My Wild Heart (Regency Shakespeare Book 2)

by Martha Keyes

  Her mother waited a moment before responding. “A very convincing contrivance, from what Matthew said.”

  Edith’s cheeks flamed, and her mother pressed on. “I merely thought you and Elias might benefit from a bit of time to determine whether it truly was contrived.”

  Edith’s nostrils flared, and an image of their kiss at the inn—the one no one else was aware of, the one that hadn’t been contrived for anyone’s benefit—flashed across her mind. She thrust it aside. “Then let me assure you on that count, Mother. It was as contrived as is Father’s support for your ridiculous bill—the one doomed to fail.” Her mother’s jaw clenched, and Edith knew a flush of victory. “I am not so variable as you seem to think me. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Edith tried to demonstrate the same poise as her mother as she left the room—why could she not have inherited that from her? Hearing footsteps behind her, she stopped short in the corridor.

  “Edith.” Elias looked at her, concern wrinkling his brow. When had he begun to look at her with those soft eyes instead of the challenging ones she had become so accustomed to? “Why have you left so soon?”

  She shut her eyes and took in a large breath, letting it out slowly, and with it, the desire to censure him for following her. There was little doubt her mother had noticed. “My mother knows precisely how to infuriate me.”

  “What a lowering thought,” he said, frowning deeply. “I thought that was my exclusive specialty.”

  She couldn’t stifle a small smile.

  “What has she said? Was it something about our…prank?”

  Edith knew an impulse to confide in Elias—to tell him her frustrations, that it was her own mother who was responsible for their situation—but she could hardly tell him what her mother had said or why her mother had prevented Matthew’s coming after them. “She thinks me foolish. That is all.”

  “Ah, well, I’m afraid I cannot disagree with that.” He turned away and took a step, only to stop and look over his shoulder at her with the most provoking, teasing face imaginable. It did things to her heart that she was too terrified to explore.

  “You are insufferable,” she said without venom.

  “I don’t deny it.” He came back to stand before her. “But I think the fault for that lies partly with you, for you bear the suffering better than anyone.” His smile faded, and he took her hand.

  The touch was electrifying, stopping and then starting her heart. How much of the effect was betrayed in her face? And what might her mother say if she were to witness them now? A very convincing contrivance.

  Edith nearly pulled her hand away at the thought, but the knowledge that it might hurt Elias stopped her. Or maybe she simply enjoyed his touch too much. Neither alternative fit in with the person she thought herself.

  “I shan’t let you suffer for what happened, Edith. No matter how foolish you may be.” His eyes smiled down into hers.

  She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted it so much she struggled to breathe—she needed it. Strong, independent Edith wanted to wrap herself up in his assurances—in his arms.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You never could resist a show of chivalry.” She managed a teasing smile.

  “As long as it adds to my consequence,” he said.

  A melody on the piano sounded, muffled by the walls of the drawing room, and Edith’s eyes drifted to the closed door. What must everyone in the room be thinking at their simultaneous absence?

  “I think I shall retire early this evening.” She looked up at Elias, gently pulling her hand away. “I am sure everyone will understand how utterly exhausted I am after spending two days in your company.”

  He took in a large breath, rising tall and puffing out his chest. “It is true that only the strongest can keep pace with my charm and wit.” He patted her arm gently, as if she was a fragile creature who might fall apart at his touch. “Fear not—I shall explain to the others.”

  She curtsied dramatically. “I am indebted to you.” When she rose, their gazes held for a moment, both of them smiling, until Edith gave a little nod. “Good night, Elias.”

  “Good night, Edith.”

  Elias felt eyes follow him from the other side of the room as he reentered. Matthew’s expression was unreadable. Elias tried to ignore the guilty pangs of his conscience. Did Matthew truly believe he was merely toying with Edith’s feelings and reputation?

