Heart's Desire

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  His common sense insisted he pretend a previous engagement. Spare himself the agony of being close enough to touch her yet unable to do so.

  But his heart… damn it, his heart wanted nothing more than to be with her. Share a meal with her. Talk to her. Listen to her. Just… be near her.

  When he hesitated, she rushed on, “Please say you’ll come. We’re only in Halstead for this one night and I… ” Once again, something flickered in her eyes, something he couldn’t put his finger on other than to know he wasn’t accustomed to seeing it there. And it worried him. “… I’ve missed you, William.”

  His heart stilled at the words. And at the quiet way she said them. As if she might have missed him in the same gut-wrenching way he’d missed her. Which was, of course, ridiculous. Her life was a whirlwind of parties and travel and Society events. The opera and fancy balls and tours of the Continent. Why would she miss the tiny village of Halstead? Clearly she didn’t, as she hadn’t visited in so long.

  He briefly pressed his lips together to keep them from spilling out the fact that missing her was a pain he lived with daily. Then, determined not to appear like a tongue-tied nincompoop, he forced a light laugh. “And I’ve missed you, too, Dimples.”

  His use of the childhood nickname he’d bestowed upon her kindled mischief in her eyes. “I’m delighted to hear it… Dusty.”

  “Ah, retribution.”

  “Of course. If you drag out Dimples… ” She shrugged.

  “I’m not always dusty, you know.”

  “Of course not. Just like you’re never stodgy.”

  He arranged his features in a severe frown. “I’m not now, nor have I ever been the least bit stodgy.”

  “Ha! Says the gentleman wearing an expression that resembles a thundercloud.”

  “It’s not that I am stodgy but that you were always far too mischievous. One of us had to be sensible.”

  “You never minded when my mischief included pilfering biscuits and tarts from our kitchen.”

  “Of course not. Because Pierre’s tarts were the finest in the kingdom. I wasn’t nearly so fond of your mischief when it involved pies made from mud. Or trying to squeeze myself into those dastardly tiny chairs at your tea table.”

  “You fit in those chairs just fine.”

  “Not when I was twelve,” he countered darkly.

  A giggle erupted from her, one she quickly covered with a cough. “The chairs weren’t too small. You were simply too big.”

  “I completely agree.”

  She pursed her lips, drawing his attention to her plump mouth. Definitely a mistake. He forced his gaze back to her eyes. Unfortunately that, too, proved an error as he sank into those humor-filled aquamarine depths as if they were an endless blue well. “Humph,” she muttered. “I suppose you believe you won that exchange.”

  “I know I won that exchange.”

  She hiked up a brow. “And I suppose you intend to lord that over my head.”

  “For as long as possible,” he agreed.

  “You realize you’re all but begging for retribution.”

  He gave a careless wave of his hand. “I’m not concerned about any retribution threatened by a wisp of a girl named Dimples.”

  “Indeed? Clearly you’ve forgotten the afternoon I dunked you in the lake.”

  He’d spent more hours than he could count attempting to forget that day. To absolutely no avail. “Clearly you’ve forgotten that I dunked you back.” The image of a drenched fourteen-year-old Callie, her wet muslin gown rendered nearly transparent, clinging to her as if it were painted on, slammed into his mind. He’d been sixteen. And had nearly swallowed his tongue. It had taken precisely one heartbeat to know that the battle he’d been waging against his burgeoning feelings for her was a fight well and truly lost. That he could no longer pretend that what he felt for her was in the least bit brotherly. That he no longer just loved her but was deeply, desperately, hopelessly in love with her.

  “Actually, you dunked me twice,” she said with an elegant sniff. “Most ungentlemanly of you.”

  “You slipped the second time. And I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman.” Bloody hell, if he were a gentleman—of the peerage sort—he’d be able to court the sister of a duchess. And if he were a true gentleman in any sense of the word, he wouldn’t stand in mortal fear of snatching her against him and putting out this damned fire she’d lit in him a decade ago.

  She waved that away with an elegant flick of her wrist. “I slipped because I stepped on a rock—which I wouldn’t have done if you hadn’t tossed me in the lake in the first place.”

  “You dared me to do so, Dimples.” He shook his head at her folly. “You knew what the outcome of such a challenge would be.”

  “I dared you not to toss me into the lake! Indeed, my exact words were, ‘Don’t you dare throw me in that lake.’”

  “The operative words of that sentence being dare, throw, and lake. I was simply following instructions.”

  “Clearly, you don’t know what ‘instructions’ are. If my brothers had caught you throwing me in the lake, they’d have thrashed you.”

  “On the contrary, Nathan and Andrew would have laughed themselves into a seizure.”

  “Most likely.” She grinned. “But then they would have thrashed you.”

  That dimpling grin was impossible to resist, and he responded in kind, enjoying the teasing camaraderie that had marked their friendship from the beginning. When no social barriers separated them. When they were merely children enjoying adventures together. Playing silly games. Sharing secrets and laughter and fun. Albright Cottage had become a refuge for him, a home away from home. He’d loved the entire family, all of whom had treated him as if he were an adopted brother. But he’d loved Callie most of all.

