by Merry Farmer
It was the wrong time to laugh, but Marie broke into a pitying smile all the same. “Name a single man who doesn’t get up to some sort of wickedness while at university,” she said. “Or a young man who doesn’t cause more trouble than is good for him while swanning about Europe with his friends.” He glanced away, jaw tight, so she went on with, “I doubt a single bit of the mischief you’ve gotten into in your past is anything other than jolly good fun.”
Christian’s shoulders slumped a bit more, and he shook his head. “My time for fun is over,” he said, bitterness mingling with grief in his voice and expression. “I’m an earl now, or haven’t you heard?” He glanced back to her with a look so piteous that it squeezed Marie’s heart to the point of pain. “I have an estate to sort out that comes complete with a property dispute. My mother is still in grave danger and hasn’t awakened since the accident. And I’ve a marriage to prepare for.” He looked away from her with his last statement, face pinching with despair.
Marie’s heart dropped to her feet. “Christian. You cannot tell me that after everything that has passed between the two of us, you intend to go through with your marriage to Lady Aoife.” Desperation pulsed through her, making her dizzy.
Christian shrugged. “It was my father’s last wish for me,” he said in a voice so quiet and melancholy Marie almost couldn’t make out his words. “I was such a disappointment to him. The least I can do is obey his last command.”
“No, that is not the least you can do,” Marie nearly shouted. Christian flinched and glanced toward her. “Marrying a woman you do not love when one who you do love is standing right in front of you is not the proper way to honor your father’s memory. Punishing yourself for the rest of your life because you feel responsible for his death is madness, Christian. And besides,” her panic subsided a bit as she remembered what she’d seen on the way to the manor, “I believe Lady Aoife is in love with someone else.”
Christian frowned at her. “If you’re saying that as a way to convince me to change my mind—”
“I’m not. It’s true,” Marie insisted. “I saw her down at the springhouse with Lord Garvagh just now.”
Christian’s brow knit together in thought. “What is Ned doing talking to Lady Aoife at the springhouse?”
“Having a secret lovers’ rendezvous, no doubt,” Marie said, crossing her arms and glaring at him. She was surprised by the amount of sarcasm in her voice and the seemingly poor timing of that sarcasm, but if Christian thought he could just forget what they’d done, he had another think coming. “Lovers’ rendezvous? Remember those?” she added for good measure.
Christian turned his head to her, his eyes focusing on hers. For a moment, the flash and the desire were back in his expression. Marie even thought she spotted the corner of his mouth twitching up in a fond grin. The split-second reaction faded as quickly as it appeared, though, and Christian shook his head.
“I cannot indulge in childish games and frivolous fantasies anymore,” he said. “Father was right. Life is far more serious than that.”
“Firstly, I am going to ignore the fact that you just referred to our love as a frivolous fantasy, because I understand you are grieving.” Christian glanced away, looking guiltier than ever. “Beyond that, life is only as serious as you make it,” Marie argued. “And you, Christian Darrow, were not born to be the sort of man your father was.”
“Except that it would seem I am,” Christian replied with a helpless shrug. “I wasn’t supposed to inherit his title, his land, or his responsibility, but here I am.” He held out his arms as if to gesture to everything around them.
“My lord.” The call came from a footman who strode purposefully across the garden toward them.
“See?” Christian gestured to the young man, his whole body seeming to sag under the weight of the title.
“My lord, you have a visitor,” the footman said.
“I thought I told the staff that I was not at home to visitors today,” Christian sighed, walking toward the footman. Marie could do nothing but stand by and watch.
“It’s Lord Garvagh,” the footman said. “He would like to speak with you on a matter of some urgency. Considering the dispute he had with your father, I thought—”
“Yes, yes, it’s all right, Patrick. I’ll speak to him,” Christian said, gesturing for the footman to go and heading toward the house.
“I’ll come with you,” Marie said, starting after him.
