by Darcy Burke
He let his frustration get the better of him. “I’m sure she said she did. What else is she supposed to say?”
“And what am I supposed to do, pretend my parents weren’t killed and everything is fine?” Her voice rose, and he was glad to see her display emotion.
“No, but you don’t have to stop living just because they did.”
She stood abruptly, the dark gray skirt of her gown moving against the chair as she took a step toward the window. “It isn’t fair. What happened to them.”
He rose and moved to stand next to her “No, it isn’t. But they wouldn’t want you to stay in this house forever.”
“No, they’d want me to marry. So I should do that.” She turned to face him, her eyes sad. “Fanny married David yesterday. At least I think it was yesterday.”
“You should have gone.” Felix had tried to talk her and Anthony into attending the wedding, but they’d refused.
“I’m in mourning.”
He wanted to say, fuck mourning. When his father had died, he’d been thirteen. His uncle hadn’t forced him to mourn, and Felix hadn’t wanted to. But then, he’d felt relieved to finally be free of his father’s oppressive despair. That was, he realized, probably why he was becoming so infuriated with Sarah and Anthony. If you couldn’t let the dead go, you were no better off than they were.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy life. Honor your parents by being happy, by finding joy.” That was the only thing that had kept Felix from taking after his father.
“I’m not sure I know how to do that right now.” Her gaze found his, and he saw the tears welling in her eyes.
Felix took her in his arms and held her against his chest. She didn’t cry, though, not beyond a few sniffs. She was content to rest upon him, though, and he was content to have her there.
“I know this will get better,” she said softly. “It has to, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you feel like this when your father died?”
He tensed but forced himself to exhale and relax. “It was a very different situation. My father was…ill. When he died, it was a relief.”
She pulled her head back from his chest and looked up at him. “It was?”
Her surprise reminded him that he’d never told anyone that before. “As I said, he was ill, suffering. I was relieved to see him free of pain.” That much was true. Felix remembered a disconsolate man, one who tried to engage with his son but eventually gave up on that too, as he had with everything else.
“I vaguely remember your father,” she said. “I think I only met him three or four times.”
That was probably about right. “You were young.”
She laid her head back on his chest. “The only thing I recall about him was that he went fishing with us in the pond. Well, I wasn’t allowed to fish.”
“You weren’t?” Felix didn’t remember that. He did, however, remember his father swilling brandy all afternoon.
She shook her head against him. “My mother forbade it. She said it wasn’t proper for a young lady.”
“Neither was climbing trees, but I remember you doing that,” Felix said.
“She would have been horrified.” Sarah took a deep, shuddering breath, as if she were trying to keep her emotions in check. “I disappointed her.”
Felix clasped her upper arms and held her while he looked into her eyes. “No, you did not. You are a wonderful young lady any parent would be proud of. Your mother had expectations that didn’t fit you. You can’t think she loved you any less because you weren’t yet married.”
And yet he could think so. He knew his father barely loved him, and his uncle had drilled into his head that love was a useless emotion, so what did it matter. But he knew it mattered to her.
“No. I know she loved me. I just wish… I wish they weren’t gone.”
Felix had spent much of his childhood wishing things were different, but you couldn’t change reality. And this was their new reality. They needed to find a way to live in it. Fortunately, he was a master at that.
He gave her shoulders a quick stroke, then stepped back from her. “Pack your things. We’re leaving London.”
She stared at him. “To go where? Why?”
“We’re going to Stag’s Court. You need a change of scenery, and London will soon be too stifling to stay.”
“That is certainly true. But I can’t go to Stag’s Court with you. Not alone.” She glanced briefly at his mouth before diverting her gaze to the window once more.
In all the days since they’d left Darent Hall, they’d never discussed the kiss. Kisses. It was as if they had never happened, which he’d decided was for the best. Especially given what had happened to her parents. He’d wanted to be there for her and Anthony as a friend and support, and awkwardness over what had happened during Guess the Kisser would have killed that effort.
Felix had, at first, wondered if it was part of the problem—why she’d withdrawn from him. However, after speaking with the staff at the town house, he’d learned she was like that with everyone.
“We won’t be alone,” Felix said, addressing her concern. “Anthony is coming with us.”
Her brows briefly arched up in surprise. “He is? When did he agree to that?”
“He hasn’t yet, but I won’t give him a choice. I’ll pour him into the coach if I have to.” Pour was the best verb to describe it since Felix was fairly certain Anthony was trying to drink his body weight in wine, brandy, whisky—whatever he could find—every day.
“He won’t come,” she said softly.
“He will. Trust me, Sarah.” Felix straightened. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning. I’ll be here at eight.”
“So early?”
Felix started toward the doorway. “Eight!” He climbed the stairs to the second floor and turned left to Anthony’s bedchamber in the front corner. Though it was afternoon, Felix was confident he’d find him there.
Sure enough, the room was dark, and it smelled of stale alcohol. Felix went to the window and opened the drapes. Light spilled over the dark interior, setting dust motes swirling and making the air sparkle with their flight.
“What the bloody hell?” Anthony muttered from the bed.
