Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) (38 page)

The entire time, she had to keep a shell of composure, regardless of how it felt
. Averill smiled at anyone who smiled. Nodded at anyone who did so. She clung to the shadows, avoiding anything to do with speech. She wondered then if that was why everyone she’d met in the highest level of social strata acted so patently fake. Were they all presenting a false image to the world? Was it possible? Was it protection? Self-preservation and defense? Perhaps they all faced some sort of nightmare. Their world could be as black as hers had just turned. Exactly as nightmarish. Possibly even as endless.

T
he worst part however, was…she’d put herself there.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Averill clicked the portmanteau closed, aware of how loud that noise was in the stillness. And then she shook her head. The ball was still taking place three stories below her. Everyone was busily engaged at making the evening a success. Tenny might still be arguing with his uncle. He might even be on his way to Paris and another conquest. It didn’t matter. What mattered right now was escaping and then disappearing. It had to happen that way. She’d made the decision. She and Andrew had to reach the rented house in London. There, they could hide until Hortense paid passage to Venice. The woman was already paying. Averill had filched a ten pound note and three shillings from her mother’s room on the way to the nursery.

That was after she’d changed from the white vision of a dress into her darkest, most serviceable tweed outfit
. Beneath that, she wore a nightgown. Over the whole was a cloak. It was a heavy outfit, and it itched, but she’d already made that decision. She’d already tried to pack clothing and essentials, paring things down, trying to find room. She’d already failed. She couldn’t bring anything for her. It was a waste of time to rue it now.

The nanny’s door
remained closed. Averill sighed in relief.

“Hush, my angel.” 

She held Andrew in the crook of her arm. He snuggled against her and went back to sleep. It would be a horrid walk to the posting station – almost six miles, if she remembered right. But she didn’t even know how to saddle a horse. And she daren’t order a carriage. The stables were bound to be busy with all sorts of groomsmen and equipage. She’d have to avoid them. She’d also have to skirt the main drive, but the grounds were well-maintained. She could use the shrubs that lined it for cover. And maybe…if she were truly lucky…she’d run across another traveler on the road once she reached it. And maybe, he’d be inclined to offer a ride to a young woman and her infant, without expecting payment. And maybe, she was just making things worse.

The odds were already stacked
against her. They were becoming insurmountable.

She was
leaving her paint supplies, wearing her only change of clothing, and carrying Andrew. She’d have to be strong enough to carry the portmanteau as well. She needed it. She couldn’t manage without Andrew’s clothing, swathing material, and blanket. She
had
to be strong enough to carry it.

Perhaps this was what the Bible meant when it spoke of repentance
. It certainly felt like she’d found purgatory. The stone weight was even keeping her company, sitting in the depths of her belly, twisting ominously more than once. It wasn’t going to go away.

She was
so tired of running, but she never seemed to have the choice.
Dona
Francesca would sponsor her. If she didn’t, Averill would seriously have to consider girding Avery and his Islamic wife in Egypt. She’d worry about that when she had to.

They
reached a servant staircase without incident. This one was rarely used. She’d found it when they’d first arrived. Before she’d taken on airs and joined the nobility by moving to a state bedroom. Why had she been so stupid as to reveal anything? She could have stayed here in the servant wing, blissfully unaware of any happenings in the castle. But no. She’d spoken up. And now she reaped the result.

This particular staircase was very narrow
. It wasn’t well lit, but she knew it would end at the tradesman foyer just the same. She’d just have to trust the area would be empty this time of night. And it should be. Every servant had appeared to be needed for the ball.

The
satchel knocked against her ankle on a step. Averill lost her grip on it and nearly fell. It didn’t hurt. Nothing as mundane as physical suffering seemed like pain anymore, but she’d almost lost her balance and dropped her baby!

The
leather bag bounced down several steps. It sounded loud, but she didn’t care. She grabbed the stair-rail in one hand and held Andrew tightly with the other. She felt ill. Weak. Her legs were too shaky at the moment to support her. She slid to a step, landed heavily, and just sat there. Holding Andrew. Breathing in the wondrous baby smell of him. Keeping him close. Pondering her options.

The
portmanteau had finished falling. It was somewhere in the gloom beneath them. The echo of its passage died away. She didn’t care where it had landed. Or how. Everything in the physical realm was replaceable. Nothing mattered beyond the knowledge that Andrew hadn’t been injured. He was safe. Well-fed. Warm. Beloved beyond measure.

