by Tuft, Karen
“Love?” she said. “Love? Kit, I grieve for Alex, certainly, and I always will, but whatever made you think I still love him? Or that I ever did, for that matter?” she asked.
“At St. George’s, when you fainted . . . you said . . .” He searched for the right words.
“Oh, Kit,” she said to him. “You couldn’t be more mistaken.”
Chapter 16
Elizabeth searched Kit’s eyes and saw both pain and confusion. “Let’s walk for a bit, shall we?” she said softly.
He slid out of the saddle from behind her without speaking and raised his hands to assist her off. She placed her hands on his shoulders for support, but as he lifted her down, she moved her hands to cup both sides of his face. He froze with her suspended in midair, and then he pulled her against him and wrapped both arms around her, suspending her above the ground.
On impulse, she leaned forward and kissed him. She had never kissed a man before, not like this. She had received kisses on occasion—Alex had offered her a few obligatory kisses, but he had never allowed any passion between them, which had always troubled Elizabeth, for she had recognized early on that Alex was a passionate young man.
But to initiate the kiss . . . oh, this was new and bold and so, so sweet. Her hands slipped away from his face and into his delicious, thick hair, inadvertently knocking his hat off his head. She didn’t care.
“Oh, Lizzie,” he murmured. “How I have longed . . .” And then he kissed her, pressing his lips to hers, giving, taking, stealing her heart. His ardor emboldened her, and she kissed his face over and over again, desperate to learn the shape of his jawline and the feel of his skin before returning again to his lips for more kisses. Heavenly kisses.
“I like kisses; they are going on my list,” she murmured.
He chuckled, and it seemed to Elizabeth that his countenance had brightened a bit. She was glad of that.
“As do I,” he said and kissed her again. “Especially when they are from you.”
“Truly?” she asked, studying his face earnestly.
“Oh yes,” he murmured. He brushed his nose against hers playfully and kissed her chin and her eyes and her lips once more, delicious kisses, and she hoped he never stopped . . . but he finally did and eased her down to the ground.
“I think I’d better stop kissing you now, although I don’t want to. You wished to walk,” he said, stroking her cheek, oh, so softly. “And I think we have a great deal to talk about.”
She nodded.
He bent to retrieve his hat and took up the reins and led the horse to a nearby copse of trees where there was plenty of grass underfoot for grazing, then looped the reins to a branch before rejoining her.
They set off toward the incline in the near distance. And even though they had agreed that they needed to talk, they remained silent as they walked. It was a gentle incline, not steep at all, and Kit’s grip on her hand tightened the closer they got to the summit.
When they reached the top, Elizabeth could see that the land in front of them gave way, that there was a deep cleft on the other side of the summit that wasn’t noticeable on approach, with a gap of several feet before the land rose again to be nearly level with the incline.
She didn’t need to ask. She knew. “It was here,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” He pointed down. “Just there.”
She gazed down into the cleft at the place where Alex had lost his life. “I want to go down there,” she said.
He sighed. “Very well.” He took her hand and led her off to the left where the descent into the cleft was more gradual. “Be careful where you step,” he said. He assisted her as they made their way down into the gap, stepping over exposed roots and rocks until they finally reached the bottom. The grasses and daisies grew down here as well, with a few large, craggy rocks scattered about amongst them.
He didn’t let go of her hand as he led her to a particularly large and jagged rock that jutted up from the ground, and Elizabeth knew this was the place and also knew the horrible truth: that had Alex’s horse leapt merely a few feet in either direction of where it had, Alex’s injuries most likely wouldn’t have been fatal. Kit was clenching Elizabeth’s hand so hard it was painful, but she didn’t care. It didn’t come close to the pain she suspected Kit was feeling inside.
“He didn’t want to marry me,” Elizabeth said.
“I know,” Kit murmured.
Elizabeth nodded. Naturally, Kit would know that. He’d been one of Alex’s closest friends, if not the closest. Anthony, who was closer to Alex than anybody, had been in Spain.
“I do grieve for him, you know,” Elizabeth said. “And now that I see where he died, I grieve even more. But I hated him too.” She wondered how Kit would feel about her confession. She half wondered if she would be struck dead for uttering the words in such a sacred place, for, surely, the place where a young man’s life had ended was sacred.
Kit ran his free hand over the top of the rock. “At least you didn’t kill him,” he said. “I did.”
Elizabeth looked at him in alarm. Of all the things he might have said, she would never have suspected that.
“Oh, I didn’t actually kill him, and yet, if I hadn’t urged him to ride, he’d still be here with us; I’m sure of it. He’d still be alive. But I urged him on, Lizzie. I knew he was troubled, but I didn’t listen to him carefully enough, so I told him to stop dwelling on it and ride—that we were here to ride. So we rode.” He choked on the words. “He talked about riding and being free, and then he urged his horse faster and faster, and I tried to keep up, and then—” His voice broke.
“Oh, Kit!” Elizabeth cried. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he buried his face in her throat.
