Forever Mine

by Delilah Marvelle

  His features tightened. “Given you wish to know, Lady Ascott, I ceased wearing my mourning garments all but last year, shortly before meeting you. It was time. It had been seven years.” His brows came together. “I always felt as if I would be betraying her. So although the whispers were once true, I am, in fact, trying to rise above them. Trying.”

  Seven years. Seven years was a very long time to mourn for one’s wife. She doubted her father would mourn at all if her mother were to die.

  Her heart squeezed, sensing the truth in his words. This was real. He was real. “You loved her that much.”

  He half nodded, but wouldn’t meet her gaze. “We grew up together. She lived with her uncle on the estate next to mine in Essex. We were the same age, actually, and there wasn’t a time I don’t remember her not being part of my life. She was eight and twenty when she succumbed to illness. It wasn’t her time and I most certainly wasn’t ready to see her go. She wanted children. We both did. Sadly we… It never happened.”

  Augustine touched his knee gently, wishing she could comfort him and make him forget the pain. The pain of loss was one she could relate to all too well.

  He glanced toward her hand, which rested on his knee.

  She drew it away, knowing it wasn’t by any means appropriate. “I know how great a burden it is to lose someone you love. ’Tis unfathomable. You cannot touch them, you cannot hold them, and you cannot comfort them or yourself. It is as if they never existed, yet cruel as life is, everything around you reminds you that they did. I still miss my brother every day. He was my only friend in a house full of strangers. I could trust him to anything. And I haven’t been able to say that about anyone else since.” She blinked back tears, trying not to make a mess of her face.

  The duke leaned in close, his large shoulder grazing hers, and murmured ever so softly, “You can say that about me.”

  “Can I?” she whispered back.

  He held her gaze. “I relate to the sadness you cling to. Believe me. I have noticed it at every turn. It lingers in your voice and in your eyes and haunts me. Everything about you haunts me. Whenever I see you or talk to you, I feel this need to…” His voice trailed off.

  She swallowed. Perhaps it was best left unsaid.

  He paused and tilted his head, edging his mouth closer to hers, the heat of his skin pulsing toward hers. “Might I…?”

  She leaned toward that masculine mouth, achingly drawn into wanting to know what it would be like to kiss him. But as he edged in closer, and his hand drifted toward her waist, to pull her closer, she realized a kiss would only invite him to think that she was his. She jerked back, her heart jumping to her throat. “I cannot.”

  He paused, leaned away and cleared his throat. He glanced at her. “You think me too old. Is that it?”

  Bless his heart. He just didn’t know what he was up against. She leaned toward him and confided, “Your age has no bearing on my feelings. If my life were anything but what it is, Your Grace, I would marry you. Gladly. For you are all things handsome and kind, but you deserve a far happier soul than the one I have to give. I will admit that I barely belong to myself since the disappearance of my brother. A part of me, the one that used to play and dance at a mere word, will never return. What you see is exactly what you will get. I am what you call occasional happiness wrapped in perpetual sorrow.”

  His jaw tightened. Lifting his hand to her cheek, he touched a gloved finger to it and slowly traced it down to her lips with a soft, feathery stroke that made her breath hitch. “How dare you make me want you more?”

  She felt herself wanting to sway against those words and that touch. Everything about him seemed to be so achingly true to everything she was. It wasn’t fair. Not given that she was set to leave.

  He surveyed the path leading back toward the festivities to ensure there was nobody watching, then touched the heat of his lips to her cheek and whispered against it, “Cease thinking that you are alone. For you are not.”

  She dragged in a breath, sensing he meant it.

  Voices drifted their way.

  He leaned away. “I should go.” Grabbing up her gloved hand, he kissed it hard, crushing his lips against it as if trying to make her realize how much she meant to him. “I have guests to tend to.”

  Releasing her, he rose, rounded the bench with long, quick strides heading down the path, back toward the picnic beyond. He paused and returned to her, recapturing her gaze. “I will speak to your mother. I believe an offer on your hand is the only way to go about this. It will ensure you receive whatever assistance you are hesitant to take.”