What was she doing
? She didn’t have time for this! She’d already made her choice. She had to get to the posting house. Then London. Then Venice. She had six miles to walk. This staircase was but the first small step. And she was wasting time again.

“Andrew love
. My dearest love.” 

She
held him with one arm and used the other to grip the railing and help her stand. She should have known her penance included this. She should have known it the moment he was born.

“I’ll have to come back for you, I think
. That would be best. Now, don’t cry, love. I’ll return for you. I promise.” 

How can I even think of it?

The stone weight lurched with a crippling motion. Averill gripped Andrew tighter. Her arms would be so empty. She didn’t even know how much it would hurt. It was hard to put measurements on pain anymore, she decided. Each life event seemed to multiply it. She turned back the way she’d come and started mounting steps. One. Another. Somehow they got easier. Maybe she had some of Hortense in her, after all.  

Andrew was sleeping soundly as she reached the nursery
. It was just as well. If she intended on ripping out her heart, the fact that he was asleep through it shouldn’t matter. She was crying before she reached his room, making it difficult to see as she placed him back in cradle, and covered him.

“I
will return for you, little one. Your mother does want you that much...never you fear.” 

She wiped
at tears before they fell and struck his cheek. She was cold. Bone-chillingly cold. Despite the layers of clothing and cloak wrapped about her. Cold. And miserable. And completely drained. The baby moved a fist, putting it to his mouth in a sucking motion. Oh! How could she bear it?

Averill backed a step, stumbled
. Almost fell. That’s when she knew.

She didn’t have enough of Hortense in her
.

She
couldn’t bear leaving her baby, and she knew it. That left her only one option. She had to survive her stay at Tennison Hall. Finish what portraits the earl required. Hide everything behind a façade.

And avoid anything to do with
the heir of it all, Andrew Tennison.

She turned her back on the cradle
, set her shoulders, and left. The stone weight didn’t even twinge.

CHAPTER FORTY

Her room felt different. Warm. Bright. She didn’t remember leaving a light source. There was a candelabra positioned atop her bureau. She wondered who would bring such a thing. And leave it burning. Didn’t anyone understand the dangers of fire?

S
omeone had altered the area. Someone had brought the knight painting to her room. Propped it against a wall. Averill stopped. Stared. The stone weight shifted, sending little spikes of pain with every heartbeat. There was Andrew, painted as she’d seen him with her mind’s eye, her dream lover…her soul-mate. Averill’s eyes narrowed. Had she really painted him so sad?

It had to be a trick of the light
. Averill blinked around tears that were becoming her life’s bane. She pressed her fingers to her eyes next and actually managed to staunch them. Before the emotion became sobs.

“
Hello, Averill.”

Tenny spoke from somewhere behind her
.

Averill g
asped. The weight in her belly changed. It wasn’t a stone, anymore. It was more like a hot coal.

“You’re not
running away again, are you? Aren’t you even going to wait for the reunion this time?”

“Don’t,” she whispered.

“Don’t what?”

“Lie.”

Something slammed. As if he’d flung a chair. Or the dressing screen had fallen. She didn’t move to check. The candles flickered. She waited for him to say something. The condemnation in his silence was like a smothering weight. It added to the one she was already carrying in her belly, making her hunch forward slightly. She didn’t hear him approach, but she knew he did. She felt him behind her.

“You’d better have a damned good reason for saying that, Averill
. Damned good.”

“Go
...away,” she replied.

“
Oh. Not by a long shot. Not until I find out what the hell is going on.”

Averill wrapped both arms about her
self. Tightened them. The stone weight actually grew heavier and hotter.

“
Damn it, Averill, turn and face me! You can do that, can’t you? Face me and say something this time. Give me a chance. Tell me why. Is that so much to ask?”

He put his hands on her
shoulders and turned her to face him. Her arms unwrapped and her hands slammed against his chest in a subconsciously defensive move. She knew he realized it by the hitch in his breath. She kept her eyes on his neck cloth.

“Look at me, Averill
. Look up right now. Into my eyes. Tell me you never want to see me again. And then make it believable. Do it. Go on.”

“I can’t,” she
replied.

“Is that why the moment I find you, you sneak away
? Because you can’t face me and do it?”

She nodded.

