by Jane Lark
Why did she let me do it?
He walked to the bed, and picked up her pillow to smell the scent of her hair. She’d gone.
He cast the thing aside, his hands shaking, and walked back in to the sitting room. He stopped. There was nothing he could do. It was over.
She has left me.
He went to the decanters and poured a drink, numb. The neck of the decanter rattled against the rim of the glass.
He drank the first glass and poured a second as nausea twisted in his gut.
What had this morning been about? Goodbye?
He cursed, out loud, and drank the second glass. Then poured a third and turned to face the room.
A folded sheet of paper, stood amongst the chess pieces.
His heart dropped like a stone as he crossed the room to pick it up.
Pembroke’s men must have come to help her move everything out so quickly. It must have all been arranged.
Then why the hell had she let him touch her this morning?
He was only worth two lines of hurried script.
I cannot stay. I have lied to my parents for you since I met you. I cannot carry on living with any more lies.
Had this morning been a lie? She’d clung to him and come for him… Had that been a lie? Had he forced her? Had she not wanted him?
Hell! He was an ass. His soul writhed in pain.
But a broken heart did not kill you. It only made you bitter.
And hurt…
He crumpled the paper in his fist and tossed it into the empty hearth. Then dropped into a chair with a sigh.
He swore, falling back and lifting a knee up on to the arm.
There would be no happy ending.
“It is your own fault, you bastard.” He saluted himself with the brandy and drank his third glass. “You should have left her alone. You should not have taken her from happiness. You are poisonous! Let her be now, for God sake.”
He’d done enough harm.
Tears flooded his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks. He’d never cried in his life. His head tipped back against the chair and he looked up, trying to control the pain writhing in his chest.
Now he knew how she had felt for the last weeks. No wonder she had gone.
He lifted his knee from the arm of the chair and leaned forward, leaving his glass on the floor, then stood up and wiped the tears away on his sleeve.
Devil take it, crying for her would change nothing.
But he knew what he would do. He’d sell the carriage and the blacks he’d bought for her, then he’d go to the bank.
Chapter 31
Kate, John’s wife, sat on the edge of the bed beside Mary. “I’ve brought you some lemonade and biscuits. Would you like me to stay with you for a while?”
Mary was sitting with her knees bent up and her body curled over them; too agitated to lay down. “Thank you, Kate. But I would rather be alone.”
“You’ve been closeted away all day, Mary. Your mother is worried. Why don’t you come down to dinner?”
Mary wiped her nose on the handkerchief she gripped, then clasped her bent knees. Her hands still shook.
Her mother, aunts and cousins, Eleanor and Margaret, had spoken to her too; all offering comfort and setting aside the marriage they’d predicted would fail.
Aunt Jane had told everyone he’d been seen with a woman.
Her father had hugged her tightly when she’d come home, and told her he’d protect her. Tomorrow he said he would publish a notice in the paper, announcing the separation, so the gossip would be fact and not fiction and she would no longer be tied to Andrew’s reputation.
She did not care.
She’d no intention of ever stepping out in public again, she’d told her father so, but he’d just held her hand and said, “You will in time. Time will heal.”
She did not think she’d ever heal. Andrew had loved her this morning, and his scent was still on her skin. Time would take that away, and her memories would fade, but her love would never ebb…
Her forehead dropped on to her knees as silent tears spilled from her eyes.
All she’d done since she’d reached here was cry.
Her mother had sat beside her for the first hour, until Mary had asked to be left alone. But her family had been unable to stay away, every half hour someone came up to see how she fared, each of them bringing fresh words of reassurance.
But their words could not sooth the pain. She missed Andrew – and he’d betrayed her so badly. Why had he made love to her today? Why had his eyes glowed with affection? How could he lie so easily, so physically?
The words he’d whispered as she’d lain on his chest listening to the rumble of his voice, held more weight in her heart than any her family said.
He’d promised to be different, to love her, to make a home with her, away from London as she wished… and yet the night before she’d heard him say, “I’ve bought a house for her. I’m moving her in there next week… Whether Mary stays or not I’ll have Caro…”
Kate’s fingers touched Mary’s shoulder. “Drink a little lemonade and eat, Mary, we can all see you’ve lost weight these last weeks.”
Like a clockwork toy, Mary lifted her head, accepted the glass and sipped, she was too numb to argue.
Kate’s fingers brushed Mary’s hair back from her brow again as Mary drank. “What will you do?”
“I asked Papa to take me home, but he said he cannot for a little while as he has business he needs to settle in town.”
“Are you sure what Jane said is correct?”
Mary smiled weakly. Trust Kate not to jump to conclusions, her sister-in-law had a tender heart. She did not judge people without giving them a chance. She’d saved John from himself, with her refusal to accept him at face value.
“I know it’s true. I heard him talking of his mistress last night. He’s bought a house for her. She is moving in to it next week.” Mary met Kate’s gaze.
