by Fiona Harper
He nodded, but he didn’t look down at the book in her hands, just at her. She swallowed. All her life she’d felt like a thorn—something that got in other people’s way, snagged them when they wanted to be free—but when he looked at her like that she felt as fragile and as elegant as a lily. With a rush of understanding, she suddenly understood just how remarkable those words were. What an amazing thing it was to be longed for like that, to be adored rather than merely tolerated.
She continued reading. It was beautiful. Not a sermon, or a fire and brimstone prophecy, but a poem—a declaration between two lovers, full of evocative words and sensual imagery. The man who’d used a verse from this to send a message to his wife had definitely not thought he’d made a mistake in marrying her. Far from it.
She glanced over the text again. ‘“Do not stir up or awaken love until it pleases...” What do you think that means?’
He leaned forward and looked at her intently. ‘Maybe that there’s a right time and a wrong time for everything—even love?’
She gave a huff. ‘I think my mother’s living proof of that. She’s always falling in love with something, or someone, or some place. It always ends in disaster... It’s not that she hasn’t got a big heart—quite the reverse. She always gives away too much, and always too soon.’ She paused and looked at the text again. ‘Until it pleases... Maybe that’s the answer—her timing sucks.’
He threaded his fingers together, balancing his elbows on his knees, and looked into her eyes. ‘I don’t think she’s alone in that. Love seems to have more casualties than it does success stories.’
She knew what he was saying, could almost see into a future where they were both limping away from each other, in much worse shape than they were now.
She exhaled loudly. ‘And what about us, Marcus? Is it the right time or the wrong time for us? How do we tell?’
‘I don’t know...’ He sat up again and ran a hand through his hair. ‘But I know it’s something I couldn’t walk away from after just one night.’
She nodded. Her heart felt like a stone, sinking inside her chest.
There was the answer to her earlier question. And she’d wanted so much to pretend she was one of those girls who could just fall into bed with a hot man and then fall out again the next morning without a backwards glance. Why did it have to be all or nothing with her? And why did she always end up on the nothing side of the equation?
He reached for her, tugged her hand and brought her to sit next to him. He pressed the most delicate of kisses to her temple and then left his lips there, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to move away.
All or nothing.
What had grown already was too much to brush off as a flirtation, or rebrand and cheapen as a fling. They were hovering at a threshold, and she was too scared to cross it.
One step. Not even a leap. That was all it was.
But that one step would change everything.
* * *
The light seeping through the crack in the drawn curtains was cold and grey. Faith stirred against him. Marcus wasn’t sure if he’d been dozing or not. It only seemed seconds ago that his mind had been whirring between the window, the mysterious verses and the woman nestled against him.
His arm was stretched along the back of the blue sofa cushions and Faith, still in her red ballgown and Shirley’s borrowed coat, was burrowed into his side, her cheek on one side of her chest and her palm splayed possessively above his heart. He bowed his head and pressed a silent kiss to her silky hair. She moved again, just enough to signal she was on her way to consciousness.
Marcus closed his eyes and let the back of his skull rest against the sofa cushions. Even though he was cold and stiff, and his right leg was numb, he wished this night could have just dragged on and on. He hadn’t quite finished relishing the feel of her curled against him, her rhythmic breathing warming his shirt. There was no way of knowing if he’d ever get the chance to have her soft and sleeping against him again, so he was wringing every second he could from the moment.
She wouldn’t want to burrow so close against him if she knew what a coward he was.
Noble? Don’t think so.
Running scared? Oh, yes.
He’d done a lot of thinking in the grey hours of the night. Saying no to Faith last night had been a gut reaction. He’d even managed to kid himself he’d been doing it for her benefit.
He was such a liar.
There was one reason and one reason alone that had held him back: fear. Nothing very noble about that.
The same strange perception that let him eavesdrop on her thoughts, anticipate her kisses, had told him something else. Something that had sent him running like a frightened deer. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he’d spent the night with Faith this morning he’d have been so besotted he’d have lain his heart at her feet—like some sappy knight of old who risked everything just for a wave of his lady’s handkerchief.
So, as amazing as a night with Faith would be, he wasn’t sure he could afford the cost.
She made a sleepy noise and used the hand on his chest to lever herself up and look him in the face.
‘I feel like crap,’ she said, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
He brushed a wonky tendril that had escaped her pinned-up hairdo behind her ear. She didn’t sugarcoat her words for anyone, did she?
She yawned, then fixed him with a steady gaze. ‘What now?’
He knew her question had many layers. He decided to deal with the one he had an answer to. ‘I spent a lot of time thinking last night and—aside from working out whether this new verse is a clue or just a coincidence, I thought it might be a good idea to find out more about my great-grandmother—Evangeline Huntington: the woman who started it all.’
She pushed herself away from him, so she could sit up straight, and pulled the puffy coat tighter around her. ‘I didn’t think your family talked about her. And they’ve done a hell of a job erasing any trace of her from Hadsborough.’
