What the Marquess Sees (32 page)

But her laugh didn’t hold a trace of humor. She was testy. Probably due to an entire week of inactivity.

Well, that was fine. Cliff was mad, too.

She crossed her arms and glared at him.

He glared back. He was taller. And bigger. And thirty going on two.

“I did what I had to do. I won’t apologize for it, either. If you’re expecting one, then you don’t know me half as well as you think you do.” She countered.

“No, I know you’re not going to be reasonable and say you’re sorry for endangering yourself and driving me half mad with worry. But I wish you would consider for one single moment what kind of hell you just put me through. You could have died!”

“What of it? At least that madman wouldn’t have been around to hurt anyone else. Do you think I was the only woman he’d hurt? I doubt it.”

That stopped him. Hell, he hadn’t even considered that. He felt a moment’s pity for the other women who’d had to endure his brother’s depravity. The horror they must’ve endured. He resolved to find them any way he could and make amends.

But for now…

Beatryce turned and faced away, a moment of sadness seemed to envelop her.

“Bea?” He reached for her and pulled her in his arms. “What is it? What is the matter?”

She snuggled closer and squeezed him. “I’m just feeling a slight…” She looked at him and smiled “…slight, mind you, pang of…worry about my future. It’ll be vastly different now, though I know I’ll manage…It’s just become real to me now.” Her voice trailed away as if she was momentarily lost in her thoughts of the future. He had an answer for that, too.

But he let her continue; clearly she had more to say. “For a moment there, I simply didn’t know how I was going to carry on. It’s so hard.”

“You could marry me?”

“What?”

“I said…”

“I heard you. I just cannot believe those words even came out of your mouth in reference to me. You do realize I’m not some broken, stray dog for you to fix?”

“Aren’t you?”

She almost laughed. Almost. She shook her head, no, instead.

“How can you love me when I’m so bad?” She said instead.

“Damned if I know…” She looked at him, surprised. She started to sputter out a response…

“Bu…But…I…”

He laughed.

“I admit you have been…bad. But, I think, if I’m not mistaken, that you have some sense of remorse…” She looked at him with some doubt. “…a small hint of remorse…” She yet held on to that reservation. “…a wee, tiny, barely noticeable minute morsel of doubt…” She laughed; he with her. “Does it excuse your behavior? Not always; not entirely. But then who in this world is perfect? Certainly not me. Perhaps you have been worse than others, but no one else has ever had to walk in your shoes…to endure what you’ve endured and survive…to protect your family at the expense of their love for you…to do what you must, no matter how distasteful, in order to make your escape…I get it now. I do.”

She smiled then. A full smile that lit up her face and made her eyes all but glow.

“Bea, the truth is…I want to laugh with you until our sides hurt. I want to dry your tears, and you mine. I want adventures with you by my side; I want boredom until we both want to cry. I want to break fast with you each morn and sup with you each night. I want you in my arms when I go to sleep, and there again when I wake in the morn. I want to experience joy with you, and sorrow. I want all of it…the good, the bad, and the mundane. I want life. With you.” He touched her face. Then, he said…

“I love you.”

Bea looked down and touched her forehead to his chest…not quite the reaction he was hoping for.

She shook her head, but her hands wandered his back, a contradiction to her implied no.

“Cliff…” His heart picked up speed. She called him by his given name. It gave him hope.

She pulled back and looked at him; held his hands in hers. “I am flattered…”

He heard the ‘but’ before she said it…He saw her lips form to make the sound of a B and started shaking his head no preemptively.

She ignored that and said that hated word anyway. “But I don’t see how we can possibly have a future…” She held her hand up. “Don’t interrupt. You see me, now please, hear me.” She swallowed and took a moment’s pause. Then, on a sigh, she began, somewhat less steadily. “I-I was raped by your brother as a child. I know that isn’t your fault, you had nothing to do with it. Yet I still feel it is a problem that stands to come between us if we’re not careful. If that is not bad enough, I killed your brother. I know you never held a high regard for him. He was cruel, and you were young when you thought he’d died. But he was still your brother. Your flesh and blood. And the thought of me killing him would weigh heavily on your mind at times…do not deny it, for I wouldn’t believe you. It would threaten to come forth whenever we had a fight. And we would fight, from time to time.

