by Karen Kirst
“Then why?” Lightly grasping her upper arms, Tom bent close. “Megan, please. If you don’t see a future for the two of you, then give us a chance. You know me. You know that I’m a man of my word and that you can trust me never to hurt you. We can have a good life together, you and me and the ten kids you’re so keen on having. Is he willing to give you that?”
Seeing the promise in her friend’s clear green eyes, she felt tears welling up and spilling down her cheeks. This whole situation was impossible! She was in love with a man who didn’t want her. And the man who did want her...well, her love for him was a comfortable, friendship type of love. She couldn’t marry Tom or any other man. Not when her heart belonged to Lucian. Would always belong to him.
Thumbing moisture from her cheek, Tom picked up her hand and pressed the ring into it, curling her fingers around it when she opened her mouth to protest.
“You’ve a lot to sort through. Keep the ring until you’ve had time to consider everything I’ve said.”
The jewel bit into her palm. “But—”
“Our friendship demands you give my proposal serious thought, don’t you think? In fact, I don’t want an answer until after he’s gone. That way you can look at things with clearheaded perspective.”
She wanted to tell him Lucian’s whereabouts wouldn’t change things. “I’ll keep the ring for the time being, but, Tom, I—I’m afraid you’re only setting yourself up for further disappointment.”
“We’ll see.” The light had faded to the point she could barely make out his features, the woods surrounding them brimming with shadows. “Come on, it’s getting late. You know how Jane worries.”
Slipping the ring deep into her pocket, she walked beside him along the path, the night noises competing with her chaotic thoughts. At the cabin, he bade her a solemn good-night. Sinking down onto the top step, she watched his retreating figure, her entire being weighed down as if a giant boulder sat upon her shoulders. He’d be crushed if he knew what she was thinking. Wishing with all her heart that the ring in her pocket was Lucian’s.
Chapter Eighteen
Megan and the girls were sitting down to breakfast when Lucian’s valet rapped discreetly on the door. The note he gave her requested her presence for lunch. Just her. Not her sisters. That meant she and Lucian would be alone. She couldn’t deny the prospect was a daunting one. Lucian was a perceptive man. Would he notice her preoccupation? She did not want him to know about Tom’s proposal. Didn’t want anyone to know.
“Please tell Mr. Beaumont that I accept.” She smiled tremulously at the somber Mr. Smith.
He dipped his head. “Yes, miss.”
She was about to shut the door when she spotted Kate striding intently down the path looking as if she might burst with news.
“Kate? What are you doing here?”
Green eyes sparkling, the petite beauty rushed up and seized her hand. “I couldn’t believe it when Josh told me Tom planned to propose! What did you say? Where’s the ring?”
“Ring?” Nicole and Jane crowded in behind her. “What ring?”
Disbelief skittered across Jane’s face. “Tom asked you to marry him?”
Megan held up a hand. “Settle down, everyone. Kate, Tom told Josh about this? When?”
Brushing past her, Kate advanced into the living area and whirled, her green skirts swaying. “Yesterday. He asked Josh for advice.” Her gaze grew sympathetic. “I can tell by your expression that it didn’t go well. You refused him, didn’t you?”
Nicole sniffed. “Of course she did. Why would she marry plain ole Tom Leighton when she could have Lucian?”
“Tom is not plain,” Jane hotly defended. “He’ll make a wonderful husband.”
Megan caught a flash of pain in her younger sister’s eyes. Had she been wrong about the crush on Tanner Norton? Did Jane actually have feelings for Tom? Oh, she hoped not. Not only was he seven years older than Jane, but he saw her as a little sister. You’re forgetting the most important point—he proposed to you.
Oh, Mama, I wish you were here. You’d know exactly what to say. How to handle this.
She met Kate’s inquisitive gaze. “I didn’t turn him down, exactly. He insisted I wait to give him an answer.”
