by Eva Devon
“No,” he agreed. “Some barely suffer at all. There’s little sense to it. But for some of us special few. . . Well, we learn to accept the suffering and find the joy.”
“You?”
He eyed her over the rim of his glass then narrowed his wise gaze. “Now, I’m going to tell you a family secret. And since you’re my daughter, I trust you.”
She nodded, fairly holding her breath, hardly believing that he would trust her given the circumstances.
“I’m a bastard.”
She blinked.
“That’s right,” Aston said, a tigerish grin baring his teeth. “I’m not a rightful duke at all. My father, the great arse, arranged it all. He was a cold one, so I understand your lonely childhood quite a bit. My mother died when I was born. I never knew her love or comfort. And my father hated me from the moment of my birth. I never met the man that sired me. But I went through all my life believing I was undeserving of love. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t stay with Tony’s mother. She was a fine woman who tried to love me. I ran from her, from love. I cannot regret the decisions I have made for they have led me to where I am. But I’d be happy to help you prevent this current decision that will cause you pain in the future.”
She stared at him, struggling to understand. “You. . . You’re an orphan.”
“That’s right.”
“How do you bare it?” she demanded, never having met someone who might guide her in this before.
Aston gazed at her steadily. “I’m going to say something very trite.”
She swallowed, wondering what on earth it could be.
He took a long, deep drink then said slowly but with the kind of fervor of the religious, “One. Day. At. A. Time. Sometimes, one bloody hour. But. . . I will say this. When I met Tony? Everything changed. You know, it was Tony that taught me to love and be loved. He’s grand at that.”
“I can see that,” she said, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes.
“See harder, my dear,” he said firmly, kindly. “It’s because of Tony that I could forgive myself for all that pain and choose love with my wife. I finally gave myself permission to choose joy. Now, you go ahead if you choose pain. It’s what you know. So, it’s comfortable to you.”
She winced. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“It’s a true thing,” he said, gesturing with his glass towards her. “Another thing I have a talent for. Now, I’m going up to drink with my son. I hope to see you tomorrow. But it sounds like we’re off quite early.”
With that, the Duke of Aston picked up the bottle from the grog tray and left without another word or any more attempts to convince her. He left with his and Tony’s words ringing through her head.
Would she choose pain or joy?
It sounded so simple.
But perhaps, she was simply too afraid.
But then Tony’s words reverberated through her brain, You’re no coward, Eleanor. Just Like Eleanor of Aquitaine. You’re a bloody queen, brave enough to ride into battle, and brave enough to survive anything.
A smile pulled at her lips through her tears.
She drank her brandy down, ready to choose.
Chapter 24
Tony clutched the edge of his leather traveling trunk which had seen many a journey, willing himself to fill it with his belongings. He supposed he could have had his man do it, but he couldn’t bear sitting about and waiting for dawn to emerge into full light.
As soon as the sun had risen above the bens, he’d be gone. What else could he do? Nothing. He’d tried it all. He thrust a pile of linen shirts and breeches into the trunk, then finally he flung the lid shut.
He’d just have the rest sent on. All he needed was a few books and changes of clothes for the journey back to London.
Away from her. Away from love.
Slowly, he turned about the chamber that had brought him so much happiness. She’d never come to bed it seemed. He supposed he was grateful. The idea of having to shuffle about in silence whilst she slept or watched didn’t bear consideration.
In this room, they had whiled away the hours, dreaming, planning the future of the estate, of the people here, discussing books, nature, her garden, his childhood. . .
It had been his refuge.
Now, the cold air and the slight damp of the stone walls covered in elaborate tapestries, which never bothered him before, seeped into his bones.
It was amazing how much a room could change just by the mere upheaval of feelings.
His refuge was now a place of sadness.
He cursed then sat on the bed, bracing his head on his hands. All his life, he’d made things happen. Changed things. Convinced people. But all his powers of persuasion and charm had come to naught.
It had never occurred to him all those years ago as a happy though poor child in Ireland that one day he would have everything. Everything a man could ever dream. . . And still have absolutely nothing.
Fairness didn’t come into play. He knew.
The brandy bottle sat on the edge of the bedside table. In the end, he hadn’t been able to drink himself into oblivion. He knew he wouldn’t escape her. Not even there.
Damnation. Every part of his soul begged him to get up, to find her, to rail at her until she relented. But his soul was a pure thing, unable to understand how someone could throw love away.
His mind? His mind knew better.
So, he forced himself to stand and hobble over to the stack of books sitting on the table beside the slotted windows. He picked them up and took them to the leather traveling valise beside his trunk. One by one, he put each faithful companion into the satchel until his hands clasped the last one. Shakespeare’s Sonnets. One of his dearest friends.
He let the pages fall open and his heart twisted.
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
His eyes burned. Burned with the cruelty of it, for if he could but have Eleanor’s love he would, indeed, spurn the wealth of kings. He would give it all away if she would but come away with him and wander through the heather.
Tony traced the words over the black, dry ink as if somehow he could still change his fate in the action. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat.
Love had not played him well.
Carefully, he closed the pages. He would, indeed, beweep his state for some time. Because he would go and his heart would be here. To leave such a vital part of himself behind seemed impossible. . . But Eleanor had his heart. Wherever she was, so it would be.
The door handle clicked and he turned, expecting to see his father with news that the coach was ready.
“Tony?” Eleanor asked as she stood in the now open doorway.
He pressed his fingers into the leather binding. Then he thought of all the love contained between the pages and stared at his wife.
“Come to say goodbye? I assure you it is not necessary,” he said, tightly, lest his voice break.
He was done with torturing himself.
“May I come in?” she asked, apparently undeterred by his uncharacteristically cold reply.
