Seeing Miss Heartstone

by Nichole Van

  “’Twould appear so. Reality can be such a disappointment at times.” She shot him a soft smile, subtly indicating that she excluded present company from her assessment. “And what about you, my lord. Why have you chosen not to marry? Do you have a long, lost love? Been held hostage by a wicked countess?”

  Belle appeared to ask the question casually enough, but something told Colin that the question was not quite as carefree as it appeared. Though he was at a loss to explain why he felt that way.

  Regardless, it caught him off-guard, the events of last autumn still near enough to sting—the shock of realizing how thoroughly Sarah had deceived him, how blind he had been to her true nature.

  But, he reminded himself, Sarah Forrester and Belle Heartstone were worlds apart when it came to forthright, honest behavior. And as he had many times since Sarah’s betrayal, he sent up silent thanks that he had learned the truth of Sarah before marrying her.

  Belle Heartstone was a thousand times the woman Sarah would ever be.

  Colin simply needed to convince her to not toss him aside quite yet.

  17

  . . . this entire situation has been utterly horrid. You have made me a laughing stock. If you had married me quickly as I had asked, we would have been safely away before all this ugliness surfaced. I cannot believe you would do this to one you professed to love . . .

  —letter from Miss Sarah Forrester to Lord Blake, on the occasion of him breaking off their betrothal

  Blake froze mid-stroke, hands holding the oars parallel to the water.

  Belle was quite sure her question still rang between them, an awkward bell strike.

  Why have you chosen not to marry? Do you have a long, lost love?

  Clearly, she had struck a nerve. It was just . . . she knew something had happened with Sarah Forrester. What had Blake called it in his letter? A sordid tale?

  She desperately wanted to hear the entire story.

  Granted, she wanted to know every little thing about him. She treasured each detail she learned, putting sound and sensations to the man she knew from his letters.

  She now knew that his laugh had a throaty edge. That his mouth quirked higher to one side when he smiled, giving him an endearing lop-sided look. That he preferred a brisk walk to a quiet stroll.

  That the warmth in his eyes when he saw her obliterated every last ounce of her self-preservation.

  She was rapidly sinking into the mire of her own making. It was all she could do to keep her worshipful admiration of him off her countenance.

  Belle had lost his letter. She and Anne had scoured the woods but came up empty-handed. The wind had probably carried it into Shropshire by now.

  She had planned scenario after scenario to get Blake alone, allowing her to tell him the truth. The Desperate Debutantes and Gold Miners continually disturbed her plans. Of course, it didn’t help that Belle’s heart really wasn’t in them.

  And as Blake had interrupted her yet again just five minutes ago in her attempt to tell him about LHF, well . . .

  Just one more day, her breathless heart whispered. One more day to live out this fantasy.

  So even though she knew this moment on the boat was a chance to speak with him, that she should continue to press the issue despite his abrupt change of topic, she let it pass.

  Belle did not offer up her biggest secret.

  Instead, she said, “Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to pry—”

  “No, turnabout is fair play.” Blake dipped the oars in the water again, pulling them toward the island. But, as she had noticed earlier, his strokes lacked force. Neither of them was eager to join the shrieks of laughter and loud calling that carried across the water from the rest of their party. Many of them had reached the island and were disembarking on the dock there.

  “I cannot say I was held hostage in any sort of physical fashion, but a young woman did steal my affections and then used them most poorly.” Fleeting sadness and pain flashed across his face.

  Oh.

  Belle was not given to anger, but it washed through her unbidden.

  How dare Sarah Forrester have done this to him!

  Of course, her conscience unhelpfully pointed out that she most certainly fit into the same category.

  Shush! She pushed that nagging voice back.

  “May I ask what happened?” Belle had to know.

  Blake lifted a shoulder before pulling the oars out of the water again, his gaze skimming the shoreline beyond her.

  “It is nothing more than a typical tale of naivety on my part and deception on hers.” Blake tried to shrug away the conversation.

