by Edith Layton
She stood and went to his side, standing in the brash light so he could see her face clearly. “It’s not the same for us, Justin. I don’t know how it was with you and Fiona, but I always knew what I wanted, always. I know him, and I don’t think he can hate himself more than he already does. That’s why he wants her, I think. He thinks that if she’ll have him, he must be a true nobleman. With everything I could give him, I could never give him that. It’s all he’s ever wanted since I’ve known him. I don’t think it will make him that happy, but we never want what we can have, do we?”
She stopped to hear herself and then giggled, sounding very young. “I’ve gotten very wise, haven’t I? Maybe Dr. Franklin’s right, and wisdom comes out of sorrow—or was that the Bible? Between them, they’ve said just about everything wise, haven’t they? But that’s not why I’m going to say no, Justin. It’s for your sake—and mine, too.
“Wait!” she said, holding up a finger to silence whatever he was going to say. “Now you just listen. Look at yourself, Justin. You’re handsome and smart as can be, a nobleman and a gentleman. Maybe you aren’t as rich as you were before, but you’re still terribly rich by most folks’ standards at home, and even here, I guess. You’ve got about everything a man could want, and yet you’re willing to give it away to a woman you feel sorry for? I don’t care what you say; that’s what it is.”
“I could come to love you, Della,” he said seriously, “and you, me. I know it. I know I remind you of him. But that’s because you don’t really know me yet. It won’t always make you sad to look at me, you know. And I need you, especially now.”
The word need made her pause—it always had and always would. She tilted back her head to take a long, hard look at him. The autumn light was made for him: it highlighted his thick hair, his fair skin, his brilliant blue eyes. He was very handsome, and wholly good, and she hurt for him.
It was very good to be needed, too. She hadn’t known how good that would feel until now. It was a true balm, because if it didn’t heal, at least it soothed. She nodded slowly. Yes, now she understood how he felt, and now she needed someone like him, too. That was how she knew exactly what she had to tell him.
“I’d never, ever marry you, Justin,” she said sadly, “because you remind me so much of him. Every time I’d see or hear you, I’d think of him. And that’s just not fair—not to you or me. You’re right. I guess in time I could come to love you; you’re mighty lovable, you know. But then neither of us would ever know if I loved you for you or because of how much you remind me of him. That would be just awful. I could love you, Justin, but I won’t. You’re too good for that. And I am too, I guess. We two are just too blamed good, aren’t we?” she asked, with a hint of her old grin.
“What we both need,” she said, “is to move along and let it be. You’ll find someone one day who’ll love you so much that the thought of taking someone else who reminds her of you will chill her blood. You’ll find someone you’ll want not just for comforting, but because you’ll know you’ll never feel comfortable again without her. But for now, I really do thank you—because there’s something else. I always thought it was just a foolish excuse that I had to say every now and then to suitors. Now I mean it: I hope you’ll always be a friend to me, even if we never become lovers. I certainly could use a friend. This hurts a lot, you know. But you won’t have to worry about that right now,” she said briskly, “because I am going home. It’s the right thing to do. Think about it. Isn’t it?”
Even after all her reasonable arguments, in some lost part of her, she half hoped he’d say no, but he was just as smart and good as she’d thought he was.
“Yes,” he finally said, “you’re right. I do believe it is a very good idea. And, come to think of it, it might be a good time for me to take a long sea voyage, too. No, no—don’t look so dismayed. I mean just what I said—a voyage, not a rout. I’m not going to run away forever, like an insulted boy. But my brother needs some time without me hovering at his shoulder, and Fiona…it would be an excellent time for a man to take a long journey, with a friend. May I accompany you and Alfred? I promise I won’t plague you about our future, and it would be best—for everyone, I think.”
She thought about it, nodded, and gave him a tremulous smile. He took her hand and kissed it. Then he bowed and left her, so she could finally cry.
