by Ruth Kaufman
Eleanor blew her nose even as more tears fell. “I thought he’d know I couldn’t be with a man I didn’t love.”
“‘Be with?’ Then you also—”
Eleanor couldn’t conceal a smile. “Yes.”
“Ah. I wish I knew more about men and their ways,” Alyce said. “Tell me how it was.”
“Now that you’ve decided to forego the Church, I will enlighten you,” Eleanor began. Memories of the wonderful embraces she and Richard had shared replaced her tears. “I felt so comforted, safe, warm, and things words can’t describe. I’ve learned why girls are kept close to home. For if they knew how wonderful kissing and other things with a man can be, remaining a virgin could be difficult.”
Alyce smiled. “Now I know I’ve made the right decision. I want those feelings, too. Do you think it would be thus with any man?”
“No. I can’t imagine it would be that wondrous. I knew I loved Richard when we shared…ourselves, which made it more meaningful,” Eleanor said. “To me, at least. He’ll always have my heart. Oh, Alyce. How can I ever wed another?”
A knock sounded at the door. Alyce opened it.
“Richard,” she announced, surprise evident in her voice.
Eleanor wiped the remaining tears from her face. He looked even more handsome in person than in her thoughts. A short green velvet tunic enhanced his fine form. Anguish washed over her anew. She’d missed his company so very much.
“I suppose I have an urgent errand to attend to,” Alyce said. “Though I’d rather stay.”
Eleanor stared at Richard, and he at her.
“I’ll be back. Soon,” Alyce said.
Richard stepped inside and closed the door.
Eleanor savored being alone with him, a state she’d never thought to experience again. Yet the wood paneled walls seemed to close in on her instead of providing intimacy as they had the last time he was here. When they’d made love and she’d been happy.
“What do you want?” Eleanor couldn’t keep rancor from her voice. “Have you come to gloat about your upcoming marriage?” And drive the dagger deeper into her chest?
A miniscule sliver of hope gleamed. Was there any chance he missed her, too? Mayhap he wanted to pull her close for a kiss as much as she wanted him to.
“You’re leaving.” He indicated the piles of clothing. The sound of his voice increased her longing.
“I’m returning to Middleworth.” In case he wanted to find her. Would she sit there, pining and waiting like a lovesick lunatic? “Why have you come?”
“To say fare thee well,” he replied.
“Ah. Fare thee well, then.”
Such banal conversation when they’d once grown close. Eleanor feared she’d throw herself at him if she continued to look at him. She picked up the mass of veils and began to fold one.
“And to retrieve my mother’s brooch,” he added.
Her hand covered the jewel, which she still wore. More than her wedding ring, the ruby pin represented Richard to her. Touching the smooth, rounded stones brought him near even when they were apart. Gave her hope. She unfastened the brooch and placed it on the bed.
“Here,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. “Take this too.” She fetched the sapphire band from a small coffer and dropped it beside the pin, then returned to folding.
The finality stunned her. Though their marriage had ended with the annulment, despite the tournament it hadn’t felt truly over until this moment. Only pride kept her standing.
“The ring is yours. I bought that for you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Richard close his fingers around the brooch. “This is for my wife. Have a safe journey.”
She wanted to be close to him more than ever, but watched, taken aback, as he reached for the door. He opened it halfway, then closed it and faced her.
Her heart leapt. Richard couldn’t bring himself to leave her.
“I am to wed Isabel in three weeks,” he said.
The spark of hope died. He lingered only to speak of his future, which would be spent with someone else.
“When is your wedding?” he asked.
A gauze veil dangled from her fingers. “My wedding?”
“To Arthur. Your dream can finally come true. You’re free, he’s free. Nothing, no one, stands in your way.”
Her heart surged anew. Richard didn’t know. He didn’t know she and Arthur no longer meant anything to each other, that she’d loved her vision of Arthur, not the real man.
