Glitter

by Abbi Glines

  “I am sorry, Miriam,” he said without hesitation. I could feel the heat from his gaze on me, but I kept my eyes locked on nothing and everything but him. I did not trust myself to look up into his eyes, the color of the darkest blue seas. I dreamed of those eyes and the way they reminded me of a storm churning when he was aroused. No! I would not allow myself to get swept away with emotion and become weak. This was the man who had so easily forgotten me. Without explanation, he had acted as if we did not know each other at all.

  “Me too,” I replied with a new found will. I swung my gaze to meet his, determined to say what needed to be said before this dance was over. “For trusting you,” I added. “It was a mistake. One I shall not make again. Today Nicholas asked me to marry him and I said yes. He chose me over the revenge he so harbored toward you. I can trust him,” I did not say ‘not to hurt me’ because I did not want my emotions to be laid bare to Ashington. He did not need to know how he had hurt me. It was done.

  Ashington paused for a moment and stared at me as if he did not believe the words I was saying. I held my head high and my shoulders back. He may not think I was worthy enough to be his countess, but his brother did find worth in me. I would be a good wife and the incredulous look in Lord Ashington’s eyes would not break me. I would not allow it to. He couldn’t hurt me anymore.

  “Nicholas accepts me for who I am,” I said, needing to remind myself possibly more than anything. “He wants me. Nothing more.”

  Ashington continued to stare at me as if my words made no sense to him or if he could not believe what he was hearing. My chest felt as if it may explode from the pain I had said he could no longer cause me. I had been wrong. It appeared Lord Ashington could, indeed, cause me great pain with saying very few words or no words at all.

  A deep breath was something that had become difficult to do under the duress of the breaking of my heart once again. At least that is what it felt was happening. Something utterly horrific inside me was exploding and I feared I may not survive it.

  In that moment, an arm came around me and I heard Nicholas speak, but I wasn’t sure exactly what it was he said. Then we were walking, he and I. We were leaving the ballroom or perhaps the house. I did not know for sure. I was just relieved that I was being taken away from the crowd, the noise, from… Ashington’s eyes so full of disbelief.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him,” I said.

  “He was going to find out eventually,” Nicholas replied.

  “But perhaps it shouldn’t have been here, me, in that moment,” I said the words as I thought them.

  “I do happen to agree with her. I don’t think that was the best idea,” Aunt Harriet said, and I then realized she was following us.

  “Are we leaving?” I asked, then realizing we had indeed walked out the front entry way.

  “Yes, I think tonight we have given the ton quite enough to talk about. Don’t you?” Nicholas said with a smile that did not meet his eyes.

  “We did?” I asked.

  Nicholas brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. “More so than they’ve had in years.”

  There were so many things I should have been concerned with in that moment. Ashington was not one of them… yet he was there in my thoughts, crowding out all others.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Earl of Ashington

  When the door to 18 Mayfair opened, I did not even know the time. For I had not slept all night. I had spent most of it pacing the floor. There was no well laid plan or thought through speech I had come here to give. I had simply been unable to stay away any longer. There were few things that I was absolutely certain of in this life. Right now, I faced losing one of those things because I knew without a doubt that I was in love with Miriam Bathurst and there would never be another woman I loved as deeply as I did her.

  “Lord Ashington,” the butler began, but I did not wait to be sent away until later when the family was ready for visitors. I could not wait any longer.

  “I am very sorry,” I said as I walked past the man and into the foyer.

  “Lord Ashington, if you will wait here, I will go get Lord Wellington. He is having breakfast but-”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I replied. “Where is Miss Bathurst?” I asked.

  “She isn’t awake-”

  “Yes, I am,” she interrupted.

  I spun around to see her standing on the third stair from the floor dressed in a morning gown, looking as if she were a gift from God if I, in fact, believed in a higher being. She did not appear well-rested and the weariness in her eyes made me want to gather her in my arms and hold her and protect her. The emotions churning within me were so out of control with my sleep-deprived brain I was not sure I could trust myself to take one step in her direction.