“Tom must be crushed.” Looking pale, Jane flopped into the nearest chair.
“Because you don’t love him,” Kate surmised. “Is it because of your feelings for Lucian?”
Nicole clasped her hands together in a pleading motion. “Please take me with you to New Orleans when you marry Lucian! I promise to make myself scarce. You won’t have to give me a single thought.”
“I’m not marrying Lucian or anyone else,” Megan said with a sigh, overwhelmed with the pain she was inflicting on Tom. And possibly Jane.
“Do you have the ring?” Kate asked. “Josh mentioned Tom was going to give you his grandmother’s ruby.”
“Show it to us,” Nicole demanded.
“Fine.” They’d only nag her if she didn’t relent. Retrieving it from her room, she slipped it on her finger for them to see. While Kate and Nicole oohed and ahhed over it, Jane was noticeably quiet.
“Um, my stomach’s feeling a little unsettled,” Kate announced suddenly, pressing a hand against her middle. She looked strange. “I haven’t eaten yet. Do you mind if I join you?”
Megan led her to the table. “You’re family, Kate. You don’t have to ask. Sit down while I fix you a cup of tea.”
To Megan’s relief, the focus switched to Kate, who daintily ate her way through a stack of johnnycakes, a thick slice of ham and two eggs. Far more than she normally ate. After assuring them that she felt much improved, she went home and the girls tackled their chores. For Megan, the morning dragged. Was there a specific reason Lucian had invited only her? They had been over there every day this week. Surely he was sick of her company?
With these questions bouncing about in her head, the walk to his house seemed to stretch interminably. His smile when he opened the door seemed to her a bit forced, his brown-black eyes hollow.
“I’m glad you came.” He stepped back to admit her, ushered her down the hall and into the dining room where two china place settings occupied one end of the long, mahogany table. Her gaze touched on the silver vase filled with fresh-cut pink roses and the silver-domed platters that were, judging by the rich aroma in the air, hiding something delicious.
“Isn’t this a bit formal for lunch?” She waved a hand over the table, wondering if he could detect her nervousness. Tom’s proposal weighed heavily on her mind. Despite the fact she and Lucian weren’t involved in a relationship, she felt as if she was harboring a terrible secret. Like she was betraying Lucian somehow.
Across from her, he paused in scooting the chair back. “You should pose your question to Mrs. Calhoun. When I informed her that you would be joining me for lunch, she sprang into action.”
“Well, she did a fine job.” She took in his informal attire: a simple charcoal gray shirt—open at the neck—and black trousers. “You aren’t wearing your sling.”
“It gets tiresome.” He absently massaged the back of his neck.
When he indicated the chair he’d pulled out, she rounded the table. “It strains your neck?”
He smiled, white teeth flashing. “You’re very observant today, Miss O’Malley.”
“Just today?” she teased, seating herself and straightening her blue skirts.
“Every day.” Removing the domes from the platters, he extended his hand for her plate.
“I can serve myself, you know.”
“I don’t mind.”
With a shrug, she gave him the plate, a little self-conscious. She’d been here alone with him many times before, but today something seemed different. The silence of the cavernous house pressed in on her, the emptiness stifling, the
scrape of the serving spoons on china magnified a hundredfold.
Lucian seemed preoccupied, not fully attuned to his surroundings. Odd.
When he’d filled both of their plates and had seated himself around the corner from her, he surprised her by saying grace. The meal wasn’t an easy one. Her attempts to draw him out fell flat. When he put his fork down and took a sip of lemonade, she dabbed her mouth with her napkin and, refolding it in her lap, leveled her gaze at him.
“What’s bothering you, Lucian?”
Pressing his lips together, he studied the silverware, tapered fingers outlining his knife and fork. “I found something.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. He pushed his chair back and stood, removing the plates to the kitchen.
Megan didn’t move. Found what?