She’d assumed Arthur would’ve told him she had no plans to get married at the moment. Maybe their friendship had waned. What if Richard had participated in the tournament only to make her happy, to allow her to follow her oft-expressed dreams?
“There is no wedding. I don’t love Arthur.”
“What?” Now he was the one to look surprised.
He moved closer, backing her against the bed. His familiar scent washed over her. How she wanted to lean into him, feel his strong arms around her. How she yearned to savor his kisses. One of them should move away, yet each remained, as if rooted to the ground.
She loved him.
The time had come to tell Richard the truth. Even pride, once valued so highly, paled compared to her need for honesty. She had nothing left to lose.
“I doubt I ever truly loved Arthur,” she admitted. “I realize I loved the idea of him—an earl’s son who seemed a perfect match. I so wanted to choose my husband because most women wed as their parents command. I endured my mother’s unhappiness my whole life. It tinged every day, every conversation. I couldn’t bear a similar fate.”
She had to go further. But the candor she needed didn’t flow freely. She’d never had to express such truths before. Her fear of rejection warred with her need to confess all. “My father wants to select another husband for me. You can imagine how I feel about that. Richard, I….”
He watched her with that intent focus she’d come to admire. His head lowered slightly, making her breath catch. For a split second she was sure he was going to kiss her. Then she realized he but nodded in agreement.
“I’ve seen the effects of such unhappiness,” he said. “I too have been betrayed. By Blanche.”
Eleanor gasped. Would she at last learn the full story of Richard and Blanche’s past? “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter now. Just because I’ve been hurt doesn’t mean I can avoid marriage.”
“No. But it does mean you can avoid love, the most important thing. Richard, I—”
“Love?” he scoffed, cutting her off. “Who needs that? Love is for troubadours and fools,” he said. “The nobility wed for land, money or politics, whichever duty commands. No other reasons. Most of us accept our lot. I thought by now, after all that’s transpired, you would, too.”
She drew in a long breath. The wall of pride she’d lowered rebuilt itself in an instant. Thank the Lord she hadn’t embarrassed herself by exposing her true feelings. Not only would he think her a fool if she told him she loved him, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, feel the same. If there’d been no tournament, Richard would have stayed wed to her because he had to. Not because he wanted to.
Would declaring her love for Richard make her feel better? No. It would gain her nothing.
“I suppose some couples can grow to love each other after they wed,” he said. “Unfortunately for my future wife, I fear Blanche ruined me. I don’t want to love again. The most I could hope for is comfortable compatibility and desire.”
She’d vastly prefer love, but comfortable compatibility and desire with Richard didn’t sound so terrible anymore. She’d get to enjoy his company and his bed. Share his life. Raise their children and have a family.
“Which, perhaps, is one reason I had trouble accepting your feelings for Arthur,” he continued. “I tried to see things your way. I agreed to the tournament because it meant so much to you.”
Confusion invaded Eleanor’s mind. Did he care for her or not? No man would go to such lengths for a woman for w
hom he felt nothing.
“I must acknowledge a more selfish reason,” he continued, pinning her with his potent gaze. “Though it pains me to say it, you were right all along. Why would I want to live my life with an unwilling wife?
“I commend your persistence. No other woman would have worked so hard nor could have as effectively convinced me she wasn’t good enough for me. That I’d be happier with and deserved a better bride.” He swept off his hat and bowed. The feather in the brim trailed down her body, setting her atingle. “My thanks, Eleanor.”
At that moment she hated him. Though they stood close together, they’d never been farther apart. He mocked her sincere, diligent, albeit somewhat misguided, efforts to make them both happy. He made her feel dim-witted and awkward for ever loving him at all.
Their time together hadn’t been significant to him. He didn’t view their kisses or lovemaking as extraordinary. Or even special.
“No, Richard,” she said, letting her unbound hair hide her face. “’Tis you who were right all along. I now believe your uncaring approach toward marriage yields the greatest results. That way, no one gets hurt.”
