It Happened One Season

by Stephanie Laurens

  His sweet, witty, talented, passionate wife who constantly either amused, excited, delighted, or surprised him—sometimes all at once.

  Oh, he’d tried mightily to deny the feelings that had been building over the past eight weeks, but every moment spent in her company only confirmed and deepened what he’d felt for her the moment he first saw her. He loved her so damn much he just ached with it. Ached for her to know. Ached for her to love him in return. And that couldn’t happen until he told her about Edward. Penelope deserved the truth and he didn’t want any more secrets between them.

  Would she forgive him? His stomach tightened at the very real possibility that she wouldn’t. That the companionship and intimacy, passion and camaraderie they’d shared for the past two months would be irreparably broken. The thought of that suffused him with a pain that damn near crushed his heart—the sensation that was at the root of him not telling her already. But he couldn’t lie to her anymore. She cared for him—he knew she did. She showed it every day, in myriad ways, every time she smiled at him, touched him, took him into her body, held him after another nightmare. But did she care enough to forgive him? He didn’t know. He could only hope to God she did.

  He moved to the window and looked out at the tranquil garden blooming with a profusion of color thanks to Penelope’s efforts. He’d thrived under her loving touch just as his weed-ridden, neglected garden had. One year ago today he’d stood on a battlefield and fought for his country, his life, and the lives of his men. Today he would fight again—for the unforeseen gift of this life he’d been given with Penelope. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t expected it. Yet he wanted it more than he ever would have believed possible.

  He heard the light tread of her footfalls in the corridor and he turned. Seconds later she appeared in the doorway, and as it always did when he gazed into those magnified bespectacled eyes, his heart skipped a beat.

  Without a word she crossed to him. Put her arms around his waist. Fitted her body to his and nuzzled her face against his neck. “Good morning,” she whispered in his ear.

  His arms went around her and he pressed his lips to her fragrant hair, wondering how it was possible that her touch, her mere presence managed to simultaneously excite and calm him. “Good morning.”

  She leaned back and her eyes searched his. “This is a difficult day for you.”

  They hadn’t talked about it, but the fact that she knew was merely another facet of her to love. “For you as well.”

  “Not like it is for you. I haven’t seen Mrs. Watson this morning, but she left breakfast in covered dishes on the sideboard. You must be hungry—”

  “I’m not. At least not yet.” He eased himself back a step and clasped her hands. “I told Mrs. Watson to take the rest of the day off,” he said, referring to the kindly, plump woman from the village who served as their cook and maid. “There’s something I need to tell you and I wished to do so privately.”

  “I’ve something to tell you as well.”

  “And I very much want to hear it, but I need to tell you now as I’ve already allowed far too much time to pass without doing so.” He led her to the settee in front of the fireplace and indicated she should sit. After she’d settled herself, he perched on the edge of the cushion, forced himself to look her in the eyes, and drew a bracing breath.

  “It concerns Edward.”

  A frown formed between her brows. “What about him?”

  “I need to tell you about Edward’s death. About Waterloo.”

  Dozens of images suddenly burst into his brain. Blood, death, the sound of artillery fire. Something warm touched his hand and he looked down. She’d wrapped her fingers around his.

  “I can see this is painful for you, Alec. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “Yes, I do.” He cleared his throat and gripped her hand, an anchor in the storm of the horrific memories. “There was a small chateau, Hougoumont, that was in a key position for our army. Two of our companies, including mine, garrisoned the chateau and the surrounding woods. We fortified the buildings and blocked all the gates except one to provide access for ourselves and our Allies.”

  He drew a breath, shoved aside the images pounding through his head and continued, the words coming faster as he spoke. “The battle for Hougoumont was fierce. Bloody. The French were everywhere, rushing the main gate, surging around the outbuildings. We had to keep them out but the gate sustained damage. We were determined to close it, but they were just as determined to force their way through. We managed to shut the gate and one brave solider slammed the bar in place. But not before a number of French had penetrated. I was the officer in charge of hunting down those French soldiers. I selected several men to assist me. Edward was one of them. It was during that mission he was killed.”

  He paused. His jaw tightened at the sympathy, the concern in her eyes. And hoped this wouldn’t be the final time he’d see them shining there for him. “Edward’s death was my fault, Penelope. I killed him.” He briefly squeezed his eyes shut. “God help me, I killed him.”

  A layer of color leeched from her face. “What do you mean? Did your weapon mistakenly discharge?”

  “No.”

  “An accident with your bayonet?”

  “No.” Unable to remain still, he stood and paced in front of her. “The men I chose fanned out, with Edward and I heading toward the most distant outbuilding at the rear of the chateau. When we entered we discovered a Frenchman lying on the floor, his leg bleeding.” He paused at the fireplace and turned to face her. “We were not there to gather prisoners.”

  She nodded slowly. “You had to kill him.”

  “Yes. As I raised my weapon the Frenchman looked me in the eyes and begged for his life. Said he had a wife. Children. And wanted to live. And I hesitated.” He turned back toward the fireplace and stared into the low burning flames. Braced his fisted hands on the mantel. Then squeezed his eyes shut. And relived that horrible moment so vividly it was as if he stood in that outbuilding once again.

