by Darcy Burke
She took all that in very briefly before settling her gaze on her prey. “You seem as if you need a friend. I should like to put myself forward for the position.”
He stared at her, his mouth dropping open. He clacked his teeth together. “I do not need a friend, and if I did, it wouldn’t be you.”
“Why not? We were great friends, I think. More than friends, but we don’t have to discuss that. I realize a great deal of time has passed.” Her heart squeezed. So much lost time. Yet, she couldn’t discount it—she’d been fond of her husband and the years they’d spent together. It had been precisely the type of marriage her mother had encouraged her to embark upon. Their union had been based on mutual respect and shared interests. Mama had said love would come in time, as it had between her and Papa, but Felicity had never truly felt that emotion for James—at least not in the way that she’d felt it for Calder.
Oh, Calder. Her heart ached to see him standing before her, his face drawn, his entire demeanor radiating a seemingly impenetrable cold aloofness.
“An eternity has passed,” Calder said. “How did you find me? Am I going to have to terminate Truro’s employment?”
“Absolutely not. I told him I was leaving, but I looked for you instead.”
“What joy.” He poured himself a glass of brandy.
Was that sarcasm? That was far better than abject frigidity!
She eyed the glass in his hand. “You aren’t going to offer me any?”
“No. I want you to leave.”
“I will if you promise me something.”
He snorted, then took a swig of his brandy. He arched a brow at her, and her heart skipped. That was more like the Calder she’d known. And loved.
“Promise me you’ll think about allowing us to host the St. Stephen’s Day celebration here.”
“Fine.”
She would wager her house in York he was lying. “Excellent. I’ll return tomorrow so we can discuss it again.” In the meantime, she’d visit Bianca and ensure there were adequate funds to support the event without asking Calder to contribute.
He frowned deeply, his entire face contorting so that she nearly laughed. “Please don’t.”
“Then you can visit me. I’m staying with my mother in Hartwell. She’s leasing Ivy Cottage.”
“No.”
“Then I’ll come here.”
“You’re incredibly persistent. Even worse than Bianca.”
“That is quite a compliment, thank you. I will continue to persist until you agree. I’ve nothing better to do, you see.”
“I do,” he said sourly before drinking more brandy.
“You see, or you have something better to do?”
He scowled at her. “Both. Do not visit me tomorrow. I will consider your request and let you know by…Thursday.”
“It would be better to know sooner so that we can change the arrangements.” She flashed him her most winning smile.
“You actually think I’m going to change my mind.”
“If I didn’t, I would give up now. I’ll come back on Wednesday, all right?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I also want you to reconsider your support of Hartwell House. I understand the building is in disrepair and you’ve ceased the support your father” —she allowed her lip to curl slightly—“gave the institution.”
How had the man been so kindhearted when it came to charitable endeavors and his tenants and retainers, and yet absolutely diabolical regarding his son’s heart? She longed to ask Calder about that and hoped she’d have the chance. Her persistence wasn’t going to be limited to St. Stephen’s Day or Hartwell House… She was going to do more than save a holiday and a local institution—she was going to save him too.
His gray gaze darkened like a storm cloud bursting with rain. “Now, you’re treading too far. Actually, you’ve been doing that since you arrived. Be gone with you.”
She gave him a pointed stare. “I shall persist.” Then she turned and left before he could say anything further.
That had gone better than she’d thought. She’d half expected him to rail at her and banish her from the estate forever. Instead, she’d secured a future appointment with him, even if he didn’t really want it.
As her coach rambled from the estate, her bravado faltered. A sense of melancholy settled over her. No, it was something far deeper—a soul-deep sadness over a love not lost, but stolen. There was anger, despair, regret, and just a crushing…grief. She realized a tear had escaped her eye and now made its way down her cheek.
If this was how she was feeling, she could only imagine Calder’s response. He was already so broken—at least that was how he appeared to her. Learning that his father had lied about buying her off had to be a staggering blow.
If he hadn’t needed saving before, she would say he did now. And she would be the one to do it—whether he wanted her to or not.
The sun was bright against the backs of his eyelids and warm upon his face. The grass was soft beneath him, the smell of honeysuckle rife in the air as the breeze tickled his nose.
“Are you asleep?”
The soft, sweet voice of his love was even more beautiful than the summer day. He opened his eyes and saw her leaning over him. Tendrils of her blonde hair grazed her cheeks, and the sun behind her created a halo around her head.
“You look like an angel,” he whispered.
“Then you are surely the devil.” She waggled her brows at him, then laughed softly.
“Temptress,” he muttered before curling his hand around her neck and pulling her down to kiss him.
Their lips met with a spark of heat and desire. Longing swept through him. It was torture to kiss her like this knowing he couldn’t do more. He wouldn’t—not until they were wed.
He opened his mouth, and she did the same, their tongues meeting in a clash of hunger and exploration. With his other hand, he clasped her hip, pulling her down on top of him.
She pressed against him, bringing their bodies flush. He groaned, basking in the pure delight of her embrace and this perfect, blissful afternoon. If only it could always be like this… When they wed, it would be. After he returned from Scotland, he’d court her over the Christmas holidays, and they would marry after Epiphany. The future had never looked so wonderful.
