by Nichole Van
“Yes. Mrs. Evans-Clark has been most accommodating.”
She finally lifted her head and pinned him with those midnight eyes of hers.
Had he truly once considered them something so monolithic as plain brown? No, they were pools of warm chocolate, flecked with brandy and moss.
Damn.
A man was in a sad state once his thoughts ran to poetry.
Daniel rubbed the back of his neck.
Fossi straightened her shoulders further.
“I fear I shall be impertinent, my lord—”
“Daniel. Please.”
She took in a sizable breath. “Daniel . . . you have had every appearance of avoiding my company. Is that true?”
Naturally she would immediately call him on the carpet.
A long, drawn out pause.
A multitude of answers flitted through his mind. Denial? Truth? Distraction?
He went with, “Would the answer matter?”
Annoyance flitted across her face. She nearly stamped her foot.
“Friends don’t let friends answer questions with another question.” She folded her arms across her chest.
Ah. Schooled yet again by Fossi Lovejoy.
Damn but he adored this woman.
“I would know if I have offended you in any way,” she continued.
“You have not offended me, Fossi.” Voice low and quiet.
“But you do not deny you have been avoiding me?”
More silence.
She looked past his shoulder, as if staring at him caused her pain.
Which, in turn, made his heart lurch.
Finally, she shook her head and bravely brought her gaze back to his.
“I am a simple woman, Daniel.” Deep breath. “I don’t understand how to play the games of the ton. Despite a few, perhaps unwise, forays into the realm of flirtation, I do not understand such rules. If you wish a certain behavior from me, please ask for it. If I have been remiss in some way, please correct me.”
Curse this woman and her humility. So willing to own every aspect of herself.
How could he state the truth?
You see, Fossi, I find myself wishing for more than mere friendship from you, but given that I have a problem with a time portal to solve that will, in turn, likely negate your presence in my life . . .
“Being home has seemed . . . difficult for you.” She spoke softly, placing her words with gentle care. “I would assume that the memories of . . . of—” Here she paused. Swallowed. And then continued. “—of Lady Alice must be overwhelming.”
Shock chased Daniel’s spine.
It seemed a blasphemy, Alice’s name on Fossi’s lips.
How had she known—
Servants. It had to be his servants.
Though it was not as if his marriage to Lady Alice Montague were a clandestine thing.
Dark, perhaps. Grim and dismal, certainly.
But not a secret.
Studying Fossi standing before him with her sun-tangled hair and quiet elegance . . . the difference between the two women could not be more pronounced.
Fossi’s honesty and goodness and cleverness.
And Alice . . . the exact opposite of all that.
No. There were no memories of Alice here.
Fossi misunderstood his silence. She licked her lips and looked away.
“I must apologize, Lord Whitmoor. I have overstepped—”
“No, you have not—”
“Do you miss her?” Fossi leaned forward, as if she couldn’t stop the empathy she felt.
That question landed on his psyche with a dull splat.
Did he miss Alice?
“Miss her? That woman? Good heavens, no!” The words poured out of him. “Alice was not much of a wife to me.”
“But . . . you have her box.” Fossi gazed at him with genuine confusion. “You care about the box. Quite significantly.”
Daniel’s heart stilled, thoughts instantly winging to the room he had just locked behind himself.
How had Fossi learned about the box? Granted, he was not terribly circumspect in his attachment to it.
“No. No, you are mistaken, Fossi. That box never belonged to Alice.”
He couldn’t look at her, the weight of guilt and memory and responsibility too heavy. His throat clenched around emotions, tight and raw.
Promise you will keep it for me. Don’t forget.
Daniel stared across the lawn and into the surrounding trees beyond. Why was talking about this so hard? But Fossi . . . she pulled these things from him.
“No . . . that box,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “That box . . . it belonged to Simon.”
A pause.
“Simon?” she prompted so softly he barely heard.
He brought his eyes back to her.
“My son.”
My son.
How could one single phrase encompass everything that Simon had been? Daniel’s greatest joy. His deepest sorrow. The salvation of his future.
Fossi said nothing.
Her silence came not from discomfort but from understanding.
She knew.
Foster Lovejoy with her wisdom and generous heart comprehended what it meant to lose someone so dear.
Tears welled in her eyes but did not fall.
“It was Simon’s treasure box.” Voice gruff. “He was barely six years old. You have nieces and nephews. You know how children are at that age. Every smallest thing is the greatest prize. A seashell. A sparkling rock. A smooth twig.”
“He would give them to you.” The quiver in her voice said she understood. That she saw what his relationship with Simon had been.
“Yes. We would play at pirates or treasure hunters, and he would come running to me with something new for his box.”
“What have you here, Simon?” Daniel squatted down next to the small boy’s side.
“Rocks.” Simon grinned merrily, his blue eyes lit with mischief. “This rock has sparkles in it, Papa. Look.” He held up one of his prizes, turning it until it caught the sunlight and glittered.
“That is a very fine rock, my boy.” Only years of practice allowed Daniel to keep his voice grave and serious. “Impressive, even.”
