by Sophia Nash
There was a knock and Fairleigh’s face appeared around the door.
Grace beckoned to the child. “Oh Fairleigh, do come and help me eat all these biscuits. Your father has been no help at all.”
Fairleigh hopped onto the pale green settee, settling herself between the two of them. She bit into a chocolate biscuit, her face filled with delight. “Thank you, Grace.”
Oh God, he was going to miss her too much. He kissed the top of her head. “Here, let me get that bit of chocolate on your cheek.” He picked up a napkin and urged her to sit on his lap. “Ouch. What is that?”
Her eyes became very large as she jumped up and gripped the side of her gown. “Nothing.”
“Fairleigh, what are you hiding in your pocket?”
She shook her head and looked at the carpet. “It’s really nothing.”
He put his hand, palm up, in front of her. “Give it to me right now. It’s dangerous to carry fish hooks in your pocket.”
She stood very still and he was forced to search her pocket himself. He withdrew a small piece of jewelry and leaned in to examine it more closely. He blinked. “Where did you get this brooch?”
“It was to be a secret. Georgiana gave it to me.” Her large, innocent eyes filled with ill ease. “She said it was to remember my Papa.”
Grace glanced at it and quickly looked away without a word.
“You may not keep it.” He felt the marrow curdling in his bones.
Fairleigh burst into tears and he quickly hugged her fiercely to his breast.
“Oh, Papa, I wouldn’t have accepted it if I’d known it would make you so mad.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m not angry with you. You’re the dearest thing to me in the world. You are my daughter and I won’t ever let anything or anyone come between us.”
“But Papa, you don’t understand. It’s—”
“No, Fairleigh, no explanations. Now, have you seen to packing your dollies?” It took every effort to appear collected when every muscle screamed to destroy the damned brooch in as violent a fashion as possible. It represented every evil in his past.
Fairleigh murmured that she hadn’t gathered her dolls and so he used the opportunity to escape both Grace and Fairleigh. At the doorway he turned to find Grace rearranging the skirt of her gown. He could only see the countess’s lovely pale profile, but he had the distinct impression that a tear was balanced on her lower lashes.
Something stronger than compassion drove him from Grace and Fairleigh. Fear and anger twisted into a thin wire of pain that snaked through his body. He didn’t stop to think. Didn’t stop to plan. He acted on instinct alone and flew out of the room.
He would find Georgiana. And when he did he would end this thing that was between them. He had given her everything—had even given her his trust, just as he had been foolish enough to give his trust to Anthony and again to Cynthia. Fire raged in his palm. He released his grip on the brooch and saw a smear of blood in the center of his hand where the pin had pricked his skin.
He cursed both Anthony and Georgiana to hell and back as he stalked down the path to Little Roses, his fury growing with every step.
He found her among several stacks of books, a roll of twine in hand.
“Quinn!”
He stared at her through a shaft of light cutting across her father’s study. And in that instant a thousand images sped through his mind: Anthony and Georgiana climbing trees, swimming, fishing, running, racing, eating cakes, and always falling all over each other with laughter in their eyes. The identical look in Fairleigh’s eyes. His heart contracted in pain.
“Why did you do it?” His voice cracked with the strain.
“What are you talking—”
“Why would you give Fairleigh a likeness of your husband?” He couldn’t even say Anthony’s name, his hatred was so deeply embedded.
She lowered her eyes to a book she held and said not a word.
“Oh no. You will explain yourself. There’ll be none of the shrinking violet here. How could you do it? How could you give my daughter a painting of the man who ruined my chance of happiness at every turn? Were you going to reveal the truth of her parentage, to boot?”
She would not look up.
“You refuse to answer. Even you cannot defend your audacious action. But isn’t that the way you have always lived your life, Georgiana? You and Anthony always managed to avoid unpleasantness by not answering to anyone.”
He ran his hand through his hair and realized it was shaking. “When I confided to you the secret that has plagued me for a decade, I was fool enough to think you wouldn’t reveal what I told you to anyone.”
She raised her eyes to his. A blaze of pain streaked through them. “A decade? You’ve been plagued with a secret for a mere decade?” She whispered, her voice quavering with emotion.
He ignored her. “Can’t you see that by revealing I’m not her true father, it would only cause Fairleigh confusion and pain? I want her to live in a cocoon of security and love her entire life—unlike my own.”
And she ignored him. “Let me assure you a decade is a trifle. Now, two decades is a bit more impressive. But I’m guessing that even that will seem like a drop in time when I’m staring at sixty years in my dish.”
She wasn’t making any sense at all, and her voice had grown in strength and was now bordering on hysteria. And suddenly his infamous control snapped.
A fire crackled in the grate. In his mind’s eye he saw the brooch in the fire, the metal sizzling and dripping while Anthony’s miniature painted eye burned into ash and only the tiny glittering jewels remained on the hearth.
With two long strides he was before the fire his arm drawn back.
“No!” She sobbed. “No. Don’t you dare!” She was beside him, her fingers working his tightly clenched fist. “Oh God, Quinn. Please don’t.”