  After Hayley, who raised the Albright children after their parents’ deaths, had married, the family settled into their new life in London, with the exception of newlyweds Pamela and Marshall, who moved into Albright Cottage. Callie’s absence left a huge hole in William’s heart. He missed digging in the garden with her and playing with her zany dogs at the small lake on the Albright property. Everything at Albright Cottage was lively and fun and chaotic in the best of ways, whereas his home was somber and quiet, his father’s countenance always either stern or tired. All the fun and laughter that had previously permeated William’s home had died along with his mother. Certainly the part of his father that had once found joy in daily life was lost.

  But Callie’s house abounded with joy, and six-year-old William had soaked it up like a flower that hadn’t been watered in months.

  “I disagree with you, by the way,” she said, her voice once again pulling him back from the memories bombarding him.

  He raised his brows and feigned exaggerated shock. “I’m astonished.”

  She laughed. “Yes, I’m certain you are, given that we’ve always agreed about everything.”

  A chuckle escaped him. They’d often shared lively debates on a wide variety of topics, ranging from which shape of rock made a better skipping stone—he preferred round, while she liked oval—to which flavor of jam was the best—raspberry for him, strawberry for her.

  “What do you disagree with me about this time?”

  The amusement slowly faded from her eyes. “You said you weren’t a gentleman,” she said softly. “I disagree. You’ve always been one. Always been my friend. My partner in mischief. My staunchest ally and fiercest protector.”

  William forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. Forced himself not to read anything deeper into her words than what they were—an expression of sisterly affection for a childhood friend. Forced a lightness he was far from feeling and offered her a low, sweeping bow. “Thank you, milady. However, that is very much the opposite of what you said when you found yourself spitting out lake water, although perhaps I shouldn’t remind you of that.”

  “There is no need to remind me, William. I remember everything about that day.”

 
His heart performed a slow somersault. God help him, he recalled that day with a clarity that would suggest it had occurred only moments ago. Of course the day didn’t hold for her the same significance it did for him—she only recalled a silly prank as opposed to experiencing a moment that had tilted his world on its axis.

  Before he could think of a response other than that’s the day I realized I loved you and would never have you, she continued, “Which is why I brought you this.”

  She extended her hand, and he pulled his gaze from hers. And stilled at the sight of the familiar, small, pink and white flower she held.

  A Sweet William. He stared at the serrated-edged petals, and memories bombarded him. Of Callie through the years, teasingly gifting him with the bloom that bore his name. For you, sweet William, she’d say with an impish grin as she tucked the flower behind his ear, her eyes dancing with mirth.

  “I’m not sweet.”

  “On the contrary, in spite of occasionally being stodgy, you are the sweetest boy I know.”

  “The only other boys you know are your brothers.”

  “And they’re wretched. Therefore, you’re the sweetest.”

  “Which apparently isn’t much of a compliment at all.”

  “I never said the competition for the title was fierce.”

  Lost in a trance of memories, he reached for the blossom. Their fingers brushed, and a tremor ran through him. As a young boy, he’d kept every single Sweet William she’d ever given him, carefully pressing them between the pages of a bound atlas, then storing them in a small box where he kept his other treasures. His mother’s pearl ring. A Roman coin he’d found during a walk with his father. A trio of bird feathers he’d collected during a picnic with his parents the summer before his mother died. His father’s watch fob, pressed into William’s hand three years ago on his deathbed. Every letter Callie had ever sent him.

  Now he had one more treasure to add to the collection.

  “Not only does the flower describe you perfectly,” she murmured, “but it means ‘childhood memory.’ I’ve so many fond ones, a great many of which include you… sweet William.”

  His throat slammed shut. God help him, she was his childhood, at least nearly everything that was good about it. Indeed, he had few memories that didn’t include her. Her sister Hayley had educated them on the meanings of flowers, lessons he’d never forgotten. In his dreams, he’d given Callie countless bouquets of red roses, which stood for love, although yellow tulips would have been more apropos as they meant hopeless love.

  With the nonchalance he’d perfected over the years, he casually tucked the flower into his pocket and said, “I’ve many happy memories of those days as well. Your family saved me from what would otherwise have been a very lonely time.” He was always careful to say “your family” rather than “you” when making such comments. Which was certainly true, although just as certainly not entirely truthful.

  Determined to change the subject, he continued, “What are your plans for your stay in London?”

  That same odd expression entered her eyes, and she averted her gaze, something so unlike her normal forthrightness that he again wondered what was troubling her. For something clearly was. “Oh, lots of things. I know Hayley is planning a birthday party for me.”

  The underlying despondency he detected in her tone surprised him. “You’re not happy about that?”

  A tiny frown puckered her brow then quickly disappeared, and she gave him a bright smile. Anyone who didn’t know her well, and even most who did, would have been fooled into thinking it was completely sincere. “Of course I’m happy about it. Now tell me, what treasures were you discovering when I interrupted you?”

  His heart insisted he ask what was bothering her, but his common sense was equally adamant that he keep the conversation in the safer waters to which she’d steered it. “I was about to unpack a crate delivered from Scotland. I’ve no idea what it contains.”