He nodded. ‘But my family aren’t the only ones who lived here, saw things. An army of servants have worked at the castle over the years, and if there’s one thing that servants like to do it’s gossip. Someone has to have heard something.’
She covered her mouth with her hand as another yawn escaped. ‘You think the man who told you about the cellar might know something?’
‘He’s a good place to start.’
She looked down at her dress. It was creased horribly, and the Wellington boots were only half on, hanging off her feet. ‘I’m not going anywhere like this.’
He stood up, caught her hands in his and pulled her up to meet him. She sighed as her feet dropped back into the boots with a sucking noise, and when she met his gaze he knew those other layers of questions were swirling round her head.
‘Marcus? About us...?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said softly, and then he bent his head and tasted her lips one more time. He knew he shouldn’t, but he just couldn’t stop himself.
A week was all they had. If they’d had months ahead of them, if Faith had been going to settle down in one place for any length of time, then it might have been different. But he wasn’t ready to jump right in. He had to be sure this time.
You are sure¸ a little voice said inside his head. You know.
Perhaps. But he didn’t trust that little voice. He’d listened to it before—about Amanda, who had said she’d stick by him no matter what. And when his father had promised him everything was fine, that the company was just experiencing a minor blip. He’d listened to that smooth, soothing voice before and it had cost him everything. So, no, he wasn’t in a rush, and he didn’t think he should be.
‘Then until we know,’ she said, her pupils expanding, ‘I suggest we maintain the status quo.’
He knew it was stupid to pretend they wouldn’t get sucked in deeper, but he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. One more week. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Whate
ver was going on between them was balancing precariously, and it would fall one way or the other. And it would fall soon.
‘A shower, a few hours’ sleep and a good breakfast is in order before we do any more sleuthing,’ he said, taking a step backwards.
Faith grabbed a hold of his shirt. ‘Not so fast, buddy.’ She used her grip to pull his face close to hers. ‘I haven’t finished with you just yet.’
* * *
Faith looked around her as she and Marcus walked through the terraced gardens beside the long lake.
‘I don’t suppose you know if there are any lilies under all that white stuff?’ she asked him.
He shook his head. ‘Even if I could remember it wouldn’t matter. These gardens have been replanted and redesigned at least twice in the last thirty years alone. Even if that verse is a clue of some kind, we have to face the possibility that the lilies that were in the garden in my great-grandfather’s day no longer exist.’
She sighed and stuffed her hand into her coat pocket. ‘Well, let’s hope this Mr Grey of yours has something enlightening to tell us.’
The walk across Hadsborough Park in the snow was gorgeous. Vast fields of white were still untouched by human feet, even though it had been days since the last snowfall and a fortnight since the first flakes.
The retired employee was visiting his son and daughter-in-law, who occupied a small stone cottage on the far edge of the estate, hewn from the same sandstone as the castle itself. Marcus used the knocker on the shiny red front door and they heard a faint voice call out from inside. He pushed the door and she followed him inside. They found Mr Grey sitting by the fire with a blanket over his knees. A middle-aged woman fussed around him, tucking it in. When she saw Marcus she stood up ramrod-straight and bobbed a quick curtsey.
‘Morning, My Lord. Would you and Miss McKinnon care for a cup of tea?’
Marcus smiled. ‘Thank you for allowing us to visit so early on a Sunday morning, Caroline. And, yes, a cup of tea would be lovely.’
Caroline scurried out of the room and Marcus turned to the old man in the chair.
‘Good morning, Arnold.’
The old man nodded. ‘Mornin’, My Lord. I’ve been wondering when you’d turn up at my door.’ He motioned for them to sit down on a large chintz sofa, which they did.
Faith and Marcus looked at each other.
‘Have you, now?’ Marcus said, returning his attention to the old man.
Arnold Grey smiled. ‘Ever since I heard the old chapel was going to be used again I’ve been expecting someone to come and start asking questions.’ He turned his attention to Faith. ‘You’re the lass who’s fixing the window, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
The old man nodded again, as if her answer confirmed something. ‘You know the sixth Duke made that window for your great-grandmother?’
Marcus leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting his forearms on his knees. ‘That’s the story,’ he said, ‘but until now we haven’t been able to verify if it’s anything but a story. We were hoping that you’d be able to tell us something about Evangeline Huntington.’
At that moment Caroline bustled in with the tea tray, and it took an agonising minute or two before they could resume their conversation. Mr Grey took a sip of his tea and then placed his cup back in its saucer.
‘My father told me never to talk of it,’ he said. ‘But I reckon it’s a crying shame what they did to her, and it’s about time somebody told the truth.’
Faith’s heart began to pound as defiance glittered in the old man’s eyes.
‘My older sister was her lady’s maid,’ he explained. ‘Terrible upset, she was, when Her Grace left.’
Marcus and Faith shared a glance.
‘They were more friends than employer and employee, you see,’ Arnold said. ‘Evie was a florist’s daughter. Sweet as anything, she was, but shy and not very confident. It took a lot for the Duke to convince her to accept him, but he finally wore her down. She thought the world of him, though, and was awful upset when he died so young. But she had the baby to comfort her, and she doted on him.’