  “I hesitated,” he repeated, forcing the words from his raw throat. “And in that split second of hesitation, the Frenchman fired the weapon concealed beside his injured leg, hitting Edward. I immediately killed the Frenchman, but it was too late. Edward was dead.”

  He swallowed and turned to face her once again. “He died because of me. I killed him.”

  She rose and moved to stand in front of him. “You didn’t kill him, Alec—”

  “He died because I hesitated,” he said, his voice as flat and bleak as he felt. “If I’d killed the Frenchman instantly, as I should have, he wouldn’t have been able to discharge his weapon. I killed Edward as surely as if I’d pulled that trigger myself.”

  He dragged a hand through his hair. “It was always my intention to tell you—it is why I sought you out immediately upon your return to England. I went to Exeter House to tell you, but then I … didn’t. Couldn’t. You were so lovely and looked at me with those beautiful eyes … as if I were a hero. I knew it wasn’t true, knew I had to tell you, yet I couldn’t force out the words. I was overwhelmed by how much I wanted you. And if I told you right away, you’d go away and I’d never see you again. Never have the chance to explore the extraordinary way you made me feel.”

  Her expression had gone blank and something very close to panic clutched his heart. “And then we married, and I swore to myself I’d tell you, that I’d just wait a bit longer, until you perhaps came to care for me, at least a little, enough to consider forgiving me, not only for the careless act that killed your brother, but for not telling you. My only excuse is that until I met you, I’d forgotten what happiness felt like and I selfishly wanted to prolong the feeling for as long as possible.”

  He reached for her hands. They felt cold and lifeless in his. Looking into her eyes, he prayed she could see the depth of his regret when he said, “I’m sorry, Penelope. So bloody damn sorry. Sorry Edward died. Sorry I killed him. Sorry I didn’t tell you before now. And I hope—no, God, I
pray—that you can somehow find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  She didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just looked at him through blank eyes that reminded him of snuffed-out candles. He forced himself to remain equally immobile, because he knew if he moved, it would be to fall on his knees before her and beg her to forgive him.

  Finally she raised her chin in that show of bravery and determination he loved so much. “I wish you had told me this two months ago, Alec.”

  “So do I.”

  “I’m certain you do, but I suspect not for the same reasons I do. It’s clear you’ve borne an enormous burden of guilt, not only these past two months, but this entire year. I’ll say to you now what I would have if you’d told me when we first met—and I’m certain my brother would echo these sentiments. You did not kill Edward. Edward was a soldier, and as horrible as it is, as much as we may detest it, soldiers die. It could just have easily been you who perished.”

  “If I hadn’t hesitated—”

  “He might very well have died anyway. Everyone knows how heavy the casualties were that day. The point is, you are not only human, you are humane. That Frenchman begged for his life. I cannot imagine anyone not hesitating under similar circumstances.”

  She gently squeezed his hands, a gesture that swamped him with such hope, his knees nearly buckled. “It breaks my heart that you have suffered such torment over Edward’s death, and also on my behalf these last two months. You asked for my forgiveness and I give it to you readily as I do not blame you for Edward’s death, nor would anyone else. The person who needs to forgive you is you. And I pray you do so, Alec. You are a brave and noble man. Edward respected and admired you, sentiments I echo and that you deserve.”

  For several long seconds Alec couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Her words reverberated through his mind, pounding in tandem with his thumping heart. She forgave him. Didn’t hate him. Forgave him. The future he’d believed would be ripped from his fisted hands spread before him like a sun-dappled ocean.

  He had to swallow twice to locate his voice. “Thank you—although those two words feel extraordinarily inadequate. Such kindness, understanding, compassion, and unconditional forgiveness are far more than I deserve and gifts I’ll treasure forever.” He raised their joined hands to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss against her fingers. “You are a gift, Penelope.”

  He tried to draw her into his arms, but she shook her head. The warmth in her eyes dimmed, replaced with what appeared to be dawning dismay, and she withdrew her hands from his. He felt her slipping away and he tightened his grip, but again she shook her head and he forced himself to release her.

  “You lied to me,” she said.

  Guilt along with confusion slapped him at her accusatory tone. Had he misunderstood when she’d said she forgave him? “Yes. I’ve admitted that.”

  “Not about Edward. About why you married me. You assured me your proposal was not due to a sense of responsibility toward me, but clearly it was.” All the color drained from her face and she pressed her hands to her midsection. “All these weeks I believed you. Thought your proposal stemmed from some liking of me, but it was only because of your misguided guilt about Edward. I should have known better, but I allowed myself to think … to hope …” She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her gaze to the floor. “Dear God, what a fool I am. What a fool you must think me.”

  Alec stepped forward and grasped her upper arms. “I don’t think you’re a fool. I think you are the most amazing, incredible, beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

  A noise that sounded like a half laugh, half sob escaped her. She raised her head and his insides clenched at the defeated humiliation in her eyes that swam with unshed tears. “Stop. Please. I understand now why you acted as you did. Why you married me rather than one of those society beauties. There is no more need for further pretense.”