When she was done, she wiped her eyes, saw that the brief, bright autumn day was growing old, and realized that though she’d just settled her whole life, she still had a lot to do. She’d told Justin she was leaving, but she had been careful not to say how soon. It would be today, but this was one trip she had to take alone. By the time she left London, she thought she’d be stronger; by then it wouldn’t be such a tearful or shameful time for her, and so if he actually did go to Virginia with her, it would be easier for him by then, too. She’d leave him a note explaining it all. He’d understand. It was awful how well he always understood.
But first she had to be sure all the arrangements were made—the carriage and her maid ready to travel and everything packed before she said good-bye to Jared. Then she’d have to leave—quickly.
Chapter 16
Della knew time was running out, so she hurried upstairs, head down, and looked up only when she heard a soft voice call her name. Fiona was there, obviously going down just as she was coming up the stairs.
Fiona was dressed for the outdoors and smiling brilliantly. Della ducked her head in a quick nod and tried to scurry past her, feeling like a kitchen maid caught out of place by the mistress of the house—which Fiona soon would be, she guessed. Della dammed up any threatened tears with her next thought, which was that she’d better hurry up—and then down again—if she wanted to catch Jared and say good-bye before he rode out again with Fiona.
“Have you seen Jared?” Fiona asked brightly. She was one step above Della, which was only fitting, Della thought numbly.
“No. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Fiona…”
“Are you angry with me?” Fiona asked with what seemed real dismay.
“No, no,” Della said wearily, pausing with one hand on the banister, looking up at the woman who had been born to be mistress of this house.
She looked every inch of it today. Her fair face was radiant; her fair hair was swept up into a neat bundle beneath a jaunty little riding hat. She wore a severely cut but dashing dark-green gown with yards of skirts and had flung a flowing green cape over it. She’d look the perfect lady of the manor as she rode out with Jared. But then, why not? She was, Della thought.
“Are you ill, then? You don’t look very well, and that’s the truth, Della.”
“No, not ill. Just—I’ve just finally given up,” Della said and her voice cracked as she said it. But it suddenly occurred to her that it didn’t matter. It was as though she could already smell the salt sea air and see the waves rushing by beneath her feet as she sailed home again. She mightn’t ever see this woman again—or at least by the time she did see her, they’d both be much older. She had a sudden, terrible vision of a still-smiling Fiona, with two little tow-haired children clutching the folds of that same beautiful green skirt and peering up at her. She blinked the children away in a faint wash of tears.
“I’m going home,” Della said. “I’ve seen Jared in his new home, and I’m happy for him,” she went on, rapidly inventing the tack she would have to take with everyone from now on, with family, friends from home—and the one she loved right here. “But England isn’t my home. Virginia is. This is your life, but it’s my—holiday. It’s time I went back. I guess I’m homesick.”
“Oh,” Fiona said breathily, wide-eyed. “But then you’ll miss the wed—the celebration—I mean,” she said, coloring prettily, “the coronation and—any other festivities that might be coming up.”
“You mean—like a wedding?” Della said, and watched Fiona blush. “Yours, perhaps? But I thought you had broken with Justin.”
“I have,” Fiona said, uncomfortably, “but…
”
But, indeed, Della thought bitterly.
Fiona bit her lip, and then her eyes opened wide on a new idea. “But everyone says the prince will be taking a bride at the same time he takes the crown; that’s why it’s taking so long,” she said and then faltered. “But it’s not only that. You’re right. Jared would want you here to see…” She paused. “So why go? He’ll probably invite you right back for the wedding.”
“You’re engaged?” Della asked in shock.
“Not yet,” Fiona said, “but…oh, this is so difficult! But you know Jared came here to find his destiny and take over his inheritance. There’s no denying I’m part of that. I can’t say anything yet, but it seems clear to me, and to my parents. To Justin too, I suppose. And Jared…he’s wonderful, isn’t he? I’d hoped you and I could be friends, especially since he worries so much about you. I’m sure we’ll see each other often. So we might as well be friends, isn’t that right?”