When he returned to the dining room, he went to the sideboard and picked up a wooden box she hadn’t noticed before. He carried it back, set it in front of her, his hand lingering on the lid. She tilted her head back to study his face. “What is this?” she murmured, half dreading his answer.
Pain blazed hot in his eyes. “Letters. Proof Charles was telling the truth.”
He slid his hand off, lifted the lid. Seating himself once more, he told her, “You may read them if you’d like.”
She gazed at the stack, the elegant script on the envelopes. Lucinda’s letters to Charles. Her heart squeezed. What must he be feeling right now?
“Where did you find them?”
“In the study.”
She finally raised her eyes to his. “I can’t possibly read all of these right now. There must be dozens.”
He frowned, leaned forward and picked up the stack. Rifling through it, he slid one out and, examining the date, handed it to her. “Try this one.”
Swallowing hard, she slid out the parchment with trembling fingers, unfolding it with great care. Curiosity and dread warred in her breast.
“‘Dearest Father,’” she began quietly, “‘I received the chess set last week. You must understand why I had to tell Lucian it was a birthday gift from me. He was delighted, of course, but you mustn’t send anything else. Gerard walked in as I was opening it, and I had to scramble to hide the packaging. I don’t like having to deceive my husband and my son.’” Megan broke off to glance at Lucian, who was sitting statue-still, his expression unreadable. “Do you remember the chess set?”
“I kept it all these years, believing it was a gift from my mother,” he responded with a grimace. “It’s in my study. Read on. It gets better.”
Sucking in a breath, Megan read, “‘For now, the best thing for everyone is to keep our contact a secret. Please do not come here. Lucian wouldn’t understand. Neither would Gerard.’” Her eyes smarted. Poor Charles. He’d wanted to go to them, but Lucinda had persuaded him not to. She flipped over the envelope. “Is this your address?”
“No.” He spoke without emotion. “The address is that of Nannette Devereaux, a close friend of my mother’s.”
This iron grip on his control worried her. He needed to release his frustration, his grief. All the myriad emotions a discovery such as this must inspire.
Hurting for him and for her dear friend Charles, for their immense loss, she covered his hand with hers. “I’m so very sorry, Lucian. I can’t begin to imagine how you must feel. Maybe...by willing this house to you and by adding that stipulation, it was Charles’s way of reaching out to you from beyond the grave.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed stoically. “It’s a lot to take in. I’ve had this fixed view of how things were for so long that I’m having trouble accepting this new reality.”
She squeezed his hand. “Give yourself some time.”
He glanced down at their joined hands. His gaze shot to hers. “What’s this? I haven’t noticed you wearing it before.”
Megan gasped. Tom’s ruby ring! Distracted by Kate’s episode, she’d forgotten to take it off. She felt as if she might suffocate. “I—uh—”
Snatching her hand away, she stared at the ring as if it were a snake ready to strike.
Lucian visibly braced himself for her answer.
Her cheeks burned with mortification. “Tom was at the cabin when Jane and I got home last night. H-he asked me to marry him.”
“I see.” Lucian blinked. “I suppose congratulations are in order. When’s the happy day?”
Why was he congratulating her? Did the prospect of her marrying another man not bother him? Did he care so little? Her heart broke a little at the thought. Those kisses... This thing between them...meant nothing to him?
“Oh, I haven’t given him an answer yet.” Slipping off the ring, she put it in her pocket. “He asked me to think about it awhile first. I was only wearing it this morning to show the girls.”
“Tom strikes me as a fine man,” Lucian said without emotion. “And it’s obvious he cares about you.”
Stung by his apathetic attitude, Megan lifted her chin. “He’s more than fine. He’s wonderful. My family adores him.”
“Megan,” he said, leaning forward, suddenly intense, “don’t marry him simply because everyone else thinks you should. Your family won’t have to live with him day after day. You will.”