“And if only that were all…” She shook her head. And continued.

“I have no remaining respect in society. I don’t care nor do I wish to return to that life. I cannot risk my sisters’ safety to be a part of your world. But it is your world; you have no choice. You have an obligation to the marquisate you cannot ignore.” Her voice trailed off. He could see the pain in her eyes despite her words of rejection. She wanted to say yes; he could see it as plain as day.

“Are you finished?” He couldn’t give her a chance to continue. She’d find something else and something else…excuse after excuse.

She nodded her head.

“None of that matters to me. You’re smart. I’m smart. We’ll manage. I love you. And do you know one final reason…the best reason…why we should marry?”

“No…but I suspect you’re going to enlighten me.” She looked skeptical.

He smiled then, wide and full. He tried to exude confidence with his grin, but beneath the surface he was scared to death.

He tilted her chin and spoke carefully. “You love me.”

She smiled at that, though a little surprise was evident.

He continued, “I’ve seen it in your eyes when you let down your guard. I know you do.”

She didn’t try to deny it.

“You have to trust me, Bea.”

But she didn’t. Nor did she change her mind.

He could add stubborn to her list of characteristics.

“Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for.”

―Joseph Addison

Bloomfield Park…

One Week Later…

She was gone. Off to her little cottage. Living on her own.

And he was lost within this great big house with only the servants, Aunt Harriett, and Grace and Ambrose for company.

They were all present under this massive roof Aunt Harriett called home. But he wasn’t. Present that was. Oh, sure, he was here physically. But his heart wasn’t. It was ten miles down the road in a little cottage beside a field of green. It belonged to a woman who was stronger and braver than anybody he’d ever known.

And he was slightly the worse for drink because of it. As he had been all week.

He rolled over in bed on a groan and rubbed his face in his pillow. Back and forth. Back and forth. Until he thought he might have rubbed away his eyebrows. He would suggest this to Ambrose. The sensation was somewhat numbing to his face.

What was she doing right now? It was mid-morning. Was she in bed? Lighting a fire? Exercising?

God, why did he torment himself this way? Wondering about her. He should be trying to forget her. She’d made her choice. He esteemed her enough to respect her decision.

What he really wanted to do was grunt like a beast, beat his chest, and claim her as “Mine.” His emotions ran the gamut of feelings. From irritation to misery to numbness to…nothing.

He made a wide berth of grief. He feared if he looked too closely at despair, he might never recover.

He wanted to growl. He wanted to hold on to her and force her to stay. Give her absolutely no choice whatsoever.

Of a sudden, the door to his room opened. He sat up in bed, cursing the additional light and the interruption to his misery. He was hung over and irritable and on the brink of utter grief. He knew it was true—he could feel it creeping up on him slowly but surely.

He was certainly in no mood to deal with people who would interfere with his wallowing.

But it was Aunt Harriett. He couldn’t very well kick her out.

And she was scowling. Which provided him with something new to be concerned about.

Worse, she had a hold of her umbrella.

The Umbrella.

She walked across his room with It clutched firmly in her grasp. She was headed straight for his side of his bed.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t look away.

And she most definitely wasn’t happy.

When she reached his side, she didn’t pause. She raised that infernal Umbrella and whacked him right over the head with it. Without even a moment’s hesitation or a single sign of remorse.

And then, she simply turned on her heel with a huff and left; or at least, that was her intention. She was certainly headed toward the door.

He rubbed his aching head. “Ow…what was that for?” He was convinced she’d just hit him so hard, she’d bent It, her favorite umbrella. It would be ruined. He should point that out. He wouldn’t buy her a new one either, dammit.