Della couldn’t answer right away, too busy grieving about what a shame it was that Jared should love a girl with no heart and less charity.
Fiona said a little more softly, “It can be done, you know. We can be friends.” Her lovely, clear tea-colored eyes glowed soft with sympathy, but there was bright intelligence there too as she watched Della’s expression. She seemed to come to some decision.
“There are things we women have to do to make life more pleasant,” Fiona said rapidly. “If my own mama can be friends with Mistress Archer, who has been my father’s mistress all these years, we two can certainly be pleasant to each other, can’t we? Not that there’s anything like that in your case, of course! Or even in Jared’s mind. That’s one of the things I like about him, and Justin too. They’re not like that, nor were their parents, I’m told. I suppose that accounts for it. But I’ve seen enough of that sort of thing, and I didn’t want it for myself. Besides, in our case, it’s not just family wishes, as it was for my parents. Jared’s far too independent to take orders from anyone, as you well know, and besides, his parents are dead. I know that sort of thing wasn’t in your mind, either, which is wonderful, because I wouldn’t tolerate it. But as he loves you as a sister, so shall I. If you let me?”
Not such a child then, Della thought, to slip a clear warning into all that happy babble. “Of course we can be friends,” she answered, her chin coming up, “but I’m afraid it will have to be from afar, by letter. I’m going home as soon as I can.”
Fiona gazed at her thoughtfully. “I understand,” she said, and Della’s face grew hot, realizing that the girl did understand, and much more than she’d ever credited her with. “Yes, it’s the right thing to do, I suppose,” Fiona said. “But I’m sorry for it, really. You’ll say good-bye?”
“I am,” Della said, because that was all she could bear to say.
“Oh. Have you told Jared?”
“I will.”
“Della,” Fiona said, looking down at the smaller woman, putting one gloved hand on Della’s shoulder, “somehow we never had time to get to know one another. That was my fault as well as yours, I suppose. I admire you tremendously, you know…perhaps that’s why I was afraid to push myself at you, because you didn’t seem to take to me, not that I blame you.… But that doesn’t matter now. Now I want you to know I wish you luck and good fortune. I really do, otherwise I wouldn’t say it here, when we’re alone like this, when there’s no one else to notice my good manners. I’m sorry you don’t like me, but how could you? Neither of us can help this, can we? Have a good journey. Keep a good thought of me. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
Della only nodded. She shivered and then fairly flew up the stairs past Fiona, trying not to think about what Fiona had said or how much she knew. She began to worry, wondering if her head were made of sheer glass, so that her every secret had been open to all of them all along. She had to leave quickly, before she found out who else was pitying her.
Her maid had followed her instructions, packing her bags and leaving them in a neat row by her door. It surprised Della to see how little of her life she’d carried here with her, after all. It had once seemed like so much, but she supposed it had all been in her head and heart. And those were already overpacked with things to bedevil her during the long, weary journey home—a journey that for the first time in her life would not end with Jared waiting for her.
Della sat for a while in her room, holding back tears. When she felt more in command of herself, she was ready to leave the hall and everything in it. She went down the long stairs slowly this time, subdued and exhausted. She’d fought with herself and won. She would go home, though everything she wanted in life would be staying here. But if she could salvage nothing else, she was determined to leave with her pride.
Now she had to tell Jared. She wouldn’t lie; she just wouldn’t tell the truth. She’d certainly never let him know what she felt for him; that would be too embarrassing, too debasing. Besides, she thought wearily, it was likely Fiona would tell him soon enough—oh, but that meant she had to leave even more quickly, she thought with renewed panic. She feared shame more than death itself; death brought the possibility of resurrection, after all.
She wouldn’t mention what had happened between them last night. Instead, she’d pretend she was just like a man and shrug it off as a thing that sometimes happened in the night between the sexes, although she’d never forget the shock and thrill of it—never. She would hug, close to her heart for all the lonely nights ahead, the memory of what it had felt like before he’d become ashamed. In time, she could forget the shame while remembering the wild pleasure of it—at least she’d try.