  Her eyes widened. Hadn’t she discouraged him enough? “No. Please. Please don’t complicate my life.”

  “I will prove to you, Lady Ascott, that devotion can serve to gloriously uncomplicate everything. Trust me in this.”

  With the incline of his head, he swept back toward the path, disappearing.

  Augustine stared after him. Something about him made her want to strip her soul bare. And it wasn’t good. Because now was not the time to be making an attachment to a man she had to leave behind.

  Glancing down at her reticule, she frantically undid the tightened lacing and dug out her brother’s portrait. Turning him upward, she clutched the frame and whispered, “A part of me wants to trust him.”

  Nathaniel’s painted eyes held hers as if assuring her that she should. “Only I can’t. What if he should tell someone? Or stop me? Or worse yet, what if my feelings for him develop and I am unable to leave for New York? It would ruin everything. And you come first. You will always come first. Know that.” She kissed the portrait and tucked it back into her reticule.

  She’d be gone before the duke came around to offering on her hand, anyway. In six days’ time, right after her mother’s ball, which would ensure her parents were distracted enough not to notice a departure, she was boarding a midnight carriage that would take her to Liverpool and from there, to New York where she belonged.

  Chapter Two

  There are moments I forget the sound of his voice. It scares me. For it means he is fading from my life. I vow, however, upon all that I am, he will never fade whilst I breathe.

  -From the diary of Lady Augustine Jane Ascott

  The Sumner Ball

  Late evening

  Six days later

  Leonard Gabriel Stewart, the fifth duke of Wentworth, sat on the ledge of the verandah belonging to the home of Lady Ascott and breathed in a good dose of the cool, misty night air before hissing it back out. It was almost midnight and the orchestra, along with all the guests had departed but a few minutes ago. He was the last man standing. Though barely, given that he was soused.

  Oh, yes. He was utterly soused, having indulged in nine glasses of port filled to the rim with no food to counter it. He didn’t usually drink, but he’d spent the entire evening silently grouching about the fact that his beautiful Lady Ascott had danced with every single man in the room but him. She also hadn’t sent word to confide a damn thing, either, as he had offered her to do.

  It was as if she was delivering a very personal message. And it hurt. It bloody hurt a lot more than he cared to admit. But he was here with his own personal message. He was going to ask for her hand in marriage whether she wanted him to or not.

  Servants scraped the wood floors of all the wax that had dripped from the chandeliers, while the remaining candles diminished to the stub one by one. Thoughts of Lady Ascott and how stunning she had been tonight in that sapphire gown, kept him more than occupied as he continued to wait for her father to join him out on the terrace.

  He never thought he would ever submit to the idea of another woman again. It took seven long years to swallow the reality that he was still breathing and his beloved Catherine was not. And though nothing would ever change that, when it came to Lady Ascott, by God did he ever see himself in her. He related to that wit, to that pride, to that sorrow and to that awkwardness that she tried to hide from him and the world. She was so u
nlike Catherine in many ways, but that is exactly what drew him to her. He wanted someone who wouldn’t remind him of the past. He wanted to start anew without being haunted and he sensed that this was his last chance at happiness before life entirely passed him by.

  “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Lord Sumner announced, emerging from the open doors of the ballroom, his lanky frame silhouetted by the lanterns lighting the terrace. “My wife isn’t feeling particularly well and you must forgive her for not joining us.” The earl strode toward him, smoothing his silk cravat against his throat with gloved hands. “I’m honored you chose to grace us with your presence tonight given that there are far worthier homes in London you could have ventured into.”

  Leonard jumped off the ledge of the verandah he’d been sitting on, landing before the man on the paved terrace. He paused, waiting for everything to steady itself. When it did, he adjusted his evening coat and blurted, “I will admit, my lord, I didn’t come to partake in the festivities, grand though they were. My appearance tonight is strategic. Though I probably shouldn’t have had as much port as I did. Especially given what I am about to announce.”