“He made love to me this morning, as though there was nothing wrong… He has not touched me since he hit Lord Brooke. He’s slept in the sitting room. He said he loved me this morning. But yesterday he heard Aunt Jane telling me to leave. I suppose he wished to avoid the embarrassment and make me stay… He is not here, begging me to come back, is he? He has not even written. He lied. He does not love me. He can go to his mistress and not have to bother pretending he does love me now.”
“Have you told your mother this?” Concern and affection weighted Kate’s voice, and softened her gaze.
“No, and do not, Papa or John would attack him. It’s bad enough as it is.”
Kate’s fingers covered Mary’s hand for a moment before slipping away.
“He is so believable,” Mary whispered. “Even his eyes look as though he loves me, and when he touches me it feels real, it feels as though he treasures me. I thought he loved me when I ran away with him. He said he did, like he did this morning. But he is angry and bitter, Kate. He hates Papa and John, but then they hate him, and yet he said that he’d have been as angry as them if I’d been his daughter, so they had a right to hate him.
“Did you see how he was when he came here that afternoon? He looked lost among the children and the family. That day I asked to meet his family and even though he did not wish to, he took me there. They were horrible to him. They asked why he thought they’d wish to meet me, then threw us out as though he was nothing to them. That was the day he hit Lord Brooke. He hated me after that, and he stopped pretending to love me and stopped touching me. But then this morning he changed again.
“I do not understand him. I thought he was just bruised by his life. But I love him. I’d have helped him. But he does not want my help, does he, just my money? Do you think there was always someone else, do you think he loves this other woman?”
Kate’s fingers pressed on Mary’s knee, offering comfort, “How can we know, Mary?”
“I still love him. I will always love him.”
Kate’s fingers gripped Mary’
s knee a little tighter and Mary sipped the lemonade, fresh tears slipping from her eyes, and agony clutching at her heart.
When Kate’s fingers slid away Mary leant to set the glass down, looking at her sister-in-law.
She’d told no one this. “And I am carrying his child. Please do not tell Mama and Papa, not yet, I need time to get used to the idea.”
“Oh, Mary.”
Kate hugged her close, as tears slid down Mary’s cheeks in rivers.
“All will be well. You have us all to help you.”
Mary did not answer, she could not, she just held on to Kate.
She had not only taken herself away from Andrew, but his child too. A child who she did not want to know its father. She did not want anyone to know. This was her pain, her secret – that she had created a child with a man who did not love her. But she would not be able to hide it forever. She could hide herself, though, and that’s what she wished to do, hide away and pretend this had never happened.
Kate’s hand brushed over Mary’s hair, then she pulled away. “John and I told lies too. After the party he held in Ashford, while you were at the end of your mourning for your grandfather, we made love. I went to him because I loved him. He did not love me then, but I fell pregnant and John did the honourable thing. He loves me now, Mary.”
“Of course, he loves you,” Mary whispered, clutching Kate’s hand, she had not known that. “I see it in his eyes every time he looks at you.”
Kate smiled. “I know. I did not tell you because I needed reassurance. I said it so you’d know things are not always straightforward. Perhaps things aren’t as they seem. Perhaps things will work out for you too.”
“He has a mistress, Kate.”
“And you are carrying a child which you have both made. At some point you have to tell him, you cannot keep the child a secret when it is born. It would be wrong to stop the child knowing its father. I’d intended to keep my child a secret from John, but you’ve seen how he adores Paul, it would have been cruel.”
Mary sighed. Kate’s mother took her own life, Kate knew what it would be like for a child not to know its parent.
But if Mary told Andrew he could take the child from her, and then her only option would be to go back. But what if he then refused to take her back?
The situation only seemed to worsen.
“Why not come home to Pembroke Place with John and I? You will be left alone to think things over and heal a little, without the noise of all the children. We can go to tomorrow. John can still travel into town to attend the House of Lords and your parents will agree I’m sure. Then when you feel more able you can tell them and Andrew about the child.”
“I’d prefer to be away from the others. I know it’s selfish…”
“It is not selfish, Mary. The children cannot understand, and your parents must share out their time among you all. But you know they love you…”
Mary smiled, “Yes.”
“Now eat, though. You must think of the child, and not only yourself and I had better go and tell John that we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Will he mind?”
“You know he will not. He’d do anything for you, he loves you dearly, and it’s no trouble to him to travel back when he needs to. He prefers being on the estate anyway, he’ll be glad of an excuse to go.”
Catching Kate’s hand before she turned away, Mary said, “Thank you.”
“You need not thank me. You are my sister.”
“Would you send Mama to me, and I’ll tell her I will leave with you?”
Chapter 32
It took two weeks to get the deeds signed over and organise a date, time, and place, to get Caro away. But now the day had come to move her.
Drew met her in Mayfair, in Madame Duval’s, the modiste’s, to make it look to Kilbride’s staff as though she was simply shopping.
Drew turned as she slipped out of the back of the shop. “Caro.” He leant and kissed her cheek, gripping her hands. They were shaking. “Come.” Keeping a hold of one he pulled her on through the shop yard.
“Did they query your exit?”
“No, I asked the modiste if I might use her closet, but there is a footman waiting for me in the shop.”