  He barely resisted the urge to shake her, but his fingers tightened on her arms. “You don’t understand, damn it, and I am not pretending.”

  There was no mistaking the disbelief in her eyes. “I understand perfectly. You weren’t wracked with guilt over the death of a brother of any of those other women. You cannot possibly expect me to believe that your marriage proposal sprang from anything other than a sense of responsibility and obligation.”

  He hesitated, and instantly saw that once again, a hesitation cost him dearly as her eyes went bleak. “I never denied wanting to help you out of the difficult situation in which you were involved. You needed help, I needed a wife. Marriage was the perfect solution for us both.”

  “Perhaps. But I had a right to know the true reason behind your proposal. I deserved the unvarnished truth from you—that I was nothing more than an obligation and responsibility and that you wouldn’t have spared me a second glance otherwise. Of course I should have known that without you telling me. Why else would a man like you have paid attention to a woman like me, especially when you had a pick of society beauties at your disposal?”

  “The second glance I gave you had nothing to do with Edward and everything to do with you. I didn’t want any of those other women. I wanted you.”

  “Because you felt a duty to look after me because of Edward.”

  He huffed out a frustrated breath. “Yes, but it was more than that. And even if I did feel responsible for you, is that so terrible?”

  “Not if you’d admitted it. Instead you denied it. And showered me with compliments. Which I stupidly believed.” She released a shaky breath. “In truth, I’m more upset with myself than I am with you. For allowing myself to believe pretty words.”

  “Any pretty words I said were sincerely meant.”

  She merely shrugged. “For wanting things I should have known were beyond my reach.”

  “Such as?”

  “A man who wouldn’t purposely mislead me to believe he wanted to marry me for any reason other than because he felt obligated to do so.”

  The hurt in her eyes ate at him like acid. He lifted a hand to touch her cheek, but she stepped back and his hand fell to his side. “I never meant to mislead you. I didn’t really understand what I felt for you two months ago. But I do now. I love you, Penelope.”

  Her bottom lip quivered, smiting him where he stood. “You cannot know how much it hurts to say this, but I don’t believe you.”

  His heart seemed to crack. “You cannot know how much it hurts to hear that.”

  “It’s not love but responsibility you feel. I’m a duty and an obligation—things I never wanted to be to anyone. Especially not my husband.”

  Damn it, that hurt. He raked his hands through his hair. “Is it so difficult to believe I’ve fallen in love with you?”

  “Under the circumstances, given your feelings regarding Edward’s death, yes, I’m afraid so.” A bitter sound escaped her, then she muttered something that sounded like and it’s only going to get worse, but before he could ask, she began walking toward the door.

  An acute sense of loss invaded his entire body. “Where are you going?”

  “I must think. There is much for me to consider. And I wish to do so alone.”

  He caught up with her in three long strides and grasped her arm. “Look at me.”

  She turned her head and his heart sank at the complete lack of warmth in her eyes. “Let me go, Alec. Please.”

  Letting her go in any manner was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. But clearly his cause wouldn’t be helped by detaining her. “Very well. But I want you to know, to understand this: regardless of how our marriage came about or began, the fact is that I love you. My heart is yours. Not because I feel obligated to give it to you, not because you’re a duty to be borne, but because I’m helpless not to give it to you. Because you’ve owned it since the first time you smiled at me. And while I understand that you’re angry and hurt and upset right now, I shall remember the words of Alexander Pope that hope springs eternal, and I’ll hope that you’ll believe me.”

  Silence swelled betwee
n them for several seconds. Finally she inclined her head, then without a word, quit the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  Silence echoed in the library. Alec stared at the doorway through which Penelope had just departed. A shudder ran through him and he sank down on the settee then dropped his head into his hands. Jesus, he felt gutted. By her hurt. By the fact that she didn’t believe he loved her. By her unexpected anger over something he’d never expected would anger her. But mostly by the understanding and compassion she’d shown when he’d confessed his role in Edward’s death. It had never occurred to him that she wouldn’t blame him. Would insist he not blame himself. That she’d still consider him heroic.

  He blew out a sound of disbelief. Penelope had surprised him from the moment he met her, and she continued to do so. Yet, he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by her kindness. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

  I don’t believe you. Bloody hell, those words had stabbed him in the heart. How could he change her mind? Make her realize that she was everything he’d always wanted? Everything he needed? That she was—

  Everything.

  He raised his head and his gaze fell on his desk. An idea formed in his mind and he nodded as it took shape. He rose and quickly crossed the room. Sat at his desk and pulled open the top drawer. Withdrew a sheet of vellum and began to plan.

  She was everything. And before this day was over, by God she was damn well going to know it.

  When he finally put down his quill, he glanced at the mantel clock and was shocked to note that more than four hours had past. But they were four hours well spent. He folded the sheets of vellum that were the results of his labors and tucked them in his waistcoat pocket.

  It was time to find his wife. And pray that the last four hours would convince her how much she was loved.

  As he rose, thunder rumbled in the distance. Perfect timing to seek out Penelope, for one of the many things he’d learned about his wife was that she disliked thunderstorms.