Forget Me Not

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  Brian gulped, something glittering in the doctor’s eyes struck entirely too close to home. The words too close to his heart. “What changed?”

  Byler sighed, a wistful expression glassing over his eyes. “The first time my daughter smiled at me…” He held his hands out as though cradling an infant in his palms. “It melted my heart away.”

  Melted my heart away… melted my heart away… melted my heart away.

  That is precisely what terrified Brian.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later Lydia stood over the steaming tub of bathwater ready to doff the last of her garments and slide beneath the surface. If she never crawled out of the water again it would be too soon. Her father had taken instantly to Brandon, and the boy was currently ensconced within a room bigger than any house he’d lived in to date. The last she’d seen of him he was grinning like a cat being served warm cream. Dr. Byler had been summoned to tend Brian’s wounds, and the men had trailed off to Brian’s assigned quarters rehashing old Army times. Reflecting on the scene brought a smile to her face.

  “I say, my dear, you look a fright.”

  Lydia turned to see her stepmother walking into the room, arms outstretched to receive her. “Olivia!” She raced across the room into the other woman’s embrace.

  “Oh, my Lydia, I have never been so worried in all my life.” Gently Livy’s hands stroked her hair. “You are the only daughter I have, you know. I would be lost without you.”

  The scent of Olivia’s lilac water tickled her nose, igniting memories of being comforted as a little girl. Calm washed over Lydia as she pulled out of the embrace to clasp her stepmother’s hands. “Thank you. The last days were the trial of a lifetime and it is good to be home.”

  Olivia smiled, squeezing her hands. For a moment it looked as though she would continue her welcome but stopped short. “What is that?” Olivia stared in horror at their clasped hands.

  Bewildered Lydia looked from her stepmother’s stricken face to her hand. “Oh, of course.” Lydia extricated her fingers from Olivia’s grasp and twirled the gold band on her finger. “It is Mr. Donnelly’s. His mother’s I believe.”

  “You’re wearing Mr. Donnelly’s mother’s ring?” All color drained from Olivia’s face. For a moment Lydia feared her parent may crumple to the floor. “I do believe I will swoon. This is worse than I’d feared. Please tell me you haven’t done anything foolish? I realize Mr. Donnelly is a handsome man, but he is Irish, and a stable manager, and more importantly he is not your betrothed, Lydia.”

  “No, Livy, wait, it’s not what you think.” She grasped her stepmother’s shoulders imploringly. “Brian thought it best I wear the ring so no one would become suspicious of us traveling together. He was trying to protect my reputation, as well as my betrothal to Lord Northbridge.”

  “Brian is it now?” Olivia pegged her with an arch stare. “I should hardly think it appropriate that you are so freely using his given name.”

  Lydia’s teeth clenched. “Considering the ordeal Brian and I survived together it would hardly be appropriate to stand on protocol. The man saved my life at great risk to his own, and without him I would not be here. Not to mention the fact that speaking to one another so formally would most certainly have blown our cover.”

  Olivia pursed her lips, flicking her eyes to the ceiling then back to Lydia. “So nothing happened? Mark my words, Lydia, if you are lying to me and your father finds out…”

  The threat was implicit. “Nothing happened,” she clipped, thankful the anger masked the disappointment and longing in her voice. If only something had happened. Would Brian have run away with her? Perhaps her father would have insisted they marry, her inheritance would be enough to finance three horse farms. Surely Lord Northbridge wouldn’t want her if…

  Heavily she sighed. No, that was far more than she could begin to hope for. The viscount needed her money too much to care if she was a virgin on their wedding night, he probably needed her funds too much to care if any heir she provided was his. Her gaze drifted to the ring again. Bitterly she wrenched it from her finger. “I will return this to Mr. Donnelly with all possible haste. I have no doubt he is eager to have an item of such sentimental importance returned.”

  “See to it you do.” Olivia raked a scathing eye across the band before turning abruptly on a heel. “It would be a shame to see your father lose everything he’s worked for because you decided to dally with a stable hand.”

  “He is not a stable hand,” Lydia grumbled in response.