But she knew just what to say to him now if he brought it up: This is England, after all. It’s not as Puritan as it is at home, and as they say, “When in Rome…” And then she’d laugh airily. Then she’d tell him to forget it, because she had—and she’d cross her fingers hard so she wouldn’t be struck dead by lightning.
Because she’d never forget it, and never wanted to.
She’d go on to tell him that she’d seen his new state in life and was happy for him, but that now she had to get on with her own. That, he couldn’t argue. She’d tell him her life would be at home from now on—her home, because however much he loved her, his home was not hers. That, he could not argue. She’d say she was leaving because she was homesick. That was unarguable, too, though she’d never tell him that the moment she left him she’d be homesick for the rest of her life.
She shivered a little as she thought of the conversation to come, but she wasn’t a coward—only frightened.
She went down the stairs with her head high and her heart low. But she had to stop in midstep to prevent being run over or pushed over the side—Fiona was running up the stairs as fast as she could, not looking where she was going.
It was almost comical, because in order to run, Fiona had to hold her beautiful green skirt up, tilting the hoop so much it showed her legs and a great deal more than any lady should. All her elegant serenity was gone. She was panting because her bodice was so tight she couldn’t draw a deep breath, and her face was set in a frown of concentration. She stopped only when she almost crashed into Della. When Fiona looked up and saw Della, her lovely eyes flashed with tears. Della thought in amazement that they looked like tears of anger, not sorrow—it was clear she was furious.
“He—” she cried the minute she saw Della. “He dares dismiss me! It’s not even as if I asked for him—as if I even wanted him! As if I would! I wonder what he thinks of me. I wonder who he thinks he is! He didn’t give me a chance to speak. He just called me in, said it was over, he was going, good-bye, and that was that.”
Della gaped. Then she understood. Fiona was a great lady, a beautiful one, used to being petted and flattered since she’d been born. She mightn’t want Justin anymore, but it probably still rankled that he was leaving her. She marveled at the woman’s vanity, but almost envied it.
“But Fiona,” she said, gently as she could, “try to see it his
way. He knew you’d made your choice. You can’t blame him; he’s got too much pride to stay and see you marry his brother.”
Fiona stared at her as if she’d gone mad. “He had the audacity to tell me to do just that!” she raged. “Not that I might not.…” She stopped and her eyes opened wide in horror. “Oh, but what if he won’t forgive me? He has pride, too; Mother warned me, but Father said it didn’t matter anymore—but it does. By God! Was there ever such a mess? How could he do this to me? How could he dare? You might say he doesn’t know any better—but no, I suppose you wouldn’t,” she said, remembering who she was talking to and glaring at Della.
“I suppose you’re laughing up your sleeve at me now,” Fiona spat, her lovely features becoming disfigured by a sneer as she stared up at Della. “If he treats me like that, then I suppose I can’t expect much sympathy from you. It’s what comes of dealing with such people.… I should have known,” she muttered to herself.
Now Della frowned. “You’ve got it all wrong,” she said, her own anger growing, the more so because she felt guilty about Justin’s going home with her. “Justin’s going to Virginia with me for only a little while, only for a holiday.”
“Justin’s going to Virginia with you?” Delia cried. “Oh, before God, this is dreadful!” She tottered, and Della was afraid she would fall. But though her face was ashen, her eyes blazed with energy. “It’s what comes from dealing with savages,” Fiona raged, “no matter the title. Title—ha! We should have known better. It wasn’t as if we didn’t have warning. God’s teeth! But he was a bond-boy! A slavey, a lackey, a bit of human offal—and God knows what else. I actually considered marrying—”
“Bond-boy?… Jared? You’re talking about Jared? Not Justin?”
Fiona nodded, her eyes wild. “Of course! He—he had the audacity to dismiss me! Told me he hoped he had raised no expectations, but it was for the best—for the best! I should say so! I must have been mad. How could I have ever thought of him as eligible when he came from such low, base beginnings?”