  “How is it that you don’t know what you purchased for the shop?”

  “I didn’t go to Scotland myself. About a year ago, I hired on Adam Graham as an assistant. He made the trip, arranged for the purchases, and shipped them back.”

  “The vicar’s son?” Callie asked.

  William nodded. “He didn’t wish to join the clergy and approached me about employment. He’s proven invaluable and has an excellent eye for antiques and unusual objets d’art. Plus, his haggling skills are formidable.”

  “You have some lovely pieces.” Her gaze drifted to the glass counter. “One in particular caught my interest.”

  He immediately knew which piece in the display she meant. “The oval mirror pendant with the silver filigree edge.”

  She laughed. “How did you know?”

  Because he’d thought of her the instant he’d seen it. Had known she’d adore the palm-sized piece that could be worn as either a brooch or a pendant, would love the glittering emeralds cut to look like leaves set in the delicate filigree, surrounding cabochon diamond flowers. “I know how you like anything to do with flowers.” Even as he said the words, he caught a tantalizing whiff of roses. “It was in the first crate from Scotland I unpacked this morning.”

  She turned and walked back to the display case, then peered through the glass. “May I see it?”

  “Of course,” William said, moving behind the counter.

  As he carefully shifted other pieces to afford him access to the mirror, Callie said, “I’ve always loved this shop. Every time I crossed the threshold, I was filled with anticipation of what unique treasures I might find.” He glanced up and watched her draw a deep breath, then smile. “I adore that smell… that distinctive combination of aged parchment, old books, and, well, I’m not sure what else to call it except mustiness.”

  “That’s hardly flattering,” he said in a dust-dry tone. “But I know precisely what you mean, and I love it as well. It causes many people to sneeze.”

  “Not me.” She closed her eyes and pulled in another deep breath. “It makes me want to poke around in cramped corners looking for hidden treasures.”

  Just one of the countless things he’d always loved about her—the way she enjoyed sifting through the dusty boxes that arrived at the shop. She’d never shied away from dirt or cobwebs, never complained about the tedious chore of cleaning the items they unpacked. And no matter how filthy she’d gotten, she’d somehow still always smelled like roses.

  He often fantasized about their being married, running the shop together. Traveling to find treasures to bring back to sell. Happily ensconced in the modest rooms above the shop where he’d lived his entire life.

  Then reality would return with a thump, reminding him that he was a lowly shopkeeper, while she was the sister of a duchess.

  And therefore utterly out of his reach.

  She would marry a titled gentleman who would surround her with every luxury. While William wasn’t poor, neither was he wealthy. Yet even if he were, it wouldn’t matter, as he certainly wasn’t titled. The fact that one of those London fops hadn’t already whisked her to the altar stunned him. Surely, the duke and duchess were flooded with marriage offers for Callie. William knew the day would eventually come, and given that she was about to turn twenty-five, that day would be sooner rather than later. And he had no idea how he would survive it. Knowing she belonged to another man. A man who was touching her. Kissing her. Loving her.

  His insides wrenched into a knot. Desperate to put some space between them, he lifted the mirror from its nest of black velvet and practically thrust it at her. “Here you are,” he said, his voice hoarse and brusque. “You can look it over while I make myself presentable for dinner.”

  Bloody hell, joining her for dinner was not a good idea. How much could his battered heart bear? Yet neither could he ignore the clawing need to be with her. No matter the cost. Spending time with her… he knew the toll it would take on him when she left Halstead again. And took his heart with her.

  He felt her finger
s brush against his and looked down. They both held the mirror. He was about to let go when the mirror’s surface seemed to shimmer. Then, to his astonishment, a blurry image materialized on the polished surface.

  Frowning, William leaned closer. The image sharpened a bit, and he discerned a man and woman. Sitting beneath an enormous willow tree near a lake. That tree… the location looked familiar, and with a jolt, he realized it was the lake behind Albright Cottage. Another shimmer, and the image became clearer. And he recognized the couple. It was he and Callie. Callie was cradling something in her arms. Something that appeared to be… a baby?

  William blinked, and the image vanished. He shook his head and realized that he no longer held the mirror, that Callie had taken it from him and now cradled it in her hands.

  “Did you see that?” he asked.

  “See what?” He felt Callie looking at him and forced his gaze away from the mirror. And found her regarding him with an unreadable expression. “William, are you all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Look in the mirror. Tell me what you see.”

  She lowered her gaze. “I see myself.”

  “Nothing more?”

  She raised her gaze to his. “What else would I see?”

  He moved swiftly around the counter to join her. When he peered at the mirror over her shoulder, he saw only their faces as they were now. No lake, no tree, no child.

  “William? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Bloody hell, he was losing his mind. “May I have the mirror for a moment?”

  “Of course.” She handed him the piece. He angled it closer to the window to capture the fading light and peered at the shiny surface. And saw nothing save his own frowning countenance. Whatever he thought he had seen was clearly a figment of his imagination. Yet it had seemed so real.

  He raked a hand through his hair and set the mirror on the counter. “Um, sunlight hit the mirror and affected my vision for a moment.” Christ, he sounded like an idiot. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll ready myself for dinner.”