Forget Me Not (30 page)

“How can you be so sure?  Perhaps she’ll even come lookin’ for me,” Brian needled. To think he’d once believed General Covington an honorable man.

“Let’s just say Brandon is my little insurance policy. She marries Lord Northbridge or the boy goes to one of those miserable orphan’s homes. You’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Donnelly.”

Cold chills traced the length of Brian’s spine. “You son of a bitch. I won’t let you hurt them.”

“If you ruin this for me,” Sir William growled, drawing a small pistol, training the weapon on Brian’s chest with deadly intent. “I’ll murder you and leave your body on the moors for the wolves.”

Instinctively Brian stumbled back, powerless to stop the world crashing down around him.

“Get out, Donnelly. Now!  Before my patience runs out.”

Mind whirling, Brian stalked out of the study. Sir William would shoot him, of that he had no doubt, and he would be of no use t
o Lydia and Brandon with his brai
ns spilled on the carpet. He yanked open the study door, nearly colliding with a servant as he rounded the corner. He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered under his breath. “Not by a long shot.”

Brian strode coolly down the main hall to the door, grasping the handle and exiting the manse. Rain pummeled him as he jogged through the storm away from
Wheaton Abbey
.

Chapter Sixteen

Raindrops wept down the glass, the day’s stormy weather in perfect accord with Lydia’s mood. She rested her forehead against the chilly library window, battling the melancholy seeded in her soul.

A figure, hunched against the wind and rain, cut a swift path across the sweeping yards, traveling away from the Abbey. Lydia’s heart plummeted beyond what depths she’d believed possible. There was no mistaking the broad shoulders and confident carriage of the man battling the storm. Brian.
He’s leaving me, and all for 500 pounds.
Her throat constricted until she could scarcely breathe. Her father had taken great pleasure in relaying to her how easily Brian had been paid off. Lydia had little doubt Sir William had in fact threatened Brian the same as he had her, but it didn’t make the pain any more bearable. Her father had orchestrated his victory well. Despite her best efforts Lydia was still little more than a pawn in his end game.

Fingers shaking Lydia unfolded the letter she’d received that morning, reading Brian’s hastily scrawled words for the umpteenth time.

Forgive me, Lydia, my intention was never to hurt you. I wish you nothing but happiness.

             
             
             
Forever yours in friendship,

             
             
             
             
Brian.

             
Had he even written the words himself?  Or had her father scribed the note in Brian’s stead. She could never be sure. Absently Lydia turned the paper over, noting small letters scribbled along the side of the paper beneath the outer fold. She slid her thumb along the crease, flattening the page, squinting to make out the tiny words. Not English… Gaelic perhaps?

Lydia gasped, clasping the paper to her breast.
Grá mo chroí.
The very words he’d spoke while they made love. The note was genuine. Whatever the words meant, he loved her truly.

Lydia didn’t know whether to be thrilled or devastated by the revelation. If only she’d convinced him to run with her sooner… if they hadn’t been caught…  She shook her head,
listen to me
…
if only, if only…
  Life was not decided on
what
ifs
but on a willingness to take risks, to gamble. Lydia had gambled and lost, even if her father had unfairly stacked the deck.

With tear heavy eyes she moved away from the window and plopped onto a velvet cushioned chair. Hidden amongst the forest of shelves, books and furniture Lydia wanted nothing more than to disappear for an hour or two and reconcile the loss of her dreams.

“Rolland,” she tested the viscount’s name, it felt awkward on her tongue. “Mrs. Rolland Kensington. Mrs. Lydia Kensington.”

Oh, but I will not be a mere missus.

“Introducing the Viscountess of Northbridge, Her Ladyship, Lydia Kensington.”  The words sounded so absurd to h
er ears she actually laughed alou
d. She was not meant for anything so grand. All she wanted was a simple life. To be herself and to spend it with those who accepted her as she was without expectation. Tears swam before her eyes. “Mrs. Lydia Donnelly,” she murmured, the name so perfectly natural it may well have been her own. She wanted it as her own.

Brian’s ring, hidden beneath her bodice on a length of chain, burned into her flesh. She tugged the necklace, exposing Brian’s gift. The band winked in the soft light in silent testament to the unfulfilled promises it held.

