by Darcy Burke
“You’re right of course.” He sounded resigned but also determined. “My father will be relieved. And pleased, I think.”
“I’m certain of it.” Andrew felt a pang of envy. What he wouldn’t give to know what his father would think of him now. Yes, he tempted fate from time to time, but overall he was responsible and behaved with honor and decorum. His mother, he knew, would be proud. She wouldn’t, however, like to know that he kept himself apart. Mrs. Alder had told him that many times.
Andrew finished his whiskey. “I’ll have the money sent over in the morning. I just need the direction.”
Charles nodded. “I’ll write it down for you before I go. I owe you a belated congratulations on your marriage. I’m astonished to hear you’re taking a wife.”
“As it happens, I am not.” Andrew tightened his grip on the glass. “We decided we wouldn’t suit after all.”
Charles looked stricken. “Is this because of me? You were betrothed an hour ago.”
“No.” Andrew didn’t want to speak of her. “You should go and talk with your father, and you should leave tomorrow. The sooner you depart London, the better, I think.”
“You’re right, I’m sure.” He clapped a hand on Andrew’s shoulder for a brief moment. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing. You’re a true friend.”
Andrew didn’t want his friendship. He wanted him out of his life. And he’d do the same with Beaumont and Greene and anyone else who might consider themselves his friend. He took Charles’s glass and deposited it on the sideboard along with his own. “Come to my office on your way out.”
Andrew took down the direction of where to send the money, and Charles left. Suddenly weary, Andrew sank into the chair behind his desk and stared at his inkwell for some indeterminate, but likely lengthy, amount of time. He was interrupted only by the arrival of Tindall.
“My lord?” the valet inquired as he stepped over the threshold.
Andrew looked up. “Yes?”
“I wanted to inform you that I received an offer of a new position today. For Lord Clare.”
The Duke of Clare needed a new valet? “Have you any idea what you’re getting yourself into?” Clare was a notorious philanderer.
Tindall blinked. “Perhaps a bit of it will rub off on me, my lord.”
Andrew wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly, but then laughed when he realized he had. “Perhaps. An added benefit of the position.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Put like that, it seemed an excellent opportunity, and an improvement over his current employment situation. Andrew was suddenly sad to see him go. Hell and damnation, what was wrong with him? All this melancholy feeling about friends and retainers and women, and damn it.
He nodded. “When will you be leaving?”
“A fortnight, if it’s convenient for you to find a replacement before then.”
It wouldn’t be convenient, but it was necessary. “Yes, thank you. And congratulations.”
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll prepare your clothing for this evening.” He began to turn.
“Don’t bother,” Andrew said, halting Tindall’s movements. “I won’t be going out.” He planned to curl up with a bottle of gin instead. Change, it seemed, was going to take some work.
Tindall nodded and left.
Andrew’s insides curdled. He was losing Tindall and Charles. He’d excise Beaumont and the others. And he’d already lost Lucy. The dark despair that had choked him for so long after his family had died washed over him, signaling another attack. Damn it, he was tired of losing himself to the pain. It was his own fault for opening himself up as he had with these people.
His eye caught the last missive he’d received from Sadler about the parachuting excursion the day after tomorrow. Thinking about that offered a modicum of relief, of hope. He reread the letter, letting thoughts of flying high and conquering another adventure soothe him.
The memory of his last balloon ascent invaded his thoughts, and his traitorous mind turned to Lucy—her face providing solace when he’d regained consciousness, her care as she’d helped him to the house, her passion when he’d invited her to stay.
He gulped for air, suddenly breathless, as panic surged through him.
Stop it, he told himself. She isn’t dead. She will live on and enjoy a happy life. Just not with you.
He bolted from the chair and dashed straight to the gin bottle sitting on the table in the corner. If he had to spend the next week drunk, he’d banish her from his mind. He had to.
Chapter Eighteen
Lucy stared bleakly at the bustling street as the coach made its way to Lady Satterfield’s for tea with Aquilla and Ivy. She’d allowed herself a day to grieve the loss of Andrew, silly as that was, but here it was the second day, and she still felt heartbroken, damn him.
Grandmama had been greatly disappointed to hear that he wouldn’t be calling again. But this morning she was back to championing Edgecombe and looking forward to perchance seeing him at the ball they planned to attend that night.
Lucy didn’t want to go. She’d had enough of Society events, of pretending to care about finding a husband, of comporting herself as everyone expected. She wanted to don trousers, race in Hyde Park, and shoot at Manton’s. She wanted to go to Andrew’s town house and shake him until his head rolled off. This vision gave her a moment’s perverse satisfaction until sadness overtook her emotions.
The coach stopped in front of Lady Satterfield’s, and the footman helped her out. She went inside, and the butler showed her up to the drawing room, where Aquilla and Ivy were already seated.
Aquilla jumped up and hugged her. “How are you?”
