Always Your Love: A Gothic Regency Romance

by St. Clair, Ellie

  7

  Hannah hadn’t meant to kiss him.

  Or, maybe, deep within her, there had been a part of her that had wanted to. But she couldn’t recall making a conscious choice to press her lips against his.

  Edmund was surly. He was gruff. He chose to be closed off from her and the rest of the world.

  But his vulnerability, however much he attempted to hide it, was obvious. She wanted to know the man who was hidden underneath, the man he surely had been before he had gone off to war and nearly died.

  He hadn’t seemed inclined to share, but when their lips met, it seemed that all of the emotion he had been hiding deep within came pouring out through where they were connected.

  It began as a chaste, quick meeting of the lips.

  Then, with some hesitancy, they started to explore one another, their lips moving over each other first in soft, quick kisses, until the pressure increased and they melded into one. The dance then began as Hannah sensed something change within Edmund, and as one of his hands came behind her head, the other pressed against the small of her back, holding her close as he tasted and touched, until his tongue dove against the seam of her lips and she opened to him.

  It was then, as he kissed her in earnest, when she nearly lost all ability to breathe, that she knew.

  She stood as still as a statue as the realization poured over her, so much so that he released her when she quit responding to his touch.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked gruffly, and while Hannah knew he was likely assuming the very worst, she couldn’t speak for a moment.

  He said nothing as he stepped back away from her, walking around her as he made his way to the door.

  “Goodnight,” he said, his words so low she almost couldn’t hear them, but she managed to find her voice before he left the room via the closest staircase in the back corner.

  “It was you.”

  He stopped, pausing in the doorframe.

  “What?”

  “It was you,” Hannah repeated, walking toward him now, more astonished than anything else. “The night in the library. The night of your brother’s tryst. You kissed me. You warned me against him.”

  She shook her head, feeling the fool. She had known that Edmund had seemed familiar – his voice, his stature – but she had thought that she would quite obviously have remembered his face. It was because she hadn’t seen him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked now, more curious than anything.

  “I didn’t think it mattered,” he replied, not meeting her gaze.

  “Of course it mattered,” she said. “I felt something that night. I wanted to find you again, to determine if that connection would stand. When we were married, my only hesitation was because of the stranger in the library. And it was you the whole time.”

  A smile began to spread on her lips, knowing that the man she had feared she had missed was in fact the one with whom she would spend the rest of her life.

  “Edmund,” she said on a sigh, stepping toward him with the intention to renew their kiss. “Do you know what this means?”

  “It means nothing,” he said, his voice harsh, cutting through the wistful hopes that had arisen within her. “Nothing at all.”

  “But—”

  “Do not become fanciful, Hannah,” he said. “This changes nothing. That night in the library, I warned you off Byron, and I’m glad I did. But you didn’t get much of an exchange, ending up with me, now did you?”

  “How can you say that?” she persisted. “If you would allow yourself some enjoyment now and again, then—”

  “And why should I?” he cut her off, nearly taking Hannah aback by the anger within his eyes. But she would not be intimidated.

  “Isn’t the better question, why should you not?” she countered. “I cannot even begin to imagine what it must have been like in the prisoner camp, or how much pain you must have endured. But isn’t that more reason to provide yourself with the ability to enjoy the life you were given once you were freed?”

  He turned abruptly and walked away from her, crossing the room to stand before the stained-glass bay window, looking out toward the inky darkness beyond.

  “There was a man in the prison who took care of me,” he said, and Hannah remained rooted to the spot, sensing that he was telling her something he had not shared with another.

  “He sounds kind,” she said softly, urging him to continue.

  “He was a physician,” he said, beginning slowly, “had a wife at home, two children and hopefully one more waiting for him, as his wife was expecting another child when he left. He had no reason to enter the war, except that he felt like he wasn’t doing all he could for his country. Ended up at the prison. He took care of me, brought me back to life. We spent countless days and nights upon that floating prison of death. He did all he could for those around us, but without any instruments or medication, there wasn’t much he could do. Then one night we heard gunshots from the shore. Shouts, metal clanging, horses neighing. The English had arrived, and there was a battle just beyond us. We sat there, hopeful, and when we heard footsteps above us, the first joy we had felt in months intruded as we thought that they had boarded in order to free us.”

  He was silent for a moment and Hannah said nothing, sensing that he was no longer in the room, but instead back in that prison, reliving the tale.

  “We were wrong. It was the French. Just a few of them, but they had arrived to make sure we would never be freed. Started killing us off, shooting us one by one. The man – the doctor? He was shot and fell right on top of me. They never knew I was there, and when they left, I was the only one still alive.”

  Hannah swallowed hard, a heavy weight filling her stomach at the thought of him lying there beneath the body of another, of being surrounded by death and able to do nothing but wait for his own end or discovery.

  “The English finally boarded, but it was too late – for everyone but me. I spent another year in an infirmary. Falton was in the bed beside me.”

