by Lisa Valdez
“Yes.”
“If I’d slapped her, she would have had me arrested for assault.”
Matt nodded. “Probably.” He put down his fork. “I’m sorry about it, Mark. It’s that she sees so much of Father in you.” Matt shook his head. “You know, when we were boys, that used to make me jealous.”
Mark rubbed his temple. “What did you have to be jealous about? You had all her love.”
“How she always used to say you were just like Father. Christ, she still says it. But she never said that about me.” His dark eyes held Mark’s. “I wanted to be like Father, too.” He paused. “There was something between you and Father. As hard as I tried, I could never be a part of it.”
Mark frowned. “What are you talking about? Father was good to you. Kind. He loved you.”
“Did he? He never told me so.”
Mark’s frown deepened. His head was beginning to hurt. “I’m sure he did. You were only ten when he died. You probably just don’t remember.”
Matt shook his head. “No, I remember very well. He’d say, ‘You’re a good lad, Matt,’ or ‘Well done, Matt,’ but never ‘I love you, Matt.’”
His brother’s thoughts looked far away.
“Once,” he continued, “when I was practicing the cello, he stopped in the doorway to listen. He stayed for the whole piece. I was in heaven because you were in the next room, but he’d stopped to listen to me. I even played past the end so he would stay longer. When I finally finished, he came over and ruffled my hair. ‘You’ve talent, lad,’ he said. ‘Don’t ever quit. I love to hear you.’” Matt’s focus returned to Mark. “So I haven’t. I’ll always play. Because if he didn’t love me, then at least he loved my music.”
Mark stared at his brother. He’d never felt his father’s preference, never been aware of it. “He wasn’t a man to voice his love, Matt, especially as things worsened between he and Mother. I remember that he said it only a few times to me.”
“But he said it. Always when he thought I wasn’t around. ‘I love you, son,’ he’d say to you. Then he’d put his arm around your shoulder, I observed it more than once, Mark. And there must have been times I didn’t witness.”
Jesus Christ! Under the circumstances, his father had been a paragon of fairness. “Maybe he told me because I didn’t have a mother who would tell me. Maybe he told me because I didn’t have a mother who would ever stop to watch me do anything, let alone ruffle my hair and offer me some kind words of encouragement. Forgive me, but I could recount a thousand worse ways that Mother slighted me while she poured her undying love upon you.”
Matt regarded him for a long moment. “I only meant for you to know that Father belonged to you. I didn’t think you realized it. I thought it might be a comfort to you in the face of Mother’s favoritism.”
Mark shoved his hands through his hair. Why did they keep having these disturbing conversations? “You think it comforts me to know that Father disappointed you? It doesn’t. He was a good man, Matt. He tried to be fair. You’ll just have to believe that.”
“I do believe that, and I know he was a good man. That’s why I wanted to be like him.”
“You are like him. That’s the irony, Matt. Mother always says I’m the one, but I’m not. You are. You’re a reflection of all his best qualities. You’re a man of honor, strength, and nobility.”
“And you’re not? You may not wear the qualities on your sleeve, but they’re all in you.”
Mark shook his head. “You believe in love and you’ll fight for it. That’s a trait of Father’s I do not have.”
Matt took a bite from his toast and looked at Mark as he chewed. “May I ask you? How is Passion?”
“Sick, crying, and unreasonable.”
His brother shook his head. “Last night was a shock, even for me. I can only imagine what it was for the two of you.”
Mark frowned. “Who could have guessed she would be related to those people?”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Convince her it doesn’t matter.”
Matt lifted his brows. “What?”
“I’ve explained the situation to her,” Mark said. “She has only to accept my viewpoint.”
“Ah, so you want her to remain your mistress while you marry and impregnate her cousin.” Matt’s fingers were white on his coffee cup. “Have I got it right?”
“Not exactly,” Mark ground out.
“Oh, good. For a moment there, you had me concerned for your sanity.”
“What’s happened? Not three minutes ago, you said, ‘I stand by you, whatever you do.’”