“No.” Christian turned to stop her. Marie pulled up short, her mouth dropping open in protest. “It would be grossly improper for you to be seen at my house,” he went on. “Especially since you’re not even wearing black.” He glanced at her. Heat filled his eyes for a moment, but he forced himself to look away.
Indeed, Marie had boldly chosen not to wear mourning black, even though her fiancé had just been killed. Instead, she wore the darkest green she had, hoping all and sundry would think that was good enough.
“Go home, Marie,” Christian called to her as he headed on toward the house. “It isn’t right for you to be here. Take your bicycle and ride off to find a man who can love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
“But—” Marie stopped herself from protesting as Christian left her. She forced herself to take a deep breath. She loved him, but he was behaving like an arse.
Then again, the man had just lost his father and brother, he could still lose his mother, and he blamed himself thoroughly for the tragedy. In addition to that, he’d had an entire title and everything that went along with it thrown at him when all he’d been expected to do with his life before was enjoy it. The turnabout was so stark for Christian that it was no wonder he wasn’t thinking clearly.
She would give him the benefit of the doubt for now, but she wouldn’t sit idly by and let him push her out of his life to punish himself. She was more determined than ever to prove to him not only that the accident hadn’t been his fault, but that life could still be full of joy and happiness, even after tragedy.
Chapter 8
Once, when Christian was stumbling home after a night of carousing with his friends in Rome, he’d stumbled and fallen down a flight of stone stairs. In the process, he’d dislocated his shoulder and had to have one of his other drunken friends push the joint back into his socket. But the pain of that night was nothing to the pain he experienced as he walked away from Marie, knowing he’d hurt her with his coldness.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her in the last few days. At least, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her when his mind cleared enough from the fog of grief and estate business that had settled over him. After his wretched meeting with his father’s man of business to bring him up to date on the most dire aspects of his father’s dealings, he’d sunken into contemplation of Marie. On his return home from the coroner, after making arrangements for his father and Miles’s burials, he’d consoled himself by remembering the way Marie’s arms felt around him. All through his consultation with Dr. Phillips about his mother’s chances of recovery, he’d contemplated how much easier everything would be if Marie were there to tend to things on his behalf. He thought about how it would be if she were there to tend to him.
Every time his thoughts had turned sweet and flown to her, he’d cursed himself for a fool and forced himself to concentrate. Marie was a beautiful dream that he didn’t deserve. Murderers didn’t deserve to be happy. And besides, he had a legacy to live up to. He needed to become his father’s son.
“That’s all bullshit, you know,” a voice whispered at the back of his head as he trudged through the garden on his way into the house. “She’s right. You’re punishing yourself for what happened by keeping her away.”
He couldn’t hide the truth from himself. But just because he recognized what he was doing and was well aware that he was using Marie—or rather, her absence—as a means of punishing himself, didn’t mean he had any intention of stopping. He deserved nothing less than to feel as horrible as it was poss
ible for him to feel.
And yet, underneath all of the tragedy and torture, he could still feel his heart beating. The feeling was faint. The kernel of joy that couldn’t be crushed was tiny. But it was there. He would have to destroy it soon, though. Joy had no place in the running of an estate, or in a family that had been decimated by death.
“Oh. Lord Kilrea.”
Christian jerked to a stop at the soft, polite exclamation that came from Lady Aoife. She seemed as surprised to see him in the main hallway of his house as he was to see her. The woman’s face was as pale and pinched as ever, perhaps more so. A sadness of some sort rimmed her eyes with the slightest bit of red. It was the only hint of color the woman had, either physically or in her spirit. Bless her, but Lady Aoife had always paled in comparison to Marie.
Christian shook himself, forcing his thoughts away from where they wanted to be and focusing on where he should direct them. “Lady Aoife. I had no idea you were here.” He approached her gingerly, hands twitching as he debated whether to reach out to her. If she were Marie, he would have folded her in a tight embrace, buried his face against her neck, and breathed in the scent of her as if it were what gave him life. With Lady Aoife, he was afraid to touch her lest she shatter, like a woman made of glass.
