The Soul of a Storme

by SOOKOO, SANDRA

  No doubt it was much like trying to bag the wind.

  Pressure on his fingers recalled him to the moment. Sarah shook her head. “Your brothers have their own paths to walk. You may give them advice, but their futures are not yours.”

  “It is so difficult for me.” He met her gaze and took strength from her. “They’ll make mistakes that I could circumvent by—”

  “Everyone learns by making mistakes. Those choices are theirs, like every decision you make is yours.” She sighed. “There isn’t a primer on how to conduct oneself through life and its pitfalls. We learn as we go, and if we’re lucky, we have someone by our side who will support us through those endeavors.”

  Her use of “we’re” instead of “you’re” brought a sense of calm once more. If he weren’t careful, he’d come to adore her all too much, and then where would he be?

  Sarah’s attention fell to his signet ring. She twisted his hand so she could study the design. What would she think about the two swords and a spear that were stabbing through the storm cloud? “Do the weapons represent you and your brothers?”

  “Not likely, since the coat-of-arms was fashioned for the title four earls ago, but I assume it must have represented something similar.” He remained silent for a time, content to listen to the rain. Perhaps throughout his family line the men destined to become title holders struggled with the same issues he did. “However, a good portion of men in my family have expired early in their lives. It doesn’t bode well for my future.” And suddenly, he dearly wished that weren’t true. He hadn’t spent enough time with Sarah…

  Oh, dear God, can it be that I’m falling for my wife? How was that possible after such a short marriage, when one of those weeks was spent apart from her?

  “That is an interesting tidbit.” Amusement danced in her eyes. “Perhaps you’ve inherited a generational sense of duty and responsibility that causes too much strain on your heart.” Then concern wrinkled her brow. “For your sake, I implore you to keep up the good fight against your temper and anxiety.”

  “As I said, I’m trying.” When his jaw clenched, he forced himself to relax. If his heart attacked him and he died prematurely, the title would go to Finn, for he and Sarah hadn’t been wed long enough to have children. What would become of his brothers and his wife? Strain moved through his shoulders, a warning sign that anxiety threatened. “I need more time to practice.”

  “I know.” She lifted his hand and kissed the back of it. “Regarding your brothers…”

  A huff of exasperation escaped him. “Must we continue to revisit the subject?” He glided his free hand up and down her ribcage, being sure to brush his fingers along the slope of her breast. “There are other, more fulfilling ways to pass a rainy day.”

  “Oh, hush.” A pretty stain of pink filled her cheeks. It was adorable, for they’d already come together twice, but suggestive talk embarrassed her. Her expression sobered. “I’m doing this for you. Healing needs to begin, and that can only happen if you talk about the hurt you’re clinging to.”

  “Fine.” He couldn’t help the growl that had formed in his voice. After shaking his hand free of hers, he wrapped his arms tighter about her body, for this conversation would no doubt stir the demons within. “Ask me what you will.”

  When she rested a hand on his chest, the warmth of her seared into him. “Are you angry your brothers fought in the war and you didn’t, or that they don’t bear the responsibility of the title?”

  Was it one or the other? He must have winced or otherwise shown his discomfort, for she moved her hand to his cheek and turned his head until their eyes locked. “Look at me. Don’t give that anxiety any room to bully you.”

  For the first time in his life, Drew didn’t shove down the emotions that churned inside him. He let them bubble to the surface, stared at them in an effort to analyze what would break him if he didn’t address it. “I am angry that I wasn’t allowed to join in the fight against Napoleon.” He clenched his jaw so tight his teeth hurt. When she patted his cheek, he forced himself to relax with a sigh. “I’m angry that I couldn’t protect them. I’m angry they can do whatever they want with their lives while I’m stuck, buried under the duty to the title.”

  Speaking it aloud took away a portion of its sting. It was there and he could confront it.

  “Good.” She nodded. “Has becoming angry changed the past?”

