Born to Be Wilde: The Wildes of Lindow Castle

by Eloisa James

  All of a sudden, a sob ripped through her chest and she doubled over as if she’d been struck. Parth’s protectiveness had felt so reassuring. So safe. During his absence, knowing they would be married, she had felt as if she could do anything. She had made her way through endless lists, setbacks, and difficulties with a glad heart, because Parth would be returning from London. Because he made her feel safe.

  That was the problem, right there.

  He had made her feel safe.

  She was a pathetic, useless excuse for a human being, and the fact that Parth Sterling recognized the truth was just—just the way it was. Parth was right. She was shallow. Finding that her hands had tightened into fists, Lavinia took a painful breath.

  She pulled herself upright, went to the basin, and washed her face. Then she applied a thick mask of white powder, as if she were disguising scars instead of the ravages of weeping.

  Countless women had no idea how much their dowry was worth, or the cost of a gown. That she had been among them wasn’t her fault as much as it was an accident of birth. Of the way things were for women like her. She felt hollow, like a tree that had been carved out from the inside.

  She didn’t belong here, at Lindow. Willa was long gone, and Diana was to be married soon. Only one thought was pounding behind her swollen eyes: I want to go home. Her lips trembled again at the thought. Her family’s country estate was closed long ago, the furniture draped in holland covers, the servants let go.

  With another aching swallow, she pushed the desire away. Returning home was an impossibility, but she could go see her mother. Five minutes later, she stood at the door of Lady Knowe’s private drawing room.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  North came striding out of the stable yard just as Parth came through the gate. He took a quick look at Parth’s face and clearly had second thoughts about whatever he was about to say.

  “Have you been out on the bog this fall?” North pulled a silver flask from his pocket. “Remember when we used to sneak into the bog and drink ourselves into a stupor?”

  “I have no impulse to repeat the experience,” Parth stated. He felt too bitterly miserable to stay inside but that didn’t mean he wanted to get drunk.

  “We’ve grown into such behemoths that we’d need a barrel of whisky,” North pointed out, but he started in the direction of the Moss, and Parth, for want of a better plan, went along.

  Out of the shelter of the woods they cut across the front of the castle, skirting the courtyard, and headed toward Lindow Moss, the bog that stretched for miles to the east. On the other side of the gate they followed an ancient path marking solid ground.

  “Snow’s coming,” North said, after they’d tramped a good twenty minutes.

  “Can you really smell it over the peat?” Parth asked. The peat’s distinctive odor rose from the bog with an acrid force.

  “Smells like home,” North said.

  “You’re damned cheerful.” Parth knocked a clump of muddy sphagnum moss from one boot.

  North elbowed him and they silently watched as a pale gray bird drifted over the moorland, a moving wisp of fog but for the black tips on its wings.

  “Horatius would have known what bird that is,” Parth said.

  “It’s a hen harrier,” North said. “Male. The females are dark brown and keep to the ground.” He met Parth’s raised eyebrows with a shrug. “I’ve had trouble sleeping since returning from war. The Moss is a good place to be, and Horatius left his birding books behind.”

  “She’s changed her mind,” Parth said, apropos of nothing, and started down the path again.

  “I assume you’re talking about Lavinia, not the contessa? Why on earth?”

  “She thinks I don’t respect her.”

  “Well, you are the one who called her—”

  “Shallow as a puddle,” Parth growled. “She overheard you repeat it—not your fault; I’m the idiot who insulted her in the first place.”

  “Your opinion of her has altered?”

  The words hung in the air. It was growing thick with snow; Parth could feel the air gathering itself, preparing to split into tiny floating drops of white.

  “Yes, damn it.”

  “We should turn back at the birch,” North said. “Lavinia used to poke at you quite mercilessly.”

  Parth shrugged. “I was always looking for her, even when she lived in Paris, wondering if she’d fallen in love.”

  North said nothing, so Parth found more words. “She was always at the center of everyone’s attention. Laughing, darting here and there, collecting men as if they were hairpins. I didn’t want to be attracted to her.”

