‘But where will you go? You said yourself you have nowhere!’
‘Back to Somerset. I have a few guineas about me. I’m sure you’ll let me keep them for my coach fare and lodgings. Mary will take me in. Even if I have to sleep on the floor of her cottage it will be better than staying here.’
A stifled sound of anguish followed her into the hall, but Honora didn’t turn. She kept her eyes on the towering front door of the Manor, closing in on it like a hound on its prey. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes stung, but she couldn’t stop, the necessity of escaping the man tempting her to stay something she wouldn’t fight.
She paused on the threshold, one hand tight on the brass handle. To heave open the door would be to leave behind everything she’d ever wanted, the place she thought she’d found in the world and the family she had always yearned for—and the man she’d believed worthy of her heart. He’d taken it into his keeping, only to tear it apart; so it was that, without looking back, Honora put her shoulder to the wood and half fell out into the freezing December wind, the cry that rang in her ears one she wondered why Isaac had bothered to make.
* * *
By the time Charlotte came to find him Isaac had lost count of how long he’d sat on the bottom step in front of the silent front door. It could have been hours since Honora had disappeared through it or perhaps even more, each minute that passed meaning nothing to him now he had allowed the love of his life to slip through his fingers like water through a net.
You fool. You utter, contemptible fool, the cruel voice in his head sneered once again, but he knew he deserved every word. See where your lies brought you, in the end? ‘You’ve ruined me’, that’s what she said—and wasn’t it the truth?
At the sound of rustling silk he raised his head wearily from the cradle of his hands and peered up at Charlotte, standing a few steps above him on the staircase into the hall. Her eyes were red and the pale skin of her cheeks mottled and without a word he held out a hand to guide her to sit beside him. She came at once, settling beneath his arm and leaning into his shoulder as though he was the answer to her troubles rather than their maker.
‘I’m so sorry, my little wren. I should have told you from the very beginning who Honora really was.’ Isaac’s lips barely moved, his face too rigid to allow any expression but empty misery. Even as much as speaking Honora’s name sent a spasm flickering through him to join the agony already crowding every fibre of his being, wave upon wave of regret and remorse strangling each breath. ‘I thought at first to protect you from feeling shame at meeting Frank’s wife, but after that... There’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have kept secrets from you and I apologise from my heart.’
At his shoulder he felt Charlotte shake her head. ‘That’s right. You shouldn’t have concealed the truth—but I understand why you felt you had to.’ She rubbed her eyes, sparkling now with unhappiness. ‘It was my fault, though. If I hadn’t believed Frank’s lies, allowed myself to be taken in by him...wouldn’t he still be alive? Poor Honora! I’ve wounded her so grievously and now I’ll never have the chance to tell her I’m sorry.’
At the sight of her tears the lump in Isaac’s already tight throat grew even more and he took her little hand in his, gentle but so firmly Charlotte stilled.
‘It was not your fault. None of this was. The only people who did wrong were two men who should have known better.’ His free hand lay on his knee and he closed it into a fist, feeling the nails bite into his palm. The picture of Honora’s face the moment she realised his deceit flared before him with a swift kick to his stomach that made him want to groan aloud. ‘Honora wouldn’t blame you. I can see that now even if I couldn’t at first. The only person who owes her an apology is me—and it is I who will never get that chance.’
The river of agony that flowed under his skin was nothing compared to what Honora must be feeling, he thought with desperate shame. His pain at losing her was what he deserved for his actions, but she had done nothing to warrant the sting of seeing all her hopes dashed by the one person she thought would help her realise them. Every particle of suffering Isaac had wanted to spare her had rained down on her anyway. Worse than that, she no longer believed he loved her, thinking his regard had been a calculating sham, and that was torture he could hardly endure. He wanted to chase after her, make her see how she was everything he’d ever wanted and more, but she’d run from him and now he could only sit helpless and wishing he could turn back the clock.
