Drew nodded at the handiwork completed so far. He hoped Sarah would enjoy the color scheme, for when they’d gone to the village yesterday and she’d selected a gown for the ceremony, she’d gravitated to one of emerald silk. The suite would give her somewhere to go when—if—she tired of his company or couldn’t stomach his flaws.
Perhaps that was inevitable.
By increments, his chest tightened with familiar anxiety as he inspected the quilted brocade counterpane in swirls of green paisley shot with gold thread. How the devil did he think the upcoming union would work if he couldn’t pass a day without falling victim to this horrible, weighted feeling that stole his breath and wished to see him dead? To say nothing of the anger that robbed him of the ability to think clearly.
I must try, for he suspected marrying Sarah was his last chance for salvation. If she gave up on him, he’d lose himself to emotions he couldn’t control.
With a final nod, he left the countess’ suite. Perhaps this gesture of goodwill would inspire her to make the best from the situation so she might accept him, befriend him, and enjoy his company.
For his own sake.
When he exited her rooms, he strode down the hall and made a quick stop in his chambers. “Barton, I don’t think this cravat particularly works today.” He must look his best, for he planned to surprise Sarah today. It was Sunday, her one day off from her post, and he wished to reassure himself that she wouldn’t back out of their betrothal.
The valet came out of the dressing room with a pristine length of cotton in one hand. “What the devil is wrong with it? I tied it according to your preference.”
“I’m not certain. Perhaps we should try again, this time with a more understated knot?” He glanced into the cheval mirror and frowned. “The stickpin isn’t that visible with this one.”
“I see.” Barton closed the distance. In a thrice he’d removed the ruby pin, the collar, as well as the cravat and replaced the length of fabric. This time he created a more elegant knot that wasn’t as fussy as the first. Once a new collar had been put into place, the stickpin was reinserted. “Remember, my lord, practicing charm can only help your cause.” He arranged the folds of the cravat so the ruby winked better from its folds.
“You assume I’m surly by nature?” Perhaps he was—now. This life had been thrust upon him without waiting to see if he’d been ready.
The valet snorted. “You’ve grown complacent with the status quo because it’s easier even if it’s killing you.” Barton handed him his gloves and top hat. “However, you can change.”
“I’m rather old to start over, don’t you think?” he asked through the squeezing of his chest. What would it even feel like to be free of everything that brought him concern?
“I think you might attempt it for your bride’s sake.” Barton winked. “No doubt she’ll appreciate the effort and might be dazzled by your winning personality.”
“Ha!” Drew scoffed. “Sarah is too practical for dazzlement. Besides, she’d see right through me if I tried such gammon on her.” Drew tugged on his gloves as he strode to the door. “Regardless, I’ll strive to keep my temper in check.” He set his hat upon his head, but when his fingers touched the door latch, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Why are you so interested in my wooing Miss Copeland?”
The valet shrugged. “I want to see you happy, my lord. You haven’t been that for many years. Don’t you think it’s time you let go of old resentments and walk into your future without regret?”
“No, I haven’t been happy, have I?” Those emotions crawled up to tighten his throat. “I can’t blame that on taking the title, can I?”
“You cannot. And I’m…” Barton’s words trailed away as concern clouded his eyes.
“Yes?” Drew cocked an eyebrow.
“I’m worried about you.” The valet straightened his spine. “Those attacks of yours are growing worse and coming closer together.”
“They are.” His hand on the door hand shook. “I don’t know how to stop them.” Only when Sarah played her flute did he feel halfway normal, as if he weren’t going to break apart with one more responsibility. When she’d sat with him on that boulder and held his hand in silence, he’d had a glimpse of what life could be… if only he wasn’t a growling beast most of the time.
A ghost of a smile spread over Barton’s face. “Then, go be charming when you see Miss Coleman. Perhaps every answer you seek starts with her.”
“Perhaps.” Drew fled before another attack could take hold, but he was more confused now than before.
*
An hour later, he trotted Ares along the country lanes until he spotted Sarah’s familiar form, clad this time in pale blue. Leaning over the horse’s neck, he whispered, “Let’s see how fast we can annoy the governess, shall we?” Then he dug his heels into the animal’s sides and encouraged Ares into a gallop. He didn’t let up until he blew past her. She darted aside with a squeal of outrage. When he turned the horse about and came abreast of her, she stood with a hand on her hip and a scowl on her face.
Something about keeping her at sixes and sevens tickled him.
“How dare you, Andrew!” A tendril of hair had escaped its bun, and with her bonnet hanging around her neck by its ribbons, that blonde tress waved in the breeze. “I am not amused.”
“Oh, but I am.” He grinned down at her. How pretty she was with the splash of high color in her cheeks and her brown eyes snapping fire. “You didn’t hear my approach? I thought we’d talked about that from the last time.”
“I must have been woolgathering.” Once more she carried a basket. When she caught him looking at its contents, she lifted her chin. “I needed a few things from the village shop.”
“What sort of things?”
She dropped her gaze and the spectacles slid down her nose. “Personal things that aren’t your concern.”
