“Well, you were wrong!”
“Only in hindsight. The years may have proved my actions in error, but given the same circumstances I would do precisely the same thing again. For you. And the mistakes made ten years ago were not mine alone!”
“Charles wasn’t—”
“I’m not talking about Charles, I’m talking about you.”
She gasped. “Me? Surely you aren’t saying that I—”
“Oh, but I am. You could have argued with me. You could have refused to accept my edict. You could have fought with me, for me, for us. Damn it all, Elizabeth, you could have followed me!”
“Don’t be ridiculous! There was no conceivable way that I…I didn’t know…I wasn’t sure…” She paused, and he could see the memory of their parting flit across her eyes. She squared her shoulders. “I was very young.”
“We were both very young, but I loved you enough to give you up.”
“And I was as big a fool as you to have allowed you to do so! Is that what you want to hear?”
“I don’t know.” A weary note sounded in his voice.
“What do you want me to do, Nicholas? To close this chapter? Shall I go to his grave and yell at the top of my lungs? Shall I find a spiritualist to contact his ghost?” She searched for the right words. “If I have forgiven him it’s because I had no choice. If I have justified his actions it’s because I didn’t know what else to do to make it all make sense.”
She turned away and paced the room. “Until his death I thought our life together was perfect. I had never noticed that it was not a grand passion, but I was content. I thought he was content. Until your return, I didn’t realize that content was not enough. I didn’t realize that I had, in all likelihood, married the man who should never have been more than a dear friend and allowed the friend who was very possibly my grand passion to walk out of my life.”
“I would never betray you,” he said simply.
“I know, and yet I am…” She fell silent for a long moment.
Nicholas wished he’d held his tongue. Taken her acceptance of his proposal and ignored the rest. But while he was willing to spend the remainder of his days atoning for his mistakes, he would not pay for Charles’s. He wanted Elizabeth more than he wanted life itself, but not at this cost. And he feared through the years to come it might well destroy them both.
“I am afraid.” She met his gaze. “I am afraid of admitting that I have loved you always. Of admitting my life thus far has been,” she uttered an odd, short laugh, “a grand mistake.”
His stomach twisted. He was an idiot. She was willing to marry him. And she loved him. Nothing else really mattered. “Elizabeth.”
She ignored him. “I think now I survived Charles’s infidelity, even his death because, while I did love him dearly, he was never half of my soul.” She drew a deep breath. “You are.”
“Elizabeth.” He started toward her.
“Please don’t.” She held out a hand to ward him off. “When I stormed over here I never considered any of what we’ve just discussed. But you’re right: I trusted Charles implicitly and he betrayed that trust. However, even in those few days when I knew about his mistress, before his death, I was never jealous.”
“It would have been understandable.”
“But I wasn’t. Yet every time you so much as look at another woman I think the worst when you have given me no reason to do so. And either I care for you more than I have ever thought possible or you’re absolutely right. I am holding you responsible for Charles’s failures.” She turned and started toward the door, then swiveled back. “In truth, I think I might well blame you for everything.”
“What?” His brows drew together.
Sparks flashed from her green eyes. “If you hadn’t been so bloody self-sacrificing. If you had listened to your heart instead of everyone else—”
“Including you,” he said pointedly.
“Oh, believe me, I count myself in that number,” she snapped. “And I am probably as big a fool as you. But if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to make a decision that would affect both our lives without so much as a by-your-leave—”
“I was being noble!”
She snorted in disdain.
“And this is not all on my head.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you hadn’t been so concerned with convincing the world that you were nothing more than pretty and frivolous and empty-headed, perhaps Charles would have realized that you were not the right match for him in the first place. That you and he were not meant to be. Maybe, if you’d had the courage to be who you truly were with anyone other than myself, you would have had the courage to admit your feelings and stop me from walking out of your life!”
“You scarcely walked. You fled!”
“Fleeing certainly has a great deal of appeal at the moment!”
“On that, Sir Nicholas, we agree!” She turned on her heel and stalked toward the door, then turned back. “Christmas Eve and the Effington ball are the day after tomorrow. You needn’t bother to escort me, I shall be at Effington House most of the day with the children.”
“As you wish,” he said curtly.
“I shall expect your decision as to the management of my finances then as well.”
“Certainly.”
She glanced at the ginger jar. “There would be a great deal of satisfaction in throwing that now.”
“If you’re asking my permission, you don’t have it.”
“I neither want it, nor do I need it.” She grabbed the jar, hefted it in her hand, then met his gaze defiantly. “Is it really valuable?”
“Priceless.”
“Good.” She nodded, then flung the jar with all her strength.
Somewhere, in a more rational part of his mind not colored with anger, he noted that her throw was straight and true, obviously the result of a great deal of practice, and aimed right for his head. Without thinking he put his hand up and caught it. The smack of porcelain against flesh echoed in the room. Remarkably, given the sting in his hand, the jar held without so much as a crack. His admiration for the long dead artisans who’d lovingly created it notched upward.