They’d heard of her promenade with Andrew the other day. Apparently it had been a choice piece of gossip that evening, particularly after Andrew had appeared to be angry with his friend Charles. Both Ivy and Aquilla had sent notes to Lucy, but with varying tones, of course. Aquilla wanted to know what had happened and hoped things with Andrew were perhaps progressing. Ivy, on the other hand, had hoped that Lucy would continue with her plan and that Andrew would have no part of it because she didn’t need him. Neither of them knew what had transpired after the ball the other night. She hadn’t seen them since then, but even if she had, she wasn’t sure she would tell them.
She felt like a fool for continuing her association with Andrew, especially in a sexual manner, and blamed herself for the anger and hurt she now felt. He’d been clear from the start and all along the way. It was her feelings that had taken a detour and thrown her entire plan off course.
She did, however, blame him for giving her hope. His proposal had been surprising, but when she’d had a moment to let it sink in, she’d been thrilled. Delighted. Overcome with joy. Until Charles had shown up and revealed the true nature of Andrew’s intent.
“I’m fine,” she answered, forcing a smile. She sat in a chair and pulled off her gloves.
Aquilla sank down on the settee next to Ivy, exchanging a worried look with her. Lucy braced herself.
“You don’t look fine,” Aquilla said. “That was a feeble attempt at a smile.”
“Actually, it was a rather Herculean attempt, if you must know.” Lucy wished she could take that back. She didn’t want to be maudlin or focus any more energy on Andrew. He didn’t deserve it.
Ivy grinned. “How I adore your wit.”
The comment reminded her of something Andrew had said once. Would everything remind her of him? This business of falling in love was horrid. She hoped falling out of love happened just as quickly and with far more success.
Aquilla peered intently at Lucy. “I am, of course, dying to know what happened in the park. Were you and Dartford merely planning your next excursion, or was there more to it?”
Lucy had been a fool to think she could avoid discussing him today, but she had to at least try. “There is nothing between us any longer.”
Aquilla blinked. “Nothing?” She sounded disappointed.
> Contrariwise, Ivy appeared relieved. “He was looking for you at the ball the other night. I told him to leave you alone. I’m sorry he didn’t listen to me, but it sounds as though you set him straight.”
Lucy snapped her head toward Ivy. “What did he say?”
“That he didn’t deserve you. I quite agree, but then I did say it first, and he merely agreed.”
If he thought that, why would he propose? Because he’d wanted to protect her from scandal. When that threat had passed, he’d been free to let her go. Only, he hadn’t initiated that—she had. He’d said no one had made him think twice about marriage until her. He’d also said it would solve many problems, including their mutual attraction. No, he hadn’t mentioned love, but when she thought of what she knew of him, she wondered if that emotion wouldn’t frighten him to death.
Death.
What a perfectly awful choice of words.
“Lucy, what’s wrong?” Aquilla asked. “You look pale.”
She held her hand to her mouth briefly before dropping it and allowing her friends to come into focus. “I fear I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
Ivy’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
Lucy surrendered to the emotions catapulting through her. She didn’t want to be sad. She wanted to be happy. After everything she’d been through, she deserved that. And so did Andrew. “I love him. Lord help me, but I do. And, I think, he loves me too.”
Aquilla’s eyes brightened as she grinned. “How wonderful!”
“Why would you think that?” Ivy sounded skeptical and predictably pessimistic.
“He asked me to marry him.”
Aquilla gasped and brought her hand to her chest. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!”
Ivy looked at her sharply. “Because she said no. At least, that’s my assumption since you came in here declaring your association was finished. For the second time, I might add.”
Aquilla rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “Goodness, Ivy, must you be so very negative?”
Lucy smiled. “It’s all right. Ivy has her reasons for being guarded. Just as Andrew has his reasons for being tentative. I told you he lost his entire family. He suffers nightmares and distressing bouts of—” She looked around as if she could find the word she wanted sitting on a table or hanging on the wall. “Anxiety, I would say. Or despondency. Probably both and much more. He holds himself back from relationships, I think.”
“Fascinating,” Aquilla said. “What are you going to do?”
Lucy’s mind was racing, along with her pulse. There was every chance he wouldn’t want her—that he really had only proposed to protect her reputation and that he’d been relieved when she’d turned him down. “I’m not sure. But I have to talk to him.”
“You have a kind heart, Lucy,” Ivy said quietly. “I hope he realizes what a treasure he has in you.”
Lucy smiled at her friend. “Thank you. I think he might.” She hoped so.
She stood abruptly, drawing on her gloves. Now that she knew what she wanted, she was eager to make it happen. “I have to go.”
Aquilla looked up at her. “Where? You can’t just show up at his town house.”
No, she couldn’t, not if she wanted to maintain her reputation. What did she care if she was to be married? Because maybe she wouldn’t be married. A chill raced up her spine as she contemplated a future without him. She thought she’d resolved herself to that but realized she’d still nurtured a bit of hope. It had just taken her friends to fan it into action.
“Send him a note and ask him to meet you in the park later,” Ivy said, surprising Lucy with her advice.
Aquilla looked at her and blinked. “Ivy, are you in support of this? I can scarcely believe it.”
“I’m in support of whatever makes Lucy happy. Even if it is a man.” Her lips spread into a smile that made her eyes sparkle.
“You should do that more,” Aquilla said. “You really are beautiful.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Please.”
