I nearly jumped out of my seat when the clock finally struck ten o’clock. I glanced over at Sylvia, who sat by the fire with her Mr. Brandon. If things continued the way they looked right now, she would probably be engaged by the end of the year. I was glad to see her happy. Maria had attached herself to the younger Mr. Brandon’s side. Mama flitted from one man to another like a bee to flowers. Mrs. Delafield gripped her teacup with whitened knuckles and looked as if she would like to throw it at Mama. I looked at all of this, and then I stood and turned to the door.
“Good night, Mama,” I said. “I am tired. I’m going to retire early tonight.”
She darted a dark glance my way, warning me with a look that she would speak with me later. I had expected as much. “Good night, then, Kitty.”
When I reached the door, the temptation to look back was too strong to resist. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Henry watching me steadfastly. My heart hitched in my chest, then began to race at the look in his granite eyes. Fumbling for the door handle, I pulled my gaze from his and hurried from the room.
“Is everything ready, miss?” Alice asked.
I knelt in front of my trunk, looking at my gowns and bonnets and gloves. All of them could be replaced. I picked up the ivory-inlaid box, took my aunt’s letter from it, and held the box out to Alice. “Here—take this. Not as payment, but because I want you to have it.”
Alice hesitated, then reluctantly accepted the box. “I will keep it for you, miss. You may have it back when you return.”
I pressed my lips together, unwilling to reveal my secret: that I would never return. Alice set the box on the mantel next to the letters I had just sealed and set there. She knew what to do with them.
“The other bedroom is ready?” I asked.
Alice nodded. It had been her idea to ready another bedroom in the west wing so that Mama and Maria would not notice my absence until the morning. “I’ll tell them you’ve come down with an illness, and you’re not to be disturbed.”
“Good.”
My aunt’s letter and the music from Herr Spohr were tucked inside my traveling cloak, along with Oliver’s shells, tied up in a handkerchief inside a pocket. I looked around the room. It was such a beautiful room—as beautiful as the moors had become to me. I would miss it. But it was nearly half past ten, and if I lingered any longer, I ran the risk of encountering Mama or Maria on their way up to bed.
“Yes. I am ready.” I handed Alice my gloves, my bonnet, and my cloak. “I will meet you downstairs.”
At half past ten precisely I eased open the door to the bird room and slipped inside, then closed it softly behind me. The drapes were open, allowing the light of the full moon to bathe the room with its silver sheen. I moved carefully through the room until I approached the birdcage and knelt in front of it. With a soft creak of metal, I pried open the cage door. I assumed the bird’s limp body would be discovered by a maid and disposed of. But I would leave it with its door open, because it’s what I would have wanted.
I heard a sound behind me, a soft step. And then Henry’s voice. “You’re leaving.”
My heart jumped. I stood and whirled around to face him, my pulse racing with nervousness.
The door was still closed. He must have been waiting in this room. Waiting for me.
“How did you know?” I asked.
He stood far away from me, on the other side of the room in front of the Icarus painting. The moonlight illuminated only his outline. But I heard the accusation in his voice when he said, “It was written all over your face tonight.”
I drew a shaky breath. “You’re right. I am leaving.”
He stepped toward me. “Because you would rather marry that repulsive Mr. Cooper than be forced to marry me?”
The hard, hurt, accusing tone of his voice struck me like a physical blow. I reeled back from the force of it. My voice came out trembling and quiet. “No.”
“Then why?” His voice broke on the last word, and something broke inside me. Something that was keeping me steady in my course broke at the sound of that why. I looked down at the birdcage, feeling my heart racing in my chest, feeling my hands trembling. And I spoke the greatest truth I could.
“Because if I don’t escape my cage now, I never will.”
A long silence followed my words, and then Henry sighed and raked his hand through his hair. He turned away from me and stood looking at the Icarus painting. A great stillness in the room, and in him, reminded me of the bird that no longer stirred. And suddenly I needed to be near him. I needed to be sure that he was not also lifeless. I moved toward him quietly, until I saw the moonlight cast his face half in light, half in shadow.
He had his arms folded across his chest, his gaze fixed on the image of Icarus being granted his wings.
“To be so close to heaven, to fall so far ...” His voice was quiet, and for a moment I wondered if he was even talking to me. He sighed. “I was a fool to agree to this bargain, Kate. I thought I understood suffering before—those years that you lived a mile away—when I saw you often—when I had your confidences but not your love. Hearing your regular declarations of never wanting to marry ...”
He rubbed his hand over his face. “That was suffering. But this ...” He shook his head, and I noticed how tightly he held himself—how a tremor spread through him. “This was madness. This was as mad as Icarus flying too close to the sun. To be so close, to have you in my arms, to whisper the words I have dreamed of saying to you, and to have you reject me, over and over.” His voice was low and rough, and the look he shot me sent fire through me, rooting me speechless to the ground. A ragged, shuddering breath shook him. “This is suffering of the most acute kind.”