“The ground was soft, and as you saw, the cleft isn’t visible until you’re practically on it,” he said, his shoulders heaving. “By the time I reached him, it was already too late; I knew he was dying.”
Elizabeth stayed silent and held him as tightly as she could. He clutched the fabric of her dress at her back like a lifeline.
“I held his hand and told him he wasn’t alone, that I was there with him. I pray it helped. He looked at me, and then it was as if he couldn’t see me . . . and then he shut his eyes and . . . was gone, just like that. I never told his parents—beyond the fact that it was a terrible accident.”
“But that’s what it was, Kit: a terrible accident. Nothing more.”
Kit raised his head and looked at her with bleak eyes. “How can you be so sure?” he asked. “Was death the type of freedom he was seeking? Did he think it was the only choice he had left?”
“No. I don’t believe that, and deep down, neither do you,” Elizabeth said. “He had too much life in him to give up on it so easily. You know that.”
“He was in a bad way that day,” Kit said.
“It might have made him more reckless that day, but I cannot believe it was anything more than an accident. If he’d been able to keep the great Duke of Marwood at bay for so many years, I imagine he would have come up with even more schemes to do the same in the future. He would have found a way not to marry me.” What a humbling admission that is to make, she thought.
“I have felt so guilty these past two years,” Kit said. “I was never so glad as when Anthony returned home alive, after his parents had been notified of his death.”
“Alex and I were thrust into the betrothal at an early age by parents who had experienced arranged marriages themselves and expected us to do as they had done. There were titles to consider—lofty titles. But we were too young to realize we should have had a say in the matter, so we accepted what had been arranged for us . . . until it became unbearable. Alex recognized it first. I think he knew early on he didn’t love me and probably never would. I confess I was infatuated with him for a long time. He was so handsome and charming; it was easy as a young girl to fan
tasize what marriage to such a dashing young man would be like. But then I grew to hate him.”
“So you said before.” Kit heaved a sigh. “Come, let’s sit while we talk.” He took off his coat and spread it on the grass next to the rock for Elizabeth, and then they sat. Kit leaned against the rock—the one that had taken Alex’s life—and Elizabeth leaned against Kit. Strangely, it felt right to sit where they were, as though Alex were with them in the conversation that needed to occur.
Once they were settled, Kit removed his hat, and she removed her straw bonnet and set it next to his hat, and then he drew her close, and she nestled into his side. “It was right here,” Kit said, running his hand through the grass next to them. “His horse was already dead—broke its neck in the fall. I hurried down here as fast as I could, but there was nothing I could do except be with him.” He kept running his hand through the grass.
Kit would have carried Alex out of the cleft and home to his parents. He wouldn’t have left his best friend alone in the woods. He didn’t need to say it; Elizabeth knew Kit well enough to know that was what he would have done. What a terrible burden to have borne, returning Alex to his parents and having to explain what had happened. Her heart broke for him.
“Tell me more about hating Alex,” he said.
“Oh,” she began, “it wasn’t really hate, I don’t think. Or maybe it was. I thought it was at the time. It was difficult, you know, believing for nearly all of my life that I was going to marry him. I adored him, like I said before. I also knew he was one of the most sought-after bachelors—eldest sons of marquesses and dukes aren’t exactly thick on the ground, you know.”
“While we earls are a common bunch, by contrast,” he said.
“Not so common as all that but certainly not as rare.” She shifted a bit so she could snuggle into his side even more closely. “The other young ladies kept telling me how fortunate I was and how jealous they were. I was simply content that I was finally out in Society and that I already had a handsome gentleman as my betrothed.
“But then a second Season came around, and nothing changed, and then a third,” she continued. “And Alex absented himself more and more, and the same young ladies got married and had children and snickered and gossiped behind their fans at me wherever I went. I don’t know why his parents didn’t press the issue with him—perhaps they did. But my parents became more frustrated with me, telling me over and over that I must use my wiles to ensnare him and get him to the altar. But I didn’t know what to do. Was I to force him and have him always resent me? Was I to let him make his own choices and prove my loyalty to him? There was no right answer.”
“Ah,” Kit said. “I’m afraid I was complicit in helping Alex avoid those social events during those years.”
“That comes as no surprise,” she said. “You were his friend, and friends help each other.”
“That may be, but I’m sorry it gave you pain,” he said. “Perhaps it will help you to know that, for Alex, it wasn’t really about marrying you. He expected that the two of you on your own would have managed to make a workable marriage.”
“High expectations, indeed,” she said.
“Perhaps not as flattering as you would like to hear, but they were earnest feelings he shared with me. It was his fear of being under your father’s thumb that gave him the gravest concern. He already resented being the firstborn son. He always thought Anthony was better suited to be the heir.”
She nodded, accepting his apology and his words. “Thank you for telling me this. I wish I’d known because by the time my fourth Season began, I was angry—at least as angry as I felt I could be. I don’t think, growing up, that I ever thought I had permission to consider my own feelings; otherwise, it wouldn’t have taken more than three years to realize that I hated what Alex was putting me through. No one noticed that I was angry; I’m much too well-trained for that to have occurred.”
