by Jackie Ivie
“I can’t do that, sir.”
“You can, and you will. I am not allowing one more word of argument. Do you understand what I am saying?”
The earl was using his supercilious voice. The same one he’d used on Averill. It didn’t work with Tenny.
“You’ll have to accept this. I’m already married.”
The earl cursed, covering Averill’s cry. She slapped both hands to her mouth to keep any more sound from escaping. The entire hall began rotating, slowly at first, and then picking up speed. The blur of colors was accompanied by the longest, heart-rending cry. It wasn’t audible. It was her heart breaking.
Averill slid down the wall, landing with a thump that would’ve made sound if she hadn’t had the mass of material beneath her. Then even the cry stopped, leaving a vacuum of sound. She heard men’s voices. They were still talking? How was that possible? And why was she still here, listening? Every word cut. Sliced. Injured. She should be bleeding. Sobbing. Anything, other than staring wide-eyed at wooden walls that slowly settled back into normalcy.
“...gotten married without my permission? I won’t allow it, do you hear me?”
The earl might be shouting. Averill barely heard him. Perhaps Tenny answered, perhaps not. She couldn’t tell, and she couldn’t seem to stop listening.
“I won’t listen, do you hear? You can’t wed any trollop that takes your fancy! The Tennison line is too important.”
Tenny laughed. “What makes you think the Tennison line matters? It’s nothing compared to true love. Go ahead. Think what you like, shout what you will, but you can’t undo it. You can’t.”
“I can, and I will. I’ll have it annulled.”
“You may be able to have everything else you want in life, my lord, but you can’t have this. You can’t annul something that took place years ago, sir. You can’t.”
“Years? How could you have done something so stupid? Who is she? Why haven’t I heard of her? Where did you wed?”
“We eloped,” Tenny said quietly. “That’s all you need to know.”
He eloped? Years ago?
How could she have been so blind? All this time she’d feared social boundaries, not that he was already wed. How was it possible? And why did it still pain? Wasn’t shock supposed to have some value?
With every word, Tenny tarred himself with the same brush as every other man she’d met. And that meant her interlude with him in Venice....
Averill forced the memory down, but it came right back. She’d rather take the pain from her burns than handle the agony of knowing the night in Venice had been just another night for him. Just another woman. In another city. Atop another bed…
She couldn’t stand to hear more. It was killing her, sapping her will to live and tossing it aside. That couldn’t happen. Not now. She had little Andrew. He was all hers. She’d take the knowledge of Andrew’s parentage to her grave. Tenny didn’t deserve to know. He didn’t deserve his son. And he didn’t deserve her.
The two men kept arguing. Averill ignored it. She had to use every bit of willpower to force her legs to support her enough to stand. And then, she had to compel them to walk to the staircase, climb the stairs. Somehow reach her state bedroom…the one right beside Petunia.
The entire time, she had to keep a shell of composure, regardless of how it felt. Averill smiled at anyone who smiled. Nodded at anyone who did so. She clung to the shadows, avoiding anything to do with speech. She wondered then if that was why everyone she’d met in the highest level of social strata acted so patently fake. Were they all presenting a false image to the world? Was it possible? Was it protection? Self-preservation and defense? Perhaps they all faced some sort of nightmare. Their world could be as black as hers had just turned. Exactly as nightmarish. Possibly even as endless.
The worst part however, was…she’d put herself there.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Averill clicked the portmanteau closed, aware of how loud that noise was in the stillness. And then she shook her head. The ball was still taking place three stories below her. Everyone was busily engaged at making the evening a success. Tenny might still be arguing with his uncle. He might even be on his way to Paris and another conquest. It didn’t matter. What mattered right now was escaping and then disappearing. It had to happen that way. She’d made the decision. She and Andrew had to reach the rented house in London. There, they could hide until Hortense paid passage to Venice. The woman was already paying. Averill had filched a ten pound note and three shillings from her mother’s room on the way to the nursery.
That was after she’d changed from the white vision of a dress into her darkest, most serviceable tweed outfit. Beneath that, she wore a nightgown. Over the whole was a cloak. It was a heavy outfit, and it itched, but she’d already made that decision. She’d already tried to pack clothing and essentials, paring things down, trying to find room. She’d already failed. She couldn’t bring anything for her. It was a waste of time to rue it now.
The nanny’s door remained closed. Averill sighed in relief.
“Hush, my angel.”
She held Andrew in the crook of her arm. He snuggled against her and went back to sleep. It would be a horrid walk to the posting station – almost six miles, if she remembered right. But she didn’t even know how to saddle a horse. And she daren’t order a carriage. The stables were bound to be busy with all sorts of groomsmen and equipage. She’d have to avoid them. She’d also have to skirt the main drive, but the grounds were well-maintained. She could use the shrubs that lined it for cover. And maybe…if she were truly lucky…she’d run across another traveler on the road once she reached it. And maybe, he’d be inclined to offer a ride to a young woman and her infant, without expecting payment. And maybe, she was just making things worse.
The odds were already stacked against her. They were becoming insurmountable.
