The Soul of a Storme

by SOOKOO, SANDRA

  “I can’t.” Faint purple smudges beneath his eyes spoke of his inability to sleep.

  “No, you don’t want to. This is no time to cling to your stubborn pride.” Daring much, Sarah briefly cupped his cheek. Since she’d left the house rather quickly, she’d neglected to bring gloves, and the prickles of his stubble tickled her palm, left her with a rising rush of awareness for him. “Haven’t you carried this weight for too long?”

  “Yes, yet—”

  “You’re naught but an arse if you continue to let the worries keep you prisoner.” Those words might prompt him into action.

  Anger creased his features. He jerked away from her touch. “What do you know of it?”

  “Enough that had you bothered to ask, I would have told you a week ago.” She wrapped a hand around her locket. “I went through some of the same emotions when my parents died. I felt hopeless, helpless, frightened. I was alone.”

  He eyed her with suspicion. “How did you come out on the other side?” He clenched his fingers in the fabric of his shirt, his knuckles white.

  “I didn’t let them control me. I decided that despite the gaping hole their loss left in my life, there was more living yet to do. That I had much to give.” She met his gaze. “I didn’t run away or stuff everything deep down inside me to fester like an infected wound.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “You do.” She sat back and stared at him. “Each time something new happens that shakes the foundations of your world, you bear the responsibility, and that anxiety is giving you these attacks. When that happens, you have no more room in your mind, your body, to hold on. Let some of it go, Andrew, else you’ll soon join your father, and I…” She sighed again and pushed her spectacles back into place. “I’d rather keep you in the land of the living for a while yet.”

  “Why?” A terrible gasping sound followed. “You and I don’t get on well.”

  She smiled, but it was small and tight. “Whose fault is that? Perhaps I’d like to see if any of that can change.”

  Silence reigned for long moments, marked by the steady thud of her heartbeat. Then a wordless cry escaped him. He shifted his weight, buried his face in her lap, one hand twisting in the skirting, and he sobbed. Great gulping things that pulled at her heart and sent tears into her own eyes.

  With nothing else to do, Sarah finger-combed his hair, stroked her hand through the tangled, dirty mass in the hopes of soothing him. “Tell me about your father. What is your best memory with him?”

  “I was perhaps twelve. That summer we came out to Hadleigh Hall. Finn was nine and Brand was six, hardly more than a baby, but Father decided it was time we learned how to fish.” The words were muffled by her skirts and halting as he struggled to breathe properly. “There’s a pond to the north on the acreage. We all marched out there. Father had a line in the water. I was impatient back then.”

  “You still are,” she murmured and continued to stroke his hair.

  “I tried and tried to get a fish, but I never did.”

  “What did your father do?”

  “Chuckled and taught us how to skip rocks.”

  “I’ll wager you weren’t pleased.”

  “I didn’t want to do it if the fish weren’t going to cooperate, but Father said there was more to fishing than catching something on your hook.” Andrew turned his head and rested his cheek on her leg. “I always wondered what he meant. Now I suspect it was his way of escaping from the stresses of the title and trying to find calm.”

  She caught her breath. This was an opportunity to go deeper with him. “What do you make of that, if it’s true?”

  “I wonder if he struggled too,” he responded in a small voice.

  “Of course he did.” Sarah continued to stroke his head. “Don’t you think all men who hold titles, who wish to make a go of it instead of being wastrels, constantly fight between duty and having time for themselves?” She brushed her fingertips along the side of his face. “Why do you think powerful men ride and hunt and fish when they come to their country homes? It’s to relieve some of that tension.”

  He shrugged and wrapped his free arm around her lower legs. Tingles danced up her limbs from the point of contact. “I wish I could go back.”

  “To see your father one last time?” She often thought that might be pleasant too, but there was no sense in torturing herself.

  “No, so I could be the man I was then, without knowing what life held for me.” Such desolation hung in his voice that she swallowed down tears once more.

