by Karen Kirst
“May I ask why?”
“I don’t love him.” You’re the one I love, she wanted to shout. “Not the way a woman is supposed to love her husband. A dear friend is all he’ll ever be.”
Swallowing hard, he edged closer, skimmed his knuckles along her cheekbone. His eyes shone bright as the stars above, illuminating the darkened corners of her heart. “Megan, mon bien-aime,” he whispered, his warm breath caressing her jaw.
Capturing his hand, she pressed her cheek into his palm. Being with him like this made her dizzy with joy. “I’ve heard you say that before. What does it mean?”
He paused. “My beloved.”
Megan could only stare up at him. Was that the same as saying he loved her? “Lucian—”
His lips cut her off, his kiss marked with a yearning that matched her own. The hands cradling her face trembled. The trace of desperation in his touch worried her, however.
When he pulled his mouth away and pressed her into his chest, his heart thundered beneath her ear. He couldn’t leave. How could she go on without him?
Easing back, she gazed into his dear face, holding nothing back. “Please don’t go, Lucian. I love you. Stay here. With me.”
He froze. “Non. Don’t say that.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” She left the circle of his arms, stung by his response. “It’s the truth.”
The intense regret marring his expression deflated her hopes. “It won’t work.”
“Why not? Because you’re a polished city fellow and I’m a simple mountain girl?”
“No, of course not. To be honest, I’ve grown quite fond of your mountains. I consider the people here my friends.”
“So it’s me you don’t want.” Turning away, she hugged her arms about her waist, wishing herself far from here. Humiliation warred with hurt. “I thought...”
Lucian stood very close behind her. “Please forgive me. It was never my intention to lead you astray, to hurt you,” he answered, self-recrimination straining his husky voice. Settling his hands lightly on her shoulders, he turned her towards him. “The truth is...I—I do want you.”
“Wanting someone isn’t the same as loving, Lucian.”
His gaze burned into hers, and for a second, he allowed her to see the depths of his feelings. But then he threw his hands up in defeat. “What does it matter what I feel, anyway? It won’t change anything. It can’t.”
“Because of your parents? There’s no guarantee we’ll repeat their mistakes.”
“I can’t take that risk. Don’t you see? This whole thing between you and me,” he protested as he motioned between them, “it mirrors my parents’ situation. I won’t make the same mistakes as my father. I saw what it did to my mother, and I will never do that to you.”
He loved her, she was convinced, but he was fighting it. She had to try to convince him to take a chance. “You are not your father. I’m not Lucinda. We’re different people, you and me. We can have a different life. You just have to be willing to try.”
His shoulders rigid, implacable, he set his jaw. His eyes had lost their brilliance and were now dull. Flat. “I refuse to risk your happiness.”
On this point, he was resolute. He hadn’t changed, not really, was still the jaded aristocrat determined to follow duty’s path.
“Then I guess this is goodbye.” It hurt to breathe.
He grimaced. Stood statue-still, hands fisted at his sides. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
With one last parting glance, she attempted to memorize his features. Then she turned and walked away, leaving a part of her heart behind.
* * *
“I have an announcement to make.”
Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Josh sat relaxed in his chair, one arm slung about Kate’s shoulders. Conversation ceased. Setting down her fork, Megan swallowed the last bite of pie, her gaze meeting Kate’s across the table. A becoming blush stained her cheeks, and her green eyes sparkled.
Josh pulled his wife closer, and the two exchanged secretive smiles. “Kate and I are expecting.”
Mary gasped, jumped up to bestow hugs on the happy couple. Sam patted Josh heartily on the back. Nathan shook his hand and offered his congratulations. Nicole and Jane took turns embracing Kate, and then it was Megan’s turn.
“I’m so happy for you both.” Megan gave Kate’s fingers an affectionate squeeze. “How long have you known?”
“We’ve had our suspicions these last couple of weeks. I’ve had several dizzy spells.”
“And your eating habits have changed drastically.” Megan laughed at her friend’s sheepish expression.
“It’s true. If I keep this up, I’ll be as big as a house by the time the baby comes.” Her eyes went soft and dreamy. “I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl.”
Megan smiled broadly, praying her friend wouldn’t detect the prick of jealousy her happiness incited. “Considering Juliana just had a boy, I think you and Josh should have a girl.”
“Mary would be thrilled to have a granddaughter.”
“You do realize it’s out of our hands, right, Goldilocks?” Josh inserted himself in the conversation, his blue eyes dancing with merriment.
In the face of this dear couple’s joy, Megan blinked away the moisture gathering in her eyes. She was truly grateful God had blessed them with their heart’s desire. Feeling sorry for herself in this moment was not an option.
“I’m not sure I like the sound of Cousin Megan,” she said. “Auntie Megan sounds much better, don’t you think?”
Josh tweaked one of her curls like he’d done when they were younger. “Whatever you’re called, she or he will adore you as much as we do.”
“Now you’re just trying to make me cry,” she protested, swatting his arm.
Nicole spoke up, the wheels in her head clearly turning. “I can go ahead and make up baby clothes in neutral colors and then, if it’s a girl, I can add ruffles and overlays.”
