by Leenie Brown
“Neither have I…”
Tears gathered without warning, and a crushing weight threatened to squeeze every last ounce of breath from Bea’s chest. This was the pain she had expected to feel when she had seen Everett and Felicity together. This was the pain of a love being ripped from her heart. She drew a deep shuddering breath and blew it out as she clearly realized what her heart had been attempting to tell her over the past few days.
She loved Graeme.
She drew a second breath and released it slowly as she blinked against the tears which accompanied the knowledge that he did not love her in return. She pressed one hand against her aching heart and rubbed her forehead with her other hand, attempting to quiet the throbbing that was beginning behind her eyes. She needed to go home. She needed to climb into her bed and have a good cry. She needed to be away from here and away from him. So, gathering herself as well as she could, she doused the lamp and quietly slipped out of the library, leaving her books and her heart behind.
Chapter 8
As he waited in the drawing room at Heathcote the next afternoon, Graeme flipped through one of the books he had found on a chair in the library at Stratsbury last night when he had gone to collect Bea at the appointed hour. He had been a few moments late in going to the library since it had taken him longer than expected to find Everett and have a particular discussion, yet Graeme had been surprised to find that Bea had not waited for him and even more surprised when he had found she had left her books behind.
Shelton had cornered Graeme earlier that day about his being in love, and finally, after having given careful consideration to the fact and coming to the conclusion that his heart was well and truly lost to Bea, Graeme had gone in search of his brother. He needed to make certain there would be no danger of damaging their relationship when he made his plans to marry Bea known.
Graeme closed the first book and began paging through the second. He had intended to speak to Bea last night to see if he might have some chance of winning her before she hied off to London in search of another, but she had been gone before he had gotten the opportunity. All that was left of her presence had been these books. He snapped the second book shut as Max entered the drawing room.
“She is resting.”
“Is she terribly unwell? I should have never asked her to walk with me in the garden.” Graeme ran a hand through his hair. He had been worried about Bea ever since he had returned to the drawing room and heard that she had been taken home in a state of ill-health. In fact, he had slept very little last night as a result.
Max tipped his head and studied Graeme’s slightly disheveled appearance. He had obviously not shaven, and his hair was rumpled only a bit more than his cravat. It was unusual to see Graeme in such a state unless they were in London and had been out excessively late the previous night.
“Come to my study,” Max said with a nod of his head toward the door. “She will likely be down for tea in a few minutes, and I will ask her if she is feeling up to seeing anyone, although I cannot imagine her refusing to see you even if she is unwell.”
“It was not the walk in the garden,” Max continued as the two friends walked the short distance down the hall to Max’s study. “I do not know exactly what it was, but she came flying out of the library so quickly that I had to catch her to keep her from falling when she knocked into me. I had been on my way to check on her for Mother’s sake,” he explained.
“You have no idea what was the cause?” Graeme asked as he entered the study and took a seat in front of Max’s desk.
“No. I questioned her about what might have caused her to feel so unwell, but unless she took a chill from the open window, I do not know what it was.”
Graeme placed the books he carried on the desk. “I believe she left these behind in her haste.”
Max picked up one book, turned it over and then did the same with the other book. “She said there was nothing she wanted at Stratsbury.” He looked up at Graeme. “That is just how she said it as she rubbed her head and fought tears. It was very odd. I asked if she had not found the book for which she was looking — which we both know is an impossibility because she knows Stratsbury’s library so well — but she merely shook her head and repeated that there was nothing at Stratsbury for her.” He tipped his head again, and his brows drew together as he took in the ashen look on his friend’s face.
Nothing she wanted at Stratsbury? Graeme ran a hand through his hair again. He had known it might be a possibility that she would refuse him, but he had hoped.
“You do not look much better than Bea did last night,” Max commented.
“I did not sleep well,” Graeme muttered. “I was worried about Bea,” he admitted in answer to Max’s raised brows.
Max leaned back in his chair. Silence spread around the room, save for the light tapping of Max’s finger on the edge of the desk and the steady keeping of time by the clock. “Are you certain you do not wish to court my sister?” he asked without so much as the slightest twitch of his lips or twinkle in his eye. “You seem to care for her so very much.”
Graeme blew out a breath and scrubbed his face with his hands. He was weary, so very weary from not having slept and from worry. “I want to marry her,” he blurted. He rose from his chair and paced to the window, attempting to ignore the way Max’s mouth hung open. “I love her.”
“You love Bea?” Max could not contain his smile. “I know I have teased that you might, but I never imagined it to be true.”
“Neither did I.” Graeme glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Max. “I guess I knew I always cared for her, but I thought it was only because she was your sister and a friend.”
“So what changed?”
Graeme shrugged and turned to lean against the window frame. “My brother is an idiot.”
Max laughed. “That is not a new revelation to you. You have been saying so for years.”
