The Love List (27 page)

One quick glance over his shoulder.  She stood small and alone, yet ramrod straight, in the center of the devastation.  “Marstoke is mine either way, but I won’t lie.  The List would be a valuable tool to bring to the fray.  Send a courier with the manuscript to my home, should you care to.”

Looking ahead into the darkness, he strode away.

* * *

The truly emotional moments of your life are often too deep for tears.  Her mother had said that, once.  Watching Aldmere disappear, she felt fully qualified to authenticate the notion.

The dark swallowed him.  She looked down at the papers she still clutched tight and wondered why no one had ever told her that you could feel the exact moment you fell in love?

The thought was enough to break the dam.  Her eyes welled and silent tears began to stream.

She’d been inching her way toward it for days.  She’d taken his measure in the beginning and known that the rumors of his cold reserve were woefully inadequate.  Aldmere was purposefully distant, intentionally remote, and perpetually isolated in a tower of his own making.

And yet, he’d included her.  He’d touched her.  For her sake and against his own judgment he’d opened cracks in the tower wall and let her peer in.  She’d seen how horribly difficult it had been for him.  But in each instance, he’d done it to help her.  And she’d come a little closer to falling with each glimpse.

And now he’d done what no one else had.  He’d put her first.  Her interests ahead of his own, even though it meant a risk for his brother, even though it must be driving him mad. 

She stood alone.  Left alone in the dark, entrusted with the most difficult decision of her life—and she felt it happen.  Her metaphorical feet flew out from under her and she plunked right into love.

No dipping her toe in, either.  Not her.  This was a full immersion.  A dunking of every fiber of her being.

He’d understood.  Though he’d had a far better reason to than either Marstoke or her father, he hadn’t reasoned, cajoled, ordered or overpowered.  He’d listened.  He’d heard her.  He’d given her the choice.  And he would abide by her decision, she knew it beyond doubt.

Her heart raced.  Her pulse jumped.  This was love.  Everything she’d ever imagined—and feared.  It was wonderful. 

It was a disaster.

She’d had her taste and been glad of it.  Aldmere had heated her blood and more than lived up to her expectations.  But their paths were separating.  No matter what she chose to do with this manuscript, they would likely not see each other again.

Even if he were capable of returning her feelings, he wouldn’t allow himself to do it.  And she shouldn’t expect him to try.  Even should he manage it, how long would it last?  Neither the world nor their own inclinations would allow it to last.  She’d only be hurt and alone in the end.

Alone—and without the power she held now.  No.  Her decision had not yet been made.  She wouldn’t squander this gift away for something so fleeting as love.

Still, she felt grateful.  And defiant.  And desperately in need of advice.  She squared her shoulders and left the tower, intent on getting home, where she could find it.

Sixteen

After the wedding, we drove again into the countryside.  I was sorely disappointed in the Captain’s behavior.  All of the joy, excitement and simmering desire of our earlier meetings had disappeared.  He spoke only to say that he had arranged for us to spend the night and a few days at a friend’s hunting lodge.  He did not touch me, could barely meet my eye.  Dread built in my chest as we arrived in the pitch dark at a substantially sized cottage.  Captain Wilson retired to the parlor for a drink and left me to prepare myself.  I was put in the hands of a silent, stern-faced serving woman.

.—from the journal of the infamous Miss Hestia Wright

Mr. Bunter left at the crack of dawn, intent on delivering both her and the duke’s curricle back to Town.  The early chill bit hard, but Brynne welcomed it, hoping it would chase away the last, lingering feelings of helplessness left by her cursed dream.  She could swear she’d only dozed as she’d waited for morning, but it had been time enough for the cold talons of the nightmare to sink in.

They lost their grip as the curricle moved quickly, blending in with the farm traffic heading in to the city’s markets.  In a remarkably short time she had bid the kind gentleman farewell and was allowing Isaac to usher her into the house on Craven Street.  All lay quiet, though Hestia was already hard at work at her desk.  Brynne gripped the Love List and paused on the threshold of the sitting room, uncertain and caught in an incredible yearning for comfort.

As if she’d heard the silent call, Hestia looked up.  She lit up with pleasure and relief, but her expression changed as she steadily met Brynne’s gaze.  Without a word, she stood up and opened her arms.