  The earl’s smile faded.

  Leonard cleared his throat. “I am leaving on the morrow to Scotland for several weeks on business and therefore this simply cannot wait. I wish to make an offer on your daughter’s hand. I don’t want or need a dowry. This isn’t that sort of marriage. I also ask that no prenuptials be involved.”

  The earl blinked rapidly. “Ah. Well.” He glanced off to the side, his features tightening. He nodded. “I will admit that I am as astounded as I am pleased. The match is seamless.”

  Leonard grinned with smug pride. “Good. I think so, too.” He leaned in. “I vow to honor her, my lord. I adore her and have been mindlessly pining for her ever since she and I met.” He paused. “Although I do worry I am perhaps far more enamored with her than she is with me.”

  The earl’s gaze snapped toward his. “It isn’t you. The girl has a tendency to…” He sighed. “She doesn’t like men.”

  “What?”

  The earl’s expression stilled. “Her brother’s disappearance has a lot to do with it. In my opinion, she really isn’t mentally sound, Your Grace, and has a tendency to…fabricate stories. About me. About her brother. About everything.”

  Leonard’s chest tightened. He searched that face, trying to weigh those words. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Sadly, it has been that way ever since we returned from New York without…since my son…since he…” The earl rubbed the back of his gloved hand against his rounded chin, clearly unable to say the words. He blinked rapidly and eventually let his hand fall away. “If you have no qualms of taking the hand of a woman that has been mentally scarred by the disappearance of her brother, I consent. Her hand is yours however soon you want it. She will need a strong husband to guide her through the loss she hasn’t been able to overcome and you are as strong as any.” He eyed him. “Not to be rude, but I should tend to my wife given her state. Shall I see you to the door, Your Grace?”

  Leonard slowly shook his head, trying to remain aloof despite the sense of panic that squeezed his chest. “I will see myself to the door. Please. Tend to your wife.”

  “Thank you. I am most pleased by the offer and we will speak more upon your return from Scotland and celebrate the union then. Good night.” The earl nodded, patted him on the shoulder, turned and disappeared back into the ballroom.

  Leonard drew in a ragged breath and hissed it out. Jesus Christ. Something wasn’t right. What the hell was going on?

  He threw back his head and stared up at the black, starless night above that seemed to sway against the haziness of the port that still hummed within his veins. His trip to Scotland was going to be a waste of time given how distracted he would be if he didn’t resolve this. He needed to talk to her in the way he had talked to her that day in the garden with no one and nothing between them.

  Leveling his head and his mind, he strode across the terrace and into the ballroom. He glanced toward one of the male servants scraping candle wax off the wood floor and dug into his waistcoat pocket, retrieving his leather pocketbook.

  He made his way over to the blond youth. “Sir?”

  The servant glanced up from his task and upon seeing him, scrambled up onto his booted feet, setting the scraping tool behind his back. The youth, who barely reached his shoulder and had yet to be shaved, intently searched his face, waiting dutifully for instruction.

  Leonard leaned toward him and stuffed his entire pocketbook into his livery only to miss the pocket due to his daze. He rolled his eyes, pulled away the pocket with his other hand and shoved it in. “There.” He cleared his throat. “I must speak to Lady Ascott before she retires and am offering you sixty pounds for your service. Inform her that the duke of Wentworth wishes to speak to her at once. Bring her to a room somewhere within the house where she and I will be assured privacy over the next hour.”

  The servant’s lips parted as his eyes darted past him, toward the entrance of the ballroom. “Your Grace. I could be terminated.”

  Leonard lowered his chin. “How much are you being paid for your current position? Hmm?”

  The youth gawked up at him. “Fifteen pounds a year.”

  “I see.” He eyed the man, waving toward his livery pocket. “You do realize that I just gave you four years’ worth of wages?”