The tear in her heart widened, nearly rendering it in two. Lucian did not love her. His words proved it. What did you think? He’d fall down on his knees and beg you to turn Tom down? To marry him instead? He’s never going to do that. You’re not his ideal wife, remember?
The pain almost a physical ache, she shot out of her seat and glared down at him. “Don’t you dare lecture me! You’re the one determined to marry for duty’s sake. To the least objectionable female,” she mimicked, “one with all the qualifications for the esteemed Lucian Beaumont.”
Feeling out of control, Megan headed for the door before she said something she’d really regret.
“Megan, wait!” He was suddenly behind her, his hand gentle but firm on her arm, halting her exit. He turned her towards him. She bit her lip at his pained expression. “I apologize. I wasn’t trying to lecture you. It’s just that I—” Grimacing, he made a frustrated sound, thrust his fingers through his hair. “I care about you, Megan. I want you to be happy. I don’t want a love match, but you do. I want that for you, that’s all.”
For an instant, his guard slipped, and she thought she saw something in his eyes that said he wanted it, too. With her. But that was just wishful thinking. Lucian didn’t want her love.
“I have to go.” Before I turn into a blubbering idiot.
“Let me escort you home.”
“No.”
“Smith, then.” Was there a desperate edge to his voice?
She stopped at the front door, her hand on the handle, not daring to look at him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine on my own.”
“I’ve upset you. Please, don’t leave like this.”
Yes, she was upset. He wasn’t. Why would he be? His heart wasn’t affected.
He was standing close behind her, close enough to feel his heat. Smell his cologne. It wouldn’t take much to lean back against him. Shoving aside the temptation, she shook her head. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore tonight.” She opened the door. “Good night, Lucian.”
And she left without a single glance back, head held high. He couldn’t know that inside, she felt like a doomed heroine who’d just lost her hero.
Chapter Nineteen
Lucian gripped the porch rail, willing himself not to dash down the steps after her. She was upset. She didn’t need him trailing after her like a forlorn puppy.
Too keyed up to go back inside, he strode to the barn in search of his valet. “Smith!”
“I’m here, sir.” He stepped out of the stall, surprise at Lucian’s tone quickly masked.
“Saddle D’Artagnan.” Lucian worked to
calm himself.
“But, sir, your arm...” He trailed off, clearly concerned but recognizing it wasn’t his place to question his employer.
“Will be fine,” he assured him, going to his horse and leading him out of the stall. “I’m not going far.”
When Smith had finished, he asked, “Would you like me to accompany you?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” He needed movement, a change of scenery. A chance to sort through his tumultuous thoughts.
He hauled himself into the saddle with his good arm. “Merci. If I’m not back in two hours’ time, feel free to send out a search party.” He arched a brow at the man who was a loyal employee but felt like family.
“Yes, sir.” He sighed, resigned.
Lucian led his horse beyond the gardens, waving to Fred kneeling in the beds yanking weeds, and entered the sparse woods behind the Calhouns’ cottage. The clouds blocked the sunlight, and the air carried the promise of a summer shower. He’d be wise to stick close to home.
Home. Since when had he started thinking of this place as home?
Since you started to care for Megan, perhaps? She was connected to this place, to his grandfather’s house. Her presence was stamped in every room, the porches, the gardens. Impossible to separate the two in his mind.
Transferring the reins to his injured hand, he rubbed his chest to dislodge the pain. Only, it wasn’t a physical pain, exactly. The image of Tom’s ring on Megan’s finger...
He growled low in his throat. What was he supposed to do? Rant and rave and beg her not to marry the man? Megan didn’t belong with Tom. She belonged with him.
Lucian jerked on the reins, gasping as pain radiated up his forearm. D’Artagnan halted. Swished the flies away with his tail.
Cradling his arm against his belly, his gaze swept the tranquil woods, lush greens and deep browns running together. “I could marry her, you know. Well, I could offer. I’m not certain if she’d accept.”
D’Artagnan dipped his head as if to agree.