She was leaving her paint supplies, wearing her only change of clothing, and carrying Andrew. She’d have to be strong enough to carry the portmanteau as well. She needed it. She couldn’t manage without Andrew’s clothing, swathing material, and blanket. She had to be strong enough to carry it.
Perhaps this was what the Bible meant when it spoke of repentance. It certainly felt like she’d found purgatory. The stone weight was even keeping her company, sitting in the depths of her belly, twisting ominously more than once. It wasn’t going to go away.
She was so tired of running, but she never seemed to have the choice. Dona Francesca would sponsor her. If she didn’t, Averill would seriously have to consider girding Avery and his Islamic wife in Egypt. She’d worry about that when she had to.
They reached a servant staircase without incident. This one was rarely used. She’d found it when they’d first arrived. Before she’d taken on airs and joined the nobility by moving to a state bedroom. Why had she been so stupid as to reveal anything? She could have stayed here in the servant wing, blissfully unaware of any happenings in the castle. But no. She’d spoken up. And now she reaped the result.
This particular staircase was very narrow. It wasn’t well lit, but she knew it would end at the tradesman foyer just the same. She’d just have to trust the area would be empty this time of night. And it should be. Every servant had appeared to be needed for the ball.
The satchel knocked against her ankle on a step. Averill lost her grip on it and nearly fell. It didn’t hurt. Nothing as mundane as physical suffering seemed like pain anymore, but she’d almost lost her balance and dropped her baby!
The leather bag bounced down several steps. It sounded loud, but she didn’t care. She grabbed the stair-rail in one hand and held Andrew tightly with the other. She felt ill. Weak. Her legs were too shaky at the moment to support her. She slid to a step, landed heavily, and just sat there. Holding Andrew. Breathing in the wondrous baby smell of him. Keeping him close. Pondering her options.
The portmanteau had finished falling. It was somewhere in the gloom beneath them. The echo of its passage
died away. She didn’t care where it had landed. Or how. Everything in the physical realm was replaceable. Nothing mattered beyond the knowledge that Andrew hadn’t been injured. He was safe. Well-fed. Warm. Beloved beyond measure.
What was she doing? She didn’t have time for this! She’d already made her choice. She had to get to the posting house. Then London. Then Venice. She had six miles to walk. This staircase was but the first small step. And she was wasting time again.
“Andrew love. My dearest love.”
She held him with one arm and used the other to grip the railing and help her stand. She should have known her penance included this. She should have known it the moment he was born.
“I’ll have to come back for you, I think. That would be best. Now, don’t cry, love. I’ll return for you. I promise.”
How can I even think of it?
The stone weight lurched with a crippling motion. Averill gripped Andrew tighter. Her arms would be so empty. She didn’t even know how much it would hurt. It was hard to put measurements on pain anymore, she decided. Each life event seemed to multiply it. She turned back the way she’d come and started mounting steps. One. Another. Somehow they got easier. Maybe she had some of Hortense in her, after all.
Andrew was sleeping soundly as she reached the nursery. It was just as well. If she intended on ripping out her heart, the fact that he was asleep through it shouldn’t matter. She was crying before she reached his room, making it difficult to see as she placed him back in cradle, and covered him.
“I will return for you, little one. Your mother does want you that much...never you fear.”
She wiped at tears before they fell and struck his cheek. She was cold. Bone-chillingly cold. Despite the layers of clothing and cloak wrapped about her. Cold. And miserable. And completely drained. The baby moved a fist, putting it to his mouth in a sucking motion. Oh! How could she bear it?
Averill backed a step, stumbled. Almost fell. That’s when she knew.
She didn’t have enough of Hortense in her.
She couldn’t bear leaving her baby, and she knew it. That left her only one option. She had to survive her stay at Tennison Hall. Finish what portraits the earl required. Hide everything behind a façade.
And avoid anything to do with the heir of it all, Andrew Tennison.
She turned her back on the cradle, set her shoulders, and left. The stone weight didn’t even twinge.
CHAPTER FORTY
Her room felt different. Warm. Bright. She didn’t remember leaving a light source. There was a candelabra positioned atop her bureau. She wondered who would bring such a thing. And leave it burning. Didn’t anyone understand the dangers of fire?
Someone had altered the area. Someone had brought the knight painting to her room. Propped it against a wall. Averill stopped. Stared. The stone weight shifted, sending little spikes of pain with every heartbeat. There was Andrew, painted as she’d seen him with her mind’s eye, her dream lover…her soul-mate. Averill’s eyes narrowed. Had she really painted him so sad?
It had to be a trick of the light. Averill blinked around tears that were becoming her life’s bane. She pressed her fingers to her eyes next and actually managed to staunch them. Before the emotion became sobs.
“Hello, Averill.”
Tenny spoke from somewhere behind her.
Averill gasped. The weight in her belly changed. It wasn’t a stone, anymore. It was more like a hot coal.
“You’re not running away again, are you? Aren’t you even going to wait for the reunion this time?”
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t what?”
“Lie.”
Something slammed. As if he’d flung a chair. Or the dressing screen had fallen. She didn’t move to check. The candles flickered. She waited for him to say something. The condemnation in his silence was like a smothering weight. It added to the one she was already carrying in her belly, making her hunch forward slightly. She didn’t hear him approach, but she knew he did. She felt him behind her.