The bitterness in Eleanor’s voice took Richard aback. He tipped her chin up until she looked at him. Her hair slid past his hand, the delicate caress of the silken strands enough to weaken his resolve. Faint redness in her eyes proved she’d been crying. Against his will he felt her distress, and yearned to ease her woes.
What had she and Alyce been talking about that upset her so? He clenched the brooch. He’d noticed she wore it every day, even if it didn’t complement her attire as well as another bauble might. The pin pricked his palm.
“Have I hurt you, Eleanor?”
Her eyes filled with tears but she refused to blink, staring at him with a strange mixture of defiance, sorrow and indecision. He fought the urge to kiss her tears away, to comfort and reassure her.
He should never have come. No matter how hard he tried to forget Eleanor, he still wanted to see her, talk to her. Seeing her, being near her, made him want stay with her.
What curse was this? The shock of learning she wouldn’t marry Arthur and didn’t love him anymore continued to flow through him. He hadn’t expected his feelings for her would stay so strong.
Ignore the way she makes you feel, he scolded himself. If Eleanor had wanted to keep you as her husband, she wouldn’t have planned the tournament. She would have called it off, or at least told you how she felt.
Unless she was as uncomfortable acknowledging and expressing her feelings as he was. He hadn’t found the words to explain how much spending time with her, making love with her, meant to him. How just holding her brought him more joy than he’d hoped to find in a wife.
What good would dredging that up do? In a few short weeks he’d have a new wife to hold. This wife, he was sure, would keep his life predictable and calm. The new countess wouldn’t make him want to kiss her with a mere look, make him jealous if she smiled at another man, or sway his thoughts from his duty. She’d be uncomplicated and safe. And utterly, excruciatingly boring.
“Fie, Richard,” Eleanor said with a light tap on his chest and an effort at a smile. “Whatever would make you think I was hurt?”
The glimmer of tears in your eyes. The way you look at me, with sorrow and caring. He clasped her hand and held it fast against his chest, glad for even this small contact. Her pulse beat beneath his fingertips.
Though he’d fought a hard, long battle to avoid it, he’d been hurt, too. He’d tried every way he knew to win her, but even their incredible kisses hadn’t been enough to persuade her to stay with him. She’d sat through the tournament and watched him handed to another bride as if he meant nothing to her at all. As if their brief past had never been.
Why had he really come here…in the vain hope she might admit to wanting him? To have one last chance to see her again?
Suddenly he knew why. He loved her.
Shock forced him to step away until his back hit the door with a thud. Eleanor’s willful ways, her beauty, her cleverness had undermined his determination to remain aloof.
“Richard, what’s the matter? Are you ill?”
Even if he told her, she’d never believe him. Hadn’t he just told her he was incapable of love? He’d been right about love being for fools, for he was the most pathetic fool of all. He’d induced himself to participate in her tournament to escape the ache of her rejection, had flirted with the brides to avoid thinking about her. He’d spouted nonsense about not believing in love as a desperate measure to convince himself he hadn’t fallen for Eleanor. He’d prayed for strength, though now he wasn’t sure if it was to forget her or summon the words to confess.
He, Earl of Glasmere, who commanded vast estates and managed myriad responsibilities and servants, should be able to control his emotions.
“I must go,” he said, even as he burned to take her in his arms and divulge all. “Fare thee well, Eleanor.”
His heart ached. Who knew if their paths would cross again?
Her chin lifted in that defiant way he treasured. “Fare thee well, my lord.”
My lord. They’d come full circle, from strangers to husband and wife to strangers once more.
Richard closed the door and walked away from the woman he loved. It was the most difficult thing he had ever done.