  He had a mind to go enlighten him, but the idea was dismissed as quickly as it presented itself. The last thing Elias needed was for Matthew to apply pressure to Edith to marry him, and he suspected that was exactly what would happen if Matthew discovered the truth of the matter.

  Besides, Edith had assured him that she would see to Matthew. Whether she would be successful was a different matter.

  “Is Edith well?”

  Elias startled a bit, not having noted Viola come up beside him.

  “Hmm?” he said.

  “You left the room—I assumed you had done so to inquire after Edith, since she left in distress.”

  Distress. What a strange word to apply to Edith Donne. Only a mind as romantic as Viola’s could find the word fitting.

  “Ah, yes. She is simply tired.”

  Viola nodded. “I imagine the past few days have been quite eventful.”

  He looked down at her, a brow raised. “Yes, no thanks to you. I understand you to have been no small part of the jest played upon us.”

  “The jest?” Viola smiled softly, her eyes glazing over as they so often did when she was about to quote verse. “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps?” he chuckled. “Come. I see you are full of poetry. You mustn’t hold it in, or you might explode.”

  She glanced up at him with a smile. “I don’t wish to offend you, of course, but I was thinking that perhaps you are” —she raised her chin as she always did when quoting verse— “‘A fool / That seest a game play’d home, the rich stake drawn, / And takest it all for jest.’”

  Elias stilled for a moment, then forced a laugh. “I am no Shakespeare devotee, but I caught the part where you called me a fool. Do you intend to say that you did not mean it in jest?”

  She shrugged, looking at him with that knowing gaze that made him want to shift and move in avoidance. “Not everything that is begun in jest ends in jest.”

  His gaze found Matthew. “No, certainly there are some who find it not amusing at all.” It was strange to see his friend so grave.

  “Yes, I am afraid Matthew is very angry with you. And what of you? Are you angry? Do you wish that we had not contrived it all to begin with?”

  Elias didn’t answer right away. He hardly knew how to. It was the devil of a situation, the way things had unfolded. And yet, to take it all back would be to forgo everything he had experienced of Edith for the past week. Every shared enjoyment, every bit of adventure, every glimpse into what lay beyond those impenetrable walls.

  Every kiss.

  “At times,” he said softly. “I am not angry, but I begin to think Edith the one likely to suffer the most from it all.”

  “Perhaps. But at least some of her suffering is needless, I think. She merely needs someone to help her see that.”

  Elias narrowed his eyes at Viola. He contemplated pretending ignorance at what she implied—or even fighting her on it—but there was such understanding in her eyes, so much perceptiveness. “I take your meaning quite clearly. And I do not disagree with you. But one cannot force another to accept something they are intent upon refusing.”

  “No, one cannot.” She took in a long breath. “I stood in awe of Edith for so long, you know. I found her both terrifying and intriguing. But I think I understand her more clearly now. She is not so different from you or me.” She glanced at him. “We all go to great lengths to avoid pain. We will even accept the pain we know—be it ever so severe—over the pain we don’t know. Edith is merely better at masking her fear, and fear is nothing but a response to unfed hope. Edith’s hope must be fed and her faith restored
if her fears are to be crushed.”

  Elias was bereft of speech, but Viola clearly expected no response, as she gave him a soft smile and walked away. It was as though she were some sort of vessel of wisdom, staring into the very core of everyone she came by and disbursing a few choice phrases here and a few there before returning to her reading.

  Edith’s hope must be fed and her faith restored if her fears are to be crushed.

  Elias was fairly certain he had fallen asleep—very near to dawn, from what he remembered—to Viola’s words. He felt their truth, and yet he was at a loss for how to apply them. He gathered his belongings with a deep frown on his face, feeling nagging slivers of hesitation at his decision to leave. But what good would it do anyone for him to remain?

  His eye searched the bedchamber a final time, but he knew he hadn’t forgotten anything. He was delaying. Would he leave without saying goodbye to Edith? No. He was selfish enough not to entertain the idea for more than a second.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Enter.”