‘Do you love her?’ Charlotte gazed at him, tear tracks still shining on her cheeks but her curiosity plain to see. ‘Even though you only married to please me in my ravings? I should never have asked it of you, although I suspected from the first moment I met Honora that your feelings for her ran deeper than you would admit. Was I right?’
Isaac allowed her a broken smile filled with fathomless pain. Was she right? Was she right? Of all the possible questions... Memories of Honora broke over him like a wave, one after the other in a relentless stream of bittersweet moments he would treasure for ever.
The first time I saw her, all flintlock and fire wrapped in a nightgown. Our first kiss at that shabby inn. Singing to Christopher in front of the window, sunlight shining on her curls. The shape of her in nothing but a sheet, and then not even that...
‘Yes.’ Isaac rubbed the bridge of his nose. His head ached along with his heart, each throbbing as if in sympathy with the other. ‘I love her. How could I not?’
‘Then why not go after her?’ Charlotte sat up straight, new hope creeping into her formerly dull eyes. ‘Why don’t you tell her how you feel? You could explain everything! Surely she’d listen? Surely she didn’t want to leave us?’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’ If the situation had been different Charlotte’s naive surety might have amused him. Instead it stung. ‘She knows I love her—I’ve told her so many times. Unfortunately she no longer believes me and I have nobody to blame for that but myself.’
He looked around the hall, anywhere to avoid meeting Charlotte’s reproachful eyes. She seemed displeased by his answer, but what else could he say?
Honora wanted me to let her go—demanded, in fact. If I were to go after her now, wouldn’t it be flying in the face of her wishes? I’ve already hurt her so much. Chasing her when she has no desire to be caught would only make things worse.
Through the tall windows Isaac saw the sky had darkened and dusk had begun to fall. He must have been sitting alone on the stairs for hours, he realised, hunched and cold and haunted by the mistakes that had snatched all happiness from his future. It wouldn’t be long until night had crept in completely, and then...? Honora was out there somewhere, friendless and distraught—the thought of her blundering in the darkness chilled him and he longed to know she was safe. How far had she got? Was she comfortable at some inn now, sequestered away in her room? Or was she still struggling along with her case behind her, following an unfamiliar road without a clue to where she might end up?
The possibilities clawed at him and Isaac closed his eyes. Wherever she was, Honora believed she was better off without him—and she was right. As much as it tore at him that was the truth. He had brought nothing but suffering into her life and the least he could do was leave her alone now to try to salvage something from the wreckage. He would pine for her the rest of his days, but she was free from him now and the damage he could wreak, and that was the only trace of comfort he might ever find.
‘So that’s all? That’s the end?’ Charlotte’s pretty brow was furrowed. ‘You won’t go out to find her? After everything Honora did for us you’re content to let her disappear without a trace?’
‘What choice do I have? She didn’t want to stay here. I couldn’t force her and, if she was so set on leaving, the least I could do was let her go.’
‘You could fight for her!’
Isaac felt his own face screw into a frown that only made his headache worse. ‘Fig
ht how? What do you mean?’
‘You could try one more time to apologise. Honora loves you as much as you do her—even I can see that. Surely that’s worth one more try at rescuing?’
He tried to smile, but his mouth would not obey. It was so like her to think the best of the world, so innocent she thought happy endings could ever be real. ‘I can’t fight for somebody who doesn’t want to be. Honora no longer wants or trusts me. The only thing I can do for her now is let her go in peace.’
He returned his face to rest in his palms, almost but not quite missing the flit of disapproval that crossed Charlotte’s countenance. Isaac heard the swish of her skirts as she got to her feet, but he didn’t look up, unable to bear the censure he knew he deserved.
‘There’s nothing else I can say, then. I see your mind is quite made up. All I can think is Honora must have been right. You can never have loved her as you claimed. If you did, you’d try harder to mend what was broken and wouldn’t give up so easily.’