“You’d better have a damned good reason for saying that, Averill. Damned good.”
“Go...away,” she replied.
“Oh. Not by a long shot. Not until I find out what the hell is going on.”
Averill wrapped both arms about herself. Tightened them. The stone weight actually grew heavier and hotter.
“Damn it, Averill, turn and face me! You can do that, can’t you? Face me and say something this time. Give me a chance. Tell me why. Is that so much to ask?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. Her arms unwrapped and her hands slammed against his chest in a subconsciously defensive move. She knew he realized it by the hitch in his breath. She kept her eyes on his neck cloth.
“Look at me, Averill. Look up right now. Into my eyes. Tell me you never want to see me again. And then make it believable. Do it. Go on.”
“I can’t,” she replied.
“Is that why the moment I find you, you sneak away? Because you can’t face me and do it?”
She nodded.
“But, why, Averill? Don’t you think I deserve that much?”
“Because...I love you,” she whispered.
“How can you say that?” His hands shook, making her shake, too. “Every time I find you, and God knows it’s difficult, you leave! You send me back into my own private hell, because I’m not enough for you.”
“Oh no, Tenny. No. You were always enough. More.”
“Then why?”
He released her and stepped back. She looked down at the tips of his boots. He didn’t look to have changed clothing. He sounded injured. Pained. The hot coal seemed determined to make certain she felt it, too, as it twisted within her.
“Perhaps…you should ask Harvey.”
“What the hell does Harvey have to do with anything?”
Averill kept her gaze on his boots. Dusty with his ride. Worn with use. She opened her mouth and started speaking, but it was in a hesitant whisper.
“Harvey…spoke to me. When I went back to…the inn.”
“What inn?”
“The one we stayed at…outside Istanbul.”
“Go on.”
“I didn’t stay at the…medical station with my burns. I let you believe that, but it wasn’t true. I could barely walk but I went to the inn. And Harvey was there.”
Her voice grew stronger. She’d been stupid. He was an aristocrat. He knew the social boundaries. He’d been the one who’d first told her of them. What did it matter if he knew how she’d found out?
“Go on.”
It sounded like he was speaking from between clenched teeth.
“I…didn’t want to leave you. I would have done anything to get to you. That’s why I was missing when you first came for me. I tried to get to your ship. I was stupid. I should have stayed, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Something had changed. He was breathing harder. Faster. As if angry. She didn’t glance up to check. She was too afraid.
“When was this, Averill? Exactly.”
“At…the fire. I got back to your friend’s house. I was there…when you called for me. I tried to get your attention, but you didn’t see me. Only Harvey did.” Her voice was missing before she finished.
“Oh, my God! I’ll kill him with my bare hands!”
“No, Tenny! Please? Listen! Don’t you understand? I love you, but I wasn’t acceptable. How I found out doesn’t matter, does it?” She choked back a sob. “I’d never hurt you. Harvey knew that. I couldn’t stay. I would’ve hurt you.”
“Averill, please? It only hurts when you leave me.”
“You don’t hear how people talk! They say terrible things. Horrible things! I’ve heard them. I won’t have it happen to you. I won’t! I’ll do anything to stop that.”
He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “You left me, so I’ll be accepted by society? Oh, Averill. Don’t you know me better than that? I couldn’t care less ab
out the title. Don’t you understand yet? I love you. I won’t say that to anyone else. Ever. I love you. And only you. I swear it.”
Her heart pulsed with a heave that should have toppled her. Averill clenched her hands into fists against her face. How could he say such a thing to her? She couldn’t imagine how his wife might feel.
“I’m sorry, Tenny.”
She bowed her head, unwilling to look at him. She couldn’t say the words. They were caught in her throat. Living in the shadow world as his mistress wouldn’t be enough for her, and that’s all he offered. That’s all he’d ever offered.
“About what now?”
“Leaving.”
“Oh no. No. There’ll be no talk of leaving me.”
“I can’t stay. Surely you know that.”
“How am I supposed to know anything? Answer me that. I’ve been searching for you everywhere. For months! Checking every lead. Following every clue. And just when I’ve about lost hope, I find you. Here. With my son. At the Hall. Almost like you’re both waiting for me. Yet, before I can even get to you, you’re already packed and ready to flee again? And I don’t even get to know why?”
“Please don’t do this,” she begged.
“But you’ve just said how you love me. Was that a lie?”
“I love you more than life itself.”
He had to bend closer to hear her whisper.
“Then don’t talk of leaving me again.”
Talk won’t stop it, she thought. Nothing will. The next moment she was in his arms, held close against him.
“Averill, please. Listen to me. You don’t harm me. I went mad after you left me in Venice. I was at my wit’s end. I didn’t know what I’d done, but I had to find you. I followed you every step of the way. To Cairo. I found the mission. I met Avery and his wife…I mean, the Islamic one. They told me the story. I know about the marriage. I know you’re legitimate. I know your mother is Lady Hortense Limley, and that she’s a horrible example of womanhood. I don’t even wish to make her acquaintance, let alone claim her as a relative. But I will. Look at me!”