I was afraid to breathe. I stood there with my heart in my throat and my hands clenched into fists and my lips sealed against the words I would not speak to him.
“This is not for the bargain,” he said. “And this is the final time I will ask this question, Kate. Never again. I just have to know—apart from that cursed bargain—I have to know. I cannot spend the rest of my life wondering ...”
Tears ran down my face.
He turned to me, took my hand in his, and rubbed his thumb across my knuckles. He looked into my eyes, the moonlight illuminating his face. “I love you,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I want to be with you always. Marry me. Please.”
I had to swallow and could not, and when I finally pushed the word past my lips, it was a choked whisper. “No.”
He flinched. I stifled a sob. I could hardly see him at all through my tears. He dropped my hand and turned from me, and I walked to the window and looked at the moon as tears streamed down my face. They came so furiously I could hardly breathe, and my chest shuddered with the attempt.
After a long stretch of time, I felt Henry stand behind me. His warmth at my back was so tempting. He said, in a broken voice, “I have one last question, and then I will let you go.”
I wrapped my hand around my throat, trying to stifle the sobs that shook me. I nodded.
He took a breath. I heard it catch. I heard his voice shake as he asked, in a low, husky tone, “If you loved me ...”
I do.
He was so still. I felt his shock. And then, after a long pause, he breathed, “What?”
I turned around and stared at him with wide eyes, my heart pounding hard.
“What did you just say?” he asked.
I shook my head, my face on fire. Had I really spoken those words aloud? “Nothing. I said nothing.” I backed away from him, but he grabbed me by the shoulders and stepped closer and leaned down.
“You said I do.”
He pulled me into his arms. And I hardly had time to think before he was kissing me. One hand at my waist, holding me close, the other at the back of my neck, his kisses firm, deliberate, pleading. I stopped thinking. Everything that had been working at unraveling my heart had been too powerful to resist. Now I was nothing but heart, and I was pulling him closer and kissing him, and when I k
issed him back, I heard a moan escape him. I pulled away, gasping for breath, and he pulled me back again, as if he needed me more than he needed breath. His hands were pressing me close, and he whispered my name, and suddenly I realized I had to stop this. This was a mistake that should never have happened. It was cruel—too cruel—to do this once when I would never be able to do it again.
I sobbed at the thought and pushed him away. “No, Henry.” My voice was a broken cry. I saw the pain in his face before I grabbed him, pulled him close, and buried my face in his chest. I held him tight around his neck, his arms reaching around my waist, holding me close.
“You said you loved me,” he whispered.
“I do,” I whispered on a sob.
“Then why do you refuse me?” His voice hurt me—the pain in it. The anguish. The sound of broken things.
I pulled away from him. “I know what loving me will cost you. I know, Henry! I heard your mother, that night at the ball. Not quite two years ago.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? What did you hear?”
I shook my head. This was the secret I had never meant to tell. But things had come undone within me, and I found I no longer had the strength to keep this secret. It rose within me as if with a life of its own, intent on escaping its own cage. It burst from me with a fresh wave of sobbing.
“I heard her tell your aunt Agnes that you will l-lose Blackmoore if you connect yourself with anyone in my family. She said she h-had the will changed. That your grandfather signed it. That the solicitor was there. And that sh-she would separate us if I showed any sign of favoring you, if I—”
“What? She had the will changed?” His voice was raw with shock and disbelief.
I nodded solemnly, wishing I had not been the one to see this look of betrayal on Henry’s face.
“Are you sure? I mean, are you completely certain—?”
“Yes.” What she had said to me the other day, after catching me speaking with her father, had confirmed it. “I am completely certain.” It came out as a whisper, but it fell on the space between us with a finality that felt like a death knell.
Henry raked both hands through his hair, turned from me, and walked four steps away.
“Now you understand,” I said, my voice breaking along with my heart. “You understand why I had to tell you—everyone—that I had no intention of marrying. She would have separated all of us. She would have sent you away—”
He turned back and walked toward me with long strides, catching me by the hands, saying, “It doesn’t matter, Kate. It makes no difference. I can give up Blackmoore.”
I was shaking my head, tears streaming down my cheeks and running off my chin.
“Stop. Stop shaking your head. I can, Kate. I can give it up. I will. For you.”
“No. I won’t allow you to do that.” He was speaking rashly. He hadn’t thought it through. He hadn’t had countless nights to lie awake thinking about exactly what he would be giving up for me. But I had. And I knew better. “You can’t give up Blackmoore for me, Henry. Don’t you see what it would cost you? What it would do to us?”
“It’s just a house! How could you think a pile of stones could compare to you?”
“It’s more than a pile of stones! This is your home. I have seen it in your eyes. This is everything to you. Your future. Your living. The life you have planned for. I have seen how you light up here! I have seen how happy you are here—how fulfilled. How it is where you are meant to be.”
He grabbed my hands, holding them in both of his own. He held them tightly, as if trying to keep me from flying away. “No. You have done that to me. Not Blackmoore.”