He flipped her over to her back, provoking her to gasp into his mouth and then giggle. He pulled back long enough to grin at her. Then the ground began to move.
The blades of grass grew and wound themselves around her, claiming her body as the dirt beneath her gave way. Her green eyes grew wide. She fell away from him, slowly, pulled by the grass and dirt. He couldn’t hold her. Terror seized his heart, and he called her name. Over and over.
“Don’t let me go!” she cried. “You promised we’d be together.”
“Never.” The voice of his father boomed all around him like thunder. The sun disappeared, taking its light and warmth. The earth turned gray and barren.
Then the ground swallowed her whole, and he lay facedown in the grass. Only it wasn’t grass anymore. It was a carpet pressing into his face.
“You’re pathetic.” His father again.
Calder blinked as his apartment at the Albany came into view.
“I’m not giving you any more money,” the duke spat. “You are on your own. What an embarrassment to me, to our family.”
Calder’s stomach roiled. “I’m not,” he murmured, his voice failing to carry any volume.
“Pull yourself together and come see me. I’ll put you on a mail coach to County Durham.”
Home…Hartwell…where she’d chosen money over him. He’d never go back.
“No,” Calder croaked, lifting his head from the floor and squinting up at the murky figure standing over him.
The tip of a boot crashed against Calder’s rib. “Then you are on your own.”
Calder dropped his head, but it wasn’t a floor. It was soft, like a pillow…
Gasping, Calder turned over and sat up, his che
st heaving. Sweat dripped from his forehead as the bedclothes fell away from his upper body. He drew in deep breaths, trying to shake the grip of the nightmare.
It was just a dream.
Except those things had happened. They were memories—the joyous afternoon with Felicity, his father’s cold callousness.
However, now he was viewing them with a different perspective. His father had been even more cruel than Calder had known. His expectations and demands—his abuse—had been bad enough, but now Calder knew what he’d actually done. His father had used malicious deception to separate him from the woman he loved. She’d never taken money from him.
Or so she said.
Calder wiped a hand across his dewy brow. He’d spent ten years hating her, and now he was simply going to take what she said as truth?
The alternative was to believe his father’s version of what had happened. Ten years ago, he would have believed her without question. Now…now he was bitter and distrustful, and he guarded himself from everyone and everything.
His heart had slowed, and as the sweat dappling his skin began to evaporate, he became cold. The coals smoldered in the fireplace grate, visible through a gap in the curtain surrounding his bed. Scowling, he lay back and pulled the covers up to his chin.
The truth didn’t matter. What had happened a decade ago was in the past, and they couldn’t change any of it. He’d dug himself out of despair and failure, and with his father’s death, he would build a new legacy for the dukedom. His father had wanted him to be ruthless in his endeavors, whether it was school, marriage, or finances. He’d demanded Calder be the best in everything—there was no time for love or softheartedness. That could all come later, when he’d done all he needed to do to establish himself as a premier nobleman of the realm. Each duke owed it to their heritage to climb higher than the last.
Calder was doing just that. His fortune was greater, his holdings more vast, his influence without compare. Now would be the time he should take a wife and support the local community—things his father would have demanded he do if he were here.
But he wasn’t, and Calder would do the exact opposite. His father would be horrified to learn that Calder would never wed or provide an heir, that he refused to support Hartwell House, that he’d put an end to hundreds of years of tradition.
And that made Calder happy.
Well, as happy as Calder would ever be. That wasn’t an emotion he recognized anymore.
But there’d been a flicker that afternoon…when Felicity had visited…
Why the hell had he agreed to consider allowing the St. Stephen’s Day party to be held here? And why had he consented to her paying another visit that would only upend his carefully wrought façade?
She also wanted him to rethink his decision to no longer support Hartwell House. But he wasn’t a hero—not for her, not for anyone. The sooner she accepted that, the better off they would all be.
He’d had a thought about Hartwell House, which he’d mentioned to his sisters. It was time to make that thought a reality. Hartwell House ought to be a workhouse. If they wanted to rebuild Buckleigh’s property, Shield’s End, as a new institution, it should be as a workhouse operated by the county. Coddling people never did any good—his father had been right about that at least.
Calder closed his eyes and hoped his sleep would not be troubled further. He worked hard to keep memories from surfacing in his mind. Learning what he had today didn’t change that. The past needed to stay where it belonged: in the past.
Chapter 4
“Good morning, Mrs. Garland,” Agatha, their maid of all work, greeted Felicity with a pleasant smile.
Tired due to a rather restless night, Felicity stifled a yawn as she stepped off the last stair. “Good morning, Agatha. Is my mother up?”
“Yes, she just sat down at the table. I am fetching breakfast.”
“Thank you.” Felicity inclined her head, and the woman, who was about ten years Felicity’s senior and lived right outside the center of Hartwell with her husband and son, took herself off toward the small kitchen at the back of the cottage.
Felicity moved toward the parlor where they took breakfast at a two-person round table situated near the window that overlooked the street. She hesitated at the doorway. As Agatha had indicated, Mama was already seated.
