“Come now, William. When have we ever minced words with one another? You know I speak of Miss Paxton, the lovely girl living in the cottage. Now tell me, have you feelings for her more than Miss Winslow?”
He should’ve expected such a question. The Rutledges were not exactly couth. Funny how he was drawn to a certain sort of people.
“I should not have feelings for her.”
“But you do.”
William rubbed the back of his neck, slowly nodding. “I do. But it doesn’t matter how I feel. I’ve a duty to Miss Winslow and her family. My parents expect it. Society expects it. I expect it. Or rather, I did.”
Mr. Rutledge hmphed, drawing William’s surprised gaze toward him. “Since when have you ever done what Society expects of you, or what your family tells you to do? If I recall, you always did the very opposite.”
William certainly couldn’t refute that. “That is true in every instance but when I am striving to make amends for the faults of my grandfather.”
Mr. Rutledge peered into his eyes, unflinching. “You are doing an honorable thing by mending the bridge between your two families, as well as by making up for your grandfather’s neglect of his homes and tenants. But there is a difference between sacrificing your time and hard work for the sake of those in need…and sacrificing the rest of your life by marrying someone you do not love, merely for the sake of healing a wound not caused by yourself.” He narrowed his eyes, his voice gaining strength. “It is not too late to have what your heart desires, Will.”
William’s shoulders lowered, the truth of Mr. Rutledge’s words weighing heavily upon him. “You are right, of course. I agreed to marry Charity out of duty, but now I see the folly of my actions. But it is too late now. If I end the engagement between us, I would ruin her reputation. I cannot do that to her.”
Mr. Rutledge sighed, the edges of his lips turned down. His voice fell back to the weakened state from before. “Does she know you have feelings for Miss Paxton?”
“No, but I do not doubt that she suspects it.”
Mr. Rutledge pressed his lips together, staring at the fire. The logs settled farther in the hearth, and the flames snapped in the silence.
“What is it?” William asked.
As Mr. Rutledge responded, his eyes remained on the fire, his voice hardly above a whisper. “The best decision I ever made was marrying Mrs. Rutledge. We have been happy together, despite my ailments and struggles. Though, I know it would not have been that way had I not been honest from the start.” His eyes found William’s with a pointed stare. “Had I not been honest with her about the level of care I would need as I grew older and as my ailments increased, she might have grown to resent me. But because of my honesty, the both of us were able to live with the facts.”
He paused, reaching his fingers toward William with a grimace. William leaned the rest of the way, taking his friend’s warm, wrinkled hand in his own as Mr. Rutledge continued. “You must do the same with Miss Winslow. She deserves to know the truth.”
William winced. “Even if I hurt her?”
“The truth will always come out, Will. Better to hurt her now than in years to come.”
His words slurred, and his eyes fluttered to a close—evidence of his exhaustion. William cursed his own selfishness in discussing such a difficult matter in Mr. Rutledge’s weakened state.
“Rest now, sir,” he whispered. “We may speak later.”
The faintest hint of a squeeze came from Mr. Rutledge’s fingers—clearly all he could manage. “You’ve overcome much in your life, William. You will overcome this, too.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Three days later, Mr. Rutledge drew his last pained breath.
Having had no children of their own, William was the only one there to comfort Mrs. Rutledge, though he knew little of what he could do besides be present for her.
The day of the funeral was simple—just as Mr. Rutledge would have wished for it to be. The procession lasted only a few moments as they rode toward the churchyard, then the closest thing William had to a loving mentor was laid in the ground, encased in a pine coffin—paid for by William.
The sun was shining, giving him no way to hide his tears. But he did not care who was witness to his emotion. Mr. Rutledge meant the world to him, and he would never deny it.
Afterward, a small gathering was held at the Rutledge home with two of their closest friends—and Miss Paxton and her parents.
William had seen the Paxtons lining the street as they walked by in the procession. Tears had brimmed in Miss Paxton’s eyes as she looked at William, and he’d almost broken down right there from her compassion.
Charity had not come to the procession or afterward.
“I cannot bear the heartbreak,” she’d said with brows raised. “Besides, Mother does not like me to attend such morbid things.”
Never mind that she’d made the effort to attend Grandfather’s funeral from afar. She’d merely never understood William’s attachment to the Rutledges and did not feel the need to attend this one.
After the funeral, he stood near the small hearth in Mrs. Rutledge’s minute sitting room. He watched from the corner of his eye as Miss Paxton and Mrs. Rutledge embraced, sharing soft words with each other before Mr. and Mrs. Paxton spoke next.
Miss Paxton moved on, fixing her eyes on William, slowly approaching him.
“Mr. Eastwood,” she said with a soft nod. “Allow me to express my condolences, sir.”
He gave a hint of a smile. “Thank you for coming. I know Mrs. Rutledge appreciates your presence here and during the procession, as do I.”
Their eyes met, the words that had passed between them the last time they’d seen one another flashing through his mind.
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” she whispered. “I know how much this family means to you.”
Her voice cracked, and with it, William’s heart. Her compassion, her generosity, was unmatched. How had he allowed this woman to slip straight through his fingers?