  “We can’t choose who we’d like to be attracted to,” North said. “Life would be easier if I hadn’t fallen in love with a governess who happened to be the fiancée who jilted me and supposedly bore my purported child.”

  They reached a silver birch surrounded by a rudimentary screen for hunters. North threw himself down on the wooden bench at the tree’s base with the familiarity of someone who had made a second home in the bog. He carried no visible wounds from his time at war in the colonies, but obviously they existed.

  “On the other hand, life without Diana isn’t worth living,” North said. He uncorked his flask, took a long swallow, and passed it to Parth. “It’s peaceful out here. I miss Horatius, and I feel closer to him here.”

  Parth frowned, and North added, “Not because he died here, but because he loved it so much. He spent whole days looking for birds, remember?”

  “I’ve spent whole days looking for Lavinia,” Parth said, as the drink burned a welcome path to his stomach. “I could say whatever I liked about her, but she drew me like a flame draws a moth whenever I was in her vicinity. She teased me, and called me names, and I just kept finding her, following her, so she could do it again.”

  North grunted. “Tell her that.”

  “If I stop looking for Lavinia, if I stop waiting for Lavinia, what is the use of it all?” Parth asked.

  “Did you tell her?”

  “Tell her what?”

  “That you’re hopelessly in love,” North said, taking another swallow. “You’re sitting around with tears streaming down your cheeks at the thought of not seeing her again.”

  Parth looked at him incredulously.

  “Metaphorically,” North said, handing him the flask.

  Parth took a gulp, looking over the bog. North wasn’t so far off, in truth. He wasn’t given to crying, but something ragged and hot in his chest cut more sharply than the wind. His longing for Lavinia was raw and dirty—and at the same time, it was tender and profound. “I can’t,” he said, finally.

  “I disagree. You can.”

  “She says I don’t respect her. I can’t . . . what can I say? I did say that thing. And when I heard she used those commissions she earned to put together a dowry, I . . .”

  “You said something even worse?” North snatched the flask back. “Women never forget that sort of thing.”

  “Diana congratulated her on winning me.”

  “So?”

  He refused to describe what had happened when Lavinia came to his bedchamber. That was private.

  “She could definitely have done better than you,” North said. “Did you hear what Beck told the king?”

  Parth braced himself. “No.”

  “He told His Majesty that he’d fallen in love with Miss Lavinia Gray, and that he was coming back for her. And His Majesty offered St. George’s chapel at Windsor Castle for their wedding, with a celebration to follow.”

  Parth watched his breath puff out in a ragged white cloud. “How do you know that?”

  “I’m not even in London, and I heard about it. Aunt Knowe had a letter detailing the whole conversation—which apparently took place in the throne room, surrounded by courtiers. What the hell have you been doing?”

  “Working, when I wasn’t on the road, and frequently when I was on it. Not listening to gossip.”

  “Mo
re the fool you,” North said unsympathetically. He handed over the flask again. “You might as well drink the rest. She’s ‘won’ better than you, damn it. The problem is that you didn’t win her. She worked like a mad person to earn those commissions, and she loved every minute. If you stripped away her pride in what she’s doing, then she’d be right not to marry you.”

  “I had no intention of doing so.”

  “Tell me you didn’t imply the commissions weren’t important because of your fortune.”

  “In so many words.” Parth’s voice rasped in his chest. “I told her that none of her work mattered. In my defense, she had never told me that she was working to make money, and I was off my guard.”

  Parth leaned his head back against the tree bark and stared up through its branches. The sorrow in his heart was a clawing pain now. It seemed that despair had a sour taste that even canceled out the smell of peat.

  “Why didn’t she tell you?” North asked, getting to his feet. “Come on, my balls feel like lumps of ice.”

  They started back, heads down, into a biting wind.

  “We act as if we’re invincible,” North continued, his shoulder bumping Parth’s. “We were taught to live our lives as if we were right at every moment. You’ll have to discard that attitude in order to win her back.”