“Yes,” Graeme agreed with a grin, “but when he took up with Miss Love and ignored Bea, he sunk to a new level of idiocy.” He shook his head. “The more I attempted to get him to realize his stupidity, the more I began to wish he would remain as he was. I did not wish for him to have Bea, but I persisted in my attempts because I wanted Bea to be happy.”
A flash of yellow outside the door Max had left open in hopes of seeing his sister on her way to tea caused Max to raise a hand, stopping Graeme’s confession. “Bea,” he called.
Bea turned and stood at the study door, pushing it open only a bit further.
“Graeme brought these for you.” Max indicated the book on his desk.
Bea’s gaze fell on the reminders of last night. “I will collect them later,” she managed to say. She wished to refuse them, to have Max return them at once to Stratsbury, so that she would not be reminded of the gentleman who had brought them. However, to do so would draw more suspicion from her brother. It had been difficult enough last night to plead a headache and a need for rest without giving away the broken state of her heart. Max could be quite perceptive at all the wrong times. Thankfully, he had seemed unwilling to press her then, but now, after she had had a good sleep and a quiet morning, she doubted he would be so obliging.
“Graeme had hoped to call on you.”
Bea bit her lip. Max’s head was doing that tipping thing. It was a sure indication that he was attempting to decipher something.
“He was concerned about you since you left in such a flutter.”
Bea’s eyes narrowed. “I do not flutter.”
Max stood. “Last night you did, and you are correct. It was very unlike you. Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes, thank you.” Better was not the same as well, she told herself to relieve the prick of conscience that accompanied her words.
“So you would not be opposed to entertaining a guest?”
Bea blinked, and her breath caught. She did not feel ready to face Graeme, if that is the guest to whom her brother referred, but having already said she was better, she like
ly had no recourse. “Has Mama invited someone to tea?”
Max’s lips twitched at the way his sister was attempting to play coy. “No, I asked you to stay, did I not, Graeme?”
“Indeed, you did.”
At the sound of his voice, Bea pressed a hand to her heart and closed her eyes for half a moment. When she opened her eyes again, her brother was looking at her in a very intense fashion.
“I should go see that things are ready then,” Bea said.
“No, you should come in here.”
Bea swallowed. Max rarely used that voice — the one that was low and calm and demanded obedience. She stepped into the room, taking care to greet Graeme with a smile and a nod before turning her attention to her brother.
“Come. Have a seat.” Max waved to a chair in front of his desk as he moved around to the front of his desk.
Bea did as instructed, warily perching herself on the edge of the chair.
“Would you like to tell me what it was in particular that made you so unwell last night?” Max asked.
Bea shook her head. “No.” Her face grew warm. She rarely refused to do as her brother asked.
Max crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. A smile played at his lips. “So it is something you wish neither Graeme nor me to know.”
Bea sighed inwardly. He was going to attempt to guess what was wrong until she finally gave in and told him. He had begun such a tactic last night, but when she had started to cry, he had stopped. She considered dredging up some tears now. It would not be terribly difficult to do. Her heart was still in a million bleeding pieces, after all.
“And it happened when you were in the library.” He rubbed his chin. “You told me that the window was open, and you were sitting near it. However, you do not seem to have caught a chill.”
“Your books were not near the window.” Graeme had taken the seat next to her.
“I moved away from the window after…” she snapped her mouth shut.
“After what?” Max asked.
“There were people in the garden, and I did not wish to pry into their business by listening to their conversation.”
“Everett and Miss Love?” Graeme asked.
Bea nodded. They had been in the garden. They were not the people that chased her away, but they had been there.
“I am sorry they upset you,” Graeme offered with a sad smile.
“Why should their being in the garden upset you?” Max asked.
“It is not their being in the garden but what they were doing in the garden,” Graeme said softly.
“What were they do –”
“They did not upset me,” Bea interrupted Max’s question. “I am not a fool. I knew Everett preferred her, and it is not as if I have never seen anyone kissing before. It happens frequently enough at assemblies.”
Max tipped his head. “Felicity had just returned to the house before you came crashing through the hall. Are you certain they did not upset you?”
Bea huffed. “I had a headache, my ankle hurt, and there was a tightness in my chest. Can I not have such without it being brought on by an emotional distress?”
“You can,” Max agreed. “In fact, you have had such on several occasions — often resulting in your being in bed for two days, and Mother threatening to call the apothecary. None of that happened, and you cried.”
He held her gaze for a moment before pushing off his desk. “I shall see if tea is ready, and you can see my sister to the drawing room in ten minutes. There is a matter I wish to discuss with my mother.” He gave a nod and a wink to Graeme and left before Bea could mount a protest.
Bea twisted her fingers in her lap. “Thank you for bringing the books,” she said, glancing up at Graeme.