“Then we had best hurry.” Drew Pulled her through the back gate, and then began to run at a slow jog, forcing Caro to do the same. “There is a hired carriage at the end of the alley, I ordered it in a false name, and we will change carriages once we are out of London, and go the opposite way, and then change again. No one will be able to trace you. Where was Kilbride when you left?”
“I waited until he’d left for the House of Lords, he will be there hours before he knows I am gone. He cannot abide being interrupted while he is in The House.”
Drew had left the carriage door ajar so they could ascend quickly, he handed her in, and climbed in behind her. “Go!” he yelled up to the driver as he shut the door. The carriage jolted forward. He fell into the seat beside Caro, then pulled the blinds down to hide them from view.
Caro breathed heavily her hands shaking even more as she pulled a folded silk handkerchief from her reticule. “I have brought something to help. I cannot allow you to support me entirely, Drew.” Gold and jewels glinted in the low light of the carriage as she opened the handkerchief. “They are all gifts he has given me, they were mine to take, earbobs, hair slides, bracelets and necklaces.”
Drew smiled awkwardly, he had not expected her to bring anything, but if she sold these, they would help her live better. He had not told her his circumstances had changed. He’d thought if he did, she would change her mind and refuse to leave.
Drew leaned to the window, and looked about the blind at Kilbride’s carriage as they passed the shop front. There were no panicked servants surrounding it. The footmen must still be waiting patiently inside.
The journey out of London was fast and easy, and when they arrived in Maidstone the housekeeper he’d hired was waiting at the cottage to settle Caro in.
The cottage was small, there were two rooms downstairs, a kitchen and a parlour, and two upstairs, with an attic for the housekeeper. He’d had the housekeeper stock it with clothing and everything Caro needed, furniture, food and other provisions.
Knowing Caro was anxious and afraid of what was to come, he stayed with her for a couple of hours and drank tea with her in the sitting room.
He thought of Mary, as Caro talked with the housekeeper.
He’d not thought of Mary for most of the day, because his thoughts had been absorbed by helping Caro… but now… as they sat in the cramped little parlour he remembered all the moments he’d shared with Mary that had been commonplace like this. The afternoon they’d played chess. He wished for more. He longed for her. For quiet peaceful moments with her. Even to sit in her brother’s damned drawing room and drink tea with her.
“Drew…”
But his hope of Mary had passed. The sunny drawing room of their own small house in the country would only ever be a figment of his imagination. He smiled at Caro. To reassure her. “Sorry, I rose early, I am tired, and wool gathering…” The truth was he had barely slept since Mary had left, but he lay no blame on her. All the blame was his. He had made a very large mess of his marriage.
Caro leaned forward and gripped his hand for an instant. It was laughable… the two of them… When he’d eloped with Mary he had deemed her life’s flotsam. No. She had not been. She was protected and loved by the numerous members of her family. He and Caro were flotsam. Two lost souls searching for what they thought ought to be theirs by right, with no capacity to find it, because they were too damaged by their years adrift.
“I should leave you.” Drew stood. Kilbride would guess he’d been involved with helping Caro if he did not get back to London. He had to return to town to quell the rumours and cover any potential tracks.
“Caro, you know I cannot return for a while, Kilbride will have people watching me for weeks, we both know it. Do not write either, it is not w
orth taking the risk. I will come as soon as I can but in the meantime, simply live quietly here.”
She nodded. But then she lifted to her toes and hugged him. Crying.
“You must be brave, Caro, stay calm and stay strong and sit it out here. He will not find you, I promise.”
She nodded again.
“I’m very grateful, Drew. I cannot tell you how grateful.”
He smiled.
* * *
Several hours later Drew climbed the steps of Sheffield’s town house with Brooke by his side to attend Sheffield’s ball. He was here as a deliberate bluff, for Caro’s sake. He knew Kilbride would be looking for him, and he was here to send a silent message – you will not find her.
But truthfully that was not the only reason he was here – he hoped for a glimpse of Mary. He and Peter had attended several balls so he might be able to see her, to ease his soul and know she was well.
The last time he had seen her had been the day she’d left – the day he’d loved her and she’d loved him back.
God that moment haunted him. Why the hell had she let him do it?
Yet he would not speak to her if he saw her. The emotion inside him pulled for him to go to her brother’s and win her back. But he refused to act on it. She was better off without him. They were too different.
A deep sigh left Drew’s lips as the footman stepped aside to let them in and Peter looked over his shoulder. “I doubt she’s here.”
“I doubt it too; it does not stop me wishing, though…”
Peter gripped Drew’s shoulder as they walked through the hall towards the music and voices. “I told you to write to her. I’m sure Marlow would pass it on.”
“More likely he’d burn it and if he did not, then Mary probably would.”
Peter’s hand fell away. “You were an ass, my friend. But I still do not understand why you sent the bloody money back.”
“It seemed wrong to keep it. It was her money.”
“Not legally.”
“Who cares about legality? I just wish I’d had it all to give back, but I’d already paid my debts and I need money to support Caro.” He had some in a trust fund.