Lucy was already thinking ahead to meeting Andrew at the park. How could she ensure that he came? If he was concerned about her reputation, she’d threaten to go to his house. That ought to provoke him to meet her. “Can I send the note from here?” she asked.
“Of course.” Aquilla jumped up from the settee. “We can go downstairs to the library. Lord and Lady Satterfield have gone to the balloon ascension.”
Lucy froze. She’d completely forgotten that was today. Andrew would be going up. And then he would be coming down. Via parachute. Her heart twisted as she thought of him falling to the earth. That hadn’t ended too well for him the other day. He was fine, but would he be today?
“Do you know what time the ascension is?” Lucy asked, her heart thundering.
“At three, I think,” Aquilla said.
Lucy glanced at the clock on the mantel. That was in less than half an hour. With the crowd, they might not make it in time. “We need to get to Burlington House right away.”
Ivy rose. “Why?”
“Because Andrew is going to parachute out of a balloon, and I should like to give him a reason not to risk his life.” She only hoped it would be a good enough one.
Aquilla immediately strode toward the door. “I’ll have the coach brought around posthaste.”
“Thank you,” Lucy called after her. She turned to Ivy. “I hope we’re not too late.”
“You won’t be,” Ivy said, smiling. “You’ll save him.”
She only prayed he wanted to be saved.
Andrew stood with Sadler amidst the roaring crowd at Burlington House. The parachute device, consisting of a framed canopy with a small basket, was affixed to the balloon. Once they were at the proper altitude, Andrew would climb into the basket from the balloon’s gondola, and Sadler would cut the parachute free.
The feelings of anticipation and excitement that he’d felt before his first ascension were there, but strikingly diminished in comparison. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go up. It was that there were matters holding him down.
He’d done an excellent job of drinking himself into oblivion the night before last. So much so, that he’d spent most of yesterday cursing his very existence. Last night he’d found sleep, but he’d also dreamed. Vividly.
Erotic encounters, and every single one of them with Lucy. Until the darkness had crept in and served him another nightmare. It had been different, however. He typically saw each of his family die as he stood there, helpless and alone, the hollowness inside of him growing with each death until he was certain it must swallow him whole.
Instead, he’d seen Lucy. She was sick, and he’d held her hand while life slipped from her body. He’d woken in a cold sweat, a desperate fear gripping him and leaving him breathless. Despite the horror of it, he hadn’t felt as terrified as after his other nightmares. He’d pondered it for a great while—it wasn’t as if he’d been able to sleep again.
The only conclusion he’d reached was that Lucy was still alive. Whereas he’d always come out of the nightmares about his family knowing they were lost to him forever, Lucy was still here. She was still a dream that could come true. If he let himself pursue it.
That meant confronting his fear and acknowledging the fact that he could lose her. There were no promises in life, save those they made to each other.
He thought of the promises he’d made to Bertie. Before he’d died, he’d sworn to protect him, and he’d failed. Afterwards, in more recent years, he’d promised Bertie that he would fly for him. Today was about that—flying for Bertie. Carrying out the promise he’d made and doing the only thing he could for his long-dead brother.
But what of the living?
He thought of Charles, who was on his way to northern England. He’d written Andrew a letter thanking him for his kindness and generosity. He’d said, “You saved my life, and not just because you prevented Gin Jimmy from killing me.”
Andrew had understood. He hadn’t saved Bertie, but maybe, just may
be, he’d lived so that he could save Charles.
He also thought of Tindall and his mother, who’d made a full recovery. Tindall credited Andrew’s intervention, thanking him for his kindness and his generosity. He’d said, “You saved her life—I believe that.”
For the first time, Andrew had been grateful that he’d survived, instead of feeling guilty.
Which in turn made him feel less guilty for being glad that he hadn’t died. Since he’d met Lucy, he’d begun to think of a future of love and contentment—a future he hadn’t thought he deserved or wanted. To admit that he wanted to live—to love—somehow seemed to dishonor his family. But that was foolish. His mother, his father, and especially Bertie would want him to be happy.
“Are you ready?” Sadler asked, his dark gray brows arching high on his forehead beneath the brim of his hat.
Andrew looked at the balloon and saw Bertie’s face. The sound of the crowd faded, and in his mind, he heard the voice of his brother, clear again as if Bertie was beside him. He told him to go—but not into the air.
Angling toward Sadler, Andrew shook his head. “No. I’m not going. My apologies. I need to do something.”
Sadler looked surprised. “If you’re certain. There won’t be another chance. At least not with me.”
Andrew knew that. Sadler was past sixty now, and didn’t ascend as often as he used to. His sons, however, went up, and Andrew could probably go with one of them. He didn’t think that he would.
“I know.” He clasped Sadler’s hand and shook it firmly. “I thank you. You’ve given me the experience of a lifetime. And prompted me to pursue the adventure I really want.”
Lucy. She would be his greatest risk, and his most fulfilling reward. If she accepted him. He’d botched things quite badly and wouldn’t be surprised if she refused him completely.
He stepped away from the balloon and started into the crowd. Beaumont stood near the front. He grabbed Andrew’s arm as he went past. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you going up?”
