“I don’t think she ever meant to hurt him,” he croaked, as he shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve to be hurt. And I-” He stopped, and George smiled softly.
“And you’ve fallen in love with her,” George concluded.
At last, Philip looked up and met his brother’s gaze. He nodded shakily. “I have.”
“Then why are you crying?” George said, with a widening smile.
Philip laughed, even as his eyes continued to stream. “I don’t know,” he admitted, smiling back.
George put his hand on the back of Philip’s head. Though George was younger, there was something about his position as a priest which made Philip feel like a child again. It was a great comfort.
“You’ve been holding this in for a long time. Sometimes we aren’t brave enough to let the sadness out until we’re sure we can be happy again.”
As Philip looked into his brother’s eyes, he realized just how wise George was. He wished he’d taken his word as gospel right from the start.
“And Miss Beauchamp?” George said. “Does she reciprocate these feelings?”
“I believe she does.”
“Then I am happy for you, Philip.”
“But is it not wrong?” Philip asked, with a puckered brow. “Given how Edgar felt about her.”
“We can’t stake our lives on the dead, Philip. Edgar is at peace now, and he was never a petty man. He would want your happiness, above all else.”
It was the greatest consolation George could have ever offered him. Philip expelled a long, shaky breath. “You’re a good priest,” he said, with a small smile.
George grinned. “And you’re a good brother.”
Chapter 31
Miss Loraine Beauchamp
Loraine did not return from the cemetery until long after dark. She hadn’t wanted to face her aunt, knowing what she’d done.
Knowing that what she’d said to Edgar had led to his death. A death that Loraine felt responsible for, despite it being her aunt’s callousness that had delivered the final blow.
By the time Loraine returned home, she had spent all her tears. She didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. She’d built up a solid wall around her heart, and she didn’t have any intention of lowering it ever again.
“Oh my darling,” her aunt cried, when Loraine walked through the door. She came to Loraine, weeping loudly, and threw her arms around her neck. Loraine didn’t embrace her. She stared over her shoulder, motionless. “We were so worried for you. Where on earth have you been?”
“At the cemetery,” Loraine answered, in an empty voice. “Visiting Edgar.”
Loraine felt her aunt freeze. Slowly, Aunt Esther stepped back. “Who… who did you say you were visiting, my dear?”
“Edgar,” Loraine said again, evenly.
She heard her aunt swallow.
“You know,” Loraine went on. “Lord Edgar Strath.”
Aunt Esther started wringing her hands nervously.
“The gentleman who visited me in Louisiana for a time.”
“Yes,” Aunt Esther said. “Yes, I recall him.”
“I imagine you do,” Loraine said, her voice getting harder. “I believe that you were one of the last people to see him alive.”
Her aunt’s lips parted, and Loraine could see from her countenance that she was about to make an excuse. But she wouldn’t hear it. Just the prospect of listening to Aunt Esther defend herself made her want to be sick. “Don’t you dare speak,” Loraine shouted.
A terrible silence fell, and Loraine felt as if her voice had shaken the foundations of the house. When she spoke again, her voice trembled with rage.
“You have said enough. You spoke on my behalf and drove a man to suicide. And in doing so, you made me culpable.”
“Loraine, you have to understand. I was protecting you-”
“You were protecting yourself,” Loraine bit out. “And that is unforgivable.”
Loraine stormed past Aunt Esther. “Mrs. Barrow,” she said, in a sharp voice. “Pack me a bag.”
Mrs. Barrow was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking horrified. “Where are we going?”
“We are not going anywhere. I am going to America.”
Loraine went upstairs, but she felt Aunt Esther and Mrs. Barrow close at her heels. She knew that they were both afraid of losing her, which was something she would have taken into consideration before.
But not anymore.
She’d been lied to. She’d been betrayed. And she wouldn’t put her life on hold any longer. Not for her aunt. Not for anyone.
“Please,” Aunt Esther said, through a sudden flood of tears. “You can’t. Don’t leave. Or I’ll come with you? We can go back to Louisiana.”
“I’m not going to Louisiana.”
Loraine retrieved her trunk from her wardrobe, as Mrs. Barrow had made no move to do so. She opened it up and started throwing stuff into it.
“Then where?” Mrs. Barrow asked. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were full of dread.
“I don’t know yet.”
“All alone?”
Loraine stopped suddenly and looked back over her shoulder, at both women. “I think I may be better off alone,” she replied, in a cold voice.
