The Viscount's Wayward Son: A Regency Romance (Ladies of the North Book 2)

by Isabella Thorne

  Oh, they’d had spats before and said plenty of times they would not speak to each other again, but neither had really meant it. Until now.

  As he stood there with his wounded pride, his cheek bright crimson formed in the shape of her hand, things felt different this time. Nothing could ever be the same between them again.

  Edmund turned to leave, drawing himself up straight and tall. His voice was very soft. “I thought I could have made you happy.”

  Something within her cracked and shattered at his words. “No, Edmund. Not like this.”

  Perhaps the worst blow of all was that Anne might have agreed at one time. Not now. Not with so much between them. She stared at him, feeling strangely calm, almost detached as though she were observing herself from a very long way away. “You lied to me, Edmund, such a horrible, slanderous lie. We have only ever been honest with each other. Why you would lie about such a thing?” She touched her lips. “Why you would think kissing me would solve anything.”

  “Because I liked the idea of kissing you. I still do.”

  He spoke with such calm assurance, Anne thought she might choke. “Goodbye, Edmund. If you were a gentleman at all, you will see yourself out.”

  Everything seemed so muddled and strange. Anne drew her skirts around herself and with quiet dignity. She left the door open behind her, not trusting herself to keep from slamming it, for her emotions were wrought up so much that she was very close to throwing a childish tantrum. Or at the very least, bursting into angry tears. Or throwing herself into Edmund’s arms.

  He had no right, to treat her so callously. She should not want him. But she did, very much. She was betrothed, about to be married to another man. She couldn’t marry Amberleigh, but neither could she marry Edmund. Not now. Not when he had shown that he was no better than the man he condemned. They both tried to manipulate her and twist her heart in some cruel game all the while they were locked in some senseless competition with one another. That Edmund had tried to kiss her now was in poor taste, even as a joke. Worse if it were not. This thought did nothing to alleviate the agony she felt in regards to the situation.

  I do not know what to do.

  The thought chased through her mind with every step she wandered Bramblewood’s once familiar halls. Edmund had lied, he had admitted to that much at least, but had hit upon the very thing she had feared the most in so doing. Edmund wanted her, at least enough to challenge Amberleigh. But it was love she wanted.

  She attempted to consider the facts. She tried using her intellect rather than her emotions. But she had been letting her heart rule things regardless.

  She thought Edmund had loved her once, and now she had lost whatever they once had. Did he expect her to fall into his arms? How could she? She wanted to do so. She wanted to forgive him everything. But how could she trust him now?

  Behind her she heard the sound of a door closing. For a moment she paused, her hands twisting in her skirts. Was Edmund coming after her? Her heart gave a funny stuttering jump and she quelled the thought. She was still angry with him, but she wanted him to come after her. She wanted him to demand that she forgive him and make some excuse for his behavior so she might be able to do so. Most of all she wanted Edmund to feel as she did.

  The footsteps drew closer, hesitated, then receded.

  Another door, this one heavier, opened. Then closed.

  He’d gone. Edmund was gone.

  Anne stood frozen for the longest time. Her heart throbbed painfully within her breast. She wondered that she was still breathing, that she was still was able to stand at all and had not plummeted to her death from some dizzying height.

  She fled, slippered feet carrying her through the old manor before she realized where she was going. She wound up in the sanctity of the parlor. This time she allowed the door to slam for no longer did she care about appearances. She wasn’t sure she cared about anything. She only knew her life had changed irrevocably in only a few short minutes. She could not marry Lord Amberleigh. She could not marry Edmund. She would never marry at all. Men were all selfish wretches. And so was she.

  Anne felt her tears perfectly reasonable as she flung herself across the sofa, letting go of all the confusion and heartbreak in a wild outburst that could not be held back another minute.

  22

  Emily found Anne in a state and immediately insisted on tea. Chagrined, Anne sniffed delicately and stared at her hands clasped in her lap. A serving maid brought the tea service, but Emily dismissed the servant so that she could pour the tea herself, giving her friend some measure of privacy in her upset.