  “No.”

  “Has letting anger consume you fixed or healed your brothers?”

  “No.”

  “Does being angry help you learn how to be a better earl?”

  He sighed. “It has not.”

  Sarah nodded. “Then it is a waste of your time to let it rule you.” When she smiled, he savored the sense of calm she imparted. “The war is over, Andrew. What happened to your brothers, though tragic, did happen, and nothing you do now, nothing you think now, none of those regrets or anger will change the past. The measure of a man is when he moves forward and meets the present challenges.”

  A wad of unshed tears lodged in his throat. “I’m afraid that all my efforts will be for naught and I’ll never free myself from the years of hiding emotions.” Essentially, he would lose her due to that failure.

  She rose in his lap and brushed her lips against his. “It doesn’t make a man weak to show emotions or to let yourself cry.”

  “My father taught us differently.” His chest ached. “I don’t want you to view me as less,” he managed to gasp out.

  “Flaws, emotions, reacting to things don’t make you less than an ideal gentleman. In fact, allowing yourself to show them makes you more approachable, more trustworthy.” A trace of moisture filled her eyes. “None of that will change how I feel about you.”

  It was all too much, and he wasn’t experienced enough to feel everything assailing him and then releasing it. “Oh, Sarah. I can’t continue like this.” The urge to cry, to yell, to let out some of the things that felt stuck within him grew strong. Instead of shoving her off his lap as he might have done at the beginning of their marriage, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and gave into the tears he’d denied himself over the course of his life.

  “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered into his ear while stroking her fingers through his hair. “Once you’re through purging all that doesn’t serve you any longer, you’ll have room to fill your life with better things.”

  He suspected she was part of that. Please, God, don’t let me fail at this.

  An urgent rapping at the drawing room door broke the spell he’d fallen into. “My lord, I have a missive for you.”

  Drew lifted his head and frowned. “I’d forgotten I’d locked the door.”

  Sarah wiped at the tears on her cheeks, and the smile she flashed him was a watery affair. “Poor Dalton sounds frantic.” She wriggled off his lap, and immediately he missed that connection. “Take pity on him.”

  He scrubbed at his own cheeks on the way across the room. No sooner had he turned the lock and pulled open one of the double doors than the butler thrust an envelope into his hand.

  “This arrived for you not five minutes past by special courier direct from London. He is currently belowstairs with refreshments should you wish to send a reply.”

  “What now?” Drew’s hands shook as he tore open the envelope and pulled a single sheet of paper out. His mother’s flowery script only covered one half of the paper. The date on the top indicated the missive was two days old.

  Dearest Andrew,

  Come home immediately. Phineas nearly committed suicide. He was thwarted in his quest by hitting his head on a piece of furniture when he fell from his chair. Thank God. As of this writing, he is unconscious. I am fearful we’ll still lose him. You need to set things right.

  Fondest love,

  Mother

  “Devil take it!” He crushed the note in his fist and then tossed it toward Sarah as she slowly approached.

  The butler cleared his throat. “Is there a reply, my lord?”r />
  “No. I’ll go myself.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Will I never be free of responsibility?”

  “Andrew, what is happening?” Concern wove through Sarah’s voice.

  “Reality.” Without bothering to explain his intentions to his wife, he strode from the room, and inevitably, anxiety roared to life in his chest, bringing with it the crushing weight of duty.

  Why could he not rise above the damned emotion?

  Because anger was familiar and easy; peace was not.

  Once more he’d failed. Cold disappointment circled through his gut. It had been folly to expect anything more of himself.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Drew stormed along the corridor and then took the stairs two at a time. How could this happen? Why did his brother think life was so horrid that he needed to kill himself? I should have been there. I should never have come to Derbyshire.

  “Andrew, wait.”