“It was my pleasure. I must say I was surprised to find them and not you in the library.”
“My apologies. I was not well.”
“I had hoped to speak to you about something rather important.” He smiled at her when she looked up at him. “I was late arriving. I had to speak to my brother, first, you see.” He ran a hand through his hair and then rubbed both of his palms on his knees. Breathing was becoming difficult, and his heart was drumming an uncomfortably rapid beat. “I needed to ask him about his intentions to Miss Love and his opinion of you.”
Bea closed her eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “I heard.”
“You heard?” Graeme shook his head against the lightness he felt as his heart seemed to climb into his throat. Had she run away because she heard his confession of love for her to his brother?
She nodded, daring only to glance at him, but it was enough to see the pained expression on his face. “I did not mean to hear. I was moving away from the window, and your voices carried.”
“So I have no hope?”
Though his voice was soft, Bea could hear the agony in it. “Forgive me, but I do not understand,” she said, lifting her eyes to him. “Hope of what?”
“Hope of your ever returning my love,” Graeme replied.
Bea gasped. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out, so she closed it again.
Seeing her confusion, he continued, “I love you. Is there any hope that you could ever love me in return?”
Bea shook her head, and her mouth opened and closed once more before she found her voice. “You love me?”
A small glimmer of hope sparked in his heart. “Did you not hear me say as much to Everett?”
Bea blinked and shook her head. “No, you said you had never thought of me as anything other than Max’s sister.”
A smile spread across Graeme’s face. “You did not hear it all.”
“I did not?”
“No,” he said with a chuckle. “I asked Everett if he had ever thought of you as more than Max’s sister because I needed to know if he would be hurt if I declared myself to you. And he said — ”
“He had not,” Bea supplied. “And then you said you had not either.”
Graeme took her hands and slipped off his chair to kneel before her. “I had not considered you beyond that until recently while I was trying to help you win my brother’s affections. I kept comparing Miss Love to you and questioning how my brother could prefer someone who was so much –” he searched for the word to describe Felicity but could not come up with one and so settled on, “less than you, and I envied the fact that you loved him.” He continued, encouraged by the smile on her face. “Then, when Shelton came and paid attention to you, I cannot describe how jealous I was. I knew I did not want another man to claim you. But you loved my brother.”
She shook her head. “I did not love him. I only thought I did. I was infatuated with his pleasant manners and his serious nature, but I do not believe I ever truly loved him.” Her eyes dropped to look at the hands that held hers. “I knew it in an instant when I saw him kissing my cousin. I knew my heart should shatter, but it did not. My heart pinched with disappointment, but the disappointment did not crush me as I knew it should and as your words did.” She peeked up at him. “I love you, not Everett, only you.”
“You love me?”
Bea nodded. “I do.”
“Enough to marry me?”
Again, Bea nodded. “Yes.”
“You will be mine?”
Bea giggled as she nodded a third time. “Forever,” she assured him.
Graeme wanted to sweep her into his arms, but he hesitated. “May I kiss you?” he asked. A stolen kiss on the cheek was one thing, but a kiss such as the one for which he longed seemed to require permission.
Bea did not nod for a fourth time or tell him yes once again. She simply leaned forward and pressed her lips to his before saying with a playful smile, “You shock me with your reserve. I had not thought you capable of such.”
He rose from the floor and pulled her to her feet. “I did tell you that I was constitutionally incapable of not being shocking, did I not?” Her lips were still smiling with amusement in that beguiling way.
“Indeed, you did, Mr. Cl
ayton.”
“Graeme,” he corrected as he pulled her into his embrace and lowered his head to kiss her.
“Graeme,” she whispered against his lips.
“My beautiful Bea,” he replied before claiming her lips with a kiss that was deep and passionate, mingling their souls, declaring his troth, and marking her heart as his own.
Before You Go
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Turn the page to read an excerpt of another one of Leenie’s books
His Darling Friend Excerpt
[It seems Roger is going to the Abernathys’ house party after all. His Darling Friend is book two in the Touches of Austen Collection and gives a small nod to Jane Austen’s Emma.]
Chapter 1
Roger Shelton slumped down on the cream-coloured settee in the far corner of the Abernathy’s drawing room next to a pretty young lady whom he knew would not bat her lashes at him or smile coyly as all the other eager young women at this house party seemed wont to do. Not that he blamed them, of course. He would make a fine catch if he were ready to be caught.
“Why must we attend these things?” The petite blonde next to him whispered.
“Because neither you nor I are married, and our parents wish to be rid of us,” Roger replied.
How often had he heard his mother bemoaning his unmarried state to her mother, who would return her own tale of woe about having an unwed daughter? It seemed to be a frequent bent in nearly every conversation when their two families gathered for tea, dinner, or whatever excuse either her mother or his could conjure for themselves to be together.