  “Lord Ashington,” she said then. “How can I help you?”

  “You can’t marry Nicholas,” I blurted out. There were no eloquent words or proclamations of love like I had intended. Instead, I went directly to the point, which I could tell by the way her eyes heated was a mistake.

  “I do not need your permission and neither does Nicholas,” she replied with her chin jutted out and her shoulders straight.

  Sighing, I tried to regain my focus. I did not come here to get thrown out. “I am sorry, that is not at all what I meant and not how I should have said it. I’ve not slept and-” I stopped because I realized that I now sounded as if I were about to ramble like a deranged drunkard.

  “What is all the noise… Lord Ashington!” Lady Wellington entered the foyer, her eyes wide with surprise at the sight of me. I could not say I blamed her. “Lord Ashington, your hair is… it is standing up all over… are you unwell?”

  I was beginning to believe I was in fact unwell. As for my hair, I hadn’t thought about it, but there was a chance I had ran my hands through it while pacing most of the night.

  “Good morning, Lady Wellington. I am sorry to stop by so early,” I said, noticing then that she wasn’t wearing any slippers. Her toes were peeking out from her day gown.

  “I would invite you to join us for breakfast but with the circumstances that might be-” She didn’t finish that sentence and then looked at Miriam.

  “He was just leaving. He came to tell me I couldn’t marry Nicholas, which he has no power for such a proclamation,” Miriam told her aunt then looked back at me with a challenge in her gaze.

  “You are right. I do not have the power to tell you who you can and cannot marry. That is not why I came. I am here, Miriam Bathurst, because I am in love with you and I cannot bear to lose you. When I say that you cannot marry Nicholas, it is because I love you. You consume my thoughts, you fill the void inside me, and I never believed that I would feel this way about anyone. Please, Miriam, don’t marry Nicholas. Whatever he feels for you, it is not to the depths of what I feel. You own me.”

  Silence was only but for a moment.

  “Oh my,” Lady Wellington blurted out loudly.

  I kept my eyes locked on Miriam who continued to stand as stiff and determined as she had been before my proclamation of undying love. Something I never thought I’d find myself doing. Yet here I was doing just that.

  “Nicholas asked me to marry him. I believe his feelings run deeper than you give him credit,” she said.

  Nicholas may have asked for her hand but so had I. I needed the confirmation that she did not know of my meeting with her uncle and my request to marry her. I now had it, yet I did not want to be the one to tell her of that meeting. I wanted nothing more than to have Miriam in my life and by my side forever and with her would come her family. She had no father, but she had an uncle and she cared for him. She respected him. Unsure how to explain myself without telling her the exact truth would be almost impossible.

  “He asked for your hand in marriage first,” Alfred Wellington’s voice filled the room.

  I did not take my eyes from Miriam. I watched as she looked at her uncle, clearly confused by his words. Over the past two week
s, I had thought many things of Alfred Wellington and none of them were fond thoughts. The man had so bluntly informed me that he did not care that I was an earl. I was not good enough for his niece. She deserved more than to just be the mother of my bastard. Hearing Emma called a bastard had been all it took to end my request. I had left 18 Mayfair without another word.

  “What do you mean?” Miriam asked at the same time her aunt asked, “WHAT?” rather hysterically.

  Wellington sighed and shot a look in my direction. I then met his gaze and waited to see what it was he was going to tell Miriam. The truth was I never said what all I had come to say that day. His accusation about Emma and my temper had been enough to end our meeting. I realized too late I should have stayed and pled my case. Perhaps if he had known the depths of my feeling, he would have changed his mind.