  His body jerked at the sound of Sarah’s voice as if he’d been shot. “Leave me alone. This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t.” Gone were the dulcet tones, the soft way she’d spoken to him during their time in the drawing room. Annoyance and disappointment roiled in her voice, and the tap tap of her heels on the stairs behind him a testament that she followed. “You are my husband, so what affects you bothers me as well.” She caught up to him on the next level, and when she took his arm, she jerked him around to face her. The crumpled note was in her free hand. “Are you going to London?”

  “Don’t you think I need to?”

  “This note is already two days old. By the time you reach the capital, another two days will have passed. Finn is alive.” She pushed her spectacles into place. “What do you expect you can do for him?”

  Why did she think to challenge him at every turn? “He is family.” Turning on his heel, Drew proceeded along the corridor, and at his suite, he shoved open the door. “If I had been there in the first place, none of this would have happened.”

  “Do you really believe that?” She marched in after him and stood, her hands planted on her hips, glaring at him.

  Too bad there was no time to fully appreciate the brewing storm she was. “Yes, damn it, I do. I would have seen he was in peril and prevented this attempt.”

  She snorted. “This from the man who can’t see to his own trauma and healing.” With a flick of her hand, she flung the note onto a nearby table. “Men with Finn’s mindset are in a lost place, somewhere that a man with a blazing temper and demanding attitude will never be able to reach. If they can’t find their way out, they’ll attempt their death again.”

  “Are you so selfish that you would prevent me from attending to my family?” Oh, God. That wasn’t what he’d wished to say at all, but the anger rising in a hot tide to fill his chest prevented him from making quick amends.

  “Of course not. I’m merely asking you to think this through.” She took a step toward him, but he routed her and moved into his sitting room. “If Finn is farther gone than we suspect, he needs the care of someone who can control his own emotions. He needs a doctor. If you go in there barking orders and tramping through delicate issues like a bull in a china shop, you run the risk of forever ruining your chances of repairing a relationship with him.”

  “You wish to consign my brother to death.” A growl sounded in his voice.

  “Absolutely not, but neither do I wish you to make his situation worse. I’m merely stating you’re not the one he needs right now.”

  He rounded on her. “You can’t possibly know about anything concerning family since you have none. Don’t you dare to dictate to me how I should act or speak.” The moment he said the words, hurt jumped into her eyes, and they welled with tears. Bloody hell. “I apologize.” Then in a more modulated voice, he added, “I couldn’t protect Finn on the battlefield, but I can damn well try in this.”

  Surprise rounded her eyes. “That is one of the greatest truths I’ve heard you utter.” A tentative smile curved her lips.

  Her surprise and delight despite him being horrid to her only deepened his guilt, but beneath that, a thread of calm spun through his insides, further confusing him. “I am capable of truth and trust, you know.” The words came out on a snarl. “Just now I’m not inclined to work on personal growth.”

  “When your anger cools and you can talk to me with a rational mind, I’ll be more than happy to discuss this further.” She blinked quickly as tears filled her eyes. “But remember what we talked about this afternoon. You were doing so well, and now…” A tiny sob escaped. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye. I never had the chance to do that with my parents, and if something happens to you while on this trip, in the rain…”

  Damn and blast. She would worry about him while he was away? A piece of his heart flew into her keeping. He rather liked that. “Sarah, wait.”

  But she’d already cleared the door. The rapid tap of her heels on the hardwood faded, quickly followed by the slam of her door down the hall. No, she wasn’t in a receptive mood, and quite frankly, he didn’t have the time or inclination to grovel.

  Drew cursed himself to the devil. It was one thing to close himself off from his family, but to potentially lose Sarah because he couldn’t balance the two halves of his life?

  I need to think.

  *

  July 12, 1817

  Sarah waited in the morning room for Andrew even though her stomach protested the early morning as well as the scent of the eggs and other savories on the sideboard. No doubt something she’d eaten at breakfast yesterday didn’t agree with her, for she’d skipped dinner last night after her husband had completely undone all the progress he’d made.