“You caught it.” She stared in disbelief. “You caught my vase.”
“I caught my fifteenth-century, blue underglazed, porcelain, Ming dynasty ginger jar.” He set the jar carefully on a nearby table. “And that was exceedingly childish of you.”
“And no doubt frivolous as well.”
He shrugged in agreement.
She studied him for a moment. “I told you I would not throw myself at you again. I did not think that tonight…That scarcely matters now as well, I suppose.”
With that she nodded, turned, and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Nick stared at the door unseeing and slowly unclenched his fists. Odd, he hadn’t noticed he had clenched them.
He drew a deep, calming breath. This evening certainly hadn’t gone as he’d planned. No. He glanced at the clock. It was not yet eight. The evening he had anticipated shouldn’t even have begun yet, let alone be over.
What on earth had happened? The woman drove him mad, but it was his fault, of course. He should have simply kept his mouth shut. But while he was more than willing to shoulder the blame for his own mistakes, he’d be damned if he’d be saddled with her late husband’s as well.
He made his way around the assorted obstacles in the room to the decanter of brandy and glasses perched precariously on a tray balanced on an African tribal drum, poured a glass, and tossed it back.
He wanted her, he always had and suspected he always would. He wanted her heart, her hand, and, God help him, her trust. Was any of that possible now?
Still, it wasn’t all bad. She’d admitted he’d broken her heart. He winced. That knowledge wasn’t especially good, but it did mean she had cared for him then. She’d admitted loving him then and loving him now. “Half of her soul,” she’d called him. Of course, there was indeed a fine line separating love and hate,
and it was apparent she was now tottering between the two.
Obviously his talk with Teddy had put all this in his head in the first place. If only…well, there was no point in regrets. All that had passed between Elizabeth and him tonight could never be taken back.
This evening was a disaster, and he had no idea how to set things right and no idea if it was even possible. Perhaps they both needed more time before rushing into marriage, although one would have thought a decade was time enough. Was it simply his pride at stake or his own sense of honor? He had no idea what the answer to that was either.
There was one way to close the door once and for all on her life with Charles. One way to write the end to that chapter and give her the answers and the peace she deserved.
He ran his hand through his hair. He could not live the rest of his life without her. That was not in question.
The question now was whether or not he could live the rest of his life with her.
Chapter 17
“You look dreadful.” Jules eyed her sister over her teacup.
Elizabeth paced the breakfast room. “I feel dreadful.”
“I don’t believe I have ever seen you look quite this bad.”
“I’ve never felt quite this bad.” She halted in midstep and looked at her sister. “How bad?”
“Rather like you’ve been dragged through the streets of London behind a carriage.” Jules’s gaze skimmed her sister from head to toe. “The very worst parts of London.”
“That bad,” Elizabeth murmured, glanced down at her dress, and winced.
She did look somewhat bedraggled and haphazard. Not at all her usual self. Certainly, she hadn’t waited for her maid this morning and had thrown on the first thing she could don unassisted. This morning being a relative term, given the fact that she had had absolutely no sleep and darkness had simply slipped to dawn at some unnoticed point. She’d spent much of the night prowling restlessly through the house or staring through her windows at Nicholas’s house. Noting the light burning in his library well past dawn. Wondering if he was as distraught as she. At least a half dozen times she’d found herself at the front door fully prepared to go to Nicholas and do whatever was necessary to mend this rift between them. Up to and including throwing herself at him once again.
She was stopped only by the realization that she had absolutely no idea what to say and, worse, what to do.
“I am such a fool.” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself and resumed her pacing. “He’s right, you know. About everything.”
“Not at all.”
Elizabeth glanced at her sister. “You don’t think he’s right? About Charles and me and everything.”
“Oh no, I definitely think he’s right. In point of fact I think his assessment was rather brilliant. I wish I had seen it myself. I simply think he’s as great a fool as you.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “Do you?”
“Well,” Jules smiled. “Perhaps not as great.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth glared. “It’s so good to know I have the unwavering loyalty of my sister.”
“Loyalty is not the issue. However, honesty is. I think you are both fools. Total and complete idiots. Lunatics of the highest order.” Jules set her cup down in a firm manner. “He should have snatched you up and dragged you to the altar the moment you agreed to marry him.”
“Is that your solution for everything?”
“Yes, and it’s a damnably good one too,” Jules said sharply. “Right now we should be celebrating your betrothal and perhaps even planning a Christmas wedding. I have no idea what the procedure is these days, but Father or Lord Thornecroft or Nicholas himself could have certainly talked to some official somewhere, or even bribed someone if necessary. I’m certain arrangements could have been made to have you wed on Christmas Day itself.”
Elizabeth stared. “Why, Jules, I never suspected, but you are a romantic. A rather diabolical romantic, but a romantic nonetheless. And overly optimistic as well.”