“Perhaps you should draw your bed curtains next time,” Felix offered unhelpfully.
“Perhaps you should stay out of my damn bedchamber,” Anthony grumbled.
“Gladly, but it seems to be the only way to reach you of late.” Instead of spending less time abed, he seemed to be spending more—according to his valet, whom Felix had interrogated a few days ago.
“Then don’t reach me. Go away.” He rolled to his side, presenting his back to Felix and the window, and pulled the covers over his head.
“No. It’s time you got out of here.”
“I do. I go downstairs to the library every night.”
Not quite every night, but Felix didn’t correct him. “Out of London. We’re going to the country.”
Anthony sat up and glared at him. “I’m not going to Oaklands.”
Felix had suggested that last week, which had sent Anthony into a spiral of guilt and self-loathing. That had likely sparked his current penchant for sleeping. When one was asleep, one couldn’t be tortured by one’s conscious thoughts. “We’re going to Stag’s Court. We will ride and fish and get into trouble.”
Anthony shook his head and winced.
“We’ll also dry you out,” Felix said. He wasn’t going to let Anthony drown himself in liquor as Felix’s father had done.
“I can’t go. Sarah—”
“Is going, so you see, you must go. It wouldn’t be proper for us to go alone.”
Anthony’s heated gaze found his. “Don’t think you’re going to take advantage of her again.”
“Is that what you think happened at Darent Hall? It was a bloody mistake, Anthony. She dropped her assigned number along with Miss Reynolds, and they picked up the wrong ones. Sarah was supposed to meet Blakesley
.” Lavinia had explained what happened to Felix a few days afterward when they’d encountered each other here in their efforts to console Sarah and Anthony. And Miss Reynolds had explained it to Lavinia right after Felix had left the room with Sarah and Anthony. Miss Reynolds had been distressed since it seemed there was a problem between Felix and Sarah, which, of course, had not been the reason for their departure at all. “Believe me when I say that no one was more horrified by the mistake than I was.” Or perhaps Sarah.
“You took longer to return to the drawing room than nearly everyone else,” Anthony said. “And when I learned you’d kissed…my sister, I realized she was the last woman to return.” He glowered at Felix again. “So you must have been enjoying yourselves.”
Felix most certainly had. And he was fairly confident Sarah had too. If not for the footman interrupting them, he wasn’t sure how far they would have taken things. He’d thought of that encounter a hundred times or more, dreamed of it, and in every single instance, he knew he would have taken more if he could.
But he couldn’t. Because…Sarah.
“Don’t read anything into that,” Felix said coolly. “You need to let it go. Sarah and I have. It’s as if it never happened.”
“Good.”
“Why would it anger you so much anyway? Your parents wanted us to marry.” Felix realized his error immediately and wished he could take the words back. “Forget I said that. I’d be angry too if my best friend was kissing my sister.”
“My parents would have wanted Sarah to marry an oak tree. They hated that she wasn’t wed already, and they hated that I wasn’t ready to wed either. They were fucking obsessed.” His lip curled. He was angry with them. Felix understood that—he’d been angry with his father for a long time.
Felix hadn’t known they were that upset about Anthony not marrying yet. He knew they’d wanted him to and hoped it would be soon, but they’d seemed to direct all their efforts and desperation toward Sarah.
Silence reigned for a moment before Anthony exhaled in resignation. “Sarah wants to go?”
Felix had no idea and didn’t care—they were going. “Yes. We’re going to have a splendid time. You’ll see. It’s just what you both need.”
Anthony looked up at him with the most honest—and painful—expression Felix had seen from him yet, and it pulled at his chest. “If anyone can bring us cheer—it’s you.”
That was precisely what Felix meant to do.
The air was fresher, the weather beautiful, the accommodations more than comfortable, but Sarah still felt hollow. You just got here, she reminded herself. In time, you’ll feel better.
Her maid and the housekeeper and the butler in London had all been telling her this for weeks. As had Lavinia before she’d gone to Fanny’s wedding. Time, however, had only made her feel more empty and disillusioned. She kept trying to make sense of what had happened to their parents, where there simply wasn’t sense to be made.
Her maid finished dressing Sarah’s hair, and after thanking her, Sarah made her way downstairs. The butler at Stag’s Court, a middle-aged fellow by the name of Seales, with a balding pate and dark hair on the sides of his head, directed her to the breakfast room. With tall windows that overlooked the lawn sloping from the east side of the manor, it was a bright and cheerful place to start the day. Or it would be if she felt remotely bright or cheerful.
“May I prepare you a plate?” a footman offered.
“I’ll just have toast,” she said. “Not too dark, if you don’t mind.”
The footman nodded and then suggested a cup of chocolate.
“I can’t refuse that,” Sarah said, dredging up a small smile that was surprisingly not as difficult to summon as it had been of late. But then chocolate was worth a smile at least.
He poured a cup of chocolate and set it on the table, then left the room, presumably to have the toast made. Sarah walked to the windows and looked out over the lawn. She’d never been to Stag’s Court before. When they’d arrived last night, Felix had said his grandfather had added a wing to the back of the Palladian-style house, but that the rest had been built in the late seventeenth century. It was larger and grander than Oaklands, her childhood home, which was a mere ten miles away.