He immediately opened his fist and she took possession of it and gripped the ugly thing to her breast.
He was now numb to every emotion. Even anger had melted away in the face of her devotion to the man who had tormented him. “Fairleigh will be leaving with me tomorrow. You may take your leave of us now as I’m certain you’ve no wish to remain here.”
Her eyes were closed tightly. “It’s of you,” she said barely above a whisper.
A log in the grate broke in two and a spray of sparks swirled.
Her lids parted to reveal dark, almost black eyes. Her breath rattled. “I painted it fifteen years ago—while I lay in bed the week after you left. It’s your eye, not his.” She paused and then rushed on. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should burn it, since both you and Anthony hated it.”
Now it was he who could not make his mouth open to save his life.
“I gave it to Fairleigh so she could have a part of you near while you went away with Grace. I’m certain she will be very excited about having Grace as a mother. I’m not sure she has told you or Grace this, but I did want to make sure you knew. And she can’t wait to go to London and see the sites—especially the Tower. Grace and Fairleigh are so beautiful together, with their blonde hair and matching pale pink gowns and pearls. Soon no one will even remember that Grace is not her real mother.” She spoke swiftly and without pause, like the ever-moving tide. “But I only beg of you not to forget to always propose adventures for her: riding and fishing and an amusement every day. She will not be happy only doing lessons and embroidery. But what am I saying? You know that now very well. You’ve changed back to the man I used to know and are the perfect father for a high-spirited girl such as Fairleigh. She is a very, very lucky child to have a father such as you and a mother such as Grace.”
He held out his hand and she placed the brooch in it. A tiny eye stared back at him, slanted, arresting. He drew it closer. The barest hint of green edged the outer edge of the amber iris.
His heart slammed into his chest.
He looked up to find Georgiana gone.
He searched everywhere for her—he had
to apologize. Her team and carriage were still in the stable. She could not have gone far, and her old injuries would prevent her from going anywhere very fast without a horse. But she held the advantage of knowing every corner of the estate even better than he did. There were miles of hedgerows, acres of long grasses along the beachhead, and no end to the number of trees. Three hours later, he wanted to keep going, but his lathered horse could not. Quinn negotiated a steep, winding path to the beach and then rode a short distance toward the rocky cliffs. He dismounted and climbed to a berm of sandy soil and the blessed shade of several wind-whipped pine trees.
Exhausted, he leaned against the rough bark of the tallest tree, the cliffs behind him. A cool, salty wind blew from the swirling morass of the dark blue ocean. The scent of wild gorse and pine teased his senses as despair filtered through every pore.
God. Nothing made any sense. It was his image? He retrieved the brooch from his pocket and looked at it again. His thumb felt a tiny indentation along the edge and he noticed a tiny catch. He released it to find a few strands of dark hair. A gust of wind carried the strands away before he could catch them; but he knew they were his own. They were certainly not Anthony’s blond. He cursed his stupidity and returned the brooch to his pocket.
The familiar cree-cree-cree of a peregrine falcon caught his attention and he looked up to see the raptor fly onto a ledge. He turned quickly and realized he was very close to the place where Georgiana had fallen all those years ago.
Yes. There was the tree, almost impossible to recognize for it was denuded of all its greenery now, completely dead, unlike before. He swallowed convulsively when he saw the jagged remains of a limb many feet above. That was the one that had given way. He hadn’t seen it break, had only come upon her as she was falling.
He could still remember the sickening sound of her body hitting branches in its descent, her petticoat and gown catching and tearing, only to leave her limbs exposed to such terrible injury. He even heard the awful whoosh of her breath as she hit the ground inches from his outstretched hands. And he could remember Anthony’s panicked, high-pitched voice from the tree.
Unconsciously, Quinn gripped the strong, living trunk of a pine growing in the shadow of the tree that had caused her so much anguish and changed her life forever. He gazed upward and saw light filtering through the pine needles.
The falcon’s scrape was high above and he was suddenly certain he would find a nestling despite the lateness of the season. He had never been so sure of anything in his life. He would retrieve a chick for her barren mews at Trehallow and then leave to fulfill his commitment to Grace.
It was the least he could do for Georgiana. She was so good that he was certain she would accept this peace offering, even if she could never bear to see him again after the awful things he had said to her. It would be a final gift to someone who had given so much of herself to him.
As he climbed the sap-smeared branches of the enormous pine, his mind sifted through his memories. His heart swelled again at the thought that she had cared enough that she had painted his eye to remember him after he had been sent away. She had missed him. Deeply.
And he had missed her.
Quinn repositioned his grip on a branch. Then stilled. Memories from so long ago poured over him, pounding the floodgates to his soul.
When he’d been sent away, been locked away, really, with all the other miserable Collager students at Eton, he had used to dream about her. Yet he’d tried to forget those sweet memories because Anthony had always been in those dreams as well.