  “As you wish, Your Grace,” the servant said courteously, as she bowed and left.

  “Thank you,” Anne whispered.

  “No trouble at all,” Emily said, as she poured. “We are friends, and it seems I have neglected your welfare. A good friend does not do that.”

  Hands shaking, Anne set the teacup on the saucer on the small table between them, concentrating deeply upon the task so the cup would not rattle against the china. She seemed to have contracted some sort of shaking illness, and she felt as if the world had receded to a watery grey blur.

  She could not stop weeping. Anne sniffed and looked up at Emily. She smiled, trying to seem natural, as though she had tea in the wake of cruel disaster as a matter of course. Perhaps she could be forgiven if her smile was somewhat strained.

  “Tell me what happened,” Emily insisted.

  Anne did not know where to start, but she did try. She began and then stumbled to silence, uncertain how to proceed. Emily was Edmund’s sister. It made the going awkward. Was she to lose Emily too then? The thought was too much, and her voice caught on a sob. In a strained tone, Anne confessed to slapping Emily’s brother.

  Emily waved away Anne’s concern. “Please remember that you can always turn to me when you are in need of comfort,” Emily said. “No matter what my brother may have done.”

  “You have always been a good friend, Emily,” Anne replied, squeezing her hands together in a nervous gesture.

  “Not good enough,” Emily said. “Although tea is always soothing, I doubt it will do much for the palm of your hand.” She smiled wanly.

  Anne blushed and hid her hands in her lap. In truth, her palm was still hurting. She could only imagine what the blow had done to Edmund’s face. She blocked that thought. Whatever Edmund was feeling was well deserved. It could not compare to the pain in her heart. She reminded herself of that, although it gave little balm to her own aching soul. “It did sting my hand a bit,” she confessed. Her hand still felt raw, as did the rest of her body. She felt drained with the effort of remaining upright and was sure that the wound was visible; open and bleeding where her heart was meant to lie. She was not sure the injury would ever heal.

  “You and Edmund have argued before,” Emily said.

  Anne shook her head. “Not like this.”

  “You will find a way past this,” Emily said, ever the optimist.

  “Not this time,” Anne said. “He was insufferable. I know he is your brother, but he blamed me for his own senseless actions.”

  “He does love you, Anne.”

  She shook her head again. “There are certain people who do not have fairy-tale endings and ride off with the prince on his white charger. I have never been that girl.”

  Emily nodded. “I have known that since we were very young,” Emily said. “You were much more likely to wrest the lance from your prince charming and slay your own dragon.”

  “I’m not slaying many dragons these days,” Anne said.

  “Well, why not?” Emily asked.

  Anne could only shrug.

  “I have to confess,” Emily said slowly, “I always did have trouble seeing Lord Amberleigh in such a role.” Emily wrinkled her nose. She refilled both teacups.

  Anne stared at her. “You never said anything.”

  Emily shrugged.

  Anne sighed and looked longingly at her cup. “I suppose, were I honest, I
would have to confess that I could never see him in such a light either.” With a quick nod of gratitude, she took up the cup and sipped the hot liquid. It had amazing calming and recuperative effects. “Oh, perhaps the small child in me who believed the fairy-tales and wanted the storybook love, decided that Amberleigh could be the handsome prince, provided I worked hard enough to fit him into the part.” Anne smiled at her friend and took another sip. “I must accept that I will not have the happily ever-after ending. It is not for me.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Emily said. “I believe there is a prince for all of us.”

  “Maybe for you, Emily,” Anne said shaking her head. “Not for me.”

  Emily set her teacup down with a sharp clink. “Hogwash,” she declared, her attention fixed on her friend. “I cannot bear to hear you speak so. It is not true.”