  “Did you father not prepare you for this eventuality?”

  Another ragged breath escaped, and he gasped as if he couldn’t fill his lungs. “In some ways, yes, but in others, I feel…”

  “Yes?” Her heartbeat accelerated. He was finally opening up.

  “I feel as if I’ve been tossed to the wolves.” Again, he sobbed, and the force of it shook his body as he clung to her.

  Sarah pushed her spectacles into place. She blinked to clear away the moisture from her eyes. In many ways, he was a broken and lost young man missing his father, looking for direction and approval, but when he found none, he didn’t know how to conduct himself. “You can never return to the man you were before your father died. That life is gone, but there’s no reason you can’t enjoy what this life holds.”

  “How can I when I’m failing on every front?” He lifted his head and stared at her. In the purple shadows of twilight, tears ravaged his cheeks and fear haunted the stormy depths of his eyes. Had he not eaten much during the last week? His face seemed a bit leaner. “I hurt everything I touch, am responsible for too much. Everyone would be better off if I weren’t around, except Finn can’t—” He gasped and clutched at his chest. “Oh, God.”

  “Breathe, Andrew. Don’t listen to the lies anxiety tells you.” She covered his hand that rested on her thigh with hers. “I refuse to let my husband give up the ghost before his time.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve failed you.”

  Yes, he had, but at least he recognized that.

  “It’s a natural course in anyone’s life. You’ll fail as the earl, as a husband, as a man. We all do, but that’s part of being alive.” She squeezed his fingers. “However, you’ll also have the strength to push through those bad days. You’ll learn how to do what you must in order to do what you want.” A smile curved her lips. “You’ll find your path and eventually, you’ll also find joy, because that’s never gone away. You’ve merely lost sight of it for a time.”

  “Bah.” He pulled his hand away. “How can I find any joy?” The hand on his chest tightened. “I’ve been the Earl of Hadleigh for over two years, and I’m failing.”

  “But you’ve been you for forty. Isn’t that cause for a good day or two?” She hadn’t meant it to sound flippant, but it did, and when he scowled, she merely smiled. “It can’t all have been bad.”

  “Perhaps not.” One corner of his mouth quirked but he didn’t give into a grin.

  It would take baby steps with this one.

  “Have you wished to succeed as the earl? Have you tried or did you give yourself over to bitterness from the outset?”

  “Have you always been so domineering?”

  She snorted. “Only when dealing with the stubborn ox of my husband.”

  “Ah.” He did grin then, but only for a second. It was a start. “To answer your question, I did try a few times. When those attempts didn’t yield results, I let bitterness have at it.”

  “And that’s when anxiety came to call. Yes?” At least he was being honest.

  “I’m responsible for… everything now.” He rubbed his chest. “The estate, the tenants, my mother, my brothers, their lives… you.” His breath quickened and he once more lapsed into gasping struggles. “I’m failing and everyone hates me for it.”

  “Listen to me. That is anxiety talking.” Sarah leaned forward and held his head between her palms. She forced him to meet her gaze. “No one, not me, not your mother, not y
our brothers, wants you to make yourself sick with worry about us. We’re all quite capable of living without your dictates.” She lifted an eyebrow. “The one thing you can do is your best today. Then do a little better tomorrow. And continue to improve by increments with each following day. You needn’t succeed in all of it at once. No one can.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what? Failing? That’s how we learn.”

  “Not just of that.” His jaw worked. He laid one hand against hers. “I’m alone with no guidance.”

  “You are not alone.” She kept her voice low and even. “But if you keep pushing those who are close to you away, you will be.”

  “I don’t want to hurt them… hurt you.” In the last of the light, she caught the stark honesty shining in his eyes.

  Her chest constricted. “You won’t, but find an outlet for your anger and other emotions. We can only remain patient and forgiving for so long, but you must change.”

  “If they abandon me, what will happen to me?”

  Ah, here was the crux of the issue. “You’re afraid of being alone.” How simple life was when boiled down to the truth.