  “May I also add that His Lordship is greatly displeased with your presumptuousness in bringing an orphaned child of lesser rank into this house?”

  Presumptuous… Take care not to strain yourself, Livy. It was a wonder her stepmother knew the meaning of the word. Olivia rarely, if ever, read. “I fail to see why it matters what the viscount thinks, this isn’t his house.”

  Olivia skewered her with an icy glare. “Lord Northbridge is to be your husband. Mark my words, Lydia, he will not tolerate your stray collecting in his home.”

  Lydia merely glowered in return. Stray collecting, indeed.

  “Do not ruin this for me. Your marriage to an aristocrat will open doors we never dreamed of. Once you’re a viscountess, Lady Weston will have no excuse to keep me from attending her parties.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “How could I forget, selling me for a title is really just about what you stand to gain.”

  “That is quite enough out of you.” The other woman tilted her chin haughtily. “I will leave you now to freshen up and recover from your ordeal. Your father and your fiancé are waiting to discuss the situation with you in the parlor.”

  The door clicked shut and stubbornly Lydia slid the ring back onto her finger. It was wrong to let her imagination run wild this way, but any such daydreams of being with Brian would be gone soon enough. Lydia doffed her clothes, dipped a toe in the water to test it, and slid into the steaming water, memories of her last bath swarming to the forefront of her mind. She flushed.

  The moment Brian had been whisked from her presence that afternoon she’d felt empty, as though part of her was missing. She also didn’t feel as safe without the sheltering protection he offered. Brian guarded her selflessly, it was humbling, and made her love him all the more. She knew he loved her in return. He must. At first opportunity she would confront him. There was little doubt in her mind the viscount would push for their nuptials to proceed with all possible haste.

  Thoroughly scrubbed Lydia climbed from the tub and wrapped in one of the many expensive robes a maid had laid out for her. Automatically she tugged the bell cord to summon assistance with dressing and fixing her hair. She stopped short. It was such a luxury to have servants at her beck and call, waiting on her every need. A luxury she had not missed during her recent adventure with Brian.

  Did he believe this was the life she wanted?

  Was this the reason he perpetually pushed her away and refused to explore their feelings for each other? They’d been raised in different worlds. From day one Brian had likely been taught that women of her rank were unattainable, to be admired and respected from a distance; while she’d been mended and molded to be the vision of English modicum, propriety, and ladyship. But what of her rank? She and Brian were not so different. She and her father were not born to the aristocracy. Sir William Covington was a self-made man. Many in society sneered at her betrothal to a peer—a viscount—and spoke loudly of the belief that she was not worthy. Perhaps she wasn’t. It was a match of fortunes—namely her fortune—as many ton marriages were.

  A light rap on the door halted her thoughts. “It’s Molly, Miss Covington.”

  “Of course, please enter.” Lydia moved to the bureau as the young, petite maid bustled into the room. For whatever reason the girl reminded her of the harlot Brian had kissed and jealousy surged within her. Beating back a slick of tears, Lydia turned away from the maid, making a show of leafing through a book.

  Molly busied hers
elf preparing Lydia’s garments and kept up a constant stream of chatter. It took near all of Lydia’s willpower not to scream at the girl to shut up. Once dressed, Lydia sat primly before her gilded vanity while Molly brushed and adorned the damp tresses stylishly atop her head. All she could think of was Brian combing her hair, running his fingers through the expanse. Her pulse fluttered to think of the calloused pads of his thumbs grazing the back of her neck. The memory made her hot. What if he had kissed her? What more would have happened?

  She caught sight of Molly’s springy blond curls in the mirror and nearly fell from her perch. Lydia gripped the plush cushion. She is not the harlot, Lydia reminded herself repeatedly. Brian does not even know who she is.

  “I say, Miss Lydia, when you went missing and everyone said it was Brian Donnelly that took you, I knew it couldn’t be true. Mr. Donnelly is one of the kindest, most wonderful men of my acquaintance.” A reddish hue tinged Molly’s dimpled cheeks as a girlish smile touched her lips.

  “And how well are you acquainted with Mr. Donnelly?” Lydia clipped, clasping trembling hands in her lap.