Choking back a sob, Brynne flew into her embrace.  Hestia might look nearly celestial with the morning sunlight streaming over her shoulders, but Brynne sighed as she settled into her arms and the earthy comforts of warmth and support.

“The dream,” Brynne whispered.  “It’s plaguing me again.”  It wasn’t what she’d meant to say first, but out it popped.

“I’d be surprised if it did not, considering what you’ve been going through these last days.”  Hestia sighed and stroked her hair.  “My poor girl.”  She set her back and an arched a brow at the papers clutched between them.  “Perhaps it will be vanquished, now that your mission was a success.  Though I can see the cost has been dear.”

Fresh tears welled.  “It will be the cost of my failure that will be dear.”

She had to look away from Hestia’s puzzled frown.  Tossing the manuscript on the desk, she pulled her mentor to a chair and poured out the entire tangled tale.  She was ruthless in the telling, too, leaving out none of her own feelings or foolishness.

Hestia sat back when she had finished.  Her mentor uttered not a word, merely stared heavenward, the slightest frown marring her lovely brow.  “Marstoke is playing deep with this maneuver,” she said at last.  “Bad enough he’s targeting you and me with this List, now he’s moving into some treacherous political waters.  So he defames the Princess Caroline, what end result is he after?”

“Aldmere says he means to stir the people against the Prince Regent.”

“Well, this will do it.  There are a great many people already disgusted with him.  But there must be more to it than that.”

“Hatch spoke of a change that was coming.  In the order of things.  She spoke with . . . a strange zeal.  She sounded like a reformer.”

Hestia frowned.  “The foreign dignitaries.  The timing of it, it must be linked to them.”  Brynne watched her eyes, focused far away, making connections she couldn’t see.  “Half of them are related to Caroline.  So far they’ve been persuaded not to visit with her or interfere in her estrangement with the Prince, but they won’t like to see her insulted like this, and made into an even bigger spectacle.  Relations are already strained between them and the Regent.  This could end the visit on a disastrous note.”  She blinked.  “It could also persuade them to look closer at England’s succession.  It is already being quietly whispered in certain circles that the real reason the Grand Duchess Catharine came early to England was to prevent the Princess Charlotte’s betrothal to William of Orange.” 

She shook her head.  “I will write a few letters, but I don’t have enough information.  Something’s missing.”  She glanced over at Brynne with sympathy in her eyes.  “And we have our own worries and work that must be done now, do we not?”

“Where’s Callie?” Brynne asked miserably.

“Still asleep, for once,” Hestia answered.  “And there’s no need to disturb her.”  Her wry grin lifted Brynne’s spirits for a moment.  “I think we know what her counsel will be.”

“Yes.”  Brynne sighed.  “It’s your counsel I need now.”

Hestia’s smile gentled.  “I think you know what that will be, as well.”

She dropped her head in her hands.  “Yes, I know.”  Desperate confusion surged up from her chest and leaked into her voice.  “I know I must give the List over.  Of course I must.”

“Lord Truitt’s safety must come before our reputations.”

“I know.  It’s just—”  She couldn’t articulate all that she felt.

“I understand,” Hestia said gently.  “And I’m grateful that at least a part of your hesitation is on my behalf.”  She sighed.  “It will be a hard blow, and no mistake.” 

Her mentor looked serious, but calm.  Brynne wondered at her control.

“I’m afraid we’ll all see significant damage from this maneuver.”  Hestia’s expression hardened.  “But we will survive.  We will go on.  We will continue to help as best we can.”  She shrugged.  “It is what we do, my dear.”

“Yes.”  Brynne sighed and straightened.  “We will.  And I’ll start by giving Aldmere the list.  I knew I would turn it over—even as he gave me the choice.”  She shook her head.  “It’s just, somehow I couldn’t do it right then.  Right away.”

Hestia nodded.  “It was best that you did not.”

Her breath caught and she had to force herself to meet Hestia’s eye.  “It was the act itself.  It felt so momentous, handing over that sheaf of papers.  To Aldmere.  It scared me witless.”

A knowing smile lit Hestia’s face.  “Many people have difficulty giving themselves over to love, my dear.  But you?  You are bound to have more trouble than most.”