Faith reached over and covered Marcus’s hand with hers. He’d gone very pale where Mr Grey had been speaking.
‘You mean it’s all true?’ he said quietly. ‘My family has been lying all these years?’
The old man didn’t say anything, but the sadness in his eyes was confirmation enough.
Faith found it hard to catch her voice. ‘So what really happened? Can you tell us?’
He nodded, just once, and then he smiled. ‘As soon as I’ve had my chocolate digestive, I will.’
* * *
‘That was so sad,’ Faith said as they walked back across the park towards the castle.
Marcus reached for her gloved hand and enclosed it in his. He didn’t like to think of her being sad, even on someone else’s behalf.
She looked off into the distance, shaking her head. ‘They were so cruel to treat her like that. So what if she was a florist’s daughter? She was the mother of their only heir! That should have counted for something.’
He stopped, placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. Then he kissed her softly. He could feel the frown on her features, even though he’d closed his eyes, but after a moment her facial muscles relaxed and softened and she kissed him back.
That was better. He liked making Faith feel better.
When they began to walk again she looped her arm through his and he squeezed it closer to his body, keeping it there. ‘They did what they thought was right,’ he said with a certain amount of resignation. ‘They were protecting the family.’
She looked sharply up at him. ‘And what about the poor woman they harangued and belittled until she finally cracked and believed what they told her—that her husband had regretted marrying her, that she would only ever be a hindrance to her son and that he’d be better off without her? They practically ran her out of town with a shotgun.’
He sighed. ‘It takes a certain kind of strength to survive a family like mine.’
Faith yanked her arm from his and walked ahead. ‘I can’t believe you’re siding with them!’ she all but yelled.
He quickened his pace to catch her up, placed a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.
‘I didn’t mean that I agree with what they did. I just meant that I understand it.’
Head bowed, she looked at him from under her lashes. ‘There are no excuses for separating a parent from their child. No excuses at all.’
He nodded, moved his hand to rub her shoulder. ‘You’re taking this all too personally, Faith. This isn’t the same as what happened to you, and it was such a long time ago.’
She shook her head, smiling, but it was all teeth and stretched lips. ‘No. You can’t consign this to the distant past—not when there’s a sad old man sitting by the fire in that castle, aching to know why his mother abandoned him. Because that’s what all this is about, isn’t it? Duke or no duke, all your grandfather wants to know is that he belongs. Why do you think he stayed away from his home all those years?’
That thought hit Marcus square between the eyes. He jammed his hands in his pockets and picked up speed. ‘Is that why you stay away from home?’
Her mouth moved and her eyes widened. ‘This isn’t about me. This is about your family. Don’t do what the rest of them do and blame it on the commoner—the outsider.’
He clenched his jaw. That was not what he’d meant and she knew it. He was right, though—about Faith’s reluctance to return to the picture-perfect town she painted with such warm words, about her identifying too strongly with his unfortunate great-grandmother.
They walked in silence for a few minutes. Eventually she said, ‘Do you want me to come with you when you tell him?’
He looked at her, then shook his head. ‘No. This is family business. I think I’d better do this on my own.’
‘Fine,’ she said, looking anything but. Her
mouth drooped and her eyes were large under her woolly hat. ‘I’ll be where I belong—in the studio, working on the window.’
CHAPTER TEN
MARCUS sat on the sofa, in what he now thought of as Faith’s place, and watched his grandfather carefully for a reaction. Bertie had closed his eyes and rested his head against the high back of his winged chair when Marcus had finished talking. Had he done the right thing in being so open about what he and Faith had found? He’d wanted to protect his grandfather from pain, but that hadn’t been possible either way.
‘Grandfather?’ he asked quietly. ‘Are you okay?’
Bertie nodded and opened his eyes. ‘I don’t know if it’s better to know that she loved me, that she didn’t desert me willingly, or whether I’d prefer to be ignorant still and not be haunted by the idea that, had I started this sooner, I might have met her.’ He opened his eyes looked across at Marcus. ‘Do you know what happened to her after she left?’
‘No, but I have a friend who’s a genealogist. He may be able to come up with something. Would that help?’
His grandfather nodded.
Marcus looked into the fire. ‘Why couldn’t the family have just accepted her? Things were changing—ten years after the Great War ended the world was a different place. It couldn’t have mattered so much then.’
His grandfather folded his hands in his lap. ‘My uncle Reginald was a small-minded man, petty. He’d always envied my father, I was told, and once he got a chance to have Hadsborough himself, even by proxy, I’m afraid it rather went to his head.’
Marcus got up and headed over to the window, looked outside at the still-perfect snowscape. ‘No wonder you turfed him out on his ear and employed an estate manager when you were old enough.’
He heard rustling behind him, guessed his grandfather was fussing with the papers he kept close to him at all times nowadays.
‘What does Faith think about all of this?’ he asked.
‘She went back to work on Evie’s window, as she’s now calling it,’ Marcus said with a sigh. ‘She’s taking it all very personally. That’s why I came to talk to you on my own.’