She sank down on the chaise longue. So much thought had gone into every little touch and detail. How long had it been in the planning? When had Alexander conceived the idea? Now she could climb her tree every day in any weather, without him worrying that she might fall. This was not the work of a man who didn’t care for her. Quite the opposite.
She went out on to the balcony, leaning over the balustrade to gaze back at Fearnoch House. Alexander had been so sure that he was not the legitimate Earl. What must he be feeling now, talking to his mother, with all that he thought he knew of himself turned on its head? It ends here, he’d said of the line of portraits in the gallery, and he’d been right, but not in the way he meant.
The tree house was utterly beautiful, the most perfect gift for her, a gift only a person who truly understood her could have made. Alexander knew her. He cared for her. He could not resist kissing her, could not quell his desire for her, even though he knew what he was risking. He cared for her, but he would not love her. Instead, he was planning to throw himself back into active service with all its associated dangers, just to get away from her. Sickened, she finally understood why. That awful story he’d told her of the woman, Claudia, had scarred him for ever. His country was his first love and could be his only love. To serve his country he must be free to act without any thought for anyone else. Not even himself. Finally, she understood this too.
But he could love her. The evidence was here, in this tree house. He could love her. If he would stay for another month, six months, a year, give his feelings for her a chance to grow, then...
Then what? He’d offer to give up his life for her? Another week together, never mind a month, would test their resolution to the limit. They would not be able to resist one another. In another six months, familiarity might breed contempt and not love, but by then it would be too late. The result of their passion might be a child that neither of them wanted. She knew Alexander too well. He would stay with her then, for all the wrong reasons. Even if she still loved him—and she knew in her heart that she would—it would be a bitter and twisted love that ruined the loved one’s life.
When you love someone, you’d do anything to avoid hurting them.
She’d been talking about her mother’s selfishness, her revelation that love formed no part of her parents’ marriage. She’d not thought then that the words would ever apply to her own marriage. She loved Alexander with all her heart. If she asked him to stay, it might possibly end up breaking his.
She had to let him go. Though every particle of her screamed in protest, she knew she had to find a way to do so as he’d asked of her, with dignity and with understanding. A farewell which left him feeling no pity for her or guilt. She would have to find a way to put aside her own feelings, and think only of him. Because she loved him. Because she would do anything to avoid hurting him. Even if it meant giving him up.
She would not be her father. She would not abase herself, begging for his love, or worse, waste her days wondering where he was, what he was doing, her heart jumping with fear every time the doorbell rang lest it be Sir Marcus to inform her that she was a widow. She would not be a victim of love, and she would not make a victim of Alexander either, by loving him insufficiently.
She would let him go. It was the right decision, she knew it, could not dispute it. Why, then, did knowing she was about to do the right thing make her feel as if her heart was breaking? Retreating into the cabin, Eloise kicked off her slippers. Pulling the soft blanket over her, she closed her eyes and gave in to tears.
Chapter Twelve
Alexander stood in the doorway of the tree house, gazing down at the sleeping figure curled up under a blanket on the chaise longue. There had been no champagne chilling to greet her as he’d planned. Eloise had climbed the spiral staircase without him. Now he would have to imagine the delight on her face as she explored her little private folly.
Her stockinged feet were peeping out of the blanket. There were tear tracks on her cheeks. His heart tightened in his chest, for he knew he was the cause of them. He had never wanted anything so much as to wake her gently, kiss her tears away and tell her what she wanted to hear, but the very fierceness of his longing made it impossible. She’d said she loved him. He knew, from the tenderness that welled up in him, that he was already falling in love with her. There was only one solution.
Eloise stirred, opening her eyes, brushing her hair from her cheek, and blinked up at him, smiling. ‘Alexander. I can’t believe you created this magical place for me. I’m so sorry I spoiled the surprise. It’s beyond anything I could have dreamt of. Thank you so much.’
She held out her hand to him. He wanted to take it. Her eyes were shining so adoringly he could be in no doubt of her feelings for him. He took a step towards her. And then he stopped. Her face fell at whatever she saw in his eyes. She sat up. ‘What time is it? I had Mrs McGilvery prepare the Chinese Room for your mother. And dinner...’
‘My mother has already departed. She sends her profuse apologies, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to stay at Fearnoch House.’
‘That’s perfectly understandable. Is she lodging at a hotel, then? Will she be joining us for dinner?’
‘She’s heading straight back to Lancashire. She’ll spend the night at a posting house.’ He was aware of her scrutinising him closely. He forced himself to meet her gaze, trying to think of this as a mission, to imagine Eloise as the opposition. ‘You are thinking that there is too much to discuss. That I will wish to spend some time with my mother, now that I know—after today.’
‘She must love you very much, Alexander, to have made such a sacrifice. To have—to have given you up as she did.’