Chapter 18
Eleanor reclined in a cushioned window seat, listless fingers holding needlework. The sun streamed through mullioned windows, its warmth making her sleepy at last. The past three days had been endless. She hadn’t seen Richard, the longest time they’d been apart since they met. Nor had she heard a snippet of gossip about him to indulge her insatiable curiosity. She’d hoped to glimpse him, if nothing more, before she left court.
How she missed him. Even when they disagreed, the air around them felt charged. She’d never stop caring for him. Wanting him.
Tomorrow her father’s men were scheduled to arrive to escort her and Alyce back to Northumberland and Middleworth Castle. Her failure would be complete.
There was no way to ready herself for the onslaught of her father’s dissatisfaction. Who knew when or who her father would want her to marry this time? How could she bear the touch of another man?
Where she went made no difference. She’d be wretched at home under Edmund’s watchful eye or with a second husband. What other choices were there for a noblewoman, aside from joining the Church? Could she be one of the very few to ply a trade?
“Will you go fishing with me?”
Eleanor sat up, startled. Owen stood beside her, two willow poles with lines of twisted horsehair in his hand.
“Fishing? My father used to take Alyce and me every summer as he had no sons.” She sighed, wishing things were as simple as they’d been then. The pain of her father’s deception tarnished the memories.
“I know of a most excellent spot nearby. I thought it might do you good to be away from everyone, if only for a few hours.”
By everyone, Owen meant Richard and his new bride-to-be, she was sure.
“I’m not dressed for fishing.” She indicated her elegant damask gown.
“The fish will bite no matter what you wear,” Owen said. “I’ve already sent a stable boy to fetch horses. ’Twould be shame if he did so only to return them.”
The feigned disappointment on his face was so comical Eleanor had to laugh. His enthusiasm was contagious. It felt good to escape her worries, even for a few seconds. Who knew how a few hours of freedom might lighten her mood?
“Let us be off, then,” she agreed. “I certainly wouldn’t want to disappoint the stable boy.”
After a pleasant ride to the river, Owen spread out a blanket, then unpacked the supplies. They sat on the grassy bank.
Owen handed her a worm. They baited their hooks and cast their lines. Soft plinks as they landed in the calm water and twittering birds were the only sounds. Eleanor took a deep breath, enjoying the sweet air as she relaxed for the first time in w
eeks. Well, since the day she had married Richard.
Exactly what she needed. Familiar, simple, peaceful activity.
“My thanks, Owen, for thinking of this.”
“It’s an honor to benefit a lady,” he replied. “My brother can be a trial, even on a good day. But when he is forced to deal with matters of the heart—”
Eleanor snapped to attention, jerking her pole. The dark waters rippled as her line swished.
“Be still! You’ll scare the fish away,” Owen said.
“You were saying?”
“I stopped apurpose. Richard wouldn’t appreciate our discussing him. Besides,” Owen continued, “what do you care what my brother thinks? ’Tis you who wanted to be rid of him.”
He sounded suspiciously like Alyce. Had they conferred about her and Richard? The thought pricked her pride, yet she’d appreciate their concern.
Eleanor hadn’t found the strength to confess the truth to Richard. Telling Owen would be easier. Perhaps he’d share their conversation with his brother. Not that anything would come of it, but she wouldn’t be there to see, hear and be scarred by, Richard’s rejection.
“I did want to be free of him,” she said. “At first. But I changed. He made me change. Why didn’t he? I mustn’t have impressed him enough.” That brought on a fresh wave of pain. She took a deep breath and focused on the soothing water. “He acted as though he truly cared for me, and I started to believe it. I thought he wanted to be with me, for myself, not just the woman he had to marry. Fool that I am, I wanted to cancel the tournament. To see him so easily replace me with another proves that holding the tournament was the right choice.”
Hearing Richard’s cynical views of love had reinforced that view.
“Richard hasn’t had the best examples to learn from,” Owen admitted.
“What do you mean?” She tried to sound casual. Owen didn’t need to know how deep her love for Richard went. Or that she’d do almost anything if she could make him want to marry her again.