“We romantics are all optimistic,” Jules said in a lofty manner. “Besides, it’s the season of hope and goodwill and that sort of thing. When we were girls I used to say anything was possible at Christmas.” She met her sister’s gaze. “I still believe it.”
“Christmas is inevitable. It will dawn in two days regardless of what else may happen in the world.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I fear a future with Nicholas is not.”
“Oh, do stop it, Lizzie. I’ve had quite enough.” Jules folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“I’m not feeling sorry for myself.”
Jules raised a brow.
“Very well then.” Elizabeth sighed and collapsed into a chair. “I’m feeing a bit sorry for myself. I haven’t felt this helpless in, well, ever. Since Charles’s death I have become accustomed to solving whatever problems have arisen. Indeed, I can’t conceive of a problem I cannot solve. Except this. I simply don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to break every piece of his Chinese pottery,” she said, forcing a pleasant note to her voice. “Preferably over his head.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Jules murmured.
Elizabeth snorted. “Satisfying perhaps, but futile.” She traced the rim of her teacup absently with her forefinger and considered the situation. “I can’t understand how one can want someone so badly yet at the same time have an overwhelming compulsion to strangle him.”
Jules smirked. “I believe that’s called love.”
“It certainly does not have a lot to recommend it.” Elizabeth stopped and cast a wry glance at her sister. “And it’s remarkably different than anything I felt for Charles.”
“Wrong kind of love,” Jules said, eying a plate of tarts on the table.
“Which brings us back to the very beginning. I,” Elizabeth paused dramatically, “am a fool.”
“We’ve established that. Now, what do you intend to do about it?”
“Excellent question.” Elizabeth stared at the painted floral design on her cup as if it held the answer. “I have considered going to him, apologizing—”
“Oh, I wouldn’t apologize if I were you.”
“Why not?”
Jules raised a brow. “Were you wrong?”
“No. But I wasn’t very pleasant.”
“Nor was he, from what you’ve said. Besides, he should be accustomed to your unpleasantness. You weren’t very nice when he returned to London.”
“Dear Lord, I’m a shrew.” Elizabeth rested her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. “How could he possibly want me at all?”
“One does question his sanity. Regardless, he does love you in spite of the flaws in your character. I think it’s rather wonderful of him. Now.” Jules thought for a moment. “You have admitted you were as much to blame as he for what happened in the past?”
“More or less,” she mumbled.
“And you’ve told Nicholas that you love him?”
“I believe I mentioned it in passing.”
“You should probably do more than simply mention it in passing, but that is a minor problem and easily fixed. And you’ve accepted his observations as to your unresolved state in regards to Charles?”
“As upsetting as they are—”
“As insightful as they are.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose I have.” Elizabeth lifted her head. “There is nothing that can be done about that.”
“Probably not. But there is a great deal that can be done about Nicholas.” Jules studied her sister thoughtfully. “However, if I were you, I should wait until the ball to do anything at all. It will give you both a bit of time to reflect. Besides, your relationship ended at the Christmas ball, and it’s only fitting that it should begin there once again.”
“Fitting?” Elizabeth raised a brow. “I’m not certain how fitting it is, but it does bring things full circle.”
“Talk to h
im at the ball.”
“I shall not grovel.”
“I’m not sure a certain amount of groveling isn’t called for on both your parts. Nonetheless, you should probably wait to see if he grovels first.”
Elizabeth smiled reluctantly. “Nicholas does not strike me as a man who takes well to groveling.”
“One has to make sacrifices for love,” Jules said in a superior tone. “On second thought, you might be well advised to grovel a tiny bit yourself. You were, after all, oh, what is the word I’m thinking of?”
“Wrong?”
“Exactly.” Jules nodded. “About a great many things, but most of all for not sharing the blame for your parting and your life.”
Elizabeth frowned. “What do you mean, my life?”
“Come now, Lizzie, if you hadn’t been so determined to hide the brains God had seen fit to bestow on you, so intent on appearing flighty and empty-headed, simpering and—”
“I did not simper! I never simpered.”
“Well, perhaps my memory fails me in that area.” Jules shrugged. “Even so, the fault lies as much with you—”
“Yes, yes.” Elizabeth waved off the comment. “I know that and I have acknowledged it. What still remains though is what to do about this business of trusting Nicholas. I thought I did trust him, but apparently, thanks to Charles, I don’t.” She tapped her fingers on the table. “To be honest, Jules, I’m not sure that my jealousy in regards to Nicholas has anything whatsoever to do with Charles. Perhaps I was never jealous where Charles was concerned, not that he ever gave me a reason to be, mind you, because the love that I had for him wasn’t even remotely like what I feel for Nicholas.”
She got to her feet and resumed pacing, searching for the right words with every step. “Loving Charles was an easy, peaceful sort of thing. There was no particular effort to it. Loving Nicholas is tempestuous and frightening and,” she rested her hands on her stomach, “exciting in a queasy sort of way.”
A Visit from Sir Nicholas Page 26