  The Donnes’ footman opened the door. “Mr. Donne requests your immediate presence in the library, sir.”

  “Thank you. I shall go down presently.” He indicated his belongings with a nod of his head. “If you could see that these are taken downstairs, I believe my carriage is waiting.”

  “Very good, sir.” He came in and took up the valise and portmanteau, then scurried from the room.

  Elias blew a breath through his lips. He’d had every intention of speaking with Mr. Donne before departing, but the fact that he was being summoned didn’t precisely bode well. If I hear even the faintest whisper of scandal…

  He strode down the corridor and then the stairs, grasping for words that would help Mr. Donne understand the complexity of the situation.

  Edith was already standing in the library when he arrived, her gaze wary and full of warning as she watched Elias’s entrance.

  “Leaving, are you?” Mr. Donne said. His voice was level, but it seemed to tremble slightly, and the way his hands gripped the arms of his chair was anything but relaxed.

  Elias cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I have a few matters to attend to at home.”

  Mr. Donne’s lips stretched into a smile entirely devoid of any of the sentiments the expression normally conveyed. “You come to Shipton House as a trusted guest. You make off with my daughter for two days, refuse to marry her, and now you are leaving?”

  Elias’s breathing quickened.

  Mr. Donne’s mouth pulled up into a contemptuous sneer as the color in his face shifted to pink and then red. “You shall not serve this family such a trick!”

  “Father,” Edith said.

  “Silence!” His voice reverberated in the library, and he held up a note. “In all your attempts to evade the consequences of your actions, you both very conveniently failed to mention that your imprudent antics were observed by the man I most abhor in this entire world—a man who now threatens this family with exposure.” He slammed the note down on the desk in front of him, uttering a loud oath. He looked to Edith and then Elias and back again. “You will marry by special license within the week.”

  “But—”

  “That is final! There is nothing else to be said. You have made your bed, and now you will lie in it.” He folded the note and shoved it into a drawer. “Mr. Abram, you may as well instruct the servants to have your belongings taken back to your bedchamber. I will inform you both when the license has been acquired. It should take two or three days at most.” He looked to them a final time, his stern eyes daring them to argue with him, then stalked out of the room.

  Elias moved his gaze slowly to Edith. Her chest heaved, and her eyes carried a stricken look. He moved to her side. “Edith,” he said softly.

  Her eyes darted to him, as though she had forgotten his presence. She blinked twice, eyelashes fluttering. “What can we do?”

  He frowned. “There seems to be little choice in the matter at this point.”

  She shook her head quickly and began pacing the floor, her fist tapping gently but rhythmically against her mouth. “There must be something. We must, of course, appeal to Miss Perry. Her word cannot be entirely disregarded. And the innkeeper, Mr. Drew. He can attest to the fact that propriety was strictly kept.” She stopped, her gaze fixed blankly on Elias. “I must find a way to speak with Mr. Stratton, to appeal to him—beg him if necessary.” She resumed her quick steps, eyes staring at the floor, a frantic energy to her movements.

  Elias took her hand, preventing her from continuing her frenetic pacing. She stopped and looked at him questioningly, and he swallowed. “Are you truly so opposed to the idea of marrying me?” The question hurt even to utter.

  She blinked at him. “You agree with my father?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “I told you I wouldn’t let you be harmed by this, did I not? If Mr. Stratton is determined to do your family injury, this is the way to prevent that.”

  She wrenched her hand from his grasp, looking at him with eyes alight in anger. “I don’t care a fig for my reputation! Nor for my father’s precious politics. I will not become a martyr for his gain.”

  Her words struck at his heart. A martyr. He clenched his jaw. “You would rather be ostracized than subject yourself to marrying me. How you flatter me, Edith!”

  “And flattering you should be my primary concern?”

  He threw his hands up. “Would it hurt you so very much to stop and consider how your decisions are affecting anyone but yourself? Your reputation is at stake, your father’s position on the line, an act of reform that would change the lives of countless people is under threat, not to mention my honor, and yet you insist upon flying in the face of common sense so that you can protect some false illusion of freedom?”