“I am on your side, which is why I have to convince you to do the bloody right thing.” Matt leaned forward. “I would have walked out of the Lawrences’ with you last night. But you chose to stay. You chose Charlotte. Fine. Then live with your decision.”
“I won’t let Passion go.”
“You must!”
Mark leapt to his feet and walked away from the table. “This refrain is becoming tiresome.”
“If you care at all for her, you’ll release her.”
Mark threw open his study door, but Matt followed. “Enough!”
“For Christ’s sake, you’re marrying her cousin!”
Mark started up the steps. If his brother followed, he’d be sorry.
There was a brief silence.
“You won’t let her go, because you can’t.”
Mark paused with his foot on the next step.
“You can’t stand the thought of living without her.” The clock in the vestibule ticked. “Only it’s too late for that.”
Mark gripped the stair rail and felt his knees quake beneath him.
“Well, it isn’t all up to you, is it? You think you can convince her to stay with you? I saw her. I saw her face. She’s going to lock you out of her life.”
Mark’s body stiffened. Matt was wrong! Matt didn’t know what they had. Passion would never abandon him. She was his. He would never let her go. Never!
“It’s early for a call,” Abigail said as Passion entered her fashionable parlor.
“Yes, forgive me.”
“Be seated, Passion.”
The sage green silk of her skirt sighed softly as she took a seat across from Abigail.
The woman’s cold blue eyes moved over her slowly as a maid entered bearing a tray of punch and two glasses. Abigail frowned as the maid placed the tray. “Can’t you get anything right? I asked for lemonade, not punch.”
Before her mistress could observe it, the maid shot Abigail a brief but furious glance. “There were no lemons at the market, madam.”
“I don’t believe that, Anna. Pour the punch and leave. I will attend to you later.”
Passion had never liked Charlotte’s mother, but now slivers of loathing pierced the broken fragments of her heart. Abigail was horrible to absolutely everyone. And she was forcing Mark’s hand into Charlotte’s. It was a despicable, reprehensible act.
“You look like you barely slept,” Abigail commented after the maid took her leave. “Really, Passion, it would have been better if you had stayed at home last night. I had to have the gutter washed down after you left.”
Passion wished she could hold back her blush of embarrassment, but she couldn’t. “My apologies, ma’am. My illness came upon me very suddenly. I never would have come had I felt unwell.”
“Well, I hope you are completely recovered. It would be very rude of you to come calling if there were any chance of your infecting my house. Charlotte cannot afford to be sick right now.”
The woman was rudeness personified. How did Charlotte tolerate her day after day? “I am entirely well, I assure you. I came to apologize for any disruption I caused last eve, and to speak with Charlotte.”
“I’m glad you recognize the necessity for an apology, Passion. The whole evening was tainted by your hasty departure. My cousin kept worrying, all evening, that she might fall ill. Charlotte’s fiancé, the earl, asked an inordinate
number of questions about you. It was very distressing.”
Now he knew her name and her relation to Charlotte. What else had he inquired about?
“May I speak with Charlotte, Mrs. Lawrence?”
Abigail shrugged. “Charlotte has begun taking her breakfast in her room. You may join her there, but do not stay long.”
Passion stood. She wanted away from Abigail. “Very well, thank you.”
The woman’s hard voice held her at the entrance to the parlor. “Where is the shawl you wore last night? You should wear it with such a plain gown.”
Passion turned. “It’s a special piece, reserved for special occasions. And I prefer my gowns simple.”
“Yes, well, you always wear the best fabrics. But you skimp on the trimmings, which is all too clear. However did you afford such a shawl? For a vicar, your father must be doing very well, indeed.”