Unseen behind his hands Isaac grimaced at the unfamiliar coldness in Charlotte’s voice. For years it had held nothing but trust and adoration—and so the disappointment in it as she turned and walked quietly away, leaving him alone in the darkened hall, was more than he could stand.
Chapter Fifteen
The relentless snoring of the man opposite her ought to have been annoying, but Honora barely heard each snuffling breath. All her focus was on preventing herself from crying out with the pain that gripped her in its cruel jaws, her mouth clamped shut and muscles tight with the strain of self-control. Sitting in one corner of the coach’s chilly cabin, she stared straight ahead, faded curtains hiding the passing scenery of the freezing night.
Every turn of the wheels will take me further from Isaac and all I left behind—not that any of it was ever really mine in the first place.
Her throat burned with harshly supressed tears, but she kept her expression as blank as a sheet of paper. There were two other passengers aside from the snoring man—a couple of twittering ladies whom apparently even the lateness of the hour couldn’t silence—and she refused to draw their attention any more than she had already. Their eyes had swivelled in her direction at once as she boarded the coach, taking in every detail of her face beneath her drab bonnet with the kind of curiosity she’d been forced to endure all her life. Probably she appeared cold and unfriendly huddled in her corner, but social niceties seemed so irrelevant now her heart felt as though it was carved from ice.
I was never stared at like that at Marlow Manor. Indeed, I almost forgot what it was to have people transfixed by something so entirely unimportant as the colour of my skin. Isaac certainly never gave me cause to think it mattered.
She felt another tendril of grief snake upwards and took a deep breath to steel herself against it. The last time she’d travelled by stagecoach had been with him, when the hours they’d been forced to spend together had begun to soften her resolve to guard against the damage she feared he might do. She hadn’t a clue then as to what was to come, no way of knowing that same handsome man was just as dangerous as she thought and that he would take an axe to the fledgling vine of her future hopes.
The acceptance she’d thought she’d found, the chance of a family to love and be loved in return, had all been a lie. Little Christopher was Frank’s child, born to a girl Honora had grown to care for and yet would now never see again. She’d thought herself almost a mother figure for both Charlotte and her baby—but had Isaac truly wanted that? Had he really intended to complete his family, or had he simply kept Honora close to prevent her from exposing his ward to scandal?
The only thing I know for sure is that he never loved me. How could he have lied to me otherwise, knowing how much Frank hurt me doing the same thing?
With a shuddering sigh in place of the cry she wanted to utter, Honora closed her eyes, blocking out the inquisitive looks her fellow passengers levelled at her from beneath their lashes. She wanted more than anything for this cursed journey to end, leaving Isaac miles behind her like dust shaken from a traveller’s boots. The memory of him wouldn’t be so easy to escape, however, she knew for certain—and nobody could ever replace him. He was her husband, but more than that. For a short, sweet time she’d allowed herself to believe he loved her and the warmth of that feeling would follow her the rest of her life. It would haunt her, both bitter and wonderful at the same time, and the only way she would ever forget that cherished smile was when her heart finally ceased to beat.
‘Are you travelling far?’
Honora opened her eyes to find one of the talkative ladies leaning towards her. Apparently her bleak expression wasn’t enough to save her from banal conversation and she struggled to find a civil reply.
‘To Somerset. I’ve still some miles to go.’
‘Still some miles?’ The older woman tutted in what might have been a passable show of sympathy had there not been such a gleam of sharp curiosity in her eye. ‘Why, we’ve hardly left Northampton. What a long journey for you to undertake all alone!’
The second woman seemed equally delighted at the chance to be dismayed, like her friend murmuring how great a shame it was Honora found herself in such a predicament. Honora said nothing, allowing their voices to wash over her as inconsequential noise. Nothing mattered but the dagger in her chest that delved deeper with every moment, the prospect of a life lived without Isaac twisting the blade with brutal malice.