It was about the same distance from London as Stag’s Court, and yet it seemed much farther away. Or maybe that was just because Sarah wanted it to be. The thought of taking the road her parents had taken, of seeing where they’d died, filled her with dread.
The threat of tears pricked the back of her eyes and made her throat raw. She turned from the window and saw Anthony walking into the breakfast room. She blinked at him in surprise, unable to remember the last time she’d seen him before noon, yesterday’s early departure notwithstanding. Granted, it was only a half hour before that time.
He was impeccably dressed and shaven, his hair neatly tamed. But he was a bit thin and pale, his eyes listless. He looked like she felt. And probably how she looked as well. In truth, she’d spent very little time contemplating her appearance over the past several weeks.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning.” He went to the sideboard where the chocolate pot sat and picked it up.
“That’s chocolate,” Sarah said. “I think the other one is coffee, but I could be wrong.” She knew Felix liked coffee.
“No tea?” Anthony asked.
“The footman will bring some.” Or she’d get it herself. She was just pleased to see her brother drinking something other than ale. It seemed coming to the country had been precisely what he needed.
“Is there food?” Anthony asked.
“Somewhere.” Sarah had noted it wasn’t on the sideboard, but then they hadn’t set a time to dine. “The footman offered me a plate.”
Just then, the footman came in with a tray. He lifted the cover and set it on the sideboard, revealing Sarah’s toast as well as butter and jam, which he situated on the table.
Sarah went to her seat, and the footman held her chair. “Thank you.”
Anthony took the seat beside Sarah at the small rectangular table. “Is there more than toast?”
“Eggs, ham, kippers, and rolls, my lord,” the footman said.
His use of “my lord” pulled at Sarah’s chest. The first time their butler in London had called Anthony “my lord,” Anthony had yelled at him to stop. He’d tried again last week, and Anthony had merely glowered. Today, Anthony’s mouth twisted into a frown, but he said nothing.
“Shall I make you a plate?” the footman asked.
“Yes,” Anthony murmured. He cleared his throat and said, “Thank you,” with more volume and clarity.
“Please bring some tea for him as well,” Sarah said.
The footman nodded and left again.
Sarah buttered her toast and wondered if she and Anthony would ever return to the way they’d been.
“Do you suppose we’ll ever feel happy again?” Anthony asked, as if he’d read her mind.
“We must,” Sarah said, moving to slather strawberry jam on her lightly toasted bread. “I can’t imagine a lifetime of feeling like this.” She wasn’t even sure how she’d describe the way she felt. Sad, certainly. But also angry and…lost.
“You seemed tense on the journey yesterday,” he said. “I should have said something. Or done something.”
“You were tense too.” She’d noticed but, like him, apparently, had been too wrapped up in her own emotions to help. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
He blew out a breath and leaned his head back to look at the ceiling for a moment. “Disaster,” he said quietly. He lowered his head and looked at her. “I couldn’t stop thinking of them on their way to Oaklands.” His voice was low and dark. Ravaged.
“Me too,” she whispered. Her mind had conjured all manner of horrific images, of her parents begging to be spared. Of the Oaklands staff finding them after they’d failed to arrive.
“I know I have to go there, but I just can’t.” His head drooped.
“Not yet.”
She understood. Reaching toward him, she offered him her hand. He took it and squeezed. She was remarkably dry-eyed and yet full of emotion.
He let go of her hand as the footman returned with a second tray bearing Anthony’s covered plate and a tea service. He placed everything in front of Anthony and offered to pour the tea, which Anthony accepted.
When the footman made to stay, Anthony politely asked him to leave them alone, which he did with alacrity.
Anthony stared at his plate. “I’m a coward.”
Sarah froze in chewing her toast and then had to take a sip of chocolate to wash it down. She turned to him. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’ve been hiding. Because I couldn’t go to Oaklands. Because I still don’t want to. Because it should have been me who died.”
“None of that makes you a coward,” she said fiercely. “Father and Mother would have gladly gone in your place if they’d known what awaited them.” Sarah might have grown frustrated with them in recent months, but she’d never doubted their love for her or Anthony.
“I want to kill them,” he said softly, with a deadly menace that made Sarah’s neck prickle. “The men who killed our parents.”
Alarm sparked in her chest. “You aren’t going to look for them? You’d be mad to do so—the magistrate hasn’t found them yet.”
“And probably won’t,” Anthony said.
“Well, I would prefer you were a coward and didn’t look for them yourself,” she said with heat. “I won’t lose you too.” That he would even put himself in danger fed her anger.
He exhaled. “I won’t go looking for them.” He didn’t look at her, and she wasn’t entirely sure she believed him.
He picked at his food, eating more of it than she’d seen him do since their parents’ death, which wasn’t hard to do. Meanwhile, Sarah nibbled at her toast and drank her chocolate.
Felix came in then, and it was as if the sun had shone directly into the room. He was a whirlwind of energy and light, she realized. Well, she’d always known that, really. But in her current state, she was perhaps aware of him in a way she’d never been.