Surprised pleasure brightened Kate’s expression. “That would be wonderful, Nicole. Thank you.”
The raven-haired girl shrugged. “Practice makes perfect. I need lots of experience if I plan on having a successful boutique.”
Kate and Megan shared a look. Typical. Nicole’s purposes served herself first, others second. At least Kate and the baby would benefit.
“Once the baby comes, Jessica and I will bring food over so you can rest,” Jane volunteered.
“Thank you, Jane.” Kate’s smile was gentle.
Megan looked at the couple, once again battling melancholy. Just because her dream wasn’t coming true didn’t mean she couldn’t rejoice with others.
“Yours won’t be the only new addition this winter,” she added. “Rachel and Cole are expecting. They’re due at Christmastime.”
Her friend had pulled her aside at Lucian’s to relay the good news.
Josh grinned. “Cole told me last night. He could hardly contain himself—he’s so eager to support Rachel in any way he can.”
“That’s understandable,” Nathan inserted, “considering he wasn’t around for Abby’s birth.”
Megan nodded her agreement. She had a feeling Cole was going to stick to Rachel’s side like glue. He was overly protective of her and Abby, no doubt due to the fact he’d nearly lost his chance with them.
The group dispersed, the men settling in the living room with their coffee while the women cleared the table and washed dishes. Megan was quiet as she worked, lost in her painful world. A world without Lucian.
You knew a happy ending wasn’t possible, a voice accused, yet you fell for him anyway.
All yesterday, she’d watched the lane, hoping against hope he’d come to her. And this morning at church, she’d waited for him to show. He hadn’t.
She wasn’t certain how she was going to get
through tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the coming weeks.
Her vision blurred. Hastily wiping the table clean of crumbs, Megan slipped out the back door. She doubted she’d be missed. Mary and Kate were washing dishes, engaged in a lively conversation about the baby, Jane listening intently as she dried. Nicole had slunk off somewhere.
With no one around to witness her breakdown, Megan allowed the tears to fall freely, the loss of her dreams a gaping wound in her chest. She stumbled into the barn’s concealing shelter. Sinking onto the first hay bale she encountered, she buried her face in her hands.
It feels as though my life is ending, Lord. I’ve always considered myself an optimistic sort of person, not often given to the doldrums, but right now...I’m lower than I’ve ever been and I don’t know how I’m supposed to cope.
“There you are.”
Startled, she looked up to see Nathan coming towards her. The moment he noticed her tears, he lengthened his stride. Compassion tugged at his mouth. Lowering his tall frame onto the hay beside her, he pulled her into a hug.
Josh, Nathan and even Caleb were like brothers to her, fiercely protective and always there to comfort her. Without them, she never would’ve survived her father’s sudden death, the hardships her family had faced afterward—financial as well as the day-to-day running of a farm—and more recently, the absence of her beloved sister Juliana.
After a while, he tilted her chin up, silver gaze assessing. “This is because of Beaumont, isn’t it?”
“I love him. And I believe he loves me.” When she attempted to wipe the moisture from her cheeks, he produced a handkerchief from his pocket. “But he’s too afraid of repeating his parents’ mistakes to give us a chance. He doesn’t trust in love.”
“Would you like for me to talk to him?”
“No! I’m not a little girl anymore, Nathan. I don’t need you to fight my battles.” She touched his cheek. “Although, I do appreciate the offer.”
“I wish I could make things better for you.”
“I know.” She gazed at him with rueful affection.
“Would an afternoon of target practice help get your mind off things? At least for a little while?” His smile urged her to say yes.
“Yes, I believe it would,” she agreed more for his sake than for hers. “I’ll go home and get my gun.”
He stood and held out his hand. “How about we go together?”
“In other words, you don’t want to leave me alone.”
He winked. “You got it, Goldilocks.”
She took his hand, allowed him to pull her up. “You’re a good man, Nathan O’Malley. One day, a very lucky young lady is going to come along and relieve you of your bachelor state.”
“I happen to like being a bachelor,” he protested. “Mark my words—you won’t see me walking the aisle anytime soon.”
* * *
“The carriage is ready, sir.” Smith appeared in the entrance to Charles’s study.
Seated at the desk, Lucian glanced out at the predawn darkness. “How bad is the rain?”
“Barely a drizzle, sir. However, it’s difficult to tell at this point whether or not the weather will improve. Would you like to wait until after dawn?”
Lightly rubbing his cast in a vain effort to relieve the itching beneath, Lucian sighed. Another delay? Was God trying to tell him something?
“That would probably be best. See to the horses, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” He removed himself at once.
The tick of the mantel clock mocked him, each one a strike against his heart. You’re leaving her. You’re leaving her.
He let his head fall back, closed his eyes. Beyond exhausted, he feared this weariness would be difficult to shake. Lack of sleep had little to do with it. This was a soul-deep yearning for the one woman who’d seen through his austere facade to the real man beneath, who’d challenged him, comforted him. Loved him.
