The Last Killiney
Page 46
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For hours Ravenna sat up listening, waiting for James in the silence of her room. Sarah hadn’t heard about the letter. The maid was still completely unaware of James’s love, but Ravenna knew; what’s more, James could talk to her about it, for after Christian’s broadcast of the news, he certainly had nothing to gain by refusing to discuss his feelings for Sarah.
When finally he arrived home, Ravenna met him in the darkened passageway. Even with the dim light, she could see it in James’s face—shame, humiliation. He slipped his arm around her shoulder. Drawing her close, his voice was gentle, nothing like she’d expected to hear. “You know, don’t you? About Sarah?”
She wondered what to say as he led her into the bedroom, set her down before the fire while he kicked off his boots. She waited for him to take a seat, but instead he flopped down on her bed, covered his face with heavy arms.
“It’s not as bad as it seems,” she told him.
“You don’t know Christian.”
Ravenna sighed. “You’re right, I didn’t know he’d get that letter. If I’d known, believe me, I wouldn’t have brought it from Wolvesfield like I did. It just never occurred to me when I took him upstairs that he’d—”
James let his arms slide from his face, onto the bed where they lay lifelessly thrown back. She went to him then, and although he looked up, he didn’t move but to drudgingly breathe. “That is the least of it,” he said to her softly.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
James didn’t answer.
Sitting on the bed, she tried to console him. “So everyone knows you’re in love with your housemaid. So what? Don’t they understand that love knows no rules?”
James closed his eyes, and at once Ravenna knew she’d wounded him in some way, however unintentionally.
“Have you not always known me to treat the servants with respect?” he whispered.
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Hear me out.” He rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand, then asked, “Have I not always argued for the equality of every man, regardless of his station? Have I not dined with common men, drank their beer, even played with their dogs?”
“I suppose,” she answered.
“Then why can’t I admit I love Sarah?” He paused, and Ravenna sensed his internal struggle. “It shouldn’t matter what anyone thinks or wants, peer or otherwise. I should be prepared to defend her. I should marry her despite all objections. I should find it impossible to keep from arguing her worthiness in rivaling the beauty of the Duchess of Devonshire.”
The emotion in his voice made Ravenna think of the death of the marquess, and she put her hand on his shoulder, looked down on his solemn eyes. “Who’s more important to you,” she asked, “Sarah, or people whose dogs you don’t play with, that you don’t even like?”
“But that’s not the question, rather which of my feelings are stronger, love or pride.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“What can I do? Wait for her to learn of my feelings from unkind ears? No, I’ll have to tell her, and pray she doesn’t find my lack of courage repulsive.”
Ravenna smiled to herself. “That’s not what’s going to happen.”
And just like that, as if she possessed some magic to raise him out of despondency, James glanced up with a quizzical expression. “What do you know?” When she smirked, he sat up quickly, took hold of her shoulders. “What do you know? If you’re privileged to her feelings, then let’s have it out!”
“She talks about you constantly. That’s all I’ll tell you.”
“Are you certain? There can be no mistake?”
“She opens her mouth and the name James comes out—yes, I’m certain. You must know by now she cares for you?”
But James had slipped off the bed, was heading for the door in nothing short of an all-out sprint.
“You can’t mean to wake her at this hour?”
He stopped, turned around; with the corner of his mouth tugged in a grin, he lifted a wary brow. “You’d better be right about this.”
Before she could assure him she was, he’d shut the door.