She knew it was a cruel thing to say. But it was also the truth. And the pain of what she’d learnt today was unbearable. It was eating away at her. And it wasn’t just Edgar’s death. It was what that meant for her and Philip.
It had all been a lie.
He’d wanted to hurt her.
While Loraine packed, her aunt wept over her and tried to make her stop. Sometimes she’d grab Loraine’s clothes in handfuls and keep her from packing them. It wasn’t until Loraine bellowed at her that Aunt Esther fled the room weeping.
Mrs. Barrow didn’t say anything more.
She stood silently by the door, watching. But after Aunt Esther ran out, she approached Loraine and started to help her pack. Loraine acknowledged her with a glance, but did not say anything.
Loraine left at dawn. She did not see her aunt before then. And she did not say goodbye to anyone. She had a carriage come to collect her and left with no more than a glance back at Mrs. Barrow.
Loraine knew that she was hurting them, but she couldn’t think through her own pain enough to care.
***
Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill
Philip felt like a different man. Despite his falling out with Theodore, which still weighed heavily on his mind, the prospect of seeing Loraine again brightened his morning. He went to the Beauchamp estate in the early afternoon, with a bunch of freshly picked lavender he’d picked up from the market.
The thought of kissing her again, of touching her, had kept him up all night. But he didn’t feel tired. In fact, he’d never felt more energized. Being with her was like a drug. He couldn’t get enough of it.
Philip knocked and waited.
It was about a minute before he started to frown and wonder whether he hadn’t knocked hard enough, because no one had come.
He knocked again, harder this time. But again, no one came. Philip stepped back so that he could look up at the house. It didn’t look empty. The curtains were open and he could see someone moving around in one of the upstairs windows. Probably Mrs. Barrow.
Philip stepped back to the door and knocked again, longer and harder than before. “Hello?” He called. “Lady Esther? Loraine?”
Nothing.
Disheartened and perplexed, his arm slackened back to his side, with the lavender still held in his hand. He couldn’t imagine why they wouldn’t answer. Perhaps Loraine needed some space. Or perhaps she wasn’t in at all, and her aunt was determined not to have visitors.
That certainly seemed like something her eccentric aunt would do. Expelling a hefty breath, Philip went back home and told George what had happened.
“You worry too much,” George said, with all the optimism of a man of the cloth. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”
“The last time this happened, she’d gone to France without any word,” Philip answered.
“And if she has, then she will soon be back.”
He supposed this was true. But the prospect of spending any amount of time not knowing where she was or how to reach her was almost unbearable.
But what else could he do?
Philip went the next day, but the same thing happened. He put his ear against the door and was certain he could hear footsteps on the other side. He thumped loudly on the door, but no one came.
Again, he went home. He tossed the lavender, which was wilting, onto the courtyard floor and left it there.
“I am sure they will answer tomorrow,” George said, but Philip didn’t feel assured.
Chapter 32
Lord Philip Everton, Marquess of Blackhill
He went again the next day. This time, he stood back and yelled, “Loraine!”
Philip thought that if he made enough of a racket, they’d have to open the door. If only to shut him up. So this time he stayed for over an hour, knocking and shouting for Loraine intermittently.
Feeling exhausted, he resolved that he would give the door one last, long thump. Then he’d go home. He put his fist against it and started banging, quickly and noisily. “Loraine!”
As he called her name, the door swung open abruptly.
Philip was so surprised that he took a step back.
“What?” Aunt Esther snapped, as her frame filled the doorway. “She’s not here. Go away.” She tried to slam the door, but Philip anticipated that. He flattened his hand against the wood, holding it open. She tried to push against it, but she wasn’t strong enough. “I said leave.”
“Where is Loraine?” He demanded to know. “Has she gone to Paris again?”
“That’s none of your concern,” her aunt hissed back at him, like a viper.
“I will not leave until you tell me.”
“Fine.” Lady Esther stopped pressing against the door, so that it swung wide open. She stepped closer and sneered up at him. “I wanted to spare your feelings, but if you are going to be stubborn then I’ll have to tell you.”
Philip faced her head on, refusing to budge.
“Loraine has gone to America.”
Philip frowned. “To America? Why? When is she coming back?
“Because of you,” she said, as though it were an obvious answer. “She has gone to get away from you.”
Philip was incredulous and, in truth, he thought she must be mad. He wanted to believe that she was, because he couldn’t accept what she was telling him. After what had happened between them, surely it couldn’t be true. “I’ll hear this from her,” he said, stiffly. “Where should I write to?”
