by Laura Landon
She couldn’t imagine watching the frozen landscape the entire time it took to reach Bradford Brewery.
Instead, she borrowed a novel from Gray’s library before they left, and buried her nose in it the minute she stepped into the carriage. She wasn’t sure which book she’d selected. That hadn’t seemed important. All that mattered was that she had something on which she could concentrate so she could pretend his anger didn’t bother her.
Unfortunately, every once in a while she forgot to turn the page and was sure he noticed.
“Do you intend for us to travel the whole way to Bradford without speaking?”
His interruption surprised her. “After yesterday I thought you would prefer it.”
“I should. But I find I cannot stay angry with you for long.”
“I’m not sure why you were angry with me to begin with.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His hands were together yet when he flexed his fingers they reached the fringe of her cloak. He let the silk sift over his hands like he had on their way here two days ago.
“I don’t know how to prove myself to you, Maggie. I’ve told you I want you but words aren’t enough. I’ve asked you to marry me but you’ve refused. You want something more and I don’t know what it is.”
For a long moment they sat in silence as the horses plodded through the snow. Maggie searched for an answer to give him but there was none – not one he would understand.
“I assume you want to know why I don’t want to have anything to do with Mayfair. You might as well know what happened here since you can’t possibly think less of me than you already do.”
“I don’t think ill of you, Gray. I only—”
He shook his head enough to stop her words.
A few seconds went by before he spoke. “Mother died the summer of my fourteenth year. She and Father and Adrian and I had come to Mayfair as we did each year. We always enjoyed our months in the country and stayed until Father had to return to Parliament. But that summer Father was called back early for a special meeting of an important committee he chaired. Mother didn’t want to give up any of her time here so when Father had to leave, she decided to stay.
“Adrian was at an age where Father was training him as the future Earl of Camden, so when he decided to take my brother with him and leave me at Mayfair, I thought it would be great fun. Do you know what Father’s last words were to me before he embarked for London?”
Maggie didn’t give Gray an answer, but she knew he didn’t expect one. In fact, she doubted he even remembered she was in the same carriage. He had detached himself from his tale more completely than anyone she’d ever seen.
She looked into his face—his eyes glazed with a faraway look, his features expressionless, as if his high cheekbones and the rugged angle of his jaw were chiseled from stone.
“He said, ‘Take good care of your mother, Son.’”
A very slight change lifted the corners of his mouth but it wasn’t a smile she saw on his face. If anything, it was a cynical expression filled with self-loathing.
“And I took very good care of her.” He laughed. “I let her die.”
His whole body stiffened as if the shock of what he’d said out loud surprised him. Maggie knew without him saying so that this was probably the first time he’d ever uttered those words.
“Was it intentional?”
He jerked his head in her direction. “Of course not.”
“Then you didn’t let her die. She died and you weren’t able to save her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you are no more capable of letting your mother die without trying to save her than you were of letting our brewery horses die without risking your life to save them.”
“Ah, how high your opinion is of me.”
“With good reason. I’ve seen your back. I watched you rush into a burning building to save animals.”
“My noble attempt.”
“Don’t be so self deprecating.”
He looked at her, then dropped his gaze to the carriage floor. “The fire broke out in Mother’s dressing room, whether from a candle left lit by her maid or a scented candle Mother had a fondness for burning, no one knows. Boswick woke me and I ran to Mother’s room to get her out of the house. We raced down the back stairway and I had her nearly through the kitchen and into safety when one of the servants cried out that Maudie hadn’t come down yet.”
His voice sounded hoarse. His words came out in short, ragged clips.
“I told Mother to go out into the garden and I raced back in to find Maudie. She’d fallen on the stairs and had broken her leg. I helped her the rest of the way down but when we reached the fresh air, Mother was no where to be found.”
He swiped his hand down his face. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead. She wanted to move to his side and hold him.
“I ran back for her but the fire had worsened. I was almost to the top of the stairs when the chandelier came down and blocked my way.”
“Is that how you got burned?”
“I was pinned beneath it.”
He took in several heavy gasps of air as if a part of him still remembered the pain, the horror.
“Boswick had seen me go back and came after me.”
Maggie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Why did your mother go back in?”
He swiped his hand over his face. “She went back for a family portrait she’d forced Father and Adrian and me to sit for. The artist had just finished it that summer. She died with it in her arms.”
Maggie’s heart ached for him. She hurt for the family the Countess of Camden had left behind. And she hurt for Gray and the years of guilt he’d lived with.
“You didn’t know she wouldn’t stay where she was safe.”
“I should have made sure she did!”
“You were only fourteen!”
“Old enough to be given the responsibility of caring for my mother.”
“Has your father made you feel such horrible guilt? Is he the one who instilled this sense of failure?”
He laughed. “If only he had. My father lost the love of his life yet has lived under the pretense of being happy all these years. He’s never once held me to blame.”