‘No wonder you look so downcast. But never mind. At least this road is a good deal safer than it used to be. When I was your age there were highwaymen at every crossing. Don’t you recall those dark days, Mrs Croft?’
‘I certainly do.’ Mrs Croft nodded gravely. ‘One never knew when they might strike—the very memory of it makes my blood run cold. I was robbed once, you know, so I know more about these things than most.’
Honora inclined her head, but didn’t respond. She hadn’t the least intention of picking up her unwanted companion’s heavy hint to ask for the story, no doubt embellished until it bore little resemblance to the truth. What she wanted was to be left alone, damn it, to try to find some consolation in silence and the jolting rhythm of the cabin’s swaying progress through the night. Certainly she had no interest in this Mrs Croft’s tale, although it seemed her lack of answer posed no obstacle to the lady’s willingness to tell it.
‘It was a coach very like this one. Post, with a guard sitting on top to protect us poor travellers. Not that it did any good.’ The woman paused to give Honora a tragic glance that set her teeth on edge. ‘The first we knew of it was when we heard shouting and a great pounding on the side of the carriage. Our driver tried to shake them, but he was compelled to stop the horses and then those brigands pilfered us all! I was lucky to escape with my life. A gentleman challenged them and they knocked him to the ground quite viciously. Of course I feared they might do the same to me, so I handed over my purse without delay. It would have been a mistake to upset them. I might not have survived.’
Once again Honora nodded reluctantly, although in her current mood of hopeless unhappiness she might almost have welcomed such an attack. It would serve to take her mind off Isaac, even if for only a moment, and she would gladly take anything that might help erase the haunting memory of his face.
‘I’ll never forget that evening and how those brutes’ voices echoed in the darkness before we even saw them. Until my dying day I’ll remember—what was that?’ Mrs Croft sat suddenly upright, clutching her friend’s arm with bony fingers.
‘Mrs C? What is it?’
‘Can’t you hear...?’
‘Hear what?’
‘There! There it is again!’
Still huddled in her corner, Honora watched as her companions craned their necks in unison, heads held to one side as they strained to listen to something outside. Above the trundle of the wheels, snores of the sleeping man in the opposite corner and hollow
clop of the horses’ hooves, there was nothing Honora could make out and with a small shake of her head she was about to dismiss their alarm—until a faint sound made her pause.
‘There! Shouting, following the coach!’
Mrs Croft’s mouth sagged and even in the gloom of the carriage Honora could see she’d gone pale. Her own pulse skipped a fraction faster at the sight and faster still when she heard another indistinct cry roll across the fields hidden by the tatty curtain.
‘It can’t be. In this day and age?’
‘You think—?’
‘Don’t you? On a darkened road, with nowhere to stop for miles around? Shouting for us to halt? What other explanation can there be? Oh, heaven save us!’ The two older women clung to each other, some trace of their infectious fear beginning to creep in Honora’s gut.
‘What is it? What do you suspect is happening?’
Still clasping her friend’s arm, the first woman leaned forward dramatically. ‘The very worst, of course. Bandits, just as we described! Thieves! Men who would chase down a coach and pounce upon all inside!’
Mrs Croft gave a strangled gasp. ‘I couldn’t bear it, Mrs Norris! I’m sure my heart would give out if forced to suffer such indignity again and I can’t spare a single guinea from my purse. Whatever will we do?’
Honora sat for a moment, thinking fast. The voice was definitely getting louder and as it grew clearer there was no mistaking its intent.
‘He’s telling the driver to stop the coach!’ Mrs Norris’s eyes were round and afraid, although it was Mrs Croft who seemed to suffer the most. She had a hand pressed to her mouth and stifled breaths came from behind it, loud but not enough to cover the new sound of a rapidly approaching horse.
‘Hooves now! He’s getting closer!’
All the commotion finally woke the lone male passenger. He sat up abruptly, rubbing his eyes, and looked around him with clear bewilderment.
A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell Page 22
