Forget Me Not

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  “Are you certain I can’t interest you in another slice of pie, Brian?”

  He smiled into the cook’s twinkling blue eyes, the hue faded over the years, but lively and mischievous nonetheless. “Another time, Mrs. Porter, unless of course yer of a mind to share that famous recipe with me.”

  “To the—”

  “—grave,” he finished for her. “To the grave, I know. If that be the case then I’ll be off.”

  “Pity,” the older woman cooed. “My Molly should be here any minute.”

  Damn! The last thing he needed was another Molly encounter. The girl had actually come to his quarters the day before! She’d done nothing untoward but he had no desire to give anyone an opportunity to cry impropriety. The woman he loved may be unmarriageable for a man of his circumstances but that didn’t mean he was ready or willing to look elsewhere for a wife. He leapt to his feet. “Thanks again, Mrs. Porter, but I really must be goin’.”

  Swiftly Brian sidled out of the kitchen and into a main hall. What to do now? Normally he would have blown off a bit of his pent up steam by going for a ride—Morning Glory never failed to be a deliciously spirited mount—but the general’s leech had ordered no such strenuous activity for at least a week. At long last Brian elected to go to his room for a nap. Sleep and Mrs. Porter’s pie may not solve all of his problems, but at least he could forget for a while.

  The sound of small sniffles met Brian’s ears the moment he entered the upstairs hall. It took only a moment to discern the sounds came from Brandon’s room. Gently he knocked on the mahogany paneled door. When no verbal response granted him entrance he opened the door a few inches to peer inside. The little boy was curled on the huge four poster bed at the center of the room, sobbing with such force his thin frame was near to convulsions.

  Brian stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and strode to gather the child in his arms. “There, there now, lad, what seems to be ailin’ ye?”

  The boy sniffed, turning water slicked gray eyes to him. “I–I ‘eard what that mean ol’ Lord Northbridge said about takin’ care of me. I know that means he will put me in an orphan’s home. Or worse.”

  “Oh, Brandon.” Brian held the boy close. “Did ye not also hear what I said about takin’ care of ye? Ye’ll not be goin’ to any orphanage. Old Brian will take good care of you.”

  “But Miss Lydia promised I could stay with her. She promised!” Tears afresh rolled from Brandon’s eyes, soaking Brian’s shirt. “Why would she say that if it’s not true? Today I was outside with Joshua Porter and he called me a liar just for sayin’ it. I thought we would be a family Miss Lydia and me,” he looked up to Brian, “even you too.”

  Brian swallowed around the thickening of his throat. To see the glimmer of hopes and dreams drain from the eyes of a little boy who’d already seen too much loss was more than he could bear. “Clear your head of broken promises, lad. Life is full of them. All you need to know is that I will protect you. See to it you have a good home.” There were any number of families he hoped to find a place for Brandon with. If not a family then employment, perhaps even an apprenticeship. The boy could stay with him for a time, but eventually Brandon would need a real family.

  “But I want her!”

  “I know it, lad, as do I.” Brian held him across his lap, rocking him. “But Lydia is not like us. Men of our station can’t have her. Not ever.”

  “She said I could be anythin’, anythin’ at all, but I can’t be a viscount like the one she’ll marry. That’s all she wants is to marry her viscount and have big fancy houses and forget the likes of us.”

  Brian didn’t know what to say, but as he held the trembling boy in his arms anger for Lydia’s broken promises built until his blood boiled with rage. The spoiled little viscountess had no idea how her empty oaths destroyed a little boy with nothing. Brian knew those hollow assurances, had been disappointed far too many times. The next time he saw Lydia he would give her a hefty piece of his mind to feast upon.

  At long last the lad’s sobs quieted and he succumbed to healing slumber. Brian sat with him a while longer before returning to his own bedchamber.

  From the moment the door clicked behind him Brian sensed a presence in the room. His eyes flicked the dim interior finally falling on the feminine form perched on a chair beside his bed.

  Holy hell, that silly little servant girl would see him wed before Lydia at this rate. “Molly?”