He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that she loved him. Her confession had shocked him; her plea for him to stay nearly brought him to his knees. How he’d longed to declare his own feelings.... Revisiting all the reasons his fears were sound had prevented him. After she’d gone, he’d sat in the garden until the wee hours of the morning, replaying their conversation. Arguing with himself. When he’d at last tumbled into bed, he’d dreamed of her, her anguish a tangible thing. He’d awoken in a sweat, trembling with the need to go to her. To fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness.
The past two days and nights of torment had shaken his convictions. If he left, he’d be leaving here half a man.
What am I supposed to do, Lord? By refusing to give us a chance, I’m doing the one thing I’ve dreaded doing—I’m hurting her. And myself.
Lucian smoothed the worn, faded cover of his mother’s Bible. Unable to sleep for thoughts of Megan, he’d come downstairs around four o’clock and settled in with a cup of coffee to read. He’d found himself in the first book of Corinthians, where his mother had underlined an entire chapter about love, of all things. One verse in particular stuck in his mind. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
Was he truly prepared to live without it? To never lay eyes on Megan again?
“Sir?” Smith reappeared. “The rain has let up a bit. Shall I ready the carriage now?”
Lucian stood, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “No.”
“No?”
“I want you to unload the trunks.”
Smith’s brow furrowed slightly. “As you wish, sir.”
“Wait.” He held out a hand. “Don’t unload them yet. She may not accept me.”
Reaching inside his coat, he retrieved a handkerchief and, laying it on the desk, peeled back the edges to reveal the disassembled bleeding-heart flower. He glanced at his servant, who was watching him with barely concealed concern. “I’m embarking on a mission of a most delicate nature, Smith. Will you help me?”
His eyes flared wide at the request. “Anything you ask, I will do my utmost to oblige.”
“I appreciate your loyalty, Smith. First, I’ll need a pair of rabbits...”
* * *
Megan awoke shortly after dawn to the splat, splat, splat of rain against the porch. She lay beneath the quilt for a long time staring out the window at the smoky gray clouds, her heaviness of spirit a perfect reflection of the gloom.
Maybe the weather will delay his departure.
What would that gain? A temporary stay of the inevitable. Better he left as soon as possible. If she were to see him again, who knew what she might do. She suspected something rash and embarrassing and totally unlike her, like begging him to take her with him.
There came a soft knock on the door.
“Come in.” Shoving the hair out of her eyes, she scooted up in bed.
Jane entered bearing a small tray, still dressed in her nightclothes and wrapper, her loose auburn hair gleaming in the watery light. “I thought you might like a cup of cocoa.” She smiled over at her as she slid the tray on the dresser. “There’s a biscuit with strawberry jam, too.”
She came and sat on the bed, empathy etched in her youthful features. “It’s a pity about the rain. I’d hoped we could go for a jaunt in the woods or perhaps have a picnic down by the river.”
Touched, Megan gave Jane’s hand a squeeze. “You’re very sweet to try and cheer me up. Perhaps the rain will let up and we can go for a ride later.”
Despite her young age, Jane understood the importance of distraction.
“Are you going to be okay?”
No. Not without Lucian. “In time—” She inhaled deeply, trying to dislodge the pain in her heart. “In time, I will learn to live without him.” But she’d never stop loving him.
Tears glistened in Jane’s sad ey
es. “I feel the same way about Tom. He hasn’t been to church since...well, you know.”
“We can help each other through this.” Battling emotions, Megan hugged her.
Sniffling, Jane leaned away. “I should get dressed.”
“Me, too. Lottie will be waiting to be milked.”
Jane closed the door with a soft click. Megan made herself get out of bed, trudged over to the wardrobe, and, choosing a navy skirt, she paired it with a buttery-yellow blouse. When another knock sounded as she was pulling her blouse over her heard, she thought it was Jane again.
But it was Nicole, standing hesitantly in the doorway, teeth worrying her lower lip. Strange. Nicole wasn’t the uncertain type. She typically barreled through situations with single-minded determination.
“I thought...” she began. “Well, would you like for me to do your hair? I have some combs that would look nice with that blouse.”
Megan opened her mouth. Closed it. “Uh, yes, I’d like that very much.”
A tiny smile lifted her lips. “I’ll be right back.”
Megan didn’t move, struck dumb by her sister’s offer. Nicole wasn’t sentimental or overly sensitive to others’ feelings, which made her offer all the more meaningful. Tears threatened. She quickly blinked them back as Nicole returned with said combs.
Seating herself in the lone wooden chair, Megan folded her hands in her lap. Nicole had a gentle touch, carefully combing through her curls and securing the sides with the sparkly combs. She handed her the mirror.
“What do you think?”
Megan smiled tremulously up at her. “I think you did a marvelous job, sis. Thank you.”
Looking wistful, Nicole touched a curl with the tip of her finger. “It’s not hard to make you look beautiful. I’ve always wished my hair was blond, like yours.”
Standing, Megan took her hands in hers. “But you have such gorgeous hair,” she protested, “as black and silky as a raven’s wing. And your unique violet eyes handed down from Grandmother O’Malley are a lovely contrast.”
She scrunched up her nose. “This black hair makes me look like a witch.”
Megan gasped. “That’s ridiculous!”