The door creaked, alerting her of someone’s approach. She cringed, quickly dropping the ring beneath her dress, sending a silent prayer heavenward that it would not be Olivia. Enough hellfire and brimstone had been rained upon Lydia in the last few hours to last a lifetime or three. Dragging a long breath into her lungs, she struggled to compose herself, and finally turned. To her immense surprise the viscount himself stood just over the threshold.

“Good afternoon, Miss Covington.”  Stiffly he nodded, clasping his hands behind his back.

Lydia blinked back her astonishment and stood. “My lord.”  Automatically she dipped in a small curtsy.

Northbridge cleared his throat and glanced toward the window as though avoiding her gaze. “We have been betrothed for some time, but I fear there has been little opportunity to get to know one another. The days leading up to our nuptials are quickly waning. Could I entice you to come for a stroll through the orangery with me?”  The viscount smiled, a grimacing gesture that did not reach his dark, narrow eyes.

Oh, dear Lord, why now?  Why today? 
Nervously Lydia swallowed, though she had resigned herself to marrying Rolland Kensington, today of all days she could not bring herself to spend time alone with him. Memories of Brian were too fresh, the wounds too raw. “I appreciate the invitation very much, my lord, but I fear that I was just going to retire for a nap before the evening meal. Perhaps another time.”

A flicker of anger flashed through his eyes. “Then you will allow me to escort you there.”  The statement was not a request. One of his hands grasped her elbow.

She gasped, reflexively jerking away. Something in the gesture seemed oddly possessive.
He is just making an effort to be nice,
she reasoned, but the anger in his cold gaze remained fresh in her mind. She forced a smile, attempting levity. “I should hardly think that appropriate until after we are married.”

A second flash of roiling irritation lit the viscount’s eyes, his jaw clenched. His hand shot forward to snare her upper arm with more strength than she’d ever given him credit for. “I insist, Miss Covington.”

*
             
*
             
*

Torrential rain poured over Brian as he dashed back to the outer wall of
Wheaton Abbey.
He’d circled the barn, made a fine show of going back to his cottage, and he prayed none would see his return.
Sir William be damned
. Brian would more than speak with Lydia. He would take Brandon and Lydia away from the general’s
self-serving
threats. If necessary he’d toss the girl over his shoulder and kidnap her for real. The only matter left was how to escape the Abbey without Sir William or his lackeys being the wiser.

Is this the library? 
He shielded his face, and glanced through the window just above his head. Lydia was sure to be in one of three places—the library, the orangery or her bedroom. Towering shelves, loaded with books, stared back at him through the rain slicked window. Even Lydia’s feminine figure was visible through the blurry glass toward the back of the room.

“Thank God.”  Brian tested the window and easily swung it open. Scaling the slippery wall proved a bit more difficult, but he hauled himself bodily through the window, back into the dry confines of the house. By Christ, his ribs stung. Wiping the water from his eyes, he surveyed the library chalked full of shelves and books.

“Lydia?” he whispered. Where had she gone?  It was imperative he find her, and get the hell away from
Wheaton Abbey.

The rustle of skirts drew his attention, and a glimpse of Lydia behind through the slats of a tall shelf caught his eye.

Determinedly he strode forward. “Marry me, lass!  You’re all I could ever want or need in this life. I lo—” Brian stilled in absolute horror.

The huge happy eyes staring back at him from across the library were not Lydia’s… but Molly Porter’s.

He skidded to a halt. Christ, what a stroke of bad luck!

“Oh, Brian,” Molly cried, a huge grin splitting her pixie round face. Without warning she hurled herself across the room and into his arms. “I have waited so long to hear you say that. I can hardly believe it’s true. Of course I will marry you.”

Dumfounded and at a total loss for action Brian did nothing when she leaned forward to plant an exuberant—if sloppy—kiss on his lips. He gulped. By damn he felt like an ass. The girl looked so happy and all because he’d not had the sense to look before he leapt. “Molly, wait please.”  He grasped her upper arms pushing her from him.

“Why wait, Brian?  It is no matter if anyone should happen upon us now.”  Again she leaned in, pecking kisses along his cheek.