‘It allowed me to become the man I am. If she had not...’
‘I understand that, truly, I do. You are the legitimate Eighth Earl. Your father was the Sixth Earl. Your mother did not abandon you. She gave you up in order to protect you. The estates you thought you must rid yourself of belong to you. All those things are true, but in essence you are still the same man, Alexander Sinclair, who lives to serve his country.’
Eloise smiled at him. It was an odd smile. As if she was trying to reassure him. ‘Sir Marcus called here half an hour ago. It seems my country needs me urgently.’
‘Then you must go.’
He had come here thinking to do battle with her, to persuade her to his way of thinking. Her immediate agreement threw him off kilter. ‘I will have to leave tomorrow. The matter is urgent.’
‘Naturally. Do you know how long you will be gone?’
‘I have no idea. A year, perhaps.’
‘A year!’ Eloise exclaimed. ‘I had not thought it would be quite so long.’
‘It’s better that way. In a year, we’ll have time to—’
‘Forget about each other,’ she snapped, then covered her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. That was unfair.’
‘It’s what we should do. Claudia died because of me.’
‘And you broke the rules trying to save her. Was it really so wrong to put her life before whatever mission you were on?’
‘I compromised myself and my duty to my country by putting her in harm’s way.’
‘You’re not about to put me in harm’s way by taking me on an active mission.’
‘I thought you understood. I would be taking you with me, Eloise, in my thoughts, and in my heart. I’d be thinking about you. Missing you. And if there came a point where I had to act, where my actions might risk my life, I might hesitate because of you.’
‘Because you love me.’
She looked so forlorn, he wanted to sweep her into his arms. Instead, he sank on to the chair by the desk. He did love her, there was no point in denying it. She was right, it could only be love that made it so impossible to resist her. Love that made the idea of lying to her impossible. Love that was making him feel as if the life was being squeezed out of him at the
thought of leaving. He loved her. He couldn’t tell her so, but it was beyond him to deny it. ‘There can be no future for us, Eloise, not as you imagine it.’
She seemed to steel herself. ‘No. You’re right. I beg your pardon.’
‘If I remained here, I’d be giving up the only life I’ve ever wanted.’
‘I would never ask you to do that.’ She fixed that odd smile back on her face. When she spoke again, she had her emotions firmly in check. ‘Well, then, you must go, and I must get on with my own life, which is the reason I married you, after all.’ She smiled brightly. ‘I will go to Lancashire, I have decided. I will get to know your mother. I will tend to your estates. You can instruct Robertson to grant me whatever powers I need, assuming that you are not now going to rid yourself of them.’
‘I don’t know what I want to do with the estates.’
‘Then I will look after them while you consider it. I’ve been thinking, you know, that I am much more like Kate than I thought. I will take her as my role model, and do something useful with my life. There is a mill in Scotland which has a sort of model village attached to it. I think we—I may be able to establish something similar in Lancashire, if we—for the miners and their families. We can make it a sort of joint venture or a co-operative. That way, they can share in the profits, benefit from their labour, just as you wished them to. What do you think?’
‘I think it is a marvelous idea, but it is a huge undertaking.’
‘I have endless amounts of time to spare.’ Eloise faltered. ‘I want to do it, Alexander. I’ve been thinking about it ever since Kate told me about it. I won’t do anything precipitate, but...’
‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.’ He should be relieved. Why didn’t he feel relieved? ‘I’ll let Robertson know to give you whatever support you need, and to sort out any permissions for land, funds, whatever.’
‘Thank you.’ Eloise’s smile wobbled. ‘I had better go and see to dinner. I don’t know what time it is. You omitted to furnish my little kingdom with a clock.’
‘It was a deliberate omission. I wanted you to lose track of time up here.’ There was a lump in his throat. ‘Eloise, I...’
‘Actually, I think I’ll take dinner in my room. You’ll be making an early start, no doubt, so I’ll let you get on with your packing.’
It took him a moment to realise what she was saying. ‘You mean this is goodbye?’
‘Let’s not draw it out, it’s too painful.’ She held out her hand. ‘Is it customary to wish you luck?’
He took her hand in his. Now that the moment had come, it felt impossible. He loved this woman. She loved him. Was he really going to walk away from her? But how could he stay, when it would only make their parting more painful, or worse, make it impossible? She was trying so hard to make it easier for him too, he finally realised. Brave, lovely Eloise.
He had made his choice. He let her go. ‘Goodbye,’ Alexander said, turning his back. At the bottom of the spiral staircase, he looked up, but she was not on the balcony. He squared his shoulders and strode up the garden, resolutely turning his mind to the tasks he had to complete before morning.