“I…I came to inquire about your mother,” Lady Aoife said, eyes downcast. She wrung her tiny hands together in front of her—a sign that she was more distraught than she was letting on. Her hands seemed as fragile as the rest of her, and certainly not capable of clasping him close and digging into the muscles of his back, as Marie had during that glorious morning they’d spent together.
Again, he had to force his errant thoughts back to where they should be. “Have you been up to see Mama yet?” he asked as kindly as he could manage.
Lady Aoife looked up at him as if he’d suggested she descend to the kitchen to help Cook with tea. “I couldn’t possibly impose on you in that way, my lord.”
Christian smiled tightly. “But, surely, you have a strong connection to this family.” He couldn’t bring himself to say she would be his wife soon and his mother would be her mother-in-law. He could barely stand to form the thought in his head with her standing right there in front of him, looking like a faded doll instead of the sunburst that was Marie.
“Forgive me,” he went on. “I’m being rude. You’ve come all this way…. Could I offer you tea?”
“Well…er….” She glanced over her shoulder to the parlor. A flush painted her cheeks that had Christian frowning, as though something were going on that he wasn’t fully aware of. “If…if you wouldn’t mind,” she finished in an almost inaudible voice, lowering her head again.
“I don’t mind at all,” Christian said. “I’m supposed to be meeting Lord Garvagh, but whatever his business is, perhaps he wouldn’t mind a lady as lovely as you sitting in on it.”
The only reason the compliment was able to pass his lips, the only reason he suggested tea at all and led Lady Aoife toward the parlor was because of what Marie had said. She’d spotted the two of them together by the springhouse, and now here they both were, under his roof. It was as likely as not to be a coincidence. Ned must have been on his way over before and met Lady Aoife on the road. Which was nowhere near the springhouse, but still.
Christian tried to ignore the surge of excitement pulsing through him. He cursed himself for entertaining anything as fanciful and foolish as a secret love affair as he showed Lady Aoife into the parlor. Secret love affairs were jolly good fun, even when they were other people’s, but that part of his life was over and done. He was an earl now, and his father’s successor. He should be serious, mature, and somber.
But his breath caught in his throat at the way Ned’s gaze shot straight to Lady Aoife the moment she entered the room. Hope stirred in him as color actually splashed to Lady Aoife’s face, though she kept that face turned away from both him and Ned. He had no right whatsoever to feel the urge to grin at the sudden longing in Ned’s eyes, or the way he closed up his expression so fast that Christian felt he should hear the sound of a door slamming to go along with it.
“Garvagh,” he said with all the gravitas that the meeting warranted, leaving Lady Aoife to cross the room and shake Ned’s hand. “What a pleasure to see you.”
“I’m sure it is no pleasure at all,” Ned said in his deep bass. “I am so sorry for your loss, Christian. You must know that.”
A different kind of hope glimmered in Christian’s chest. Ned was the first person to refer to him by his given name since the accident. It was a tiny thing, but for the first time in days, it made Christian feel like a man and not a title.
“Thank you, Ned.” He returned the favor with as much of a smile as he could manage.
“Your father was a hard man, but a noble one,” Ned went on, standing tall and clasping his hands behind his back. For a moment, his gaze flickered to Lady Aoife again.
“Father was Father,” Christian said with a wistful look, then quickly said, “I hope you don’t mind if Lady Aoife takes tea with us. She’s come to inquire after my mother’s condition. I felt it would be cruel to send her away with just a short report or to stick her in a separate parlor while we conduct our business.” He glanced between the two, keeping an eye out for anything that would support Marie’s theory that there was something between the pair.
“How is your mother?” Ned asked, managing to be both compassionate and irritatingly vague about his feelings for Lady Aoife. Other than the initial looks, it was hard to tell if the man even knew she was there.