  He finally turned around, his face haunted, his one good eye boring into her as despair filled it. The scarred side of his face stood out in the glow of the wall sconce from the right side of the room.

  “This explains the nightmares.”

  “You know about them?”

  She nodded, and he looked even more pained.

  “Why, Hannah?” he asked, his voice pleading, haunted. “Why was I spared when the rest of them – good men, like the doctor, who had people who loved him waiting for him – were taken?”

  Hannah finally moved, crossing the room slowly, carefully, so that she wouldn’t scare him, as though he was an injured animal waiting for her.

  “I don’t know,” she said softly when she finally reached him. “I wish I did. I wish I knew why there are such atrocities in the world. But the truth is, Edmund, no one knows. The only thing that is certain is that you must live the life you were given. Live it well, for all of those men who never came home. That physician, he wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life as though you were as dead as he is, would he?”

  Edmund said nothing, though his eyes were tortured as he stared at her.

  “I don’t know, Hannah,” he muttered, “I really don’t.”

  For a moment, she wondered if he was going to come to her, to allow her to comfort him and hold him as she longed to. But instead he took a step back, and then another, until he was nearly at the staircase. He took one long, final look at her.

  “Goodnight, Hannah.”

  * * *

  Edmund woke the next morning with the feeling that the house was closing in on him. He had to get out, to assume some sort of physical activity, or he thought he would truly go mad.

  He didn’t see Hannah, didn’t tell her where he was going. He knew she wanted a tour of the ruins, but he didn’t have it within him to see her again. He had told her far more than he’d meant to last night. He couldn’t remember making a conscious decision to share any of it with
her, but he needed her to understand just why he could never be the man she wanted him to be.

  The nightmare had come again, as it always did when he revisited the hell he had existed in for far longer than one should. He could feel the effects of a short, restless sleep this morning.

  Edmund considered saddling his horse for a ride, but decided instead to go round to the back and split wood for the fires. The physicality of it would certainly allow him to expend all of the pent-up frustration within him following his conversation with Hannah last night.

  He had just carried over a thick branch, setting it down as he hefted the ax once more, when a scream split the air. The ax swung down, splitting the log, before Edmund tossed it to the side and took off at a run, his heart beating faster than if he had sprinted across a field. The scream must have been from Hannah. What could have happened to her? His mind raced with possibilities, of the moat, of the forest beyond — until he realized that he was headed in the direction of the ruins.

  He shouted a curse as he realized that she must have gone to explore them herself. He was a fool, allowing his pride to get in the way of his promise to her. He hadn’t thought to warn her of the ruin’s crumbling walls and roof, of flooring that was liable to give away at any moment. Hell, he hardly ventured within them himself. A woman as slight as her had no business going in there. If he had been with her, he would have ensured she stayed on the outskirts. Now… but there was no time for additional self-recrimination, he told himself as he rounded the corner of the thick brush of trees and came to a skidding halt.

  There was dust in the air, swirling around Hannah as she stood there in the midst of the ruined guesthouse. At first glance, it appeared that she was unharmed, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he slowed to a halt, his hands coming to the tops of his thighs.

  “Hannah!” he called, and she whirled around toward him, her unbound golden-brown hair flying around her as she did so. He walked toward her, stopping at the edge of the ruin, not wanting to cause any more damage.

  “What are you doing here alone?” he called out, more recrimination in his voice than he had meant – recrimination that should be reserved for himself. Why had he not thought to warn her? He had never imagined she would be curious enough to come here alone.

  But she was too good to note his unjust reproach, her wide brown eyes shining as she stared at him.

  “Edmund, come here. I must show you something,” she said, waving him over, and he gingerly began stepping toward her, hoping that he wouldn’t disturb anything further.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his breath still coming faster than usual. He wasn’t pleased at the panic that had risen within him at the fear of her in danger. Edmund was happy with the way things were. He didn’t want to be worried about someone else all of the time, didn’t want to care about what happened. For if he cared, then he could lose again, and he didn’t think he had anything left within him to break any further.

  “I’m fine,” she said, wonder in her voice. “I was exploring the ruins of the guest house, and slightly tripped. I put my hand out upon the wall, and it began to give away. The roof above me fell down. It all happened so quickly, but Edmund… something, or someone pushed me out of the way.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “There’s no one else around. The village is miles away.”

  “I know,” she said with a nod, “it’s ridiculous. I can’t explain it. I only know what I felt.”

  Edmund looked around the ruins, though in search of what, he wasn’t entirely sure. He hadn’t been here in ages. He hadn’t seen any reason to. From time to time he walked by it to survey the land, and he supposed that he should have cleaned it up and been rid of it altogether. But something had always stopped him from doing so.

  “What’s in here?” Hannah asked, stepping deeper into the recess where the wall had fallen away, and Edmund had to surge toward her as he reached out to take hold of her arm.

  “Hannah, be careful,” he said, the fear leaping up within his throat once more.