  Parth grunted.

  “Beg,” North said flatly. “You must tell her the truth. How much do you love her?”

  “What in the hell do you want me to say?” Parth demanded, suddenly livid, his heart burning with it. “That I love her more than the moon and the stars?”

  “Hackneyed,” North said. “Try again.”

  Parth cursed. “I can’t do this. She doesn’t care how much I love her. She says I don’t respect her.”

  “Where’s the difference?” North’s strides lengthened and he moved in front. “It’s freezing out here.” The wind whipped away his words.

  “She’s better than me,” Parth said, letting the words go on the wind, not sure North could hear them, not caring. “She’s kinder, smarter. If I had never loved her . . . If I had never loved her, I would have no goals that matter.”

  North turned to face Parth. “Tell her that.” He walked backward, risking falling from the path into the bog. “Tell her that.”

  “Turn around, damn it,” Parth snarled. “Diana will kill me if you disappear before the wedding.”

  North grinned at him, but he stopped. “That would certainly solve your problem. Who would have thought that you, Parth Sterling, would love a woman that much?”

  Parth shook his head.

  “Follow me,” North shouted, turning about.

  So Parth did.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Lavinia caught the exact instant when Lady Knowe gave in, when her eyes sharpened and she saw that Lavinia had been crying. “Oh, my dear. You miss your mother,” she said, surging upright. “I’ll send a groom ahead by horseback with word that you’re on the way.”

  After that, it was easy. Annie packed a small portmanteau, and an hour later, Lavinia descended the stairs into the entry, wearing her traveling costume and a fur-lined cloak because snowflakes were swirling in the afternoon sunshine.

  “Why are you taking clothing?” Lady Knowe cried, looking alarmed. “Do you intend to stay the night? You haven’t said goodbye to anyone.”

  “I know that you will explain everything to His Grace and the family,” Lavinia said. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, and I know my mother will want to spend the day with me.” In truth, she wasn’t sure her mother would even remember.

  “What about Parth!” Lady Knowe hissed, waving Prism back into the drawing room. “You mustn’t leave without saying farewell, Lavinia.”

  “You will give my farewell to Parth and the contessa along with everyone else, won’t you?”

  Lady Knowe tilted her head to the side and examined Lavinia as carefully as if she were a recalcitrant nephew. “Something has happened,” she deduced.

  “No, nothing has happened,” Lavinia said wearily. “I miss my mother, Lady Knowe.” Then, in case the lady kept protesting, she went in for the coup de grâce: “I am grateful for all you did for her when I was ill. But I never said goodbye to her, and I had no say as to her care. Diana’s trousseau is finished; I have fulfilled my responsibilities.”

  Lady Knowe clasped her hands together. “You are offended! My dearest Lavinia, I never meant to be obstructive, or keep you away from your mother.”

  Lavinia felt a pang of guilt—but she was so desperate to leave that she squashed the impulse to apologize. “I must see how my mother is faring,” she said instead. “I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Certainly I can!” With that, Lady Knowe practically threw Lavinia into the carriage. “I feel so thoughtless. Here you were, working endless hours on the wedding clothing, and I never once asked if you might wish to pay a visit to your mother. Naturally, you want to spend the night there. Luckily, the sanitarium can easily accommodate visitors.”

  “I shall make arrangements to stay nearby,” Lavinia said, climbing into the carriage. “I shall send for my clothing when I am situated; Annie packed sufficient for a few days.”

  “What?”

  Lavinia leaned forward and kissed the shocked lady on the cheek. “I cannot leave my mother alone any longer. Thank you so much,” she said sincerely. “I am so grateful and . . . I truly adore you.”

  “Lavinia! Don’t you dare stay away from the wedding!” Lady Knowe bellowed.

  Lavinia smiled, pulled the door closed and rapped on the ceiling, and the carriage lurched forward. She glanced out the window and saw Lady Knowe standing in the courtyard, looking thoroughly puzzled.

  It hurt to see her turn and go back toward the door, but at the same time, Lavinia was convinced that she had made the right choice.