“Because you’re not!”
“I am! I was the one who was supposed to take care of her. And I failed!”
Maggie looked at the torture written on his face and her heart ached for him. “It’s not your father who blames you for your mother’s death. It’s you.”
Gray laughed. “Those are the same words my father said to me before I left.”
“But you don’t believe him?”
“How can I? He wasn’t there that night. He didn’t hear her screams.”
Maggie’s heart stabbed in her breast. “Have you ever wondered how different your life would be if you believed him?”
His eyes narrowed and his expression turned as combative as she’d ever seen.
“Have you ever wondered how different our lives would be if you believed me when I told you I didn’t want to marry you to get the brewery?”
His words knocked the wind from her. “The two aren’t comparable.”
“Aren’t they? I think they are, Maggie, my love. I think the two situations are identical.”
He leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes as if their conversation were at an end.
Maggie swallowed hard, then answered a whisper of truth. “Perhaps you’re right, Gray. Words aren’t enough.”
He didn’t return an answer.
It was as if he finally realized how hopeless his quest to marry her was.
****
They arrived home to a flurry of excitement. The door to Bradford House flew open even before the carriage came to a complete stop and Felicity and Charlotte and Aunt Hester filed down the four steps leading from the portico.
“Maggi
e! Maggie!” Charlotte cried, racing toward them with her cloak loose around her shoulders. “You’re home. We were so worried about you.”
Maggie waited until Gray opened the door and let down the step, then took his proffered hand and stepped out of the carriage. She stared into his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at her. He hadn’t looked at her since they’d ended their conversation several miles ago.
“Hello, Lottie.” Maggie gave her sister a quick hug, then pulled her cloak together beneath her chin and fastened it.
“Aunt Hester thought you might wait one more day before coming home, but when I got up and the snow had stopped, I knew you wouldn’t wait.”
“I’m glad you’re home,” Aunt Hester said when she and Felicity reached them. “You had a time of it, didn’t you?”
Maggie prayed that if her cheeks turned red everyone would attribute her blush to the cold. “Yes, quite a time.”
Maggie gave her aunt and sister a hug. When she looked up Henry Tibbles was behind them. The dark expression on his face frightened her.
“Is everything all right, Aunt Hester?”
“Yes, my dear. But we’ve exciting news to tell you, don’t we, girls?”
“Oh, Maggie,” Felicity said, coming as close to losing her composure as Maggie had ever seen her. “You’ll never guess. Never.”
“No,” Maggie said, happy to see her sisters so excited. “Probably not if you don’t give me a clue.”
“Aunt Hester received a message yesterday from Cousin Jonathan. He said we must come immediately. The Duchess of Sherwood is planning a ball Wednesday next to welcome everyone who has returned from the country. He said we must go because it will be the perfect affair to make our appearances.”
Maggie turned her attention to Aunt Hester. “When are you planning to leave?”
“Tomorrow, if these two lollygaggers can be ready.”
“We will be,” Maggie’s sisters added in excited voices. “We already have two trunks packed. But your maid hasn’t finished your first,” Lottie teased.
“Don’t you worry about Loretta. She can pack rings around the two of you.”
“Will you be wanting the carriage then tomorrow?” Cleary asked from behind them.
“Yes, Cleary. At noon.”
“Did you hear, Lottie,” Felicity said. “We have to be ready by noon!”
Maggie smiled as her sisters ran back into the house. When she looked back, she caught Henry Tibbles’s black expression. “Is there a problem, Henry?”
“Yes, Miss Bradford. Your aunt asked to see me about sending a draft to take care of traveling expenses and when I checked the ledgers—”
Maggie clutched her reticule. Even though The Spotted Goose would have been an excellent investment, she breathed a sigh of relief that Olin Wattich hadn’t agreed to sell his inn. ”Yes. You probably noticed there was a substantial amount absent.”
“I did. Was there something that needed to be taken care of?”
“Yes, there was an investment I wanted to look into.”
“And you took Mr. Delaney to advise you?”
At the mention of his name, Gray stepped forward. She didn’t need to turn to see that he’d closed the distance between them. She just knew it. She felt his nearness as she always did.
“Do you have an objection to Miss Bradford consulting me?”
Henry Tibbles’s gaze turned darker. “I’m just confused as to why Miss Bradford would seek the advice of a near stranger when considering an important issue.”
“Mr. Delaney ain’t no stranger,” Cleary said from atop the carriage. “He’s been here for months. Besides, his father is the Earl of Camden. Mr. Delaney owns Mayfair Manor.”
“What did you say?” Henry Tibbles said in a voice that sounded strained.
“I said Mr. Delaney here is the Earl of Camden’s son and master of Mayfair Manor. That’s where we stayed during the storm.”
“The Earl of Camden?” Henry said, his voice even weaker.