More firmly he held her back. “No, lass, I’m sorry, but there has been a terrible mistake. Ye see I—” All shimmering light drained from her eyes and her bottom lip quivered. The sight slammed him in the gut. “Molly, ye are a lovely girl, but I’m afraid ye’re not the girl for me.”  A tear tumbled over her bottom lid, plopping onto her rosy cheek. “When I came into this room, I had believed Miss Covington was here.”

“Miss Covington?”  Molly’s eyes widened in confusion then darkened as understanding set in. “
Miss Covington?
  But she is to marry the viscount!  Why would she marry
you
over a viscount?”

“Perhaps because she loves me as I love her.”

Molly backed away from him, shaking her head. “You are a foolish man to believe a woman like Lydia Covington could ever want you.”  Her face twisted into a bitter sneer as the sobs began. “That social climbing little tramp has gone as far as she could ever dream. Titles, prestige, fine clothes. She is to have everything!  Even you.”

In that moment Brian wanted nothing more than to slink out of the library and pretend this particular blunder had never happened. What a wretch he was proving to be. Causing two women to cry in one day’s time must be some form of record. However, leaving the distraught Molly would only prove that he was in fact a miserable wretch, and truth be told he couldn’t live with that. Molly was a sweet little thing, he couldn’t destroy her this way; the taste of rejection was acrid.

“Listen, Molly, please.”  Imploringly he held his palms out. “I cannot begin to tell ye how sorry I am for not bein’ more careful before openin’ me mouth. Understand, lass, I never meant to hurt ye or give any false encouragement. Lydia and I have been in love for some time now, several years in fact. I was so excited by the prospect of her bein’ my wife that I never thought to look before the words flew from me mouth.”

Staunchly, Molly’s chin jutted forward. “If she loves you so much then I wonder what she was doing in here
alone
with His Lordship, just a few minutes ago.”

“Miss Covington was alone here with the viscount?”

Pertly, Molly tipped her nose. “Yes. From the guilty way that she ran from this room I can only imagine what they were doing.”

“When Lydia ran from this room are ye certain she was guilty?  Or may she have been frightened?”  Urgently, Brian stepped forward, grasping her above the elbow. “Please, Molly, this is very important. What did ye see?”

Molly narrowed her eyes scathingly. “I came in to dust and found Lord Northbridge and Miss Covington already here. The two of them looked mighty cozy standing arm in arm by that there window, discussing his escorting her back to her chambers. Miss Lydia took one look at me and bolted through the door. She was guilty, Mr. Donnelly. Think twice on whether or not she really loves you.”

“Molly—”

Before he could finish, she blew past him and into the hall.

“Damn it,” he cursed. A shiver of unease swept his spine.

“Mr. Donnelly.”  A woman’s voice called from the back of the library. He turned to see the portly housekeeper, Mrs. Hayes, addressing him. “I came through the side entrance and also saw Miss Covington with Lord Northbridge. The door was wide open, and at first I was terribly embarrassed to intrude. Anyhow, His Lordship may have held Miss Covington’s arm but I wouldn’t call the manner cozy. His Lordship looked rather angry, and Miss Covington looked frightened when she fled the room”

The tickling of unease tripping up and down his spine flared to life, searing his senses. Something was wrong. What exactly he did not know, but he sure as hell would find out. “Where did she go?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Donnelly, all I saw is that she turned left leaving the library.”

Left. Was the orangery to the left?  “Did the viscount follow her?”

Mrs. Hayes shook her head. “Well, no. At least not right away. He left a minute or two after Miss Covington.”

“My thanks, Mrs. Hayes?  Would ye do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Would ye run up to Miss Lydia’s room?  If she is there come to the orangery and tell me. It is of the utmost importance.”

“I will, Mr. Donnelly, and I shan’t tell her of any of this affair.”

“Thanks to you again. I am beholdin’ to ye for this, and please, tell no one that ye’ve seen me here.”  Without another word Brian sped through the Library door, hastening to the orangery. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that the viscount and Lydia had been alone, except that Northbridge seemed put off by Lydia’s presence in a crowded room. Why would he suddenly desire her private company?  Moreover what reason would Lydia have to be frightened of Lord Northbridge?  She’d never openly feared the man before, yet it was the only logical reason Lydia would have for running from the room.

If the viscount touched or harmed her in anyway… Fists clenched at Brian’s sides…  God help him.