“I do know that about you,” Kit said.
She smiled sadly. “Yes, you do. I didn’t know what I had done wrong or why Alex wouldn’t actually commit to a wedding date since that had been everyone’s goal our entire lives. My parents blamed me for it, you know.”
“I recognized that much when we went to Surrey to get you.”
“I was and always have been an utter failure as far as my parents were concerned. The debacle with Alex only convinced them further. And so they blamed me. And I blamed Alex. And I hated him for it . . . and then he died . . .”
“Oh, Lizzie,” he said with a sigh and fell silent.
And Elizabeth was grateful, for she had more to say if she was to finally, completely unburden herself.
***
Kit figured he’d never sat in one spot and listened—really listened—to what another person was saying in his entire life. He was a doer. He preferred action. But not listening and being a doer had contributed to Alex’s death, regardless of what Elizabeth had said to mitigate Kit’s pain.
So he stayed quiet and let Elizabeth say what she needed to say. He listened.
“When we received the news about Alex’s accident, we were all shocked, of course,” she said. “I was terribly stunned and saddened by it. And then this huge flood of relief came over me. That’s a terrible thing to admit, isn’t it? I hadn’t planned on feeling that way. I just did. We attended the funeral—”
“I remember seeing you there,” Kit said.
“It was a very moving service, and I wept—for Alex, for his parents, for Louisa, and for Anthony, who was in Spain and not even aware of what had happened. For all the dreams they’d had for their son and brother that would never be fulfilled. I cried for a wedding that would never happen now and for all the lost years. And at the same time, I felt such relief. And then I discovered that during those years I’d been intended for Alex, I had become a spinster.” She laughed bitterly.
“Don’t speak so, Lizzie,” Kit said, kissing her brow. “You are but three and twenty.”
“A spinster by anyone’s account,” she said.
“I know what happened next,” Kit said. “Anthony, who was thought to have died in Spain, arrived home.”
“Yes. The new Earl of Halford, the new heir. Papa didn’t care that it was a different person; it was merely a matter of substitution in his mind. Fortunately, despite Anthony’s weakened physical state, his strength of character and support gave me the courage to defy my father’s wishes. And we know where that led.”
“Yes.” It had led to Amelia’s whipping at the hands of the Duke of Marwood, a duel to defend her honor, and the duke’s self-imposed exile and eventual death. “I was there, you know—at the duel. I served as Anthony’s second.”
Elizabeth nodded. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least. I would have expected no less from you.”
Kit was humbled by her simple acknowledgment of his part in the duel against her father. “And now, here we are,” he said. “What do you suggest we do? What would you like to do?”
She thought for a minute and then rose to her feet. She began walking about, picking daisies until she had an armful, so Kit rose to his feet and did the same. And then they returned to the rock.
She laid the daisies together on the grass by the rock so as to hide their stems and send their cheery faces skyward and then knelt next to them. “Dear Alex,” she said, brushing the single flower she still held against her nose. “I’m sorry our lives were not our own. I’m sorry your life ended too soon and in this tragic way. I will always love you in my own way and grieve your passing. I hope you will forgive me. And may we all find peace after this.” She placed a kiss on the final daisy and set it amongst the others and then wiped away errant tears.
It was Kit’s turn. He arranged the flowers he’d collected in a similar way, marking the place where Alex and his horse had lain. He knelt next to Lizzie. “Alex, my dear friend and true brother,” he said, his eyes suddenly
burning. “I wish to heaven I could have that afternoon back, that I could have you back, alive and well again. Please forgive me for not listening better and recognizing your real need. I hope one day I will be able to forgive myself.” He swallowed. “And I hope you will not begrudge me the love you didn’t find with Lizzie.”
He heard a sob, and Lizzie’s hand crept to his arm.
“Rest in peace, my friend,” he said.
They remained where they were, except that he took Lizzie’s hand in his and she laid her head against his arm where her hand had just been. He closed his eyes and thought of Alex—and suddenly, miraculously, dozens of childhood memories flashed through his mind, things he hadn’t thought about in years, boyhood antics that had also included Phillip and Anthony. Pretend sword fights and swimming in the lake. Sleigh rides and snowball fights at Christmas. Kit felt warmth envelop him, so deep and pure and comforting that he could hold the tears back no longer, and he wept.
And then as swiftly as they had come, the memories vanished, along with the warmth. The memories had been vivid, the warmth palpable, and now they were gone. But Kit knew without a doubt that it had been Alex, wrapping his arms and his memories and his love around him.
Kit opened his eyes and saw tears streaming down Lizzie’s face too, and he knew she had felt what he had felt—Alex’s presence, there to assure them that all was well with him and to urge them not to dwell on the pain and guilt any longer.
“Live and be happy,” Kit had heard without hearing. “Live and be happy.”
***