He’d dreamed about smashing those damned windows in the fourth floor of the dormitory and flying back to Penrose to find her. And she was always waiting for him at the top of some far-flung cliff, her arms wide in greeting, her smile as dazzling as the happiness in her earthy brown eyes. He would capture her in his arms and swing her ’round and ’round until they were dizzy and they fell off the cliff embracing each other. Quinn had felt such happiness gazing into her eyes that he hadn’t cared that they were falling, until they crashed to the sand and waves washed over them. Anthony would be waiting to pick up her crumpled form and walk away, leaving Quinn to be pulled out to sea.
But now Quinn realized he didn’t care that Anthony had been in the dream. He’d always found happiness when he was with her, Anthony be damned.
While he had been away, he’d missed her innocent goodness, her laughter, and their shared love of nature, and adventure, and animals, and, yes, even painting. He’d forgotten they had used to paint together. They’d shared such a passion for life…for living.
He reached the level of the ledge in the cliff face and peered through the pungent pine needles. An angry-looking adult female guarded three downy white chicks in a scrape made of rough-hewn sticks.
He bit the corner of his lip. Perhaps the falcon would fly away at his approach. He inched along the branch and she screeched in outrage.
He stopped. In that instant, a piece of his spirit fell into place. A piece he’d been denying in order to avoid any chance of repeating the past, where broken trust had plagued his every connection—and scarred his soul as effectively as the accident had scarred Georgiana’s body.
He loved her.
No, it was something so much stronger than that. Something he couldn’t put into words. She owned his heart and always would. He had been so numb to every emotion that he had been blind.
He had little warning before the tiercel, obviously the mate of the female in front of him, struck, its sharp talons scoring his sleeves and throwing him off balance.
Chapter 20
Mr. Brown’s List
October 26—to do
- finish packing
- good-byes to Mrs. Killen and others
- a pint with the gamekeeper
- last look at ledgers
- new lock on carriage house—key to Quinn
- arrange a carriage seat for…a lass if she accepts my offer
One could only stay in hiding for so long. And one could only walk for so long—especially with an aching knee.
And she was freezing.
Besides, Georgiana knew she was being ridiculous. It was not as if he didn’t already know the state of her pathetic heart. It was just that she didn’t particularly like acting the fool twice over.
As she limped toward Penrose’s kitchen entrance, she hoped she would not have to face Quinn again before she left. And she prayed she was making the right decision.
The housekeeper was conferring with Cook in hurried tones. “Pardon me, Mrs. Killen, but has his lordship returned?”
“No, Lady Ellesmere—” the housekeeper said. “But—”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Killen, but I must see to something immediately.” She quickly made her way to the upper floors, unable to stay another moment.
Georgiana leaned heavily against the railing. How she had once loved this house. The wide, polished mahogany railings were so familiar. She had helped Mrs. Killen polish them as a child. She had even slid down them with Anthony when no one was looking. Her fingers traced the pattern of the newel post at the top while she stared at the door that was supposed to have been her chamber as Anthony’s wife—the one she had specifically designated for the countess.
She forced herself to walk to the door. She must have a word with Grace, make certain she was recovering, and then gently insist that it would be better if Fairleigh went to the house party. She had no idea if Grace had been present when Quinn had discovered the brooch. She would smooth things over as best she could if that was true. And finally, she would tell Grace that pressing matters required her return to Trehallow.
She knocked on the door.
Silence.
“Grace? Grace, may I come in?”
Silence.
She knocked again and when there was no response, Georgiana eased the door open.
The chamber was in complete disarray, the bed coverings twisted in a heap on the floor. An abandoned, open trunk yawned befo
re the bed, a drift of white frothy linen exposed. On a table, a vase of flowers lay on its side, water dripping from the lip of the marble tabletop onto a darkening spot of carpet below. A single yellow rose rested on a pillow in the middle of the bed.
A note lay under it.
Georgiana peered toward the adjoining sitting room and then crossed the room. Water from the rose’s stem had pooled on the black ink lettering, making her name barely visible. Heart pounding, she quickly blotted the drops before breaking the seal.
My dear Georgiana,
When we spoke about love and marriage at Little Roses, there was something I did not fully understand. We agreed that a marriage where one loves and the other doesn’t is intolerable. Experiencing unrequited love makes that point very clear in a person’s mind. The only difference of opinion we had was of the happiness I am certain two people can find in a marriage of convenience for the mutual goal of simple companionship. You suggested nothing could induce you to marry again except a love match.
I have come to realize there is something possibly worse than unrequited love. It is when a man says he is looking for a marriage of convenience yet refuses to see he might indeed be in love with someone else. Marriage to such a man would be worse than intolerable.
And so I must leave. Mr. Brown has been kind enough to offer me a seat in his carriage.
You are so good I know you and Ata and everyone will grieve for me. But please don’t. You see, my heart is not engaged, so I do not suffer. And please don’t think you owe me some sort of apology.
Georgiana, he is in love with you. I don’t know why he can’t grasp what is in front of him. But I think if you have the courage to tell him what I now believe you might still feel for him, all will fall into place. And I wish you both every happiness.