Well, he was even more curious. “I thought I’d taken care of anything you had need of for the ceremony yesterday.”
Ares stepped closer to her and snuffled her bonnet and hair, went so far as to nip at the straw brim.
Sarah snickered as she gently guided his head away. When she raised her chin, she pushed the spectacles into place. “There are some items a woman requires that a man shouldn’t know about.” Another wash of pink stained her cheeks, from his notice or the sun he couldn’t say. “A woman only weds once, if she’s lucky, and she wishes that day to feel… special, even if no one else will see such… things.”
“Ah.” Drew desperately wished to know what was wrapped in that brown parcel paper. Could it be that this innocent governess harbored a secret side? Awareness swept over him and went straight to his shaft. He remembered those embroidered stockings she’d had last week. What had she purchased this time? A silk robe? Fancy undergarments? He shifted in the saddle as his arousal grew.
“What are you doing out here besides bedeviling me?” The sound of her voice yanked him from his inappropriate thoughts.
“I came to take you on a picnic and had a hunch you might have gone to the village.” Had it only been a week since he’d met her, argued with her, kissed her? He indicated a willow basket of his own tied to the pommel. “Are you in the mood for a light repast?”
Her eyes widened behind the lenses. “You thought to do something with me that doesn’t include arguing or won’t benefit you?”
A stab of annoyance went through his chest, cooling his earlier ardor, but he shoved the emotion aside. “I did.” Be charming, Drew. You want her to marry you, not denounce you. “Is that agreeable?”
“Yes, of course.” The smile she flashed was genuine, for it reflected in her eyes and the delicate skin framing them crinkled. He gawked. Had she always… glowed like that? Then she eyed his saddle. “Do you expect me to ride to your undisclosed location?”
Well, he had, and what was more, he’d anticipated holding her in front of him. “You don’t enjoy riding?”
“Not particularly.”
“I…” Her cheeks blazed with a dark pink hue.
A satisfied chuckle escaped him. She wasn’t altogether in control as she wished him to see. It would be such fun to undress her on their wedding night. “Then I’ll walk with you… as long as you promise to ride back with me,” he added with a wink. Drew dismounted. “Besides, we’re not far from the spot you chose yesterday. That’s where I’d planned to picnic.” When he offered his crooked arm, he asked, “Shall we?”
Her lower jaw fell slightly open, a sure sign he was doing his best at enchanting her. “Absolutely.” She tucked her hand into his bent elbow and soon walked beside him along the hardpacked road. “Are you foxed this afternoon? It’s the only explanation for your behavior.”
“I am quite sober.” He’d imbibed in a snifter of brandy last night before he’d settled into bed, but by and large, he hadn’t ingested vast quantities of liquor since leaving London. “What makes you ask?”
“You’re acting so… so…” She floundered.
“Charming?” he helpfully supplied.
“I would have said nonconfrontational, but charming is a better word.” Sarah glanced at him with speculation in those honey-hued depths. “How did you pass the evening last night when we parted? Did the calm you found last long?”
No, that calm hadn’t lasted. The moment he’d stepped foot in Hadleigh Hall, everything had come pouring back. “Suffice it to say I had a glass of brandy before I retired.” She didn’t need to know what a mess his life had become just now. All too soon she’d witness it for herself. Another pull of anxiety knotted his insides.
How long would she stay after that?
“Mmm, I see. How did you sleep?”
He frowned. Did she truly care or was this inane small talk? “Well enough.” That wasn’t fully the truth. He’d slept for six hours straight without waking with an attack. For the first time in years.
Because of her. Could she guess how frantic he was to discern if she were truly the answer he sought?
“Good.” She squeezed her fingers on his arm. “Relax, Andrew. I won’t hurt you, and in the event you wondered, I promised to marry you. I won’t back out now.”
How the devil could she have known that was uppermost in his mind? “Thank you.” He managed to choke out the words despite his tight throat and the emotions that threatened to embarrass him, but damn if he didn’t appreciate the slight touch of her hand on his arm.
For long moments, they walked in silence while he led Ares by the reins.
Sarah broke the quiet, and he almost regretted that. “I told my great uncle of our impending nuptials this morning.”
“Ah, good. Was he pleased with how well you’ve done for yourself and the position you’ll soon find yourself in?”
“Not exactly.” She sighed. “He was more concerned with who would teach his children, and how soon he could meet you to give you his congratulations in person.” A trace of annoyance threaded through her voice.
The gall of the man to belittle her! Anger flooded him in a hot surge. “I’ll call on him and dress him down. He shouldn’t treat a future countess with such disrespect.”
“Yet it’s perfectly acceptable for him—and you—to treat me that way because I don’t command a title at the moment?”
Regret froze the anger in its tracks, for he’d done exactly the same thing as her relative. “I apologized for that incident.”
“I know.” Sarah bit her lush bottom lip, and he had the distinct urge to kiss her. She strengthened her hold on his arm when his muscles went taut. “Please don’t confront him. What my great uncle thinks doesn’t matter anymore. My future is with you, not him and his family.”
