When a Stranger Loves Me (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 3)

by Julianne MacLean

  But no, he did not know she had been outside that morning. Someone else had told him what happened, and he had responded like an enraged lover.

  All at once, truth and clarity found a path to Elizabeth’s mind. Blake was in love with Lady Chelsea. Elizabeth sank into a chair and closed her eyes. For the longest while she could not move, then she lifted her eyes and said, “Enough.”

  A few minutes later she walked into Blake’s empty bedchamber and shut the door behind her. She searched frantically through his drawers and over his desk until she found the box with all his sketches.

  I draw everything, he had said.

  She took the box to the bed, climbed onto it, and looked at every picture—the landscapes and portraits and all the beautiful, exquisite nudes of Chelsea—then came across a portrait with her father’s secret insignia sketched into the corner.

  Flopping back onto the feather pillows, Elizabeth began to weep. They were not tears of sadness, however. They were the sweetest, most wonderful tears of joy, because everything was going to be all right now. Somehow, it was going to be all right.

  “This just arrived for you, my lady,” a footman said. He stood in the corridor outside the library, holding in his gloved hand a letter upon a silver salver.

  Chelsea picked up the sealed letter, thanked him, then closed the door and returned to her chair. She recognized the seal and penmanship. It was a note from her mother, who must have sent it immediately after Chelsea had left the island on that final morning.

  Breaking the seal, she unfolded the heavy paper and sat down in front of the fireplace.

  My dearest Chelsea, it began...

  She read the entire letter, then lowered it to her lap and covered her mouth with a hand. She read the first paragraph again and noticed how fast her heart was beating. Was it true? Could it really be true?

  After instructing Devon to keep an eye on John so he would not flee the palace like the coward he was, Blake ran up the stairs to the library, praying that Chelsea would still be there. If she had gone to her room to pack her things, he would stop her. He would not let her leave. Not now, when he felt such intense exhilaration and needed to describe it to her.

  He had never imagined that thrashing a man could feel so bloody satisfying. He had certainly not felt such satisfaction when he clouted Chelsea’s brother. That was different. Sebastian had deserved it, no question, but Blake had not enjoyed it.

  This was odd. Yet somehow, it was not. There was an explanation for it. He had a suspicion. Could he call it a memory?

  He pushed through the door of the library, expecting to find the room empty, but Chelsea was there, slouching low with her head resting on the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling, a letter dangling from her fingertips. She looked at him with tears in her eyes, and he halted where he stood on the carpet.

  “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

  “Yes,” she replied, sitting forward and looking down at the letter she had been reading. “This was delivered to me while you were outside. It is from my mother. She had a great deal to say to me.”

  Blake strode forward carefully, waiting for Chelsea to elaborate, hoping she had not already decided to shut him out completely. He wanted to know what was happening in her life. He wanted to know why there were tears in her eyes, and to make them disappear if he could.

  But then he recognized that they were not tears of sorrow, but something else, something much more profound...

  “She has apologized,” Chelsea told him. “She said she was wrong to want to force me to marry Lord Jerome when I do not care for him, and that she regrets her actions on that final night when we quarreled on the staircase.”

  “That is good news,” Blake said, remaining a short distance away. “I am pleased to hear it, Chelsea.”

  She cleared her throat and wiped a tear from her cheek. “But there is more. She has confessed something else to me—that she has lived her entire life smothered by shame and regret because she trapped my father into marrying her, by arranging for them to be caught in a kiss at a ball.”

  Stunned, but curious, Blake moved closer.

  “She knew my father didn’t love her,” Chelsea continued, “but she was in love with him and did it to secure a proposal. She has never told anyone about it, not until now, and has felt guilty about it all this time. But when she learned what I was trying to do with you, it made her feel less guilty, because suddenly she was not alone in her duplicity. Since I was attempting to do the same sort of thing, it made it seem more normal to her. But then when I refused to continue with the plan and admitted my remorse, she had to face her own as well. I left without saying goodbye, and she blamed herself for what she had forced me to do—because of her ambition and strategizing—all for the sake of a title.”

  Blake sat down in the seat opposite Chelsea. “What will you do? Will you forgive her?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “I must. She regrets her mistakes, and heaven knows, we all make them. I certainly have. And I do love her. How could I not? She is my mother. With all her faults and failings, I still love her.”

  Blake considered all this. “Does this mean she has changed her mind about forcing you to marry your cousin?”

  Warmth filled Chelsea’s eyes. “I believe she has, because of the regret she said she felt, and because there is more news. The morning we left Jersey, Melissa was terribly ill. She fainted and fell down the stairs. Naturally the doctor was sent for, and he discovered something wonderful, Blake. My sister-in-law is expecting a child. My brother is going to have a baby—an heir, possibly. She is more than three months along. The whole time you were with us in Jersey, she was expecting and none of us knew it. I am so happy for them.” Chelsea smiled through her tears and covered her mouth with a hand. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “It is,” Blake replied, as a feeling of euphoria flooded his heart. Chelsea’s happiness was his own.