  “Expecting someone? I shouldn’t want to interrupt,” a crisp feminine voice returned.

  “Lydia!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lydia rose slowly, beating back panic and schooling her features into a vise of cool indifference. Never in her life had she been so brazenly forward as to enter a man’s bedchamber. After their earlier encounter it was mortifying enough to be seeking him out again, but to have him ask after another woman was an acute slap in the face. “I’m sorry, were you expecting someone else?” She tried to reign in her tongue, reminding herself of the reason she’d come.

  “What?” Brian shook his head as though in utter disbelief.

  “You spoke Molly’s name. I assume you thought she was waiting for you, am I interrupting your afternoon interlude?” Lydia hid trembling hands beneath the folds in her skirt. Just to see Brian standing tall and intimidating across the room brought back the searing memories of his powerful arms locked around her. She envisioned her silly blonde maid in such a passionate embrace with the man she loved. Rage flowed through her.

  “Molly? What the hell does she have to do with anythin’? When I saw ye sittin’ beside the bed I thought the brazen little chit had waltzed in uninvited. Again. I’ll need to invest in better door locks at me own cottage if the girl proves as persistent once I’m back there.”

  “Oh.” She paused, digesting the information. “Brian, I—”

  “And just what in the name of all that’s holy are you doin’ here?” Lydia started at the force of his words. His eyes burned, dark with anger. He looked furious. No. He looked murderous. “Did ye not have enough of all this earlier? Ye’re as bad as that foolish little Molly sneakin’ about men’s chambers uninvited. Perhaps worse.”

  “Worse?” Lydia rankled. “How so?”

  Brian stalked forward, the movement predatory. “Ye actually set me up to be caught in the broad daylight of an open sitting room, pawin’ all over ye. Molly was a bit more discreet in her efforts. You on the other hand are lookin’ to get me shot! A word to the wise, lass, men don’t like to be maneuvered, trapped or lied to.”

  “Think what you will, Brian Donnelly, but I was of no mind to trap you. If you recall I left the sitting room before anyone found us.” She ground her teeth in dour frustration. How had all of this happened? She’d never intended to anger him. The plan was not going accordingly at all. “And when have I ever lied to you?”

  “Oh, not I, lass.” His eyes flashed as he stomped forward with an intimidating sort of grace. “Brandon.”-

  “Brandon?” Lydia’s mind whirled. When had she lied to Brandon? “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. I—”

  He grasped her upper arms, fingertips biting cruelly into her flesh. “You told him he could stay with you, that he could be a part of your family. I’ve just spent the last hour calmin’ the boy whilst he bawled his eyes out. Do ye have any mind what such broken promises do to a child with nothin’, Lydia?”

  She stilled, stricken. What have I done?

  “The lad has probably never known what hope is and ye were heartless, or perhaps just naïve, enough to give it to him. Did ye applaud yerself for the good deed of bringin’ him here? I’ll have ye know the act is not so grand as ye’d allow yerself to believe. Some of us are better off never knowin’ a day’s hope or kindness because it is far harsher to have it stripped away than to never have known it at all. We were not all born to a silver platter, my lady.”

  Brian’s eyes were masks of hard flint, but she knew him well enough to see the bleeding
between the cracks.

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she could not be sure if it was for Brian or Brandon that she so acutely felt the need to weep. “No, Brian, do not believe me so cold. Surely you know me better than to be so unkind. I meant every word I said to Brandon, but the viscount would not allow for it.”

  “Aye, that bastard of a peer.” Brian scoffed, shoving away from her. “Do ye mean to tell me that ye didn’t already know how the man would react to the lad’s presence?”

  “If it were up to me I would sooner take Brandon and leave the blasted viscount, and all his fancy lands and titles behind!”

  “Like hell.”

  “Not three hours ago I asked you to run away with me.” Lydia lost the last shred of her composure. Why did no one heed a word she said? “Do you think I would have left Brandon? Do you?” Chagrined she stalked across the rooms, refusing to be intimidated by his massive frame. “Of course you, my father and the viscount are of the mind that I am female and therefore have no idea what I want or need in life. According to everyone but me I should be perfectly content to become a viscountess and sit on fat cushions for the rest of my life.”