Brynne’s jaw dropped.  One simple declarative sentence, so very many pitfalls.

Hestia only shrugged again.  “You did just the right thing.  It
is
a momentous occasion, in so many ways.  It deserves to be marked.  Remembered.”  She pointed with an elegant finger.  “Make no mistake.  You are surrendering that manuscript, with all the many implications that go with the act.  But you are also surrendering to love, Brynne.”

Brynne opened her mouth, but only a squeak emerged.

“Do you think to deny it?”

“I . . . I don’t know.  The manuscript, yes.  But . . . the rest?”  She dropped her head once more.  “I fear I cannot do it,” she whispered.

“Of course you
can
, dear.  But will you?”  Hestia sighed.  “Such an act takes a great deal of courage.”  Her lips pursed.  “Now courage you have never lacked, but you do have a weak spot, darling.”

Brynne swallowed.  “More than one, I fear.”

Hestia chuckled.  “I have enjoyed having you here, Brynne.  I’ve taken pleasure in watching you come back to yourself, too.  You rose out of that fog of anger and fear so much more quickly than I could have anticipated.  But you did it by latching firmly onto the notion of control.  In all of the work you’ve done in the past weeks, selling your jewels, hatching your plans, recruiting for Le Cygne, even hiring your land agent, you’ve gripped the reins tight and allowed work and your command of it to pull you free.”

“Is there something wrong with that?  It’s given me purpose.  The same kind of purpose that you used to make yourself a new life.”

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with it.”  Hestia touch on her hand was soft, supportive.  “Until it comes to love, dear.  Control has no place there.  Love is about surrender, acceptance and trust.”

Feeling panicked, Brynne pulled away.  “I’m not even sure such a thing exists!  Not the fairy tale, forever after sort of love!”

“Of course it does,” Hestia answered firmly.  “Not for everyone, perhaps.  We are lucky, those of us who find love at all.  It comes in so many forms, sizes and shapes—and nothing is so easy as to turn away from it.  To reject it because it doesn’t come at the right time or from the expected person.”  Brynne nearly felt the keen eye that Hestia ran over her.  “Some may deny it because it is fleeting, fading or not meant to last.”

Hestia straightened.  “Not all love does last, but that doesn’t mean that it is not real.  Lovely.  Transforming.  And worth the price.”  She stood and her smile caressed like a balm.  “If there is joy and wonder to be had between you, will you turn from it because it might be short-lived?”

“I might,” Brynne answered honestly.  “I might have to, if only to protect myself.”

Hestia shrugged.  “Every decision has rewards and consequences.  You must weigh them all, of course.  And some decisions are more difficult than others.  The hardest thing in the world is to leave yourself vulnerable.  It takes true courage and strength.”  She stepped away, towards her desk.  “So I repeat to you, dear.  Yes, you can do it.  But will you?”  She shrugged.  “Think about it, dear.  And I’ll start trying to deflect some of the damage we will see when that List comes out.”

Brynne turned away.  A low fire burned and she stared into it, sending thanks drifting up and out along with the smoke.  She had to feel gratitude for a friend as honest, generous and
ruthless
as Hestia.  She glanced over.  Her mentor had seated herself at the desk again and was industriously writing.

How?  How had Hestia Wright become so . . . amazing?  Brynne suspected it had come from hitting moments like this—times of turmoil, strife and choice—and facing them head on.  With honesty, as she had said.  By refusing to hide from hard truths and her true self.

Time and hardship, adventure and accomplishment had no doubt honed Hestia, and revealed all the many layers of her true self.  But what about Brynne Wilmott?  Who was she?

The fire glowed industrially, but refused to answer.  She was forced to consider the question herself.

A problem solver—that was often how she viewed herself.  She saw something broken and she fixed it.  She saw a need and did her best to fill it.  She’d done it in her role as her father’s housekeeper and hostess.  She’d done it again when she found her situation with Marstoke unbearable.

But that solution had also become a problem, had it not?  Perhaps it
was
time for some hard truths.  She’d huddled upstairs, caught by fear because she found herself scorned, reviled and utterly helpless to do anything about it—but also because she’d found herself utterly alone.  In the dark and empty place that she’d feared, she realized, since her mother had died.  Alone.  Adrift.  Belonging to no place and no one.