  “But what about you?” she asked, folding the letter on her lap. “What happened when you went to see John? Did he plead for mercy? I hope so. And if he did, I hope you refused.”

  “Yes, he pleaded, and I refused him. Quite repeatedly in fact.”

  Chelsea smiled. It was the most mischievous and luminous smile Blake had ever beheld, and for a moment his heart stood still.

  He could no longer deny the truth. Nothing had changed. Whether she was carrying his child or not, he loved her now as he had loved her in Jersey—before he learned of her plan to use him to beget an heir for her brother. Despite all of his mistakes and her foolish, irrational schemes and decisions, they were connected, and there were no words for what he felt.

  Except for love, but even that was not enough. It was beyond love. It was complete and total knowledge and understanding, and it was the most devastating feeling in the world, because she would leave him now. Her life in Jersey was no longer in jeopardy. She could return there without fear for her future.

  More importantly, he was married to another woman, and he had to let this one go, without argument or any contact in the future. He could not have Chelsea and would never know paradise again. Not in this lifetime.

  “You looked happy a second ago,” she said, her own happiness draining from her face. “Now you look like someone just dropped a bucket of cold water over your head.”

  He was not sure what to say. She was exactly right. But somehow he found words. “I think I remember something.”

  She sat forward. “What is it?”

  “I remember thrashing John.”

  She inclined her head with a look of concern. “But that just happened, Blake. Are you feeling all right?”

  He nodded. “What I mean to say is—I remember fighting him before. Every time I woke from a restless sleep and wanted to strangle someone…it was him. I think we were fighting each other when I lost my memory.”

  She s
hook her head as she tried to understand. “But they said you collided with another ship and the boat went down. When do you think you fought with John? Before that?”

  “But did the boat really sink?” Blake asked. “Have there been any reports of such an event?”

  “I don’t know. What do you suspect? That there was no accident, but that he threw you overboard?”

  “Possibly.” Blake put his hand to his side. “I think he might have stabbed me.”

  She glanced down at his hand covering his abdomen.

  “I remember something...” Blake continued. “I remember fighting with him on the deck of the ship. It was raining and windy, and the boat was careening everywhere. I had no clothes on, and I fell back against the rigging. I was bleeding. The pain was excruciating.”

  Blake stood and paced around the room, searching through the chaos in his mind, remembering the brutal blows he had just delivered to John in the garden. He remembered the sensation of his knuckles connecting with the man’s jaw.

  Blake turned to Chelsea. “He broke into the cabin where I was sleeping and stabbed me in my bunk, then I chased him up onto the deck.”

  “He stabbed you? Why would he do that? Was Elizabeth there? Did she see any of this?”

  “No, she was not there. I don’t know where she was.”

  “Did he throw you overboard? Because that would be murder, Blake. If you remember it, you must send for the magistrate.”

  He shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “No, there was a collision. I remember it now. We hit the other ship when I was still in my cabin before John stabbed me. I woke up and there was water on the floor, and that’s when he came in.”

  “But it makes no sense,” she argued. “Why would he want to kill you when the boat was sinking?”

  “Because he didn’t want his sister to be married to me, and he wanted to ensure I went down with the ship?”

  Chelsea stood. “That makes no sense either. You are the son of a duke.”

  He faced her. “I hope it’s true.”

  “You hope what is true?”

  “That he does not want me as his brother-in-law—because if he or Elizabeth do not truly want this marriage, I would not quarrel. If I could turn back the hands of time, I would. I would never have married Elizabeth. Then I would be free. Free to marry you.”

  Chelsea’s eyes filled with tears. “No one can turn back time, Blake.”

  Yet time seemed to be standing still.

  “We have made too many mistakes,” she continued. “We cannot change that. What we had together was wrong. All we can do now is forgive each other. You are a married man, and even if you weren’t, you have no obligation to me now. I am not carrying your child.”

  He strode to the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  He stopped but kept his back to her. “I am going to speak to Elizabeth. Because if I cannot have what I want, maybe I can at least have my memories back. And maybe I can have justice, too.”

  “I hope you can,” Chelsea said. “You deserve a full and happy life, Blake. Despite all that has passed between us, I will never forget the time we spent together, and I will wish you well. Do what you must. Find out why John did what he did and make it right.” Her voice filled with melancholy but remained steady. “Then we will say goodbye and part as friends, because I wish no ill will upon you or Elizabeth. I want only to put this experience behind me. I want my dignity back, and I believe I will find it in Jersey.”

  He swallowed uneasily, then walked out to search the palace for his wife.

  Chapter 28

  Blake found Elizabeth in the Italian Garden ruins, staring up at the statue of Venus.

  “Good morning, Elizabeth,” he said. “May I speak with you?”

  Looking almost delirious, she turned to face him. In her hand, low at her side, she held a sheet of paper.

  He looked down at it and very quickly a cold wave of dread flowed through him. “Where did you get that?”