“But, why, Averill? Don’t you think I deserve that much?”

“Because...I love you,” she whispered.

“How can you say that?”  His hands shook, making her shake, too. “Every time I find you, and God knows it’s difficult, you leave! You send me back into my own private hell, because I’m not enough for you.”

“
Oh no, Tenny. No. You were always enough. More.”

“Then
why
?”

He
released her and stepped back. She looked down at the tips of his boots. He didn’t look to have changed clothing. He sounded injured. Pained. The hot coal seemed determined to make certain she felt it, too, as it twisted within her.

“Perhaps…you should ask Harvey.”

“What the hell does Harvey have to do with anything?”

Averill
kept her gaze on his boots. Dusty with his ride. Worn with use. She opened her mouth and started speaking, but it was in a hesitant whisper.

“
Harvey…spoke to me. When I went back to…the inn.”

“What inn?”

“The one we stayed at…outside Istanbul.”

“Go on.”

“I didn’t stay at the…medical station with my burns. I let you believe that, but it wasn’t true. I could barely walk but I went to the inn. And Harvey was there.” 

Her voice grew stronger
. She’d been stupid. He was an aristocrat. He knew the social boundaries. He’d been the one who’d first told her of them. What did it matter if he knew how she’d found out?

“Go on.” 

It sounded like he was speaking from between clenched teeth.

“
I…didn’t want to leave you. I would have done anything to get to you. That’s why I was missing when you first came for me. I tried to get to your ship. I was stupid. I should have stayed, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Something had changed
. He was breathing harder. Faster. As if angry. She didn’t glance up to check. She was too afraid.

“
When was this, Averill? Exactly.”

“At
…the fire. I got back to your friend’s house. I was there…when you called for me. I tried to get your attention, but you didn’t see me. Only Harvey did.”  Her voice was missing before she finished.

“
Oh, my God! I’ll
kill
him with my bare hands!”

“
No, Tenny! Please? Listen! Don’t you understand? I love you, but I wasn’t acceptable. How I found out doesn’t matter, does it?”  She choked back a sob. “I’d never hurt you. Harvey knew that. I couldn’t stay. I would’ve hurt you.”

“
Averill, please? It only hurts when you leave me.”

“You don’t hear how people talk
! They say terrible things. Horrible things! I’ve heard them. I won’t have it happen to you. I won’t! I’ll do anything to stop that.”

He placed his hands gently on her shoulders
. “You left me, so I’ll be accepted by society? Oh, Averill. Don’t you know me better than that? I couldn’t care less about the title. Don’t you understand yet? I love you. I won’t say that to anyone else. Ever. I love you. And only you. I swear it.”

Her heart pulsed with a heave
that should have toppled her. Averill clenched her hands into fists against her face. How could he say such a thing to her? She couldn’t imagine how his wife might feel.

“I’m
sorry, Tenny.”

She bowed her head, unwilling to look at him
. She couldn’t say the words. They were caught in her throat. Living in the shadow world as his mistress wouldn’t be enough for her, and that’s all he offered. That’s all he’d ever offered.

“About what now?”

“Leaving.”

“Oh no
. No. There’ll be no talk of leaving me.”

“I can’t stay
. Surely you know that.”

“
How am I supposed to know anything? Answer me that. I’ve been searching for you everywhere. For months! Checking every lead. Following every clue. And just when I’ve about lost hope, I find you. Here. With my son. At the Hall. Almost like you’re both waiting for me. Yet, before I can even get to you, you’re already packed and ready to flee again? And I don’t even get to know why?”

“Please don’t do this,” she begged.

“But you’ve just said how you love me. Was that a lie?”   

“I love you more than life itself.”

He had to bend closer to hear her whisper.

“Then don’t talk of leaving me again.”

Talk won’t stop it,
she thought
. Nothing will
. The next moment she was in his arms, held close against him.

“Averill,
please. Listen to me. You don’t harm me. I went mad after you left me in Venice. I was at my wit’s end. I didn’t know what I’d done, but I had to find you. I followed you every step of the way. To Cairo. I found the mission. I met Avery and his wife…I mean, the Islamic one. They told me the story. I know about the marriage. I know you’re legitimate. I know your mother is Lady Hortense Limley, and that she’s a horrible example of womanhood. I don’t even wish to make her acquaintance, let alone claim her as a relative. But I will. Look at me!”