  Belle knew she should let it go. But she just . . . couldn’t.

  “I would listen to the story if you wish to tell it.”

  Blake continued to look away. Belle waited.

  She didn’t want to force a confidence.

  Finally, his head swung back to her.

  “A young lady named Sarah Forrester arrived in Calcutta, a companion to her aunt,” he began. “Her uncle had received an appointment from the Crown and was to work with the Governor. Naturally, as we moved in the same social circles, we became well-acquainted. I thought myself in love with her. She was beautiful and vivacious with a sort of disarming charm. She was also nearly ten years my junior, but as many men marry younger women, I did not let that deter me—”

  Blake stopped mid-sentence as a shout of laughter reached them. He turned toward the sound, his body rotating around. Wind ruffled his brown hair.

  A pair of the Gold Miners were miming boxing moves on the island boat dock, good-naturedly grappling with each other. The young ladies shrieked in delight, looking on.

  Blake turned back to her with a grimace. “Not sure I want to land us in the middle of that.” He nodded his head, indicating the party gathered on the dock.

  Belle leaned to the side. “I believe there is a small landing area beside that weeping willow over there.” She pointed to a shady area to the left of the island, well away from the rowdy group.

  Blake nodded and turned the boat, aiming for the new landing place.

  “You were saying, my lord.” Belle prompted him. “About Miss Forrester?”

  She had no intention of not hearing this story to completion. The trick was to hide her almost maniacal interest. In her mind’s eye, she was an eager puppy, jumping up and down, begging for more, more, more.

  So Belle barely managed to hold back a relieved sigh when Blake cleared his throat and continued his story.

  “Yes. Miss Forrester.” He pulled on the oars. “After several months of courting, I offered for her and was accepted. All was well ’til that point. News travels slowly to India, but it does reach us eventually. A casual acquaintance arrived and was astonished to find me betrothed to Miss Forrester. He had known Miss Forrester in London. She had run with a wild set and had been known for her duplicitous ways. More to the point, she had been caught in—” Blake hesitated, as if carefully choosing his words. “—a decidedly-compromising situation with an older, married man. The circumstances and witnesses involved were such that I did not doubt that the incident had occurred or the seriousness of what Miss Forrester and the gentleman had done. Needless to say, her reputation had been shattered. Her parents sent her off with her aunt and uncle in the hope that she could snare a husband before the scandal caught up with her.”

  “Heavens!” Belle gasped. She barely managed to avoid clasping her hands to her chest in abject horror.

  “Truly.” Blake shot her a knowing glance, before pulling hard on the oars. Again, thank goodness, missing the true depths of her feeling.

  How unbelievably dastardly of Sarah Forrester to abuse Blake so abominably!

  Though, her less-kind self pointed out, he would not be here with you rowing in this boat had Sarah Forrester not proved a scapegrace.

  True that. She had to take her silver linings where she could find them.

  Blake continued, “Ironically, it wasn’t her behavior alone
that caused me to break off with her. If Sarah had confessed the lot to me—if she had been honest with me—I would have moved on from the point. People make mistakes; we learn and grow from them. I do not feel as if my wife has to impeachable. If she had been willing to acknowledge her past behavior in any way, I would have readily forgiven her.

  “But, instead, Sarah lashed out at me, accusing me of meddling in her life, of not trusting her enough, of burdening her with my need for truth. In one sentence, she proclaimed her innocence, and then in the next, baldly stated that the gentleman involved had a cold-hearted wife and Sarah only wished to bring him comfort. It was . . . painful . . . to realize how thoroughly mistaken I had been in her character, how misguided in my affections.”

  Belle’s heart sank to the bottom of the lake. How much deception could Blake’s heart take?

  “You broke off the engagement at that point?”

  “Yes. I could not, in good conscience, continue my relationship with her. I boarded a ship back to London the following week.” He grimaced and stroked hard again, the oars splashing in the water.