A sob shook my voice. “It is too much to give up. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see that if I rob you of everything you care about, everything you have ever wanted in life, that you will someday hate me for it?”
“I could never hate you.” The words came out soft and hoarse, a whispered declaration.
I pulled my hands from his grip and folded my arms across my chest, trying to hold my breaking heart together. “You could. You don’t know. But I do.” My voice quivered. “I know what it is to be despised, Henry. I know what it is to be unwanted and unloved and—”
Henry’s hands slipped around my face. I caught my breath, biting back my words. He stepped close to me and cradled my face. His hands were gentle, as if I was just as wild and fragile as our dark bird. He bent his head and looked into my eyes, and he was so near to me that I could see his grey eyes, shining even in this dark room. He drew in a breath and he lowered his head and then he kissed me, slowly and gently. His fingers reached into my hair, and his lips tasted of salt and desire. He kissed me until my knees trembled and fire melted through me and I felt thoroughly, achingly wanted.
When at last he lifted his lips from mine, his breath was ragged. He leaned his head close to mine and whispered, “Now you also know what it is to be wanted and loved.”
It was too sweet. It was too great a temptation. My heart pounded with wanting what he was offering me.
“I know that you haven’t known this kind of love before,” he said, his arms slipping around me, pulling me close, cradling me as if he meant to keep me near his heart always. “But I promise you that I can love you forever, no matter what happens to us in this life. I can, and I will.”
My resolve had crumbled in the heat of his kiss. I wanted to lean against him and let him continue to make me feel this way. But it was not right, and I knew in my bones that giving in to this temptation would haunt me with questions for the rest of my life. I ignored the yearnings of my heart and pulled away from his embrace. The chill of standing alone and apart from him invaded every bit of me, and I shivered as I stood there and tried to hold myself together. But I could not hold myself together in the same ways that I could before Henry kissed me. Cages had been opened within me, and what poured out of them was just as much anger as fear. I backed away from him as the anger and the hurt I had been hiding for a year and a half unfurled within me. And then I unleashed it.
“Love is not enough!” I cried. “Love turns. Love dies. I have seen the other side of love! I have seen the loathing and the contempt and the resentment. I will not see that from you! I will not live to see a day when you look at me the way my father looks at my mother.”
“We are not like them!”
“How do you know?” I drew in a jagged breath. “How do you know what the future will hold? How it will change us? How do you know that you will not wake up one day and hate me for robbing you of your birthright, your future, the life you always meant to live?”
“I know,” he said, his voice low and fierce and unwavering. “I know my heart. It has always been yours, Kate. Always.”
His voice broke, and I saw in the gleam of moonlight a tear on his cheek. It wrenched at my heart.
“I never meant to hurt you.” I choked on my words. “I never meant to hurt you with the bargain. I never thought it could hurt you.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, took a deep breath and then another. He looked so lost and so desperate that I knew I was close to winning this battle. So I delivered another blow.
“How would we even live, Henry?” I asked, my voice dull with hopelessness. “You would be giving up your living if you gave up Blackmoore. What would you do?”
“I am not averse to work! I am quite brilliant, you know. Or maybe you don’t know, since I don’t like to boast, but I am.” I heard the hope in his voice, and I saw the flash of his smile, and it all felt much too cruel. “I’m not afraid of hard work. Just—”
I held up a hand, warding off his words, choking back the sobs. “No. No, Henry. No and no and no.”
He stared at me for a long moment. Tears streamed down my cheeks but I did not waver. And finally, all the hope left his face, and in its place was bleak despair. “You will not change your mind.”
“No. Never.” And even though I trembled in every part of me, my voice was strong with
resolve. “I made this decision a year and a half ago, and I have made it again tonight. And I would make this exact same decision again and again and again as long as our circumstances are the same. I will not change my mind, Henry.”
He looked away. I saw him press the heels of his hands to his eyes. I walked to the window and looked out at the moonlit sea. And after another long stretch of time, I heard him move behind me. I glanced to my left and saw him standing before the open birdcage. He was so still.
“The bird ...” He looked at me, a question in his face.
“It died.” The words were too blunt, too harsh. Henry flinched and looked back at the cage. When he lifted his eyes to me again there was a new expression in them—a kind of horror that chilled me.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Henry. It’s not a foretelling of my future. I know that’s what you’re thinking. But it’s just a bird. I will be safe. I will go to my aunt in London, and we’ll travel to India together, and I will be safe. I promise.”
“Miss Worthington?”
It was Alice, at the door, holding a lantern. Then I knew it was time. It was time to be done with torturing ourselves like this. “I have to go,” I whispered.
“Wait.” Henry grabbed my wrist as I walked past him and pulled me into his arms. “Wait,” he whispered, bending his head to speak softly in my ear. “I still have one last question.”
My heart could not tolerate one last question. My heart was hammering at me, insisting that I was making the greatest mistake of my life. But I could not deny him one final question. So I buried my face in his warm neck and let him hold me one last time. “Go ahead. Ask it.”
Blackmoore Page 25