The woman was disgusting. “Father is doing very well. How gracious of you to enquire. His health is as hearty as ever, and he recently finished a wonderful essay on the merits of humility. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Passion didn’t wait for the woman’s leave, but hurried up the stairs. She seethed as she climbed, and her eyes prickled with the tears she blinked back. How dare Abigail Lawrence behave as if she had a right to know anything and everything? Did her sense of entitlement spur her to engage in something as monstrous as blackmail? Did she think Mark’s freedom and title were her due? Did she care that she was marrying Charlotte to a man who didn’t want her?
Passion’s stomach cramped. She knew all too well the sorrow of an indifferent marriage. The repercussions could be terrible.
As she stepped onto the landing, Passion drew up short. Just down the hall, one of the upstairs maids stood in the tight embrace of a tall lad with black hair. The young man’s hand wandered down the maid’s back and then cupped her bottom.
Passion sighed, and terrible pain and loss welled in her. She knew what it was to lean into Mark’s firm embrace and feel the touch of his searching hand. But the sweetness of that embrace was closed to her forever.
Did the girl love the boy? Did he love her?
The maid pulled away with a giggle but then jumped when she saw Passion. Sudden fear filled her face. The lad looked unconcerned.
Passion forced a shaky smile to ease the poor girl. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’m just going to Miss Lawrence’s room. If memory serves, it’s at the end of the hall?”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and nervously straightened her cap. “Yes, miss.”
The young man just leaned against the wall and hooked his thumbs in his pockets with a grin.
Passion turned her back on the couple and walked down the hall. She would never feel that breathless excitement again. She would never feel Mark again.
Pausing at Charlotte’s door, she took a deep, steadying breath before she knocked.
Charlotte’s call for admittance was slow in coming. Passion eased open the door only to find her cousin huddled in the middle of her bed, her breakfast untouched on a tray.
“Oh, thank God it’s you!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I was afraid it was a summons from Mother.”
Passion frowned as she closed the door. Dark circles shadowed Charlotte’s gray eyes, and her cheeks and lips were pale. “Are you all right, darling?”
Charlotte smiled briefly. “Now that you’re here, I’m better. Oh, Passion, I’m so glad to see you. Come and sit.” Charlotte shoved aside the tray to make room for her.
Passion felt her cousin’s forehead as she sat on the side of the bed. “You don’t feel feverish. But you look like you need sleep.”
“So do you,” Charlotte observed. “I was so concerned for you last night. Are you well?”
Passion lowered her eyes for a moment. When would she feel well again? “You mustn’t worry, darling. I’m completely well.” She lifted her eyes to Charlotte—sweet Charlotte, who was innocent and knew nothing.
Sorrow, envy, remorse, and shame all boiled up in Passion. She would be facing none of this if she had behaved as a proper, moral woman. It was her self-indulgence, her defiant rejection of what she knew to be right, that had brought her to this moment.
“I’m so sorry about everything, Charlotte. I hope you know I would never knowingly hurt you.”
Charlotte frowned. “Mother spoke to you, didn’t she? You mustn’t mind her, Passion. She believes every unintended accident, including illness, is a personal affront to her. Every little thing that doesn’t go as she plans infuriates her.” She shook her head. “You should have heard her last night. She enraged the earl and his brother so much that they almost left.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what would have happened had they gone, Passion. If the earl backs out of our engagement, I’ll be ruined. I don’t have the social status or birth to weather a scandal unscathed, and there’s no doubt that an earl breaking off with a commoner after a shockingly brief courtship and engagement period would cause a huge scandal. People will assume I proved unsuitable. I’ll be a social exile—cast-off goods, interesting only to those who are in desperate need of my money.”
Passion wrapped her arms around her cousin. It was true. Mark couldn’t break off this engagement. But could she really blame him for trying? What of his life? She rubbed Charlotte’s back. “But he didn’t leave, darling,” she offered. “He stayed. He stayed when he could have left.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said as she drew back from Passion’s embrace. “And he did say that he was staying for me. I think he, and his brother, too, understand that I’m not like Mother. I told them I wasn’t. And in this last week, I have been trying to stand up to her more.”
Passion pushed a chestnut curl back from Charlotte’s face. “There, you see.”