  “I am,” she answered without looking back. “I won’t touch anything again, I promise.”

  He sighed, accepting that she was going to explore this with or without him, so he might as well be there to help her.

  It was a small room that seemed to have been preserved despite the fire. He had no idea what it had been – a garderoom perhaps? But before he could give it added consideration, his attention was captured by Hannah’s startled gasp.

  “Edmund,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “There’s something here. It looks like… a music box, perhaps?”

  Edmund followed her into the small space, on alert for potential crumbling plaster or uneven footing. He placed a hand on Hannah’s waist in order to help her keep her balance. She didn’t seem to notice, so intent was she on what was in front of her.

  A vanity table sat before them. It was covered in ash, but seemed to have been preserved, protected here in the midst of the destruction around them. On top of it was the music box Hannah had found. She carefully brushed ash and rock off the top before picking it up, blowing additional dust off of it as she tried the clasp.

  To Edmund’s surprise, it sprang open.

  As one, they leaned forward overtop of it, and then shared a meaningful look at the discovery within.

  “It’s the letters,” Hannah whispered, as though they had uncovered a secret for just the two of them. “The answering letters.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, not wanting her to raise her hopes. It was true, there was a packet of papers within, wrapped in a ribbon matching those they had found in the manor, but that they could be the matching correspondences…

  “I’ll take this back with us,” she said, reaching for the box.

  Edmund shook his head. “We should leave it.” But at his words, a piece of the ruins fell outside of the door, and he reconsidered. “Never mind,” he said, a chill running down his spine – and he thought he had become rather accustomed to spirits. “We’ll take it all.”

  She nodded in agreement, lifting the box as he took her arm and led her out of the small room and down to the grass below them.

  “What do you think the letters were doing there?” Hannah asked, and Edmund shook his head wordlessly, having no idea.

  “I had always assumed…” he trailed off, not wanting to speak ill of the dead.

  “What is it?” she implored him and he sighed before continuing.

  “I had always assumed by the fact that she died there, that it was where Isabel and my great-uncle would meet one another. Maybe she arrived first one night, or he never came, and she ended up alone. I’m not sure if we shall ever know.”

  “It’s so sad,” she said with melancholy, and he looked down at her and the wistfulness in her face as she gazed out toward Hollingswood, which loomed before them. “I just wish…”

  “What?”

  “I wish there could have been a way for them to be together,” she continued. “That there was a happy ending, and it all didn’t end so tragically.”

  “That’s life for you,” he said dryly, and he could tell from her expression that she wished he didn’t think such a way, but this was who he was – and nothing was going to change it.

  She turned the letters around between her hands, and he could tell how desperately she wanted to open them.

  “Would you like to read them together?” he asked reluctantly. The truth was, he was unsure that he wanted to know the ending of the mystery of his great-uncle. For Hannah was right, it was tragic, and he had seen enough unhappiness in his time.

  “I would like that very much,” she said, and he knew he could never go against her wishes.

  He nodded, told her they would read them after dinner, and then disappeared inside and to his own rooms.

  8

  “Hannah,” Edmund said as they sat down to eat, each of them accepting a glass of red wine from Mrs. Ackerman, “there is so
mething we must discuss.”

  “Very well,” she said with some trepidation at the seriousness in his tone. The truth was, she was finding it difficult to build up an appetite, for her stomach was swirling with anticipation over the letters. That, and Edmund himself. After their kisses and her realization about who he was, she wondered if there would now be more between them. Should she expect him to come to her tonight? What would she do if he did?

  She would accept his touch with the same vigor she did his kisses, she knew. She had drowned within them as though she was a lead weight sinking into him.

  Realizing he was staring at her expectantly, she finally returned his statement.

  “Yes?”

  “You cannot return to the ruins alone again.”

  “Why?” she asked, narrowing her gaze at him, not appreciating his commanding tone.

  “You could have been killed!” he said, his tone harsh as he stared at her, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight, which flickered against the scars of his face.

  “But I wasn’t,” she argued, though that didn’t seem to be a solid enough response for him.

  “Promise me,” he said, his voice gruff, and she fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

  “You cannot order me—”

  “Promise me,” he said, his hand curling around his wine glass, the other gripping his fork so tightly his fingers had turned white.

  As Hannah stared at him, she wondered for a moment what was causing him such ire. Was it that he didn’t want any harm to come to her while she was in his care in case he might be held responsible? For he couldn’t care about what actually happened to her – could he? She had thought he might be pleased to be alone once more, to be rid of her and the marriage he never wanted.

  “I promise,” she said softly, and he nodded curtly before returning to his food. The rest of the meal passed in near silence, as it seemed she had stirred his anger and she worried about saying the wrong thing once more.

  Dinner was somewhat improved, which Hannah knew was a result of Molly’s assistance with the preparation this evening. When they finished, Hannah stood and walked down the length of the table until she was closer to him.