  She stepped toward him, eyes bright and cheeks colorful with emotion. “And that is your argument for marriage? Your offer to me? You throw in my face everything I most despise about marriage, suggesting we come together for the most selfish of reasons, and you expect me to jump at the opportunity?” She scoffed, her lips curled up in disgust. “Forgive me, but I don’t wish to be married to someone whose motive is saving his own honor.” She made to move away, but Elias grabbed her arm. She whirled around, eyes flashing him a warning.

  His jaw shifted back and forth for a moment. “And you simply cannot conceive of a world where such a thing is but a secondary consideration, can you? Where people cannot be reduced to one, single ill motive but rather have many competing motives, some of which are pure?” He dropped her arm. “Gad, Edith. At some point, I think you have to acknowledge that you are making the world in your own image. Can your father not wish to salvage his political career and ensure the well-being of his daughter? Are you unwilling to entertain the notion that a man might wish to save his own honor while also desiring to protect the woman he loves?”

  He may as well have slapped Edith for the stunned look on her face, but she recovered quickly. “Perhaps I cannot. And I have very good reason for that. Meanwhile you” —she stepped toward him and prodded him in the chest with a finger— "seem unable to fathom a world where a woman should be taken seriously. You assume that it is I who am at fault here—that my determination not to sacrifice myself on the altar of my father’s ego—or yours—is somehow selfish or unreasonable?” She shook her head, glaring into his eyes, her face mere inches from his. “None of this is about my reputation—not really. My father would sacrifice me in a heartbeat if he felt it served his ends. And you? You insult me and confess your love in a single breath.” She let out a scoff. “No, I thank you. Marriage is not for me.”

  She held his eyes a moment longer and then turned, striding from the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Edith’s chest heaved, and her eyes burned as she hurried up the stairs to her bedchamber. She blinked rapidly to dispel the tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried. Years ago, certainly.

  She tugged on the bell in
her bedchamber, shutting her eyes and trying to breathe deeply before Susan arrived. She wouldn’t let anyone see her in such a state. She was the daughter of Agnes Donne. Appearing unconcerned should come more naturally to her.

  “Prepare the curricle,” she told her maid. “And inform Matthew that I require his escort for a drive.”

  A few minutes later, she hurried down the stairs, praying mightily that she wouldn’t encounter her father or Elias, and rushed through the front door, where the curricle was being brought around from the stables. Matthew emerged two minutes later, his brow wrinkled.

  “What’s this about, Edith?”

  “I need you to accompany me somewhere.”

  He raised his brows, waiting for further enlightenment.

  She walked toward the curricle, and he followed behind her. “To Ivybridge,” she said.

  “Ivybridge?” He shook his head, looking at her as though she was mad. “That’s fifteen miles away. We would barely make it home in time for dinner.”

  She shut her eyes to summon elusive patience. “Fine,” she said, stepping up into the curricle with as much grace as she could muster. “I shall go alone.”

  “Dash it, Edith! You can’t go all the way to Ivybridge alone—and in an open carriage!”

  She took the reins from the stable hand. “I assure you I can.” Her reputation was already ruined, after all.

  He swore and hopped up into the curricle beside her. “You are by far the most infuriating woman in existence. I must say, I can’t really blame Elias for not wanting to marry you.”

  Edith pinched her lips together to keep her chin from trembling. Why the words hurt her, she didn’t know. But they stung, and Matthew hardly knew how much truth they held. Whatever desire Elias had had to marry her, whatever love he imagined he held for her, she had undoubtedly cured him of it by her words in the library.

  Edith set the horses to, navigating the lane that led from Shipton House to the main road as well as she could with the added annoyance of tears obscuring her vision. The stable hand had assured her the horses had just been walking, but they were resistant to Edith’s efforts, a fact which hardly added to her good humor.