“When do you leave Coniston?” he asked.
“Tomorrow.”
He blinked. Mr. Paxton had written to him, alerting him of their intent to vacate Flitfield Cottage. But in spending the last week with the Rutledges and preparing for Mr. Rutledge’s funeral, William had lost count of the days.
So the Paxtons would be leaving Coniston tomorrow. And he would never see Miss Paxton again.
Miss Paxton opened her mouth, appearing to hesitate before shaking her head. “I truly am sorry for your loss.” She made to walk away, her eyes brimming with tears. But she turned back toward him, reaching up to place a soft kiss to his cheek.
Though it passed as swiftly as a single raindrop falling from the sky, he closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair as she pulled away.
“Goodbye, Mr. Eastwood.”
And then she was gone, taking William’s heart along with her.
He had tried to deny the facts, to convince himself that he did not truly love Miss Paxton.
But each day that passed without seeing her, each moment that occurred in her presence, he became more and more aware of the fact that he did love her. He loved her more than life itself.
And coming to this realization, he would finally honor Mr. Rutledge’s last request.
He would speak with Charity.
Instead of returning to Birchwick that afternoon, William made a late call to Charity’s home.
“Are you to join us for dinner, Mr. Eastwood?” Mrs. Winslow offered after he was shown into the drawing room where she and her daughter gathered.
“Thank you, but no. I do apologize for intruding at such an untimely hour, but I was hoping to speak with your daughter.” He glanced to Charity. “Alone.”
Mrs. Winslow left them with an uneasy glance, leaving them behind with the door open.
William waited for her footsteps to retreat down the corridor before facing Charity.
“How was the funeral?” she asked, her
brow creased.
“It was…difficult.” He hesitated. Typically, they didn’t speak of such things. Life was already too challenging. But then, what if he wished to talk? “Mrs. Rutledge was upset, but she did her best to put on a smile for her guests. And seeing Mr. Rutledge laid to rest…”
Charity’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, evidence of her disinterest, and his words trailed off. So she didn’t wish to speak of the funeral after all.
“How was your day?” he asked.
She instantly brightened. “Very constructive, I must say. We’ve finalized the food, and I’ve only just posted a letter to my aunt in London, the one whom we were staying with before. She will be so pleased to hear of our engagement. She was the one who helped me to convince Mama to have us return early from our stay there.”
He nodded absentmindedly—just as she’d done moments ago with his own words. Did they truly have such little care over what the other had to say?
“So are you to tell me why you’ve requested a private audience with me?” She stared up at him, her eyes lingering on his lips.
It was time. He paced a few steps in front of where she sat on the settee. “Yes, I have been thinking a great deal about us lately. About our relationship and the wedding. And I…” He swallowed. “I must now be honest with you. I fear—”
“You’ve fallen in love with her, haven’t you?”
Their eyes met, and at once, William knew whom she was referring to. For a single, fleeting moment, his desire to cower from her direct question nearly won out. But he planted his feet to the floral rug beneath his boots and spoke softly. “Yes. I love her.”
She pulled in her lips, eyes glistening. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I feared as much after seeing the two of you holding hands at the fair and after observing the looks she gave you at the bakery. I’d merely hoped her love was one-sided.”
William’s heart bowed in pain, like a feeble tree branch in a fierce wind. “I’m sorry, Charity. Truly, I am. I did not mean to fall in love with her.”
Her eyes swung back to meet his, and she swiftly blinked away her tears as her gaze hardened. “That makes all of this better then, doesn’t it? The fact that you did not mean to.” She stood abruptly, anger laced throughout her words. “I waited for you my whole life. I waited for your grandfather to die, for you to take charge of the estates, for you to grow older and be more secure in yourself.” She shook her head, her voice lowering. “I’ve wasted my entire life on you, William Eastwood.”
He winced. “Charity, I—”
“I told Mother this would happen. I knew if I left Coniston you would find someone to replace me.”
He shook his head, reaching forward to rest a hand on her arm, but she pulled swiftly away. Her anger was warranted, but that did not mean he still didn’t wish to ease her pain. “It is not like that, Charity. I did not find her to take your place. You’ve been my closest friend for years. I could not ever replace the help you’ve provided me for so long.”
She dropped her gaze, and her shoulders fell forward. “That is just the problem though. You see me as only your friend.”
William longed to refute her words, to ensure her she was wrong, but he was finished with being a coward.
“I only wish…” Her voice filled with emotion, and she paused to clear her throat. “I only wish that you would have told me before we became engaged. Before I alerted my family. Before I even returned from London. My reputation, William. I’ll be ruined. I’ll—”
“I still intend to marry you.”
She stiffened. “What?”
“We made an agreement. I intend to follow through with it.”
“Oh.”
He gathered all the courage he could muster. “I am not blind to how I would ruin your reputation if I broke off the engagement, and I could not do that to you. Believe it or not, I care for you, Charity.”
“Just not as much as you care for Miss Paxton?”
He could not hurt her further by agreeing with her words. Instead, he reached forward, taking her hand in his. This time, she allowed him to. “I promise to care for you and to respect you as my wife for as long as I live.”