Charlotte’s face fell. “But Passion, he hasn’t shown me one shred of warmth since the evening at the pavilion. The countess treats me with utter disdain, unless we’re in public, where she puts on a show of adoring me. And Mother is just getting worse and worse. She finds fault with everything and berates the household staff constantly.” Her gray eyes filled with tears. “She and the countess snap at each other like vipers. And the earl’s brother, who is one of the kindest men I’ve ever met, looked like he might strike her last night.” Charlotte hid her face in her hands. “Oh, Passion, I wanted him to do it. I wanted him to hit my mother. I’m awful, I know, but I can’t help it.”
Passion closed her eyes. She would have wanted it, too. “You are not awful, Charlotte. Sometimes situations arise that make it almost impossible to keep charitable thoughts. At those times, we can only ask God’s forgiveness and resolve to be better.”
Charlotte clasped Passion’s hands. “You always have charitable thoughts. You always do the right thing. I wish I could be more like you.”
Passion’s stomach hurt. She squeezed her cousin’s fingers. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve had many an ill thought, and I’ve made decisions that have led me down the wrong path.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I think terrible thoughts every day, Passion. You don’t know what it’s like. Mother has always been difficult and critical, but since the earl’s proposal, she’s unbearable. Just last night, she fired a servant who has been with our household for ten years! That’s why I escape to you and Aunt Matty whenever I can. Do you know how many times I’ve thought of packing my things and coming to you?” Her gaze grew sadder. “Even as a girl, I used to dream of coming to live with you at the vicarage. I would be another sister to you, and your father would talk to me in his quiet, firm voice. And no one would yell at me anymore or think everything I did was wrong.”
“Oh, Charlotte…” Passion said softly. Her cousin looked at her with such sorrow. “I hate her, Passion. I do. Some days, I wish she were dead.”
Passion pulled Charlotte back into her embrace. What could she say to such an admission? Nothing. “It’s all right, darling,” she whispered. “It’s all ri
ght.”
Charlotte clung to her for a long time.
How vicious a circle was hate. And now she was drawn into it as well. Finally, Charlotte spoke. “I’m so glad you came today. Do you know, if it weren’t for you, I don’t know what I would do. You are always such a comfort to me. Come again tomorrow, won’t you? Please, Passion.”
Passion squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Charlotte, darling, I came here today to say good-bye.”
Charlotte pulled back, dismay written across her face. “What? No! No, please, you can’t go.” She grabbed Passion’s hands. “‘I need you now. You’re my only solace. There’s no one I can turn to but you.”
Passion’s stomach lurched. She couldn’t stay, she couldn’t! “Darling, I—I’m just so homesick. And you know how Aunt Matty is. She believes the remedy for everything is more activity.” She struggled to smile. “And try as I might, I can’t seem to rid myself of Alfred Swittly.”
Tears spilled down Charlotte’s face. “I beg you to stay, Passion! In one week, it will be time to go to Hawkmore House. I must be presented to my new household and all the local gentry before the wedding.” Her pretty mouth twisted into a grimace. “I need you there. With a fiancé who hardly acknowledges me, the countess who barely tolerates me, and my mother who constantly humiliates me, I won’t survive it—not without you. Please, come with me!”
Passion frowned as pain stabbed her temples. Ten days in Mark’s house. Ten days of Mark’s powerful insistence that they remain together. How would she ever survive?
She would need to protect herself. She would need her sisters. And she would have to talk with Mark—he needed to understand that her decision was final. It all seemed too difficult.
Yet how could she abandon Charlotte? And what if Mark found the letter? Then he would abandon Charlotte. Might she prevent that?
“Please, Passion,” Charlotte pleaded. “Your family is already invited to the wedding. Send for Patience and Prim early. Have them meet us at Hawkmore House. Your father, too, if you want. Many people are arriving early. Two or three more will be nothing. But to have you there, to have all of you there, would be everything to me.” Her gray eyes swam with tears. “Please, Passion. Please.”