“Do as you will. The castle is yours now, Eleanor,” he said flatly. “I doubt I shall be back soon since you do not wish me here.”
She winced bu
t did not back away.
Instead, she lifted her bold chin.
A half, haunted smile pulled his lips at that beloved gesture. He’d never stop loving her. Or her ways. Even if some of them had shredded his heart.
“I have a request,” she said, her gaze capturing his.
He stilled, wondering what in God’s name she might ask at such a time. “Do you now?”
She licked her lips and took a step forward. “Tony, I’d like you to teach me to dance.”
He stopped in the middle of tucking the book into his valise and looked down.
She’d called him Tony. Twice. He angled away from her. Unable to face her, unable to let himself hope. Yet, she was asking. . .
“Teach me to dance, Tony,” she implored.
He gripped the valise, then shut it, locking the belt.
“Why would I do that?” he asked, his breath rough, hating himself for hoping. For still thinking it was not done. But she was asking him to teach her to dance. Did he dare. . .
“Because you love me,” she replied softly.
He closed his eyes. “God help me, lass. I do.”
She reached out across the distance and pulled his hand into hers, cupping his palm. “And I love you.”
Tears stung his lids at those longed for words. They were a balm to his tormented heart, yet did he dare to trust them? He did not pull away, nor did he squeeze back. He felt like a man on the brink, tottering, bound to either be rescued or fall to his doom.
“Teach me to dance, Tony,” she urged, her voice bright now. “Not just in a ballroom, but in life. Dance with me. Dance me through our days.”
He opened his eyes then, barely able to trust his ears.
“I have been a terrible fool,” she continued as she held his hand. Then slowly, she closed the distance between them and, tenderly, she brushed her fingertips along his cheek. “I’ve never thought myself a fool before, but I am. A fool with reason, I grant, but a fool nonetheless.”
Turning slowly, he gazed down at her.
Gone was the wild-eyed woman of the night before. The panic, the driven nature, but her gaze was still frightened.
“Please dunna go,” she whispered. “I thought to protect you. I thought to protect myself. But I canna bear this life without you.”
“Oh, Eleanor,” he said and his voice shook. “I want to believe.”
“Believe,” she said emphatically, cradling his jaw. “From the first moment I saw you, you awakened me. It was why I could not speak to you. You moved me then. You move me now. You always will.”
He drew in a shuddering breath, longing to embrace her. “And your fears?”
“I will always have them,” she replied honestly, her gaze open. “But I know you will be holding my hand through them.”
He studied her face as his heart began to lift and feel unburdened. “You wish to face them together?”
She gave a nod, her eyes wide. . . With hope.
Tony cradled her face into his palm. Then with one quick yank, he pulled her into his arms, holding her as if he would never let her go. “Do you dare, Eleanor? Do you dare to choose us?”
She wrapped her arms about him. “With all my heart, Anthony Burke. With all my heart. Now, kiss me, my love. Kiss me.”
And he did.
Just as night had fallen dark upon his life and love, dawn beamed in over them, touching them with its golden glory with love and the hope of a new day.
Chapter 25
Snow fell softly over Castle Ayr, leaving a crystal blanket of white over the stunningly rugged landscape. The flakes fell slowly, in fat, plump bunches. They drifted down through the air as if they had all the time in the world, giving the Highlands a holy, silent air.
The windows in the great room overlooked the sugar-coated bens. And the sounds of a waltz lilted through the cavernous room.
The Duke of Aston sat playing the piano, his face content as he ran his fingers passionately over the keys.
Ros, his wife, sat beside the crackling fire, her small daughter at her feet. The little girl played happily with a wooden horse.
Eleanor rested her cheek against Tony’s broad shoulder as he held her in a scandalous embrace and turned her about the room to the bright notes of their father’s playing.
Her feet fairly floated over the polished wood floor. It had not been easy. She had not proved musical but Tony had proved good-humored and patient. And over the weeks, she’d learned to understand the steps and the music and that a dance was as much about trusting one’s partner as knowing the footwork. Now, she’d rather dance with her husband than do anything else. Well, almost anything else.
Christmas was in but a few days. And the last months had passed like sand through an hourglass. So very quickly and, yet, happiness had filled every moment.
Oh, she still worried, for who knew what this world would bring? But for now, she had the man of her heart and she had a family. She had love.
What more could she want?
Well, perhaps one thing. One very small thing.
Carefully, she looked up at her husband and paused in their dancing. A hint of trepidation rushed through her but she drew in a steadying breath then pressed his large hand to her middle.
His eyes flared and his gaze dropped to her stomach then flashed back up full of hope. At his nervous excitement, she grinned and nodded.
A look of pure joy flashed across his handsome face and he let out a whoop of delight as he picked her up and spun her about. Then oh so gently, he held her close and, like the master he was, Tony guided her in slow circles about the room.
“I love you, Wife,” he growled softly.
As she smiled up at the big man who had changed her world forever, tears of happiness filled her eyes. “I will love you always, Tony. Always,” she promised.
He turned her under his arm then held her tightly to him. She thought how very far she had come in less than a year. For, just a few months ago, she had been a woman who proclaimed she would never love.
But now?
Now, she knew that no matter what happened, no matter the bens and glens and rushing burns of this life, she would always love and be loved, in return.
The End
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A Lady Who Vows Never to Wed:
Lady Allegra Portmund knows the cost of marriage. After the death of her dearest and only sister, Allegra swears she will never suffer the same fate. She will not become a possession shaped and destroyed by a husband. So, when her parents insist she marry the man of their choosing, there is only one thing for Allegra to do. Run. But when she runs, determined to be free, she meets the Duke of Roth, a singular man who sees her unique and vital spirit. Now that her heart is awakened to the most dangerous longings for love, how will she resist the temptation to break her vow?