  “Twas the day after we returned from Chatwick Hall. The two of you took Whitney for a stroll in the park and Lord Ashington arrived to speak with me.” He glanced at his wife briefly then at Miriam. “He asked for your hand then, but we had just seen the girl. He had made no explanation for her and expected you to just accept he was keeping his bastard child. I believed he was searching for a wife to mother the child and I wanted more for you than that. I want you to have what your aunt and I have. I want you to be loved, Miriam. You deserve more.”

  “Oh, Alfred!” Lady Wellington said with exasperation. “Dear, the man does love her and no matter who the girl is, she is but a child and she too needs love. How could you be so callous of something such as that?”

  Miriam was looking at me now. I saw many different emotions on her face and a few terrified me while others gave me hope. Hope that I wasn’t too late. Hope that she might possibly love me too. Hope that she didn’t see Emma as her uncle did. For as much as I loved her, Emma was, indeed, just a child who needed me. Who needed to be loved. Wouldn’t Miriam understand that?

  “You ignored me then, at the ball, because Uncle Alfred had refused you,” Miriam said finally.

  I nodded once. “I thought perhaps my feelings for you could be forgotten or that they were not as deep as I feared. I was wrong.”

  “And Emma,” she said. “She is your daughter?”

  This was a question I expected. A secret I had kept to myself and only myself. Telling Miriam, and her aunt and uncle, meant that I had to trust them. Emma’s future was fragile in this society. Every decision I made would impact how it all played out for her.

  “She is not. However, she is a Compton. I am going to raise her as my own. The details as to her birth will have to be a lie if she is to ever live among the world we do. She is bright. She will make her way brilliantly one day. I have no doubt of that.” I took one step toward Miriam then stopped. “When this season began, I had one goal: to find Emma a mother. Someone proper and quintessentially English. I believed if she had a mother such as that, she would grow to be a lady. For she is rather head strong and wild. However, I was wrong… about many things, it would seem.”

  “Emma needs a mother who understands what it is like to feel unwanted by those who are meant to love you most. You see, she was brought to me at two years old. Her mother had left her with some old woman she barely knew with coins and a promise she’d return. She did not. The old woman got word that Emma’s mother had died and she brought the girl to me. Until that day, I had no knowledge of Emma’s existence. Emma remembers everything about her life before she came to me. I wish so often that she did not. She can tell you the color of her mother’s hair, features of her mother’s face in great detail and the way her mother said specific words, for her mother was French and spoke with a heavy accent.”

  “Emma needs a mother who can accept who she is and be ready to protect her if the time arises. Emma needs a mother who is brave, loyal, loving, and kind. It is true I found all of those things in you. However, I would be lying to you and myself if I stood here and told you that I asked your uncle for your hand because of Emma.”

  I closed the distance between us and took Miriam’s hand in mine. For a moment, I studied her delicate hand almost lost in my much larger one. Then I lifted my gaze to meet hers. “I did not plan to fall in love. It was something I did not believe existed between a man and a woman. I believed only in lust and attraction. Both of those fade over time and I wanted nothing to do with either when choosing a wife. You, Miriam Bathurst, changed everything. I knew you were different from that very first meeting. You were the first lady to ever refuse a dance with me,” I reminded her and a smile tugged at the corner of her full pink lips.

  “I knew after that first encounter that something about you was unique. I did not realize you would change everything for me. My beliefs, my desires, and my dreams. For now, I have none of those without you. You are everything I never knew I needed in this life but fear I cannot live without. I love you.”

  Miriam’s hand gently squeezed mine. “And I love you,” she replied.

  I wanted to crush her body against mine and kiss those sweet lips, once again, but we were not alone. There still stood two obstacles in our way. Her uncle and my brother.

  “It appears we have an issue on our hands. You are engaged to the wrong brother,” Wellington stated.

  “She wouldn’t be if you hadn’t said no when he asked for her hand,” Lady Wellington told her husband.

  “I was protecting her. We knew nothing of the child and he did not come into my office telling me of his love for Miriam. If he had that might have swayed my decision,” he replied.