“But can you love me?”
She stared up at him expectantly, but William tensed. He’d heard of marriages that began with a friendship eventually ending in love, but how could he promise that when his heart belonged to another?
“I’m sorry, Charity. I can promise no such thing.”
Tears once more sprung to her eyes, but she looked away with a raised chin. “If you cannot promise me that, I will not marry you. You are free to pursue Miss Paxton.” She walked to the door, her black curls barely moving at her slow pace.
William stifled the rising hope in his heart. His mind swirled as he tried to comprehend all that had occurred. He was no longer engaged. He was no longer beholden to Charity. A weight lifted from his shoulders, and he felt as if he could breathe for the first time in weeks.
Then the guilt settled in.
“I…I will not pursue her,” he said just as Charity reached the door. “Miss Paxton is engaged to another and will be leaving Coniston tomorrow.”
She paused with her hand on the frame, turning back to look at him, a haunted look in her eyes that pierced his soul. “It is none of my concern how you intend to live out the rest of your days, William. But if she loves you as much as you love her, you’d be a fool not to fight for her.” She turned away, her voice lowering even further. “And if you truly love her, you would not risk breaking her heart as you just did mine.”
“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “For everything.”
She did not look back at him. “I know.”
And then she was gone.
William stared at the empty doorway, unable to process his conflicting emotions. After a moment, he wandered through the house and out the door, stepping into the golden, evening light and taking the reins of his horse from the groom.
He paused before mounting, focusing on Charity’s words that had struck him to his core.
She’d told him to go after Miss Paxton, to not break the heart of the woman he loved. But surely he did not deserve happiness with Miss Paxton when he was the cause of Charity’s grief. He would only be hurting his friend if he sought Miss Paxton so swiftly. But if he waited a day or two, Miss Paxton would be gone—with her betrothed.
His heart pumped faster, and his breathing shallowed. He knew Miss Paxton did not love Mr. Roberts. She loved William. But would she accept William even after how dishonest he’d been before? Would she end her own engagement just to be with him?
He had never meant to hurt Charity. And he would regret that for the rest of his life. But he loved Miss Paxton more than anything. He wanted to be with her more than anything. And if he did not act now, he would regret that for the rest of his life.
In a single movement, William leapt onto his horse and urged him forward. He was finished waiting to do the right thing. He was finished waiting to be honest. That was exactly what had caused his problems in the first place.
He would go to Amy. He would be truthful. And he would plead for her forgiveness, for the chance to prove his love for the rest of his days.
Now he could only pray that she accepted his offer.
Amy stifled a yawn as she sat with her family and Mr. Roberts in the sitting room of the cottage. She knew she ought to retire, but knowing this was her last night in the house she’d so grown to love, she couldn’t break away.
She eyed the chipped paint, the fading wallpaper, and the small hearth, wondering how she’d ever not found them charming—wondering how she was going to leave all of this behind.
“We are a quiet party this evening, are we not?” Mama said, eying the silent room. “Or are we preparing for the long journey ahead of us tomorrow?”
Tomorrow. They would be leaving tomorrow. That was two weeks earlier than they had planned. But this was for the best. She’d be home faster. She’d be away from Mr. Eastwoo
d quicker. And she would marry Mr. Roberts sooner.
Instead of relief flooding through her, Amy’s stomach merely tightened, causing the food she’d just eaten to roil about inside her.
Hugh rolled his head back until he leaned it against the sofa. “I’m merely trying to digest the food given us. Cook certainly fed us enough to last the whole of our journey.”
“Indeed. She is marvelous.” Mr. Roberts pumped his head up and down. “Although, the cook at Pagemore Place is just as talented. You will be sure to enjoy her cooking, as well, Miss Paxton.”
Amy stared for a moment, a split-second of confusion pursing her brow, then she realized…Mr. Roberts was speaking of when Amy would move in with him at his family’s estate.
The food in her stomach rose. Of course she’d had the thought before—having to move from Roseley House to Pagemore, having to be with the man romantically. She’d always had a sour taste in her mouth, like she’d eaten an unripe apple.
But this time was different. This time, the image in her mind’s eye made her head spin. She would be eating at his table, surrounded by his family. Then she would retire with a man she did not love.
Heat burgeoned within her, swirling from her limbs and stifling her breath. Fire swept across her cheeks and brow. How could she follow through with the notion?
No. She needed to relax. She’d been through all of this before—the panic, the second-guessing. All she needed was some fresh air and some time alone to think.
She stood abruptly from her seat.
“Are you well, Amy?” Mama asked, concern pursing her brow.
“Yes, of course. I’m just going to stretch my legs for a moment before I retire.”
“Would you care for some company?” Papa asked.
“Oh, I was going to offer the same,” Mr. Roberts piped in, scooting forward on his seat, though he moved a little too eagerly, as if he was merely copying Papa.
Papa sent him a look of annoyance. He’d been silent for days, ever since she’d agreed to marry Mr. Roberts. Papa was protective of her, and she couldn’t quite get herself to convince him to be otherwise.
The Cottage by Coniston (Seasons of Change Book 5) Page 24