  For a long moment Brian glowered down at her, pain lining every facet of his handsome face. “Ye do not understand, Lydia—” He hesitated, looking up at the ceiling then down at the floor, anywhere but directly at her. “After a taste of the only life I can give ye, you would want all of this back. In time ye would grow to hate me, hate our life together. Believe what ye will, but I am protectin’ ye from yerself, lass. From makin’ a decision ye’ll only regret later in life.”

  “No.” She stepped forward, desperate to make him understand. “Never,” she stated more firmly. “I could never regret a life with you. Why are you so terrified to hope or dream for anything? Life is not always kind, but if you spend it looking for disappointments that is all you will find.”

  Briefly his eyes flickered with… something… something she could not quite discern, but it was sad, and broken, and mayhap just a bit boyish.

  “Lydia.” His tone was stern, lecturing, with no sign of the little boy she’s seen moments ago. “I live in a cottage no bigger than this very room. In the winter it is so damned cold I sleep with me boots on.” She reached for him, but he brushed her hands away. “Ye’ve never been cold or hungry in all yer life and I’m tellin’ ye here and now a woman raised as you were could never survive that sort of hard living.”

  “Why do you hold such a low opinion of me?” Lydia threw her hands up and flopped dejectedly into a chair. “Did I not just spend a miserable week traipsing through the wilds of England, battling the elements the same as you?”

  “And did ye not also nearly die from a fever? Ye’re too fragile. I’ll not have yer death or yer misery on my conscience.”

  “I am not fragile, and not once did I complain.”

  “No,” he granted, “ye did not complain.”

  “My life has not been all silver platters and finery, Brian. My father did not have money until I was near ten years of age.” She looked down at her hands unsure how to proceed. Time and again she threw herself on the mercy of his whims and time and again he rejected her. Dare she cross the final barrier and admit to loving him? “We are not so different you and I. Without my father’s self-made money and political standing I would have no rank, be in no position to marry a peer of the realm.”

  “Rah!” Brian scrubbed both hands through his hair, turning a thoroughly frustrated circle. “Despite what ye want to believe the facts of the matter are that you and I are very different people, and we simply cannot work.”

  “If I were a self-sufficient servant girl like Molly would you feel differently?”

  “Perhaps,” he said in a voice gilded with cool indifference.

  “So, it is me that you don’t want.”

  “Aye, lass, it is you. I want nothin’ to do with women the likes of you. With silly young girls who would have everyone believe their foolish dreams can come true.”

  Her heart trembled, threatening to split down the center. “Have you not heard a word I’ve said?” She rose, squaring her shoulders and advanced on him steadily. “We can take hold of our own destiny, Brian. Dreams don’t come true on their own we must take some responsibility and make them happen.”

  His eyes remained hard and unyielding. “Why did ye come here, lass?”

  “You,” she said simply, settling a hand on the door handle. “I’ll leave you to think on what I’ve said.” Lydia opened the door just enough to slip through.

  “There is nothing to think on.”

  She quirked a skeptical brow and quipped pointedly, “In that case… have fun with Molly.”

  The door closed behind her and every dream of a life with love and children flashed before her mind’s eye. She could actually see the whole of her future with Brian stretching out for years to come. The children with dark curly hair and green eyes. A home full, not of material possessions, but of love and warmth. Like an apparition she saw Brian basking in the glow of a cozy fire, smiling down at a little girl, eyes twinkling with fatherly pride…

  She faltered.

  If Brian had his way this perfect dream would never be. The time had come to let go the fantasy her handsome Irish knight would swoop in and rescue her. Lydia stood at a cross road. She could either give up on Brian and accept a mundane existence as Rolland Kensington’s wife or save herself and drag the Irishman along for the ride.