Had she really made such a habit of this? Bashing people with The Umbrella such that he’d known what she was about the minute she walked through his door?

Normally, Aunt Harriett wouldn’t answer. He knew that, too.

And he really hadn’t expected her to this time. Surprisingly, she did.

“You let her get away, you fool.” She yelled back to him as she marched across his room. She didn’t miss a step and never once looked back.

“But I tried,” he called out. He sounded like he was two again. He only just stopped himself from throwing out his lip, crossing his arms, and attempting to kick the footboard.

Was this what he’d become? A whining, simpering fool because he couldn’t have what he wanted. Was it his way of avoiding just how unpleasant the thought of losing her was?

Or perhaps, he didn’t yet truly believe she was gone for good.

Whatever, his near-whine gave Aunt Harriett pause, but she still didn’t turn around to look at him. Instead, she simply said, “You didn’t try hard enough,” as she faced the doorway and the hallway beyond.

Ha! As if he’d let Bea go with ease. “She wouldn’t have me. You should speak to her if this displeases you.” He all but pouted again and crossed his arms. Yea, he sounded three at best. This time he did stomp his foot.

It made little impact in bed.

“Yea, well, I did. Saw her yesterday, in fact. And I beat her over the head, too.”

He laughed and cocked his head. “You did?” He couldn’t help the smile. He could imagine the sight quite vividly in his mind.

This time Aunt Harriett half turned to face him, one brow raised in question. Maybe Ambrose adopted his habit from her?

“Do you doubt me?”

“No.” Was there any other answer he could give?

“Then stop asking questions. You are ruining my dramatic departure. Don’t you know I’m supposed to hit you without saying anything? Haven’t we played out this scene once or twice before?”

And then she did leave. Without another word.

Ambrose entered only a scant few minutes after her departure.

Damn if Cliff’s head didn’t still smart somewhat painfully…

“Was that Aunt Harriett I saw…” Stonebridge pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “…with The Umbrella.”

“Yes.”

“The One she bashed me on the head with when I let Grace flee to Oxford?”

“The very One.”

Stonebridge cringed in solemn empathy. “Ouch.”

“Yea.”

“I take it this means she approves of Lady Beatryce.”

“Quite so.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m working on it.” He rubbed his hand down his face as if that would help.

“Yea, you sure look like it. Well, while you’re stuck here making your plans, do you have a quick moment for a little Crown related business? You know spies, murderers, traitors, and all that?”

“Sure. Might as well. I’m certainly up now.”

“It was a shame we lost your brother before we had a chance to question him.” Ambrose held up a hand to forestall Cliff’s intended interruption. “I don’t blame you…Or Lady Beatryce, for that matter. Besides, all is not lost.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have Kelly.”

“In custody?”

“No…but it is only a matter of time. I’ve sent MacLeod after him.”

Ambrose would know precisely what thought went through Cliff’s mind with that admission. “I know. I know. It’s something you feel entitled to do…”

Cliff nodded his head in agreement.

“…but you have something more important to do right now…”

“Such as?”

Ambrose made his way toward the door, shaking his head as if he, Cliff, was an utter dunce. “You have to find a way to get your woman back.”

Cliff smiled. He sure did.

He got out of bed and began to dress.

Lady Beatryce had better be ready.

He was coming for her. And she was not going to walk away from him again.

“Journeys end in lovers meeting, every wise man's son doth know.”

―Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

“The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.”

―Charles Dickens

A Few Miles Down the Road from Bloomfield Park…

Lady Beatryce walked out her front door, paused on her front stoop, and shaded her eyes from the brilliant sun. It was still difficult to believe that everything before her: this house, this garden, the walkway—all of it, was hers. It was perfect, even idyllic—with its small garden, thatched roof and solid stone walls. It was clean; the previous owners had maintained it well, and the garden was in superb condition as it had been tended daily by a gardener from the nearby small town of Chester so that it would still be manageable when a new owner took residence. Her.