  Emily sat back and leaned against the chair behind her. “Allow me to tell you a story.” She straightened her skirt and looked off into the distance. “When I was very young, I came to London often. And…” She gave Anne a cross look, “This is not to leave this room.”

  Anne nodded quickly.

  “Alright then. I hated London. I only ever went because my mother dragged me to every ball, every Season, and I was forced to talk to and interact with people with whom I had so little in common. I despised every minute of it. I was an outsider, a girl on the periphery at best. Because of the hollowness I felt inside, I became… practical, level-headed. That way, no one could tell how much I was hurting. Or how much I hated everything. You will never know how many times I cried myself dry.

  Edmund was always there for me, telling me to be myself. Be real and don’t let Mother bully me into being someone I was not. At the same time, he had to deal with Father’s bullying, which was, all in all, much worse than our mother.” She smiled and lifted the teacup to her lips. “Sometimes he bumbles through like a bull in a china shop, smashing everything, but I will never forget that he has a sixth sense about people. He saved Alexander for me. Edmund knew we were meant to be together. He saved us both for each other, and from our own foolishness.” She took a sip of tea and let the words sink in.

  “Now,” Emily said. “Please tell me what happened between you and my brother. I want to help.”

  Anne refused to meet her friend’s eyes. “I do not know that I am…able…to discuss it. It is still a very raw and sensitive wound.”

  “I know,” Emily said. “But I think I can guess. Edmund insulted Lord Amberleigh.”

  “Yes, but not just that. He told me getting engaged to Amberleigh was stupid. He called me stupid.”

  “Well, you did become engaged to Amberleigh with what seems like very little cause and without warning.” Anne opened her mouth to protest, but Emily held up a hand to forestall her response. “No. I suppose I have no right to chastise you, but hear me out. I understand you were enchanted with the prospect of marriage rather than the man to whom you found yourself engaged, and you called it off soon after you realized this, which was the right thing to do.”

  “You make me sound capricious,” Anne said.

  “Perhaps,” Emily agreed. “But that is neither here nor there. The real question is, why sabotage your own happiness? I know Edmund loves you. Why refuse him?”

  Anne could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and took a hasty drink of the tea. “I suppose, I was just so angry,” Anne admitted. “If he really loved me why did he not say something? Why did he wait until Amberleigh offered for me? It seemed as if he did not notice me at all until…”

  “Until Amberleigh,” Emily said.

  Anne nodded and sipped her tea. “He should have known,” Anne whispered. “Edmund should have known.”

  “Because you knew,” Emily concluded.

  “Yes.”

  “And yet you were willing to accept Amberleigh’s proposal.”

  That stung. Was she really willing to accept Amberleigh or was it just a game, and if it was a game, what sort of person did that make her? Perhaps, just the same as Edmund. She looked down into her teacup, as if answers were hidden there.

  Emily continued speaking with light in her eyes. “With Alexander, I don’t think either of us ever said the words to one another, not back then, but somehow we knew we would end up together.”

  Anne leaned in listening.

  “Then as we grew older, that certainty dimmed. I doubted his affection, and my own. I thought, you shouldn’t need to say to another person that you are meant to be together. That’s something for people with second thoughts and cannot be real love. You should just know who that one special person is. But sometimes, the words need to be said. We need to hear them. The words clear the cobwebs of doubt from the mind.”

  Anne found herself unable to meet Emily’s eyes. She remembered when Edmund had professed his love when they were children so long ago on the bridge, and she had not answered him. Then, just today, he had tried to kiss her, but she had answered him with a literal slap to his face. She felt guilt well up in her. Edmund had botched their time together, but so had she.

  “I came home and found Alexander again,” Emily said. Her face took on a glow and she shrugged lightly. “Anne, there is nothing more beautiful than discovering a treasure that was always right under your nose; a treasure that you only overlooked because its presence has become familiar. Sometimes it is only when you lose what you value most that you realize how much it means to you.”