  The carriage trundled off with Lavinia tucked in one corner and Annie in another. Perhaps half an hour into the journey, Annie asked, “Miss, I wonder if you might like to look out the window?”

  Lavinia drew back the curtain on her side and looked out. Not far from the road was a graceful manor with a collection of outbuildings neatly arranged behind it. The manor, which appeared to be quite new, was built of cream-colored stone and seemed to float slightly above the dark ground.

  “That’s Mr. Sterling’s estate,” Annie said. “I don’t know that you’ve seen it.”

  Lavinia let the curtain fall. She took a deep breath and met her maid’s worried eyes.

  “Is everything all right, miss?” Annie asked.

  “Yes,” Lavinia said. “I’m sorry to take you away from the castle.”

  “I agree that you ought to be with your mother,” Annie said stoutly. “Everyone belowstairs agrees.” She stopped and then added, fiercely, “And I just want to say, Miss Lavinia, that there isn’t a soul in the castle who doesn’t frown on Mr. Sterling for bringing that woman with him!”

  “Oh!” Lavinia said, startled.

  “It’s nothing against the contessa, or however she calls herself,” Annie continued. “It’s just that he shouldn’t have led you on. Everyone knows how hard you worked on Miss Belgrave’s gown and then to have to leave like this, chased away just before the wedding! It isn’t right!”

  Lavinia was touched to see Annie’s eyes glistening with tears. She reached out and caught her maid’s hand. “Oh, Annie, you don’t understand. Parth—Mr. Sterling—has no intention of marrying the contessa.”

  “That’s what you believe,” Annie said. “Because you’re too good to see the darkness in men’s hearts.”

  “That is most generous of you, Annie, but you are wrong. I refused to marry him.”

  “Beg pardon, miss?”

  “I refused him,” Lavinia said flatly.

  “As well you might,” Annie said, recovering quickly. “With that contessa in the way!”

  Lavinia sighed. “Only time will tell what will happen with Elisa, whom I sincerely like, as a matter of fact. I can tell
you that Mr. Sterling offered to marry me and I refused him. We wouldn’t suit.”

  “I don’t care for a man who has a lady on the side, waiting for his nod. No matter how rich he is,” Annie said, nodding.

  It didn’t matter why Lavinia wouldn’t accept Parth’s hand in marriage. With every revolution of the wheels, her conviction grew that she was doing the right thing. She was even considering not returning for the wedding. Lady Knowe, Betsy, or even Ophelia could act as a witness; they all adored Diana, and the feeling was returned.

  Diana would understand why Lavinia desperately needed to get away from Lindow. As soon as she reached the sanitarium, she would write a letter to her, explaining everything.

  “I may marry Prince Oskar,” she said aloud.

  Annie’s eyes rounded. “Really, miss? Will you be a Norwegian queen someday?”

  “No, a princess, attached to a royal court.”

  “Better than the contessa!” Annie clapped her hands, chortling with triumphant laughter. “Yes, you must do that!”

  “Not for that reason.”

  “No indeed,” Annie said, sobering. But her smile broke through again. “We will all be happy for you.”

  We? The Lindow Castle we? The kindly group of people who worked under Prism, attending to the duke and everyone else in the family?

  Lavinia smiled at Annie. “Lady Knowe told me three or four times that she would love to have a maid like you to take care of the girls. I would entirely understand if you wish to take up a position at Lindow rather than travel with me. Tabitha has agreed to stay on in the nursery, and Mary will stay as a ladies’ maid to one of the younger girls.”

  Annie stared at her for a moment, and then leaned forward earnestly. “Miss, you have no idea who you are, do you?”

  Lavinia blinked at her.

  “You worked alongside us,” Annie said. “Remember that conversation we had with Tabitha about the buttons on the back of Lady Knowe’s gown—whether they should be brass or cloth-covered?”

  Lavinia nodded. “It took most of the day,” she said wryly. “It’s a miracle we finished that gown at all.”