  Steeling her determination she set off for the solitude of her room. For the moment she would leave Brian be. It was only as she passed Brandon’s door that she stopped short. How badly had she hurt the boy? She’d never intended to make empty promises though deep down she had to admit she’d known the viscount would frown upon Brandon’s presence. It had just felt so good to be… needed.

  Tentatively she stepped to his door. Amends must be made. She would never forgive herself if she was the one to destroy Brandon’s belief in hopes and dreams. She did not want him to become like Brian who seemed to have no faith that miracles and dreams had a place in the world.

  * * *

  Have fun with Molly, indeed. Brian raked both hands through his hair. Heaven help him, when he’d seen Lydia sitting across the room it had taken every ounce of willpower not to drag her down on the mattress and finish what they’d started earlier. Anger had been his only salvation. Miserably he sagged against his bed. Sleep would be impossible now. Blood pumped hot and fresh through his veins…primarily his nether region. The persistent little nymph refused to give up her suit and he was fast losing the desire to resist.

  By damn he hated the fates, and the stars, not to mention the whole British Empire, because these were the forces lined against him, preventing him from plucking the sweet love Lydia so readily offered. Anger boiled within him. The viscount did not deserve Lydia, but he could provide a life Brian could not dream of, and that made Rolland Kensington the more worthy man. It was a bitter truth.

  Brian threw himself from the bed ignoring the groaning of his ribs. Sir William’s leech could go to hell. He was going for a ride. A wall of black thunderheads glared ominously through the bedroom window. Brian clenched his teeth in dour frustration. The god of weather could go to hell as well. Nothing would interrupt his ride this afternoon. Nothing.

  A fat droplet of rain splattered across his forehead the moment he stepped from the manor house. He shook a fist at the sky. “Ye couldn’t let me have even a moment’s peace?” In response a flurry of rainfall unleashed upon the grounds. Stubbornly he stomped through the rain to the barn anyway. Ride or no ride he would escape the suffocating confines of the house. Odd that such a large manor could feel like a prison, but with Lydia’s intoxicating presence and Molly lurking behind every corner he may as well be locked in a dungeon.

  The familiar musk of horse and hay tickled his nose from half way across the rolling green yard, he sighed, a degree of tension easing from his shoulders. This is what he loved. Horses never failed to
relax him. As he drew closer to the barn, memories of Lydia’s attack and their subsequent kidnapping assailed him. It seemed an eternity had passed, but in reality only a few short days had… or perhaps a lifetime of days.

  A shout rose up over the barn, Brian was too far away to make out the words, but didn’t think much of it. Constant activity existed in and around the stables. A lumbering figure bolted from the far corner of the main outbuilding and into the trees. A shiver of unease slithered down his spine. Something wasn’t right.

  “You there!” Brian broke into a jog for the place the shady figure had run from, dread thickening in his gut with every stride. He rounded the corner, moving quickly along the outer wall. A hedgerow lay just ahead, he slowed, scanning the area with a practiced eye. A flash of color caught his gaze and it took only a moment to discern the crisp silver fabric belonged with an expensive shirt. Fleetingly Brian hoped a body was not still attached and crept cautiously forward.

  “Oooh…” The weak moan lifted from the bush.

  Brian gulped, palming a sidearm, and stepped around the bush.

  “Christ in heaven,” he muttered in total disbelief. “It can’t be.” But it could be, and it was, because lying on the ground before him, stabbed through the heart was Felix Keith.

  “Mmm…” Keith’s head lolled meekly from left to right.

  Brian’s head whirled as he leapt into action. The bastard was still alive at least for the moment, but who the hell had stabbed him, and more importantly, why? Dropping to a knee beside the wounded man, Brian slid a hand behind Keith’s neck to support his head. “Who did this to ye? Just who exactly are ye workin’ for?”

  Keith’s lids fluttered helplessly the fingers of death clearly visible in his eyes.

  “Who?” Brian grasped a wad of the man’s expensive shirt, lifting him clear off the ground.

  Keith spluttered, a mist of bright red blood spraying from his mouth. His gaze fixed on Brian, a single moment of clarity shimmering at the surface before his eyes dimmed and rolled back in his head.