The Last Killiney
Page 34
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With that, he turned and walked out the door.
He was only gone a moment before she heard the carriage outside, the jingling of harnesses and rumbling of wheels in the stable yard darkness. When the shouting began, she recognized James’s voice instantly, bellowing over the chatter of half a dozen servants who’d gathered to take the horses away.
Thinking of Paul and the argument they’d had, suddenly she was set to worrying. Paul was in no mood to see James now. What would he do if James were to confront him? Would Paul back down? Would he get himself killed after all?
She couldn’t even imagine the scenario, so she hurried through the hall to the dimly-lit passageway where James was just coming into the house. She expected to be yelled at then. James’s pace was no-nonsense brisk. He’d probably learned from the servants how Paul had refused to leave the premises, and now there’d be a fight, a duel, a murder.
Yet when Ravenna met his stare, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw: James’s face was a stern mask, almost an expression of disapproval, but those eyes, black and brimming with pain, gave away everything.
His father had died, she knew it immediately.
When he slowed a few yards away, she didn’t know how to handle him. His gaze shifted to the candles in the wall sconces. He reached for his brow, rubbed with a languor that went straight to her heart, and she couldn’t help whispering, “James, I’m so sorry…”
But before she could say another word, he’d pulled her up close with such a swiftness she didn’t have time to resist.
Held fast to that towering frame, it took her a moment to gather her wits. “I know how painful this must be for you,” she said into his waistcoat, “but I—”
“If you hadn’t warned me…” With his chin resting over her head, his words were a warmth in her hair as he continued, “We had two days together before he died…two days because of you.”
“You were with him?” she asked.
Loosening his hold, James stepped back with a terse nod.
Ravenna gazed up at him, thinking of how strange this all was. Unlike Elizabeth, she’d never had a brother, let alone one who hugged the way this one did. His sudden affection had completely disarmed her, and as she stood there before him, feeling the heat of his grip at her shoulder, she found herself fumbling for what to say next.
“Look,” and she removed her hands from him, “I know it’s not the best time to ask, but can you…do you…What I mean is—”
“Do I believe you?”
She wavered uncertainly before him. “Do you?”
James’s jaw hardened. He nodded darkly.
“And Paul?” She felt his grip soften. “You’re not going to kill him for being in the house?”
Straightening, James turned toward the cluster of servants gathered in the corridor. “Is he still here?”
“I’m here,” Paul said from the drawing room door.
James muttered something under his breath. Yet when he turned his eyes to Ravenna’s, there was no mistaking his tortured expression, as if he’d suddenly remembered it again, Father is dead…
“Let’s go sit down.” Gesturing toward the drawing room door, she led him to the sofa; she asked Paul to stoke the fire, and when he had, when all the servants had assembled and James had glanced up for an instant, Ravenna met his grief-stricken eyes. “Tell us what happened,” she urged him softly.
Leaning on the sofa’s arm, James shook his head. He glanced away. Shielding his eyes with an open hand, it was at least two minutes before he managed the words. “You didn’t know this, Sister, but our father was seeing Fox’s wife, Mrs. Armistead. He was at St. Anne’s Hill when his heart…gave out. I told him not to go…”
Staring at the carpet, he fell silent.
“Did he suffer much, my lord?” a footman asked.
Slowly, James nodded. “He left generous annuities for all of you.”
“And Ravenna?” Paul’s voice, reluctant from where he stood before the fire. “Who’s gonna be looking after her now?”
James shot Paul a solemn glance. “There’s always been a substantial portion set aside for Elizabeth’s marriage.”
At the mention of marriage, the maids hushed their whispering. Nothing stirred other than Paul’s boots, shifting from one foot to the other in weary apprehension as he glanced around at the servants’ faces. So many expectant eyes met his, but not Ravenna’s—she’d wanted him to face the truth about his wife, but never had she wished for this.
Eventually Paul took a deep breath. He still didn’t look at her, but clearing his throat, he pushed through the servants and got down in front of her on his knee. As if he’d made up his mind at last, he took the malachite ring from his finger. He reached for her hand, and when he’d slipped the ring in place, deliberately, quickly, it made her wince for the hurry of it all.
The ring fit perfectly.
As if he’d hoped and prayed it wouldn’t, all the light went out of Paul’s eyes.
She wished then she could take back the moment more than anything in the world. It wasn’t worth it, to see the expression on Paul’s well-meaning face as he gathered his courage and spoke the words, “Elizabeth, would you be my wife?”