. “Oh, Miss Watson! He hates me!”
Alexandra deduced that they were no longer discussing Longford or the Earl of Saunders. “Is this about Lord Saunders’s younger brother? What did you say his name was?”
“James,” Julia nodded tremulously.
“How old is James?”
“Sixteen.”
A year older than Julia, then. “Is that why you rode to Trevelyan Manor? To see him?”
“No! Well, it is part of the reason. I had heard that he was home on leave from Eton. But I wanted to see Helen, too. I thought if I had to stay away from them a minute longer, I would die. And I was so angry that Thomas would not let us go to the party.” Julia dried her eyes and took a breath. “So I decided to go first thing in the morning, before anyone could stop me.”