  That mouth opened and closed. “Yes, Your Grace, I do, but…” The youth winced and lowered his gaze.

  Leonard leaned toward him. “Go on. What is it? Say it. I will not take offense.”

  Keeping his gaze lowered, he continued, “If I’m terminated, no respectable house will hire me again. My mum would be in quite the bind. She depends on me. Sixty pounds, though generous, will only last us so long.”

  “Ah. Right you are in that.” Leonard leaned toward him and gripped that shoulder, balancing himself against the youth. “If you are terminated, sir, I will have you trained and made into a valet. My valet. At forty pounds a year. What say you?”

  Blinking rapidly, the boy echoed, “You’d wish for me to become your valet, Your Grace? Truly?”

  Leonard patted him heartily on the shoulder and stepped back. “Yes. So I suggest you get terminated. Not only would your mother appreciate it, but I would, too.”

  The youth huffed out a breath and lowered his voice. “I’ll have Lady Ascott meet you in the lower library in twenty minutes. No one ever uses that room or ventures into it except to dust. I’ll keep it unlit to prevent anyone knowing it is in use. Follow me.”

  Ah, yes. It was good to be duke.

  Now, if only he could get Lady Ascott to see that.

  Of all times! Drat, drat, drat him. The duke could not have chosen a worse moment to impose upon her. Augustine knew she had to set this matter straight before he ruined everything.

  “We leave the moment I am done speaking to him,” she confided to her lady’s maid, pointing the woman toward the direction of the servants’ quarters.

  “Why speak to him at all, my lady?” Elizabeth whispered back, her dark eyes wide.

  “Because I fear he may bring attention to us. Now go. I will join you in the carriage shortly. Speak to no one.”

  Elizabeth grabbed her hand and squeezed it before letting it go and darting off, her skirts rustling beneath her traveling cloak.

  Glancing back toward the empty, candlelit corridor to ensure no one was following, Augustine drew in a shaky breath and hurried through the side entrances of the house leading in and out of rooms to ensure she wasn’t seen. She eventually made her way through the open door of the lower library, noting that none of the candles had been lit within the room.

  She paused just beyond the darkened entrance and squinted against the blurring fuzziness beyond, edging her way further in. The dim light from the vast corridor behind her barely illuminated the room. Although the duke of Wentworth was supposed to be waiting, no human form appeared to be
in sight.

  None that she could see, anyway. “Your Grace?”

  “The one and only,” a husky voice replied from beside her.

  She gasped, startled. That breathy voice seemed to be kissing her very soul. Augustine quickly turned toward his tall, shadowed frame. “Heavens above, my heart about stopped.”

  “I do have that effect on women.” He sounded unusually pleased with himself. “I suggest you get used to it.”

  She bit back an incredulous snort. “I do believe you have grown insufferably vain since I last saw you.”

  “Inebriated is a better word for it. Might I also add that it’s your fault that I am bashed out of my senses.”

  “My fault?” she echoed. “How so?”

  His voice darkened. “You allowed every man to dance with you tonight. Every man, that is, but me. Why?”

  She cringed, realizing he was miffed by her antics. Not that she blamed him. She had been avoiding him all night on purpose. It was difficult enough knowing that she was leaving everything behind, and the last thing she had wanted was to yearn for something that wasn’t meant to be: him.

  She hardened her tone, refusing to submit to how she truly felt. Not with Nathaniel waiting. “Is this what I was called here for? To be reprimanded for the fact that you drank far too much and are now making a complete dunce of yourself? I would have never expected this from you, Your Grace. I thought you were a modest and respectable gentleman. Not this.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry. I will admit that I am far more enamored with you than I realized.”

  She crossed shaky arms over her chest, trying not to dwell on his words, lest her already melting heart cloud her judgment. “And a fine way you go about showing it. Here we are standing in the dark in the farthest corner of the house away from all of respectable society due to your insistence. I thought this was a matter of great import, Your Grace. ’Tis obvious the only thing of great import here is your bruised ego.”