  “Yes.” He clutched her hands, pulled them away from his head and rested them in her lap. “Please don’t leave me, Sarah. I know I’m not worthy of you, but—”

  “Shh.” Another round of tears sprang into her eyes. “I promise I won’t, only if you promise that you’ll walk out of this maze determined to change. I meant what I said before I married you. I refuse to live with a violent man.”

  It all rested with him.

  “What if I try to change but fail in that? It terrifies me to wonder what will become of my life if…”

  “We’re all afraid. The trick is to continue regardless. In that you’ll find the courage you need to survive.”

  “I doubt that you’re ever afraid.”

  “Oh no?” A laugh escaped before she could recall it. “Every day is new for me. I have no blessed clue how to be a countess.”

  “I made you do this,” he whispered brokenly and bowed his head over their entwined hands. He gasped for breath.

  “Breathe, Andrew. Concentrate on your surroundings. Listen to the sounds of the night, ground yourself into the world, and breathe.” When he did as instructed for the space of a few heartbeats, she nodded. “I’m responsible for my own choices, like everyone is with theirs. But if you’ll let me, I’ll work with you and ease some of your strain.”

  “After everything, you’ll choose to stay with me?”

  Would she? When she walked into the maze, she wasn’t certain. Now she was. She would fight for the soul of this Storme, even when he couldn’t see his own worth. “Flaws and all, I’ll remain by your side because I believe you’re capable of great things.”

  He met her gaze. Moisture clung to his dark lashes. His hands shook. “I’m so incredibly sorry for the debacle of our wedding night. It wasn’t well done of me and—”

  A piece of her heart flew into his keeping. “It’s in the past. We both weren’t ready.” With those words, his expression lightened. “Tonight, your new life starts. Don’t waste the second chance.”

  “I won’t.” Andrew surged to his feet, pulled her up with him, and then took her into a loose embrace. “You have my word, if that means anything.” He fit his lips to hers, kissing her so tenderly that she had tears in her eyes by its end.

  “Oh, goodness,” she managed to whisper as heat jumped into her cheeks. Awareness of him danced over her skin. When she caught a whiff of his pungent scent, she wrinkled her nose. “You stink.”

  “I’ve rather let myself go this week.” His laugh sounded rusty, but it was there, nonetheless. “When we go back, I’ll bathe. Barton’s been beside himself looking after me.” He took a shuddering breath, but this time he didn’t struggle. “Will you play your flute for me again? It helps.”

  “Of course I will.” She rested her palms against his chest.

  “Thank God.” He kissed her again with more insistence, his mouth moving over hers with an expertise and promise that made her head spin and tingles begin between her thighs. No, despite everything, the attraction hadn’t faded.

  Much more of this and she’d be lost. It was too early in their conversation to do that, but oh, those kisses were quite delicious and different from how he treated her a week ago! Before they could progress into something more wicked, she pulled away and smiled at his protest.

  “Trust must be repaired and rebuilt before we move forward into that quarter.”

  “But I thought we—”

  “Patience, Andrew. Court me, then we’ll revisit our physical relationship. Your actions will tell more than words.”

  And it would give her time to decide if he truly meant to change.

  Chapter Fourteen

  July 10, 1817

  Drew slapped his evening gloves against his thigh as he turned this way and that in front of the cheval glass. Was the ruby pin in his cravat visible enough? Did it matter any longer? After the talk he’d had with Sarah a week ago, some of the pent-up rage had lessened, but he hadn’t told her all his secrets, all his worries. Should he keep wearing the ruby regardless?

  A soft clearing of a masculine throat yanked him from his musings. Barton stood behind him. “You must leave now to arrive on time, my lord.”

  “Almost ready.” He tugged on the hem of his gold brocade waistcoat. Pearl buttons set in gold winked in the candlelight. Would Sarah like it? The garment had reposed in the back of his wardrobe for a few years, but Barton had finally convinced him to take a chance on wearing the elegant color instead of his usual black or gray.