  Finally, he arrived, his tread heavy, his bootheels ringing on the floor, the spicy lime smell of him announcing his presence in the small room. His expression was haggard as if he hadn’t slept well; neither had she.

  “Sarah, I…” He looked at her then darted his glance away.

  “I’d hoped to catch you.” She wrapped her fingers around her cup of tea, craving its warmth. “Are you riding to London?”

  “Yes, with Barton. We’ll return with a coach, for speed on the back side of the trip is not imperative.”

  “Of course.” She stared at the broad width of his shoulders as he filled his plate. Why should he worry about rushing back to his wife? Also, this way, he wouldn’t ask her to accompany him. There was so much she wished to say, but from his taut posture and clenched jaw, he wouldn’t receive it well.

  When he’d brought his plate to the table and took a seat opposite her, she sighed. They wouldn’t return to the intimacy they’d had yesterday, and she mourned that closeness. “I expect to remain in London for several days.” Then he tucked into his food as if nothing had occurred to drive a wedge between them.

  “And upon your return? What then?”

  “What do you mean?” He glanced at her from over the rim of his coffee cup.

  She put her own cup down. “Will you run away whenever you begin to feel good about your life, when peace is in your grasp?” For that was exactly what was happening. He was floundering in a morass of emotion, and she suspected he didn’t want the lighter ones to win.

  “I don’t run.” He followed the statement by shoving a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

  “You do, and you’re doing it now.” She despised the waver in her voice. “Your brother is a grown man, and your mother is there too. Until he makes peace with his own demons, there’s nothing you can do.”

  The earl narrowed his eyes. “Are you an expert on human nature or the mind?” He threw his fork onto his plate, scattering food onto the highly shined tabletop. “You were a damned governess. I doubt you have the education needed here.”

  “Why am I not surprised you’ve resorted to belittling me?” A shaft of hot ire stabbed through her chest. None of it was fair, but with this attitude, he wouldn’t listen anyway. “I don’t deserve that, and I won’t stand for
it.”

  “And neither will I sit here and let you dictate to me how much better adjusted to life you are than the Storme brothers.” He stood so abruptly, his chair slid over the floor and crashed against the wall. “It’s becoming quite off-putting.”

  “Fair point.” Sarah nodded. “However, I do speak from some experience, because I almost lost myself to grief and anger after my parents died. That’s the root problem here you’re struggling with.” For long moments she stared at her empty plate. His anger was palpable in the air, and that caused her own mood to sink. Then she said, “Why are you really taking this trip?”

  He huffed. “We’ve been over this.”

  “Are you afraid Finn will die knowing how much of an arse you are, or do you wish to order him about, shame him into doing what you want as your father did to you?”

  “How can you know that?” He gawked. When she merely lifted an eyebrow, he continued. “How can I not? He’s my responsibility. My father’s last words were to look after my brothers.”

  “I understand that, but you can’t live their lives, and you certainly won’t convince anyone to change their path unless you’re walking a new one.”

  His ire lessened and a trace of fear scudded through his eyes. “I have to be there… so they will love and respect me, so my family will know I care, even though I haven’t been able to say it…”

  The poor man was nearing another breaking point. She wanted to hold him, to tell him it would hurt to set the feelings free, but it would prove worth it, yet she didn’t move. “They do love you, but you’ll never see that until you love yourself.”

  “Gah.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “What gammon.”

  “Is it? You and I won’t have a true relationship unless to accept yourself, flaws and all, and then forgive not only you but your brothers, your father.” She blinked back the tears in her eyes. “It breaks my heart to see you struggle…”

  A muscle in his cheek ticked, but he said nothing.

  “You needn’t if you’d stop carrying it all.” Sarah shrugged and rose to her feet. “When will you realize that you’re worthy of love regardless of what’s happened, Andrew? That you’re as entitled as anyone else to a good life, a life where you let someone care for you, where you need only worry about yourself?”