  Molly gave her a conspiratorial wink in the mirror. “Not nearly as well as I might like, but between you and me, I have had reason to hope he will make me an offer. When I finish with you I plan to go next door and see if he needs anything. A girl can never be too proactive when it comes to the man of her dreams. Why you must be ready to have your own wedding behind you. His Lordship was most anxious to have you safely back.”

  Lydia ground her teeth, gaze drifting from the visage in the mirror to Brian’s ring adorning her finger. So Molly was the sort of girl Brian wanted. A self-sufficient sort of girl. Well, if that’s what he wanted that is what she would become.

  “Molly, you are excused.”

  Shock registered in Molly’s reflection. “Beg pardon, Miss Covington, but your hair is only half done.”

  Lydia reached for a pin on the vanity. “Molly, I assure you I can manage perfectly well on my own.” She held up a swatch of hair and stabbed the pin into place. If she could prove to Brian that she needed none of this extravagance in her life, he would want her.

  Molly bowed her head and slipped quietly from the room. With effort Lydia ignored the knowledge Molly was now off to practice her wiles on Brian.

  Standing before the full length gilded mirror in her quarters, Lydia admired her handiwork. Not half bad, she surmised, patting a fly-away back into her coiffeur. Mayhap not as fancy as Molly’s work, but certainly more than passable.

  With a heavy sigh Lydia turned to the door. It was time to face her father and the viscount. Desperately she hoped Brian would be present to back her story about Felix Keith. Sir William would no doubt have difficulty believing his friend had conspired in her murder. She no longer feared her father having involvement in the ghastly crime she’d witnessed. The shock in his eyes had proved his innocence in the matter to her.

  With her left hand she reached for the door handle but stopped short. The ring. She’d promised Olivia to return it to Brian with all possible haste, however…

  Mischievously, she slipped the ring from her finger, setting it in a small box on her nightstand. She smiled, a scheme already forming in her mind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “This is an outrage!” Sir William bellowed.

  Lydia suppressed a secret smile, pleased to see her father so furious over her well-being. Her gaze slid to the other men in the room—Brian, Lord Northbridge, and the magistrate, Jonathan Messing—gauging their reaction

  “To think Keith had the audacity to stand in this very room and offer me comfort over the loss of my daughter, not to mention aide in finding her, only to be the one responsible for her disappearance in the first place. I will kill the bloody bastard with my bare hands for this. Donnelly!” He gestured broadly to Brian seated on the far side of the lavish parlor. “You’re not going anywhere, not until that madman and all of his cohorts are captured.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brian’s response was automatic, like a soldier following orders.

  “If I may interject,” the viscount interrupted, raising his brandy glass, signaling a servant to refill it. “How do we know Mr. Donnelly is not one of Felix Keith’s men? According to Donnelly himself Keith casts a wide net of those loyal to him.”

  All eyes turned to Brian who shrugged indifferently. “With all due respect, My Lord, it would hardly seem plausible for me to be sittin’ here in the parlor admitting the transgressions of my employer. Moreover, if I was workin’ fer Keith Lyd—Miss Covington would not be among us.”

  Lord Northbridge glowered over the rim of his too full brandy glass. Brian returned a mildly amused stare, and settled back against in the plush green cushions. Lydia could have applauded.

  “He is absolutely right.” Sir William nodded, continuing to pace the room. He turned without warning to the magistrate. “I want this man’s reputation exonerated immediately. Yesterday. Brian Donnelly is one of the best goddamned soldiers ever to serve under me. I trust him with my life, and more importantly I trust him with my daughter’s life.”

  Lydia studied Brian’s face carefully, but his visage remained totally devoid of emotion. The two of them had spent the last hour regaling her father, the magistrate, and Lord Northbridge of the murder she’d witnessed, their subsequent kidnapping, and finally their hell-raising jaunt through England. The well edited version of the escapade, anyway. Even her illness was not included in the telling. Lydia was primarily relieved to note Olivia was not in attendance. Apparently her stepmother had been called to the kitchen to address an urgent matter. The older woman would have been near an apoplectic fit by the end of the tale.