That mollified him slightly. She would do well as a countess, for already she knew how to deflect a potentially disastrous situation. “Very well, but only because you asked me not to.” He glanced at her and found her gaze. “He won’t be given another chance to treat you as he’s done. I can promise you that.”
Once they arrived at the designated spot, Drew turned Ares loose to graze on the long meadow grass. Then he took a quilt from his basket and spread it on the ground.
“This is a lovely idea. Thank you,” she murmured with a smile.
“You’re welcome.” He removed a few parcels of food and a bottle of lemonade and set them on the blanket. “Cook told me she packed several of my favorite foods as well as goodies ladies usually enjoy. You’ll need to inform her of your tastes.”
“I will.” She nodded as she sat upon the quilt and arranged her skirts about her folded legs. “Have you, ah, informed your staff that you plan to marry?”
“I did.”
“How did they react?”
“Does it matter? They work for me.”
She huffed. “Of course it does. Are they happy for you? Excited to have a countess in residence again?” A hint of unease clouded her eyes. “I’d rather not come into an existing household where animosity brews belowstairs.”
“I suppose that would make things more difficult.” Drew poured her a glass of lemonade and handed it off. “Truth be told, my staff is thrilled. They’ve long wished to feel useful. It’s been years since Hadleigh Hall had life under its roof, and now they’ll have a new mistress to attend to.”
“It’s all so… overwhelming. It will be a huge change from what I’m used to.” Her hand holding the glass trembled. “What if I fail in my position? Or fail you?” The tiny catch in her voice tugged at his compassion and brought down a few bricks from around the wall of his heart.
Was it possible she struggled with some of the same feelings, the same fear of inadequacy, that he did? “If you do, then I have failed you first.” Wanting to reassure her, he gently eased the glass from her fingers, set it aside and then took her hand in his. “Sarah, you will make a fine countess. Of that I have no doubts.” He might live most of his existence lost in a quagmire of horrid emotions, but in this he was adamant.
“I hope you’re right.” She nodded. “You are certain you wish to go through with all this?”
“When I make a promise, I keep it. And my duty to the title demands that I wed.” Dash it all, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say!
“Ah.” She huffed and yanked her hand away. “A business arrangement. Thank you for recalling me to what this truly is so my head won’t be turned by surface niceties such as picnics.”
Anger flared, and this time he didn’t try to beat it back. “That’s what we agreed upon, yes?” In fact, it was she who’d first offered that terminology when he’d asked her to marry him.
“Yes.” Though she agreed, she dropped her gaze to her lap where her fingers were tightly clasped. “But I’d hoped you and I could find friendship along the way, for the other… tasks ahead in fulfilling your duty require a fair amount of intimacy.”
“And trust,” he added in a small voice as her words from yesterday came back to him. How long had it been since he’d had complete trust in another person? Not even Barton knew all his secrets… or fears. Would she be the one to take all the battered, blackened parts of him and polish them up so the light could shine in?
Did he want her to?
“Regardless of what sort of marriage we have, there must be some level of trust there, Andrew.” Finally, she looked at him, found his gaze. Uncertainly shone in her eyes. “I shall do my level best in this new role, but I need for you to do the same. It will take a joint effort, especially if we wish for this union to be a success. Isn’t that a portion of what the duty entails?”
He hadn’t seen the problem from that perspective before; he’d only thought of marrying and producing an heir. Yet she was right. He would need to work at the marriage and make it a success, for the years were long enough without hating one’s wife, no matter how many concessions for just that were built into the contract. Now that he saw it as she did, anoth
er layer of metaphorical bricks landed upon his shoulders, and he gasped from that weight.
“Oh, God.” Was he already failing now because he knew nothing about his bride-to-be? In his head he imagined Finn’s mocking laughter or Brand’s sarcastic comments about him wasting the title, and he choked. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision.
“Andrew, breathe.” Sarah crawled over the quilt to his position, paying no mind to the spilled lemonade that dampened a spot on her skirts. She kneeled beside him and wrapped her arms about him. The scents of violets and clover teased his nose and helped bring order to the chaos bouncing through his brain. “Don’t think of everything at once. Take one task at a time, pay one thing your attention, and then move on to the next once it’s finished.” The dulcet tones of her voice sailed across his consciousness and scrubbed at the blackness that wanted to swallow him. “Rest easy knowing I’ll help you if I can, as your wife, as your countess, as your friend.”
“I don’t have many friends. Not anymore.” He’d pushed everyone away before they could see how broken he was, before they could judge him, before they could leave.
It was easier and hurt less.
Or so he’d thought.
“Shh.” She rubbed a hand up and down his arm with slow, soothing motions. “Start with one and go from there. I’ll wager there are plenty of people who worry about you but don’t know how to reach out or help.”
He turned his head into her, following the sound of her voice, and rested his cheek on her breasts, tucked an arm around her hips. Beneath his ear, her heartbeat thrummed steady and fast. She was warm and real, in this moment, with him, and she hadn’t shied away at the beginnings of this attack. That was something. For long seconds he remained like that, borrowing from her quiet strength until the terror and the darkness had been beaten back enough that he could function.
The Soul of a Storme Page 11