  “You were justifiably overset.”

  “Yes. It was healing to spend six months at sea. It helped clear my head. After a month of anger, I realized that I had narrowly avoided a terrible mishap. It was my anger that solved the problem for me.”

  Belle frowned. “Your anger?”

  “Yes.” He let the boat coast for a few beats. “My predominant emotion over Sarah’s betrayal was anger. Not loss or disappointment or grief . . .”

  Ah. Belle’s eyes widened, absorbing his meaning.

  “If you truly loved someone, you should feel more than simple anger at their loss,” she said.

  “Precisely.”

  How was she supposed to avoid having stars in her eyes when he said such brilliant things?

  They glided in silence for a moment, small ripples lapping against the side of the skiff.

  Belle couldn’t seem to stop herself from adding to his insights. “I’ve often thought that people fall into two camps: those who pass through my life and those who alter it. Some come into my life like a herd of elephants, stomping and trumpeting and thrilling to be sure, but they leave me much the same after they have passed through. Perhaps a little dusty or unsettled, but not changed. Yet on occasion, I have met a person who reshapes me, who becomes essentially woven into the fabric of my life. The loss of such a person is catastrophic, as it tears away some fundamental part of myself—”

  Belle stopped abruptly, drawing in a fortifying breath, willing back the emotion that pricked at her eyes.

  That list of people for her was impossibly short.

  Her father.

  Anne.

  And . . . Blake.

  For his part, he stared at her, his expression unreadable. Was he upset at her words? She most certainly couldn’t ask him who was on his list. Though she had to wonder—was LHF on it?

  She took in another steadying breath. “You asked why I have never married, and though trust is an issue, the greater reason is simple—no man has ever woven himself into my heart.”

  What a lie that was.

  Ah, Blake.

  A beat of silence.

  “No man has ever stitched himself into your soul,” Blake restated.

  She managed a slight nod.

  Blake pulled at the oars again. One beat. Two.

  “You are a wise woman, Miss Heartstone,” he finally said. “Very wise.”

  Belle willed herself not to blush under the weight of his praise, but it was a losing battle. Surely her cheeks were crimson.

  Their boat reached the shade of the giant willow and the small boat landing at its base. The sounds of the Desperate Debutantes and Gold Miners retreated. A hush fell, as if she and Blake were the only two people on the island.

  “You are right, of course, in regards to Sarah Forrester.” His voice carried in the quiet. “She was a hurricane of laughter and delight, but in the end, she did nothing more than blow things around in my heart. I have come out . . . unscathed. Mostly, I am forever grateful that I did not ally myself with a dishonest woman.”

  Whoa.

  Belle barely held back a pained gasp.

  I am forever grateful that I did not ally myself with a dishonest woman.

  The truthful sting of that statement cut. She had to tell him. She did. She would—

  Was now the point then? Would she open her mouth and say the words at this instant?

  Belle sucked in a breath. His story of Sarah Forrester was a sign. Perhaps if she were forthright, he would forgive her.

  But even her most hopeful hope wasn’t terribly optimistic on that score.

  As Blake navigated their small boat up against the dock and tied it off, she gathered her thoughts.

  You can do this. Tell him.

  Blake shrugged back into his tailcoat before he stepped out of the boat and turned, extending a hand to her.

  “My lord, I have something I would like to tell you,” Belle began, stretching her hand to take his.

  But nerves made her words tumble out in a rush. IhavesomethingIwouldliketotellyou . . .

  “Pardon?” He leaned toward her.

  As with so many other momentous points in her life, it all happened in an instant.

  Belle placed her hand into Blake’s, taking a step out of the boat and onto the small wooden platform.

  But she was so caught up in the burning sensation of Blake’s touch and her own nervous terror that she neglected to lift her skirts high enough to clear the boat. The edge of her overskirt caught, pitching her shoulders forward while simultaneously pushing the boat away from the dock, causing both her feet to slide from underneath her.