After spending the night consumed with thoughts of Calder and the years they’d lost, Felicity was as exhausted in mind as she was in body. Despite that, she knew she must summon the courage to speak to her mother about what she’d learned the day before.
Felicity hadn’t been able to broach the subject when she’d returned yesterday. She’d been too overwhelmed with the new knowledge—and with spending time with Calder.
Her heart soared when she thought of him, but only for a moment before the weight of his coldness crushed it down. And then she felt as if she could bleed for him.
“Felicity?” Mama called from the table. Her brow creased as she regarded Felicity with a perplexed expression. “Did you forget something?”
“No.” Felicity gave her head a tiny shake, then went to the table and sat across from her mother, who poured her a cup of tea.
“Did you sleep well?” Mama asked.
“Not particularly.” There was no point prevaricating. She needed to clear her mind. “The call I paid yesterday was on His Grace.” She didn’t have to say which duke. There was only one in the vicinity, and there was really only one, period, so far as Felicity was concerned.
Surprise flickered through Mama’s gaze before she plucked a roll from the basket between them. “And how did he receive you?”
“Not well,” Felicity said.
Agatha came in with two covered plates and placed one before each of them. Removing the covers, she revealed coddled eggs and ham before telling them to enjoy and leaving.
Felicity picked up her fork but didn’t eat. Instead, she continued, eyeing her mother with uncertainty. “He holds me in strong disregard. He believes I accepted money from his father and left Hartwell ten years ago to avoid marrying him. Of course I did no such thing.” Her insides swirled with anxiety, but she plowed forward. “I wonder, however, if Papa did? Took money from His Grace, I mean.” There, she’d said it.
Mama paused in cutting her ham, her body going stiff. When her eyes met Felicity’s, there were tears. “I’m so sorry.” The apology was soft and low, and it tore at Felicity’s battered heart.
“Oh, Mama.” The back of Felicity’s throat itched, but she swallowed the sensation. Reaching across the table, she briefly touched her mother’s wrist. “Why would he do that?”
Sniffing, Mama set her utensils down, then dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Your father had talked of selling the farm—he was tired, and neither of your brothers wanted to take it over. When His Grace offered a large sum of money for the property, Percy leapt at the chance. But there was a condition: we had to leave Hartwell and you were not to wed Chilton.” She referred to Calder by his former title. “Your father agreed.”
“The duke made certain I wouldn’t marry his son.” Anger rose inside Felicity. She clutched her hands together in her lap, squeezing her frustration through her fingers. “He forged a letter from Calder saying he didn’t want to marry me, that I wasn’t good enough. But you know that, of course,” she said sadly, recalling how she’d sobbed all over her mother for weeks, even after they’d moved to York.
Mama nodded as she dabbed at a fresh wash of tears. “I wasn’t sure if it was a forgery, but it seemed clear His Grace was not in favor of your marriage. He was a very powerful man, Felicity. We took the money and left, just as he wanted.”
Felicity wanted to understand, but the pain in her chest was nearly crushing. “I loved him.”
“You said you did, but you were too young.”
“I’m not too young now. I know my mind—now and then. I loved him, and he loved me. We lost a decade together.”
“But you loved James!” Mama cried. “
You had a good marriage.”
“Yes, we did, but I didn’t love him. I cared for him a great deal. However, it wasn’t the same.” There was no comparing the affection she’d felt for her twenty-years-older husband to the wild tide of passion she’d possessed for Calder. A passion that had reawakened yesterday. Part of her sleeplessness was due to remembering the way he’d caressed her, kissed her, and looked at her as if she were the most important thing in the entire world. What she wouldn’t give to experience all that again.
“Mama, when I think of what I missed, I am angry and sad. However, I can’t change the past.” Calder had been right about that, at least, even if he was misled in holding on to those feelings of rage and loss. “And neither can you. I forgive you—and Papa.” If Felicity had learned anything, especially after spending time with Calder the day before, it was that life was too short to hold grudges or allow hurt to rule your emotions.
Mama clasped her hand over her mouth and nodded as more tears leaked from her eyes. Sniffing loudly, she wiped her face. “I’m so sorry. I honestly don’t know what else we could have done.” She blanched. “Is His Grace terribly angry?”
Among other things, but Felicity didn’t acknowledge that. Whatever he felt, whatever might be between them would be just that—between them.
“He’s moved on,” Felicity said carefully.
“He has a reputation for being cold and cruel. He rarely comes to the village. And he’s never wed. Did we…” Mama shook her head and turned to look out the window, her jaw clenching.
“As I said, we can’t change the past. We are here at this moment, and I mean to try to repair things as best as I can.”
Mama snapped her gaze back to Felicity, her lips parting as she stared at her a moment. “Are you going to try to pursue a courtship with him again?”
Felicity arched a shoulder. “I don’t know if that’s possible. However, if I can help him find the joy that seems to be missing from his life, I will consider that a blessing. And it’s the least our family owes him.”
Nodding, Mama set her napkin back in her lap. “You’ve a good heart, dear.”