Two months later
Alexander slid the telescopic eyeglass back into its case before extricating himself carefully from the lookout. It was five miles across fields stubbled with the remains of the recent harvest to the crudely constructed den in the forest which had been his home for the last fortnight. Though night was falling, he took his customary care not to be spotted, and an alternative route back from the way he’d come. He was weary, hungry and filthy. And sick to the back teeth of being all three.
No less a person than the Duke of Clarence, the Lord High Admiral himself, had requested Alexander’s assignment to this mission. Clarence was a most reluctant heir to the throne. There had been times, in the last two months, when the story he’d told, of his brother Frederick’s deathbed confession that he had a secret heir, seemed so unlikely that Alexander wondered if he’d invented it. The little girl he’d tracked down was the right age, and so like her mother that there could be no doubting the relationship, but whether the mother was the woman that the Duke of Clarence sought was still up for debate. There were no portraits of the unnamed female who had apparently married Frederick, Duke of York, about five years ago. Alexander had discovered some evidence to suggest a marriage might have taken place, but more would be needed if Clarence’s wish, to have the union validated and the child proclaimed heir, was to be fulfilled. He had a number of other leads. It would take him another two or three months at least to follow them up thoroughly. What Clarence would do with the evidence, how the Duke planned to persuade the current King to embrace his plan, Alexander neither knew nor cared. Truth be told, despite the fact that this mission had the potential to change the course of the British monarchy, he didn’t give a damn about the outcome.
Reaching his temporary home, he spooned out the leftover stew made from the rabbit he’d caught last night. It was tough, charred on the outside and not far away from raw on the inside. Phoebe would probably recommend turning it into some sort of fricassee. Alexander set the unsavoury plateful aside. He couldn’t risk lighting a fire two nights in a row. In any case, despite being hungry, he had no appetite. Sitting cross-legged on the ground in the doorway of his shack, he gazed out at the forest. Which of the trees would Eloise choose to climb? What was Eloise doing now? Where was she? Did she miss him as much as he missed her?
He groaned. Contrary to his expectations, thinking about Eloise occupied more rather than less of his time with every passing day. The pain of missing her was physical. He set about the well-practised ritual of persuading himself that he’d done the right thing in leaving her, recounting every word of the arguments he’d used against her protestations of love, but the more he repeated them, the emptier they sounded. He loved her. Though he had admitted as much to himself before he left, he had not understood the earth-shaking reality of being in love. He hadn’t understood that he wasn’t only leaving Eloise behind, he was leaving a part of himself that only she knew. He was lonely, the sort of loneliness that no company could cure other than hers. It was ludicrous of him to imagine himself invisible, but there were times when that was how he felt.
What was he doing here? He had never felt so purposeless before. Serving his country had been his life. The thrill of the chase had never palled. The need to think on his feet, the combination of physical and mental agility required had been his lifeblood. He had always been so proud to serve. Knowing that he was needed, that he had been singled out to serve, knowing just how highly the Admiralty valued him, had always made him feel special. He had never questioned the price this demanded. He had never resented the claim his country had on him, body and soul. Until now.
Two years ago he had broken the rules with catastrophic consequences. For two years he’d carried the guilt of his actions around with him. It was his fault that Claudia had been there when they came for him, but was it really so wrong of him to have become involved with her? He was human, after all. And as for the mission—he’d been trying to save her life, dammit! They’d made him think it was wrong. They’d made him believe that Claudia was expendable. As he was?
A branch cracked and broke free from a tree a few feet away, tumbling into the forest. He should have known, that night when he saw the scratches on Eloise’s hands and arms, had a terrifying vision of her crashing to earth just as that branch had done, he should have known that he was falling in love with his wife. He smiled to himself, remembering how indignant she’d been at his attempt to exert his authority. She would always make her own decisions, go her own way. As she had done, the last time he saw her. When she must have been breaking her heart, she stood up to him, claiming her life for her own, refusing to weep over him. Doing her best, he saw now, to make the parting as easy for him as she could, once she’d accepted he was going. Had she cried afterwards? How long had she re
mained at Fearnoch House when he’d gone? She’d be in Lancashire now, whipping the estates into better order, working on her plans. Had she already forgotten him? Did she think of him?
He missed her. What was he doing here, when he could be with her? Why had he chosen this life, when he could be making a new life with her? Because he was afraid, just as she said. He had always had this life. He knew no other. But he wasn’t the man he had been before he met Eloise. He was the legitimate son of a libertine. His mother had given him up to save him, and he’d rewarded her with indifference. Even now that he knew the truth, he’d taken evasive action rather than confront it.
This business of Clarence’s was not his business. Sir Marcus would claim he was being unpatriotic, but he had nothing to reproach himself about. He had more than done his bit for King and country. Let someone else pick up the cudgel. He could stay, complete this mission, but now that he’d decided, he couldn’t wait another day—not when every day apart from Eloise risked her deciding they could never be together.
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