Gray hesitated as if he considered denying his parentage. “I am. But I would appreciate it if neither of you revealed that.”
“But why wouldn’t you—”
“As a favor, Cleary?” Gray said.
Cleary shook his head. “If you want, Mr. Delaney. I can hold my tongue when I need to.”
“Thank you, Cleary.” Gray locked his gaze with Tibbles’s. “Mr. Tibbles?”
“Oh, you can count on me not to say anything,” he said on a hostile laugh. “I’d like nothing better than to pretend you’d never come here.”
Before she could decipher the look on Henry Tibbles’s face, he turned and walked across the street toward the brewery. Cleary, too, made himself busy by leading the horses to the stable.
“Maggie,” Aunt Hester said, separating herself from where Gray and she stood. “It’s entirely too cold to stand out here.”
“I’ll be right in.” She knew the wise thing would be to follow her aunt. Instead, she turned around to face Gray.
“Cleary and Tibbles will keep your secret. And if they don’t—”
“Nothing will change?” he asked, his thick, dark brows arching as if mocking her.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. Things will change more than you know. I hope at least one of us survives.”
Maggie watched him walk away. A feeling of dread washed over her but she didn’t know why.
Why was he worried that neither of them would survive?
With a frown on her face, she walked back into Bradford House, trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling his words had on her.
Chapter Eighteen
There’d been days during the last two weeks Maggie thought she wouldn’t survive.
For the first twenty-four hours it had been easier to push what had happened at Mayfair to the back of her mind because the house was in constant turmoil getting her sisters ready for their trip to London. Even Charlotte, who’d balked at the idea of a Season, showed an increasing amount of enthusiasm as the time to leave drew near.
Felicity, of course, assumed that Charlotte’s eagerness was because of her desire to begin her search for the perfect husband, as was hers. Maggie didn’t have the heart to tell her Lottie was putting up so little resistance because of a letter their cousin Jonathan had sent. In it he’d included an itinerary of all the noteworthy lectures that would be held during the next few months as well as a long list of libraries, museums, and scientific exhibits he thought Lottie would enjoy visiting. Lottie’s face had brimmed with enthusiasm the minute she’d read the lengthy agenda of events that would feed her hunger for knowledge.
Though Maggie shared in her sisters’ excitement, a part of her dreaded the idea of letting them go. She knew the moment their enthusiasm and constant chatter was gone she’d be left to face weeks of quiet solitude with nothing to occupy her mind except the memorable days she’d spent with Gray.
The time, however, came all-too-quickly when Aunt Hester, Felicity, and Charlotte departed amidst a river of soggy goodbyes and a whirlwind of excitement. Maggie watched with dread as their carriage rolled out of sight, then she stepped back into the house to face the suffocating silence.
At least the brewery occupied her time as well as a portion of her thoughts during the daylight hours. But the nights seemed endless.
In the solitude of her empty bedroom, she relived Gray’s every touch, his every word, his every kiss. The second she lowered her guard, the aching desire to have him hold her and make love to her came back with a painful longing.
Even now, after two torturous weeks of endless tossing and turning she found it impossible to sleep, which was why she stayed at the brewery every night until the wee hours of each morning. It was all she could do to keep from thinking about…
Maggie slammed shut the ledger she’d been working on in the brewery office for the last several hours then breathed a sigh that hurt deep inside her chest.
She’d rarely seen Gray since they’d returned, and
the few times she had he’d barely acknowledged her. The one time she’d been brave enough to ask after him, she discovered Chester Murdock had sent him to each of their tied properties to confirm the orders for this brewing season and he wouldn’t be back for nearly a week.
She wondered why he hadn’t told her he was going, then realized he was probably relieved to have an opportunity to get away from her.
At least he still worked here. Maggie told herself she should be thankful for that. At first she was afraid he’d be forced to leave if word of who he was got out. But evidently Cleary hadn’t told anyone Gray’s identity, and Henry Tibbles hadn’t either. News that the Earl of Camden’s son was working as a common laborer would have spread like wildfire if either of them had.
Maggie couldn’t concentrate any longer. It was time to go home.
She rose from her chair and reached for her cloak that hung on a peg behind her desk. Then she stopped when a deep, familiar voice resonated from the open doorway.
“It’s about time you called it a night and went home.”
She clutched her fingers on the corner of the desk. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just coming to take you home.”
“I know the way.”
“It won’t help, you know.”
She stopped. “What won’t help?”
“Working yourself to exhaustion to try to forget.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t, Maggie, my love.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Maggie pulled her cloak closed at the neck and slipped the loop over the button. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to realize you’ve been staring at the same column of numbers without actually seeing them.”
“I had other things on my mind.”
“Until now?”
“It’s not that late,” she started to argue, then stopped when she realized she didn’t have any idea of the time.
“It’s nearly three in the morning. I’d call that late.”
“I…uh, didn’t know.”