He lifted her away from his chest
. She must not be good at hiding yet, for his eyebrows drew down as he searched her face.

“You’re every bit as socially acceptable as I am
. Our love doesn’t harm anything or anyone.”

“Tenny?” 

She put her hands on his chest and pushed, the move silently begging for release. He opened his arms and she stepped back from him. One step. Then, another. She’d have to say it aloud. She wondered how he could act so loving toward her, when he had nothing to offer that she would accept. She turned her back on him, focused on the knight sitting just below her shoulder level.

“I can’t stay with you, Tenny
. Even if you know everything. I still can’t stay.”  She looked over to the knight for reassurance. Strangely, she felt she received it.

“Give me a reason, Averill
. Tell me why you’d leave me. Tell me something I’ll believe.”

She straightened her back
. “I wouldn’t do that...to your wife.”

She
didn’t have long to wait for his reaction. To her amazement, he chuckled, and then he threw back his head and laughed. He was still laughing as she turned back toward him.

“You listened when I spoke to my uncle, didn’t you
? Oh, Averill, how can you be so incredibly, wonderfully foolish?”

“I’m not foolish!” 
Her hands balled into fists again. “You said you were married. I heard it. You said you eloped years ago. I heard you say that, too. And I won’t be your mistress! You hear me? I won’t live in the shadow-land Antonio showed me. I won’t!”  She shook so badly, her words jumbled together.

“Mistress?”  Both
his eyebrows shot up. “Well. I never offered you that position.”

Averill
’s mouth dropped open. What was he offering, then? Artist and sometime lover?

“I meant you, Averill
. You. If you had listened to the entire conversation, you would’ve heard me. I told him I was married to Averill Ben-Masiz, although, when I first got a marriage license, I didn’t even know your last name.”

“M
-m-marriage license?”  She felt faint, and swayed with it.

“Here.” 

He reached beneath his vest. Pulled out a leather-covered pack. Spent countless moments unfastening the tie and unrolling what turned out to be a document holder. The fiery weight in her belly changed. Losing some of its grip on her. Averill walked three steps to a chair and collapsed into it just as her knees gave way.

“I wasn’t
entirely truthful with you in Venice. I did leave England in the clothes I wore, but I stopped to purchase this first. I had it arranged the instant I found you, but you ran away. Here.”  He handed her a long piece of parchment, tri-folded. Crumpled a bit around the edges. Creased. “I was always offering you the position of my wife. I love you. I told you so in Selantepe. Look for yourself.”

She opened the document
. It was a marriage license, and beneath all of Tenny’s names and titles it listed the bride as Averill –
Last name unknown.
Her hands shook so badly, the certificate fell to the floor.

“How could you have thought differently?”

“But Harvey said—”

“I told you
once it didn’t matter what all the Harveys in the world say.”

“I
…never wanted to hurt you,” she said, looking deeply into his eyes, feeling such a surge of hope, she had to be glowing with it. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

“
Averill. I love you. The only thing that could hurt me is if you leave me again.”

“What about the earl?”

“Oh. He’ll come around. Even if he doesn’t, what’s to stop us from leaving? I’m not tied to the Hall. If I’m disowned, I can always go to my mother’s family. She was a French émigré. You’ve met her family, I believe. Dachon.”

“The
Comte
?”

“The same
. And when I’d found you’d sold him my painting? Well. He’s lucky he is related as closely as he is. I don’t lose many duels.”

“You
’re related to…Dachon?” 
Was the world truly that small?

He took a deep breath
.

“
Averill. I told you I’m the black sheep. Remember? It wasn’t all entirely due to my behavior. My parent’s marriage probably raised more than one brow. They had different views of the French during the war years, despite the fact that Dachon is an old title.
Ancient Regime
. My mother’s antecedents go back to the siege of
Orleans
. Fifteenth century. As for my father? Well. He was the younger brother to the Earl of Tennison, and once it became obvious Uncle Theamus would remain childless, I became instantly suitable as heir. I’ll be the twelfth Earl of Tennison. I’ve been told what that means for years. Preached to, at length, about how much heraldic weight the position carries. And I have to tell you exactly what I told my uncle. I don’t care. Love trumps everything. The title can go to another Tennison, if my uncle can find one. Being earl means nothing to me without you, Averill.”  He shrugged. “Less.”