  The valet handed him a worn, flat leather box. “You have done well this week from all accounts. Only two attacks. How are you feeling this evening?”

  How indeed? The past week had been nothing short of… eye opening. He and Sarah had come to an understanding the night of his mental break, but she hadn’t judged him. They’d begun their introduction and relationship again, and he had taken her words to heart. Each day brought its own struggles, but he’d found if he tackled it by pieces instead of attempting to swallow it in large chunks, he was more apt to control his temper as well as his anxiety.

  “I rather think the path I’m on will last.”

  At least, he hoped. Where it would lead, he didn’t yet know, but he was slowly learning to enjoy each day of the journey.

  “Good.” Barton grinned, and it struck Drew that his friend had done that precious little of late. “That makes me happy to hear.”

  It felt… nice to know that there were more people who cared about him than despised him. “Me, too.” Though he’d been solicitous and charming, and had spent copious amounts of time with Sarah, they hadn’t returned to physical relations.

  Hell, he hadn’t tried to kiss her for fear he’d muck up the easy peace he’d suddenly found. Passing the time by taking dinner together, sharing the library for hours on end, taking long walks about the estate, or meeting with tenants and hearing about problems had gone well. No longer did it feel like an impossible task to assume the responsibilities of the earl.

  But only if Sarah were with him.

  Sometimes in the evening she’d play her flute for him, ask his opinion on different pieces or her playing style. He lived for those moments, for that was when he could forget all that he had to be and could work at being who he needed to be. There was a certain amount of freedom in that knowledge.

  The few times he met with his estate foreman or dealt with correspondence from London, he suffered attacks of the crushing anxiety. But he practiced grounding himself to the moment like she’d told him, and they actually ended instead of rendering him unconscious.

  Meeting and marrying Sarah had become his lifeline.

  Belatedly, he held up the leather box in the same hand with his gloves. “I should collect the countess.”

  “Indeed.” Barton nodded. “When you suffered your break, she was quite concerned about you. I would
even go so far as to say she refused to give up on you.”

  A trace of irritation went through him, but Drew tamped the urge to give it attention. Not everything needed a reaction. That he was also beginning to learn. “As much as I’d like to say she needn’t worry, I’m not certain what would have happened to me if she hadn’t come that night.” He’d been at the end of his patience, and if there had been something in that rose arbor that could have assisted in killing him, no doubt he would have utilized it.

  Perhaps he was growing as a person now, thanks to her.

  The valet met his gaze with a knowing light in his eye. “I think wedding her is providing you with more than fulfilling an obligation to the title. As it should, my lord.”

  Heat crept up the back of his neck. He ignored that too. “I’m coming to enjoy our friendship. It’s rather pleasant to have someone who is determined to save me from myself.”

  Barton snorted. “If you continue to act the charming earl, she might be convinced to love you.”

  “Such gammon.” He rolled his eyes. “That was never part of the contract.”

  “Life happens despite our best laid plans, my lord.” The valet’s eyes twinkled.

  “Never say you’re playing matchmaker.” When his friend didn’t answer, Drew grinned with genuine humor. How long had it been since he’d felt free enough to do that? “I should turn you out.”

  “Ah, but then I’d still come ‘round, for we’ve been friends too long now, and I do wish to see how the story ends.”

  He’d met Barton ten years prior as a man of thirty during a game of faro, no less. Drew had the winning hand, was poised to take all a young lord’s vowels, which would have reduced the boy to nothing with pockets to let. But Drew had suffered his first bout of anxiety by worrying about the lad’s future after the ill-advised game. Before he could make a fool of himself in front of important members of the ton, Barton had sailed in, bought the vowels, and then challenged Drew to another game, thereby saving Andrew from public humiliation.

  After that, they’d struck a fast friendship. Since Barton was the sixth child of a viscount and had no inclination to go into the church, when Drew offered him the position of valet, it was accepted with alacrity.