  “Well, it is a mess that you have made and perhaps you need to clean it up, dear. It is clear she cannot marry Mr. Compton. He is charming and I do enjoy his visits, but she does not love him,” Lady Wellington said.

  Miriam smiled up at me as her aunt and uncle continued to go back and forth.

  I intended to go speak to Nicholas myself, but I would not interrupt them just now. They seemed too engrossed in their conversation. Miriam was amused and I enjoyed seeing her happy. I wanted to spend the rest of my life making her happy. If it was in my power, I would make it a point to do just that.

  “If I may be so bold to ask, if Emma is not your daughter but she is a Compton, then whose child is she?” Lady Wellington asked me. I had been expecting this question earlier, but when it had not come, I had not offered.

  “Aunt Harriet, perhaps it’s not a good time. Lord Ashington may not be ready to share that,” Miriam started to explain, giving me the choice to keep Emma’s secret, even from her.

  “I do not know if Emma’s father knows of her existence. I was told by the woman who left her at my doorstep that he did know and did not care. Emma’s mother was my mistress for about one year then we parted ways after I found that she was also entertaining another man in the home I provided for her. It was four years after that parting that Emma was brought to my door at two years of age. The only proof I had other than the old woman’s claim was the color of her eyes. For Emma has the same color eyes as her father. They are distinct and a trait he himself inherited from his mother. The moment I saw her eyes, I knew who her father was, just as I knew he would not take responsibility for her.”

  “But who is her father?” Lady Wellington asked again.

  “Nicholas,” Miriam replied, so softly it was almost a whisper.

  Epilogue

  6 Years Later

  Lady Ashington sat on the plush summer lawn of Chatwick Hall and inhaled deeply, enjoying the break from London’s busy season. It had been several years since she had spent her summer in London, and if it weren’t for her sister, she would not be doing so this year. However, Whitney’s pure joy over the experience did make it all appear a touch magical.

  “I see Emma is still wearing britches,” Nicholas Compton said as he took a seat on the grass beside Lady Ashington.

  “That is a battle I am saving for a later date,” she replied, grinning over at her brother-in-law.

  “Well thought out,” he agreed.

  “Mom-ma! Philip won’t
give me any berries,” Lady Abigail, now three years old, called out with tears in her eyes.

  “Oh dear,” Lady Ashington muttered.

  “Shall I go give young Philip a lecture on not making ladies cry?” Nicholas asked.

  Shaking her head, Lady Ashington stood up. “No, that won’t be necessary. When Abigail cries, it is a warning. One that Philip needs to take more seriously.”

  “Warning?” Nicholas asked.

  “Yes, a warning. Abigail may be tiny in stature but her temper, I fear, is rather large. Philip needs to make haste before she unleashes on him,” Lady Ashington explained then headed off toward her children.

  “Is there to be a fight?” Emma called out when she saw Lady Ashington headed in Abigail’s direction.

  “Will you fetch some of the berries from Philip?” she then asked Emma.

  “Yes, of course, Mother,” she replied then hurried off.

  Nicholas Compton watched the entertainment at hand and secretly hoped that young Abigail got a chance to give Philip a lesson. He didn’t get out to Chatwick Hall often and he knew he should do so more. The children all seemed to be growing so quickly. Especially Emma. He watched as she bent down and discussed the berries with her younger brother.

  She was as smart and resourceful as she was beautiful. Miriam was the kind of mother who a child such as Emma would bloom under, and she had done just that. Ashington may have taken his bride-to-be from him six years ago, but he, in return, had given his daughter a family. One that Nicholas knew he would never have given her. If he allowed himself to think of where Emma would be now if the old woman had brought Emma to him instead of Ashington, it spurred thoughts he did not want to have. He was a much different man today than he had been back then. A child from a mistress would have been of no interest to him. Watching Emma now, he realized what a tragedy it would have been not to have known such a child. He would forever be grateful to his brother for giving her a home when she had no one.