  Belle fell, her nose planting into Blake’s chest. Would she never cease being clumsy in his presence?

  To Blake’s credit, he didn’t stagger under the abrupt force of her entire weight. Instead, his arms whipped around her waist lightning fast, pulling her upright and settling her back on her feet.

  It was an impressive feat of strength.

  More to the point, within the space of two heartbeats, Belle found herself wrapped against the chest of the Marquess of Blake. Her arms trapped between them, pressed against his shoulders.

  She gazed up into his blue eyes, expecting him to look amused or chagrined or politely . . . something.

  Instead, his eyes burned with possessive heat and fire.

  Oh!

  Belle quite forgot how to breathe.

  He did not release her. If anything, his arms tightened around her.

  Abruptly, every sense was acutely heightened. The hard muscle of his chest underneath her hands, the scent of eastern spices that clung to him, the puff of his breathing on her cheek.

  Her knees buckled. Only Blake’s firm hold stopped her from melting into a puddle.

  “I have you,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.”

  A pained gasp escaped her.

  I have you. You’re safe with me.

  Words she had wanted to hear from him for more years than she could remember.

  Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by their breaths.

  His eyes were everywhere. Her forehead, her eyes, her lips . . .

  His head dipped slightly, as if the gravity of her mouth were too much to resist.

  Belle found herself canting upward, intent on meeting him halfway—

  “Lord Blake! Miss Heartstone!” A loud voice cut through the silence of the moment.

  Lord Odysseus.

  Of course.

  Blake flinched and stepped back, releasing her abruptly. He rotated around as Lord Odysseus stepped out from the trees.

  “Ahoy there!” Lord Odysseus gave a friendly wave.

  The two men exchanged a glance. Dogs fighting over a bone would have been less obvious. If Belle hadn’t been so shaken, she might have laughed.

  But as it was, she barely stopped herself from reeling. She swayed and glanced down. She was st
ill standing too close to Blake.

  Or was that not close enough?

  It was hard to say. Her mind and heart were at odds over the point.

  “Lord Odysseus.” Blake raised a hand, his tone anything but welcoming.

  The motion allowed Belle to catch a glimpse of the edge of a letter peeking out from the pocket of his waistcoat—the initials LHF clearly inscribed.

  All warmth fled from her body.

  Oh no.

  No. Nononononono!

  It couldn’t be.

  The letter was lost, right?

  But he had been walking up the path behind her that day. If anyone had been in a position to find it, it would have been him.

  What if Blake had gotten to the letter first?

  Blake would know. He would assume, rightly so, that LHF was attending the same house party.

  He would investigate. Ask questions.

  Blake turned back to her, as Lord Odysseus reached them. “I greatly enjoyed our conversation, Miss Heartstone.” Blake offered her his arm.

  Belle looked between Lord Odysseus and Blake, gaze surely as flustered as she felt.

  This entire situation was quicksand, and she was sinking far too fast.

  18

  . . . I fear I have given him my whole heart and left no piece of it for myself. However shall I recover it? . . .

  —excerpt of a letter from Miss Heartstone to Miss Rutger, while the latter was away visiting family, dated December 20, 1822

  Colin stood at the edge of the ballroom in Stratton Hall. It was the last evening of the larger house party; the Desperate Debutantes and Gold Miners would depart in the morning. Only Colin, Lord Odysseus, Miss Heartstone, and a handful of the older guests would be staying on for an additional week.

  Colin couldn’t wait for a respite from the constant haranguing of the match-making set.

  But for tonight, Lady Stratton had gathered all her guests and other local gentry for a grand ball. A small orchestra played diligently in one corner as couples moved through a quadrille.

  The Desperate Debutantes and Gold Miners were in fine form, flirting and laughing. Belle stood at their center, clad in a gown of rich green silk with a gossamer net overlay. Matching long gloves slouched above her elbows, pearls gleamed at her throat and wrist. She looked every inch the elegant, confident lady.