  “Has anyone seen or heard from Keith?” Brian questioned.

  Sir William shook his head. “Not since yesterday, and once word of your return spreads I’ve no doubt he’ll make himself scarce.”

  “I will personally see to it that a full scale manhunt is mounted across Britain.” The magistrate looked gravely from Sir William, to Brian, and finally to Northbridge. “You have my word.”

  “Excellent.” Lord Northbridge nodded brusquely, quaffing his liquor. “Now that Miss Covington is safely returned and we know who kidnapped her, I see no reason why the wedding arrangements should not be reinstated posthaste.”

  Lydia nearly choked on air. Pleadingly she looked to her father, but was unable to catch his eye.

  “I agree. As soon as Felix Keith is in custody and my daughter is sufficiently recovered from her ordeal we will set the date. We’ll have to allow time to invite the guests back. I really want to make a splash,” Sir William rubbed his hands together, eyes aglow at the prospect.

  The viscount shrugged before finishing his brandy. “I am certain we are more than capable of keeping Miss Covington safe now that we know to watch for Felix Keith. This marriage has been delayed on far too many occasions. The original agreement was for the vows to be spoken when she was sixteen years old.” Northbridge rose, a childish sneer on his face. “She is now twenty. It is time to honor the betrothal agreement. I need mon—” He stopped short. “I need an heir.”

  Lydia shuddered at the mention of an heir. She waited with bated breath for her father’s response. The marriage should have taken place near four years ago, but the nuptials had first been delayed by the death of His Lordship’s father and the subsequent one year mourning period. Then war with France and Sir William’s deployment had further thwarted the vows. Running was not an option unless Brian chose to go with her. After her misadventure with Brian, Lydia recognized how foolish her first attempt had been—not that she’d ever admit such to Brian. Perhaps she could try speaking with her father, explain her feelings about the marriage…

  Sir William nodded. “The wedding will be rescheduled one week from today.” Her father did not even have the decency to throw an apologetic glance in her direction.

  “Papa, wait—”

  “Not now, Lydia,” he cut impatiently.

  Lydia
’s heart plummeted. No one questioned Sir William, and deep down she knew he would never entertain the idea of releasing her from the contract.

  Lord Northbridge speared her with his beady eyes. The heat of his gaze positively lecherous, as though he wished to burn the clothes from her flesh. The gaping stare left her feeling terribly exposed… dirty. Unwittingly she curled her arms defensively about her middle, and flicked her eyes to meet his. A sudden wave of nausea churned her stomach. Pure intensity shown in the viscount’s gaze. Was it desire? Possibly, but no kindness reflected back at her. Glittering at the surface of his eyes she saw only raw lust and perhaps an element of resentment. Did he know she’d been about to denounce him?

  Frightened she broke the contact of their eyes. Lord Northbridge would not be a kind husband or a gentle lover for that matter. She gulped, mentally cringing away from the viscount’s ruddy cheeks, paunchy middle, and flaccid hands. Her gaze flew to Brian hoping he’d noticed the silent exchange.

  He hadn’t. Instead Brian stared grimly down at his hands, continuing to avoid eye contact with her. It was difficult not to compare the two men, though really, there was nothing to compare. Where the viscount was soft Brian was firm and toned of both body and mind. Northbridge’s complexion was pasty and flushed while Brian’s was bronzed and healthy. Lord in heaven, but Brian looked incredible sitting across the room, his dark hair carelessly tousled and crisp white shirt stretching across his broad chest and shoulders. Brian held a nonchalant command presence. The aura one might expect a duke to portray, but rarely witnessed. Even in the company of her father, betrothed, and the magistrate the mere sight of Brian heated her blood—her entire body. A heat she would never experience if she didn’t find some way to halt the proceedings in one week’s time.

  “Very good. I will see to it the announcements are posted with all haste.” Northbridge flipped his snuff box open, took a pinch, and ambled toward the door. “Oh, and one other thing, Miss Covington,” he addressed Lydia verbally for the first time since she’d entered the parlor, his gaze chilling. “You have one week to see that urchin to an orphanage or I’ll see that he is taken care of myself.”