  Was that what Edmund had done with her? Was that what she had done with him? Anne felt the sting of her palm anew as she pictured the sight of Edmund’s face: the way he fell back, the look of loss and tragedy in his eyes as he left her, his hat in hand. Her feelings welled up in a guilty rush. Had he just expected her to know that she was the one for him, and he for her? How could she just know? But she knew now, she should have known before. Deep in her heart she did know. She had always known. Only she had doubted her feelings.

  Edmund had teased her. He had made her laugh. He infuriated her and he had given her joy. He had told her that he loved her when they were children. Did those things not count because they were young? She thought he had forgotten those words on the bridge. Did he think she forgot? Is that why he had not spoken of it since? Or did he think she rejected him then? She thought of that fragile twelve-year-old boy. How much courage those words must have cost him, and she had not answered. Was he still awaiting her response? Emily seemed sure of her brother’s feeling. He had confessed his foolishness. He cared about her that much was certain, but the confession had not happened the way Anne had expected it to occur. There were no flowers or bended knees. There was only raw truth, and she had not listened. She had rejected him again. She had lost him again, and she could only blame herself.

  She felt the burning weight of tears that welled in her eyes once again and threatened to spill down her cheeks. Despite what Edmund had done, she had hurt him, and more than physically. She knew that the fragile twelve-year-old boy was still inside of the man, just as the unsure little girl who so wanted to be loved, lived in her.

  “I do love Edmund,” she whispered finally admitting the truth aloud. “I always have.” The pent up tears began tracing hot rivulets down her cheeks and over her jaw. “I should have told him. I should have run after him.” Anne searched vainly for a handkerchief. “Oh Emily, I should have said something. When…” She swallowed and forced the words past her throat. “When Edmund first left for London, I cried…” Anne looked up then, making eye contact, begging her friend to understand. “I wept for days. I could not bear to be without him and I never told him.”

  “You should have. A long time ago,” Emily said firmly, but she handed Anne her handkerchief to soften the words. “On the other hand, although I know that Edmund is not one for poetic declarations, he should have told you too.”

  “But he did,” Anne said as she began to daub at her cheeks, trying to stem the flow of tears, but they seemed to have an endless reserve and she seemed incapable of stoppi
ng them. All she could do was slow their fall. “Oh Emily, I have behaved so horribly. Now I have lost him.”

  Without seeing her move, Anne was suddenly aware of her friend’s arms around her as she was drawn into the woman’s embrace, like a hurt child. “All is not lost, Anne,” Emily whispered. “Not yet.”

  Emily’s words were all Anne needed to lose her tenuous grasp on her emotions. Anne’s tears flowed freely and fully. She cried silently, no gasping, no screaming, no hiccuping words trying to break through the tears. She allowed herself to be held and comforted and caught the tears in Emily’s handkerchief. It was a cry of mourning, of loss and of saying a final farewell to something special that had died; something that in her carelessness, she had ruined. It was a tearful goodbye to a lifelong friendship, and worse, a dirge to what might have been if only she had told him of her love. She felt she might never be whole again.

  The words came back to her. He had told her of his intentions, and she had ignored him. Someday, I will marry you, he had said in the most grown up voice the child could summon. Then we shall never have to part again. But now, he was farther away than he had ever been. She had sent him away with his cheek red and stinging. She had been so terrible to him.

  “What have I done?” she whispered, and more importantly, how could she ever make it right?

  Anne fell into Emily’s embrace, letting her friend’s soothing words, wash over her, although the meaning could not penetrate the all-consuming grief that filled her.

  23

  “Forgive the interruption, Your Grace.” The voice of the butler pulled Anne from her grief and she sat upright, not wanting to be seen in such a state. She daubed her eyes quickly and tried desperately to compose herself while Emily stood her mouth already opening, no doubt to berate the servant for intruding upon such a private moment.

  The man backed away hastily, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to make his report. No doubt so that he might flee with his hide and job intact. “I would not have interrupted, but the gentleman did insist that it was quite…urgent.”