Lady Esther threw her head back and laughed like a hyena. “Write? You can’t write. No one knows where she has gone in America. And even if we did, she won’t stay put long. She’ll be in a new state before you can get a letter to her.”
It couldn’t be true.
“Why should I believe you?”
Lady Esther shrugged. “I don’t care if you believe me. Just stop beating on my door. I’m doing you a courtesy by telling you at all.”
“But… but this doesn’t make any sense. When last I saw her, we were on good terms.” That was an understatement. She’d told him she loved him. She’d ripped open his soul and infiltrated it. “I don’t understand.”
She looked at him like he was stupid and she pitied him for it. “Oh, Lord Blackhill. She played you.”
She let that sink in… let it ruin him.
“She heard of your reputation, and she wanted to punish you for it. To treat you as you treat women. And it seems like she succeeded. You’re quite smitten, aren’t you?”
Philip felt like his heart had ground to a halt in his chest.
She shook her head at him, with faux sympathy. “Poor soul.”
Without another word, Lady Esther shut the door in his face.
***
Miss Loraine Beauchamp
My Dear Mrs. Barrow,
I am sorry that I have not written sooner, and for my abrupt departure from London. In truth, I didn’t have any intention of writing at all when first I left. But now that my anger has started to wane, I realize that this is the first time in my life that I’ve been without you.
And I miss you terribly.
Though there is this great distance between us, I hope that I still have your ear. You will always have mine.
Upon my return to America, I spent the first three weeks in Mississippi. The river was spectacular and the people even more so. Since then I have visited New York, California and Ohio.
Each one was so different from the last. As if I’d stepped into an entirely new country every time I ventured to a new state. I’m heading to Everett in Washington tomorrow, to see Lady Ripple. She’s said that I can stay with her for a little while.
I have volunteered at a number of art galleries along the way, which has been an enlightening experience for me. I’ve never seen such beautiful pictures in all my life, Mrs. Barrow.
I’m not yet sure where I’ll go after Washington.
Loraine stopped writing. There was something else she wanted to write, but she was almost afraid to put it down on paper. She wanted to confide in Mrs. Barrow. To tell her that she was trying to be happy, but that Philip was often on her mind.
But she didn’t want to admit that. She hardly wanted to admit it even to herself. The very thought of Philip made her feel stripped naked and mocked. Her susceptibility to his rouse had become her greatest shame.
Her aunt had been right after all.
Loraine chose not to mention Philip. That was a pain she’d harbor alone. Instead, she wrote;
Though I am enjoying my travels, and the liberty that comes with it, I haven’t forgotten home.
Please do me the courtesy of keeping this letter a secret from Aunt Esther.
With all my love,
Loraine
It had been almost three months since Loraine had left England. In that time, she’d seen a great deal and realized that there was so much more out there to be experienced. A colossal world she hadn’t truly understood the magnitude of until she’d been free.
And leaving Aunt Esther certainly had been a kind of freedom, though it came with aches and sores that followed her wherever she went.
In the first two weeks following her departure from England, Loraine had cried almost every night. Though she’d wanted to look and feel like the kind of woman who couldn’t be hurt, the truth was that most days she just wanted to stay in bed and wallow.
But she wouldn’t allow herself to waste anymore tears on Philip than she had to. So she’d force herself out of bed in the mornings, force herself to go outside and experience things.
And above all, she forced herself to make friends. Without Aunt Esther to hinder her progress, this was a lot more successful than it had been before. She found that Americans liked her boldness in a way that English women didn’t seem to. They liked that she was different. That she didn’t conform.
Loraine liked them too. American women were exciting. Less bound by regulation, tradition and custom than the British. They wouldn’t balk at the prospect of riding in the rain, laughing in a storm or wild swimming in a waterfall.
They were Loraine’s kind of people, and she became very close to many of them as she moved from state to state. But no matter how many friends she made, she missed home.
She even missed Aunt Esther. Loraine often thought of the card games they’d play every evening, and she’d feel a sharp pang in her chest. Her aunt’s insistence on playing every night had exasperated Loraine, but now she wanted nothing more than to play a game with her aunt.
Philip.
Even when Loraine was busy making friends, even when she was thinking of how much she missed Mrs. Barrow and Aunt Esther, he was still there in her mind. He was this background noise she couldn’t silence.
Loraine did
n’t lack attention from gentlemen in America. On the contrary, they loved her accent, her cleverness and her forthrightness.
But every time one approached her, Loraine didn’t even entertain the idea of a conversation. She’d always politely excuse herself, whenever she could, to get out of talking to a man.
Seducing The Vengeful Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 23