Simon nodded earnestly. “It is.” He placed the rock in Daniel’s hand. “Promise you will keep it for me?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t. But let’s put it into the box with all the others just to be sure.”
Simon darted to his feet, instantly worming his small hand into Daniel’s grasp. He skipped at Daniel’s side as they walked toward the house.
“I have lots of treasures.”
“That you do, Simon.”
“I am a master treasure hunter.”
“You are.”
“And you are a master secret keeper, aren’t you, Papa?”
“Something of the like.”
“Good. I know you will keep my treasures safe for me.”
Except Daniel hadn’t kept the most important treasure safe.
He had made a catastrophic mistake.
“I-I brought him some sweets from a trip. I didn’t know . . . I should have thought—” Daniel swallowed back the lump that threatened to choke him. “He had a reaction. His throat swelled shut and he couldn’t breathe. I was helpless to do anything. It was all my fault.”
It was all my fault.
Daniel’s words echoed through Fossi’s brain. The sheer devastation in that single sentence.
A son. Daniel had lost a child.
Her heart hammered out of her chest, desperately trying to beat its way to him.
Daniel appeared so broken. His face too bleak.
All light and life and color snuffed out.
“The best of me died with him.” Daniel turned and looked back over the fields again, expression utterly shuttered, emotions tucked deep within his fortress.
But she knew. The deeper he felt, the more iron he woul
d seem.
And in his quiet hours, he would press a lily of remembrance into a Shakespearean passage to mark his grief.
What could Fossi say that would not be inadequate? Words were paltry substitutes.
Her foolish heart pulled her forward, compelling her to Do Something.
The one thing no one ever did for her.
Without thinking, she closed the distance between them. Her arms wrapped around his waist of their own volition, her face pressing into his chest, breath jagged.
Take my comfort, her actions whispered. You do not need to be iron and granite around me. Lean on me.
Even Lord Whitmoor needed to be held.
Physical contact was probably as scarce in his world as it was in hers.
He froze for only the briefest moments. And then rapidly reciprocated.
His arms clutched her to him, lungs heaving under her cheek—the deep, rasping sounds of a man fighting to hold his broken spirit together.
“It was my fault,” he repeated against her hair. “I k-killed my precious, s-sweet boy—” His voice ended on a gasp.
She responded by holding him tighter.
Here. I am here.
I see you.
I stand as witness to your pain.
His lungs a bellow under her cheek. Her own sobs mingling with his.
A chill breeze ruffled her skirts. Sheep bleated in a nearby field.
Little by little, his serrated breathing subsided, his grip loosened. She reined back her own emotions.
And still he held her, cheek resting against the top of her head.
Warmth bloomed between them.
His arms shifted, his hold moving from comfort to something . . . different.
Affection, perhaps?
All the while, Fossi’s brain screamed at her.
Daniel is holding you. You are in his embrace.
He completely engulfed her. Peppermint. Bay rum. Strong arms and deep chest. Her hands pressed into his back, the thump of his heart beneath her ear.
So many sensations at once . . .
Overwhelming in their force.
The moment extended and stretched.
Fossi knew she should step back. Break the contact.
But it felt so right, being in his arms like this. And once she stepped back . . .
She would never be so close again.
And her foolish, stupid heart would not allow her to relinquish him. He would have to push her away.
Finally, he did just that. Gave a tight squeeze and let her go.
Fossi ignored that pang that accompanied his actions.
She pulled back, fixing a kind smile to her face.
“Thank you,” he whispered, running thumbs underneath his eyes, wiping away the evidence of his grief.
He heaved several deep, steadying breaths, looking at a point beyond her head.
This allowed her to study him unfettered. The line of his nose with its small bump in the middle. The sun ray wrinkles beside his eyes. A small spot of whiskers just south of his jaw that had been missed when shaving.
When had his face become so dear?
“Would you like to talk about Simon?” Fossi had to ask it. His gaze swung back to hers. “I think when we trap beautiful things deep inside us, they can fester and cause . . . harm. Beauty is meant to be shared.”
The same went for uglier emotions too, but she declined to point that out.
He blew out a heavy gust of air, bowing his head before finally nodding. He lifted his head, eyes so . . . haunted. With a tentative smile, he offered her his arm.
Fossi stared at it for the barest moment before understanding.
With almost sacred reverence, she looped her hand through his elbow, the heat of his arm burning through her gloves.
He motioned for them to walk.
They moved in silence. Across the rose garden, through an arched gate and down the wooded lane.
The quiet should have felt oppressive but, as always with Daniel, it was a companionable thing.
Part of Fossi reeled from the revelation and actions of the last half hour. The other half sighed in amazement that she was strolling with Lord Whitmoor as a debutante might.
She waited.
Finally, Daniel cleared his throat. “He was a terrible scamp, was Simon. Always into mischief.”
“Did he favor you?”
“Yes. Dark hair, blue eyes. Terrible curiosity.”