Christian sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, gesturing for Ned to have a seat on one of the parlor’s many chairs. “She’s no better than she was yesterday,” he confessed. Every thought of romantic undercurrents—or anything enjoyable and diverting—flew from Christian’s mind as he glanced to the ceiling and his mother’s bed chamber above. “She hasn’t awakened since the crash. Dr. Phillips says she may still be suffering from grievous internal injuries we cannot see.”
“They still don’t advise moving her to a hospital?” Lady Aoife asked, nodding to the maid who brought a tea tray into the room. Someone must have thought to fix tea for the guests before Christian could come up with the idea.
Christian shook his head. “Dr. Phillips says that as long as she is comfortable and as long as she is able to be fed by the nurses caring for her here, she should stay where she is.”
“You know that if there is anything I can do to help,” Lady Aoife began, leaving the statement open-ended.
“Thank you.” Christian nodded to her, genuinely grateful, but with no intention of asking her to help in any way. He knew beyond a doubt that if Marie had made the same offer, he would have whisked her up to his mother’s room immediately and had her take over his mother’s care.
That thought was interrupted when Ned cleared his throat. “Christian, I just wanted you to know that, until everything is settled and you are comfortable with your new position in life, I won’t press you about this property boundary dispute I had with your father.”
Christian’s brow lifted in surprise. “I was under the impression that you were adamant about your claims to the land in question. The land your father, and now you, claim is on your property encompasses the spring, does it not?”
“It does,” Ned said hesitantly, as if he truly didn’t want to talk about the dispute yet. “And as you know, that spring is vital to irrigation for both of our tenant farms, and as a source of drinking water for the tenants.”
Christian nodded in understanding, but already his mind was beginning to cloud again with the details. “All I know about the whole thing is that my father was firm in his belief that the land and water rights were ours,” he sighed. A headache was beginning to form behind his temples, so he rubbed them. “I’m sorry if I can’t recall the details about it off-hand. I’ll have to be brought up to speed with Father’s man of business. Surely, there has to be a way we can resolve the dispute.”
“I’m sure there is,” Ned said with a kind smile. He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I truly don’t want to impose on you at this time, and it would appear now is not a good time for a social call.”
He must have thought Christian had more of a headache than he did. All the same, Christian wasn’t sad that the man wanted to leave. He rose as well and shook Ned’s hand again. “Thank you for your concern for my mother,” he said.
“I should go as well,” Lady Aoife said, standing and setting her barely-touched tea aside. She stole a glance at Ned. “Lord Garvagh, would you be so kind as to accompany me to where my brother is waiting for me in the village?”
“But of course, my lady.”
Marie was right. Christian was sure of it as they all said their final goodbyes. But even if Lady Aoife had feelings for Ned and those feelings were returned, what could any of them do about it? Even as part of him argued that the solution was so simple a child could see what should be done next, the part of Christian that was lashed with grief and fuzzy with mourning refused to let go of the idea that he owed it to his father to follow through with his marital plans. He couldn’t shake the feeling that marrying his father’s choice for him would finally make him worthy in the old man’s eyes, even if he was dead. Christian had killed the man, after all. He had an obligation to stick to the plan. That could make everything right.
Couldn’t it?
As soon as Ned and Lady Aoife were gone, he flopped onto the sofa beside the table where the tea tray rested. His head pounded more than he wanted to think about, and his heart throbbed achingly along with it. He knew full well that he wasn’t thinking straight, that he couldn’t think straight, under the circumstances. He wasn’t prepared for what lay ahead of him. He hadn’t worked his way up to it. Yes, he’d done well at Cambridge. He’d learned enough to get by. But he was an amateur when it came to running an estate and doing what was right for an old family name. But he could still hear his father telling him he was worthless and that he couldn’t even stick to a plan as simple as marrying the woman of his choice. Christian would have done just about anything to be able to speak with his mother about it. Her opinion would have gone miles toward helping him decide what he should do next.