  “In your room,” she replied. “I had no idea you were so gifted, Blake. It just goes to show how little we know of each other.”

  He frowned. “You were in my room?”

  “Yes. A short time ago, after I saw you beating my brother to a pulp. I needed to know the truth. Now I do.”

  “Elizabeth...”

  She made a feeble attempt to smile. “No, please, do not apologize. There is no need. She is lovely, Blake. I thought so the first moment I saw her. She is your perfect match. It is there in the way you look at each other. It’s as obvious as the sun in the sky.”

  She stepped forward and held the sketch out to him. It was the first picture of Chelsea he had ever drawn—the one with the unusual emblem in the corner, the symbol he had never been able to connect with anything.

  He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to hurt Elizabeth. That’s not why he came out here. He had come to ascertain if she knew what happened that night on the boat, and why John had tried to kill him.

  “You don’t love me, do you?” she asked.

  Blake met her wet, teary gaze, and decided there was no need to say the words aloud. She knew.

  She turned toward the fountain and looked up at Venus’s face. “It’s fine. I’m not hurt. Well, I am, but only because I was forced to marry you, just like you were forced to marry me. It has all been very difficult.”

  “We were forced?” he asked, a heightened frustration permeating his voice—a reaction to his persistent inability to remember all the things he needed to know. “By your brother? Or your father? Did I compromise you?”

  Elizabeth chuckled. “No, Blake, you are far too honorable for anything like that, which is why I hold such a high opinion of you. You were forced by your father. You had to marry someone to secure your inheritance, and my father wanted me to forget the young man I had fallen in love with.”

  “The young man?”

  There was another? She was in love with someone else?

  Blake looked up at the clear blue sky and felt a wave of calm move through him. He took in a breath of fresh air and let it out, then moved closer to Elizabeth, took her by the hand and sat down beside her on the fountain wall. She seemed so young—too young to be his wife.

  “You were brokenhearted on our wedding day?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. I missed him. I still miss him now.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A solicitor. The son of a clerk. But a match between us is utterly hopeless. My father would kill me first.”

  “I am sure that is not the case.”

  “Oh, yes, it is. You don’t know my father.”

  “Don’t I? Surely I do.”

  She looked up at him with weepy eyes and laughed. “Poor Blake. You really need to recover your memories. You met him only once. That is all. On the day you asked for my hand.”

  “Obviously I made a good enough impression.”

  “Of course you did. You are a good man and a marvelous catch by any standards.”

  “But you don’t love me,” Blake said.

  Tears spilled out of her eyes onto her cheeks. “I like you a great deal. You were very good to me.”

  For a long moment Blake sat beside her on the fountain wall, holding her small hand in his and struggling to remember the night on the boat.

  “After we were married,” he said, “what happened? I remember being asleep in my cabin when our boat collided with the other, but where were you? Forgive me for being blunt, Elizabeth, but did we consummate the marriage?”

  She shifted uneasily. “No. I left our cabin and went to the supper room to try and forget what I was leaving behind. You thought I was nervous, or perhaps you suspected the truth. I don’t know. But you were very patient, and I was grateful for that.”

  “And that’s when w
e collided with the other ship?”

  “Yes. The storm was raging, and when we hit, we hit hard. Water came rushing into the supper room, and when I went back to our cabin to find you, you were gone. I didn’t know where you were. By the time I found my way up onto the deck, the boat was already turning over on its side, and before I knew it, I was swimming in the Channel. I don’t remember what happened after that. I woke up on the other ship.” She lowered her eyes. “You were not with us, and I was devastated. Truly I was.”

  “You weren’t relieved to be rid of me?” he asked, hoping to make her smile.

  She shook her head. “Of course not. I knew you were a good man, and I had told myself that in time I would grow to love you. I am sure I would have.”

  “And I you,” he told her.

  But they were living in the present, not the future, and they both loved other people.

  “There is something else you must know,” Blake said. “It is the reason I came out here to speak with you.”

  She looked up. “It has to do with my brother, doesn’t it?”

  He paused to give her a moment to prepare herself for the news she already seemed to expect. “Yes, it has to do with your brother. I remember what happened that night on the boat. I was not simply lost overboard during the accident.”

  He watched her face go pale, and then her eyes revealed her understanding. “John tried to hurt you, didn’t he?”

  “He stabbed me in the cabin.”

  She stared at him in white-faced shock, then stood up. “He stabbed you?”

  “Yes. And I am hoping you will be able to tell me why. I suspect it has something to do with the Horticultural Society and all the questions I was asking. And what is this emblem here?” He pointed at the sketch. “I drew it, but I cannot place it.”

  Looking faint, she sat down again. “What do you remember? What do you know?”

  “I remember that I was concerned about my father leaving his fortune to an operation that was run by some questionable characters, and was curious as to how the organization could have the funds to own a ship and travel to France once a month to bring back rare flowers. And honestly, your brother hardly seems like the type who would enjoy botany.”