Fossi smiled as he shared Simon with her. A little boy who loved outdoors more than sleep. Who constantly dismantled things to discover how they worked. Who specialized in sticky kisses and lisping whispers.
“Say what you will about Alice and her later behavior,” Daniel said after a solid hour of telling tales, “she gave me Simon, and for that, I am grateful.”
Fossi knew she should let it go, but her mind latched on to Lady Alice. This woman had been his wife.
“Was she a good mother, Lady Alice?”
“Heavens, no.” He snorted. “I doubt Alice had a maternal bone in her entire body. Our marriage was not . . . cordial.”
Ah.
She held her tongue.
He appeased her curiosity. “Before our marriage, I did not take the time to get to know Alice as I should have. I allowed others’ opinions and my own vanity to sway me. Yes, she was beautiful externally, but as the poet has said, ‘The beauty of my wife is but skin deep.’ That was Alice. She pretended affection, but I found her locked in a scandalous embrace with another man soon after our marriage.”
“Gracious.”
“Do I shock you? Should I cease?”
“No, not at all. Merely sharing your horror.”
They passed over a small stream. Sheep baaed in the distance.
“We came to an agreement after that incident. She would provide me with an heir that I knew to be mine, and I would grant her freedom afterward. She kept her part of the bargain, living with me here at Whitmoor House until Simon’s birth. Then she . . . left.” A pause. “And I let her go.”
“Many a man would not have.”
“I am not so proud as to force a woman to endure my company unwillingly. She seemed genuinely happy to bid Simon and me goodbye.” The hardness of his tone belied the congeniality of his words.
Such loss there, Fossi realized. But even with Alice’s perfidy, he had behaved with honor and graciousness.
Traits Daniel Ashton had in abundance, she now knew.
He helped her over a turnstile and offered his arm again, leading her around the upper edge of a field.
Fossi’s thoughts tumbled and turned.
It didn’t require sleuthing to understand what was in the locked corner room. Simon’s nursery, perhaps? A shrine to a lost child?
And would Daniel ever decide to allow his heart to heal? Or would he continue to pound it over and over on the anvil of his guilt?
“Well, that is quite a bit about my family. Have you heard from yours?” Daniel finally asked, shifting the topic from his pain to hers.
Heavens. Had her family spared a thought for her departure? She had thought of them enough, she supposed. But then she had always had greater affection for them than they for her.
“No, but I do not expect to hear from them.”
“Why ever not?”
They skirted around a small stream, giving Fossi time to formulate a more positive answer than, Because I’m quite sure they were content to see me leave.
“To begin, I didn’t tell my father where I was going—”
“Wait—” Daniel came to a stop and faced her. “Your father doesn’t know you are here? Working for me?”
“No.”
His brows drew down. “Why would you not tell him—”
Fossi looked away, biting her lip. “He wouldn’t understand, Daniel. He is a good man but limited in his ability to comprehend the world. I didn’t wish to bring any trouble upon you.”
He reared back.
“Trouble for me?” The incredulity in his voice
clearly communicated how absurd he found the idea.
Reverend Josiah Lovejoy cause problems for the powerful Lord Whitmoor?
Pshaw.
Daniel clearly did not understand her father.
“Obviously, my father could do nothing legally or even physically to harm you. I am of age and free to make my own decisions. But Reverend Lovejoy is decidedly skilled in the art of making himself a consistently felt nuisance.” She pointed a finger at him. “That, my friend, is something you could do without.”
“Ah. But I possess excellent nuisance-busting skills and a high tolerance for aggravation.” He smiled easily and motioned for them to continue walking. “Though you were kind to concern yourself.”
More silence as they crossed the field.
“Will you attempt a reconciliation with your father? When your task for me is completed?” he asked.
Fossi’s heart lurched at the thought of leaving Daniel’s employ. But, of course, that day would come . . . perhaps sooner than she would like.
As for the idea of Reverend Lovejoy welcoming her back into the family fold . . .
“I am not sure,” she answered truthfully. “As I have stated before, I cannot imagine my father will be so accepting. It is why I wish to start a girl’s school. It will not only grant me more permanent employment, but it will give my life purpose.”
Daniel was quiet after her pronouncement.
“Is that—” he began. Paused. And then stopped walking again, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Is that what you want most from life then? To own a girl’s school? That is your heart’s desire?”
Gracious. As if she indulged in such sweeping hopes and dreams. Those were cares for much younger, prettier women.
Fossi controlled her shrug. “I cannot say it is my heart’s desire, but it is a good choice and—”
“What is your heart’s desire then?”
His gaze made her squirm. She found her eyes drifting beyond him, her tongue thick and awkward in her mouth.
She swallowed.
“I . . . I do not allow myself to have such a thing as a heart’s desire.”
“Why not?”
She sighed, defeat settling over her. “Because why wish for the unattainable? It only leads to discouragement and discontent—two emotions I would be happy to live without.”
He frowned and turned from her, walking on. He looked . . . disappointed. Which shouldn’t have upset her . . . and yet, it did.