The last thing Lenora wanted to do the following morning was to go downstairs and pretend that everything was as it should be. Goodness knew the last week had been torture enough, feigning happiness with Lord Redburn and her lot in life when all she wished to do was weep.
Today, however, made the past sennight seem laughable. She rubbed at the muscles in her neck, wincing as her fingers massaged at the proof of a tense, sleepless night. Fighting to ignore the aching in her chest that seemed a permanent part of her now. Gone was the fury at Peter for attacking Lord Redburn; in its place was a burning anger that he had made her care when all along loving him had been an impossibility, when pride and revenge had been more important than her. She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t weep for him. He didn’t deserve that from her.
Nor would she give him the satisfaction of seeing her affected. And so she strode from her room, hoping the outer shell of her did not show the wreck within.
Margery caught up with her as she was taking a stroll in Lady Tesh’s rose garden. “My dear, how did you sleep last night?”
The question was not a mild one. Lenora gave her a sad smile and linked arms with her friend. “Not well,” she admitted. “But I managed to get some rest. And you?”
“I didn’t sleep a wink.” She paused, letting her hand trail over the delicate bloom of a summer rose. “If you want to talk about last night, I’m here for you, Lenora.”
There was a cautiousness to Margery’s voice that made Lenora’s battered heart ache. They were not as easy with each other as they had been. And Lenora could blame no one but herself. She’d been so consumed with keeping the tragedies of her heart private that she’d effectively put up a wall between herself and her dearest friend. And though she had finally opened up some to Margery regarding her true feelings for Peter, she still held back the truth about Hillram. She should confess everything; goodness knew it was long overdue. And what a relief it would be to finally open her heart, not to feel so very alone anymore.
Yet to do so might cause her to lose the best friend she had ever had.
And so she smiled when she would cry, and shook her head. “It was distressing. But I’m quite over it, I assure you. Now I only need hope that Lord Redburn was not frightened away.”
Margery looked infinitely sad, and Lenora feared her ruse had been seen through. But soon her friend was smiling wryly. “I doubt he could be, dearest. He seems quite smitten with you.”
Lenora smiled along with her, for all the world as if she were a happy bride-to-be and not brokenhearted with grief. And she should be happy. Lord Redburn had proven himself to be attentive, affectionate, and all any woman could hope for in a husband. Yet she could not help being aware of a kernel of unease within her, a spark of misgiving regarding the man. She shook her head sharply, doing her best to ignore the whisper of a thought. No doubt it was due to Peter’s hold on her heart, which was proving to be as strong as ever. For her own sanity, she needed to find a way to free herself of that hold, to go into her marriage unencumbered by the past.
But how could she let Peter go when she hadn’t been able to let go of her guilt and grief over Hillram? And what would be left of her if she succeeded?
* * *
Upon their return to the house, they made their way to Lady Tesh’s rooms to determine the plan for the day. What they did not expect, however, was to find that lady still abed. Though she typically kept to her rooms most of the morning, she was nevertheless up with the sun, working on her correspondence, conferring with the housekeeper, and generally running a tight ship at Seacliff.
This morning, however, they found her bundled under her covers, looking older than she ever had.
“Gran, what is it?” Margery rushed to her bedside and took the woman’s hand in hers. “Are you unwell? Shall I call for the physician?”
“Goodness, an old woman decides to sleep in and she’s suddenly at death’s door?” Lady Tesh waved off Margery’s hovering, pushing herself straighter.
“Is anything amiss, Gran?” Lenora asked, coming up beside Margery.
For a moment, Lady Tesh’s gaze flickered to her, and Lenora shivered, for it was bleak indeed.
The mood was short lived. “Only that you both are making me feel my age. And if there is anything that’s dangerous for someone of my advanced years, it’s to actually feel every day of it. Now get back, the both of you, while I rise and ready myself for the day.”
She threw back the covers. Freya, who had been sleeping peacefully beside her mistress, gave an irritated growl as she was buried in brocade. As Lady Tesh hobbled to her dressing table, the dog worked her way free and, with an offended sniff, pranced from the room.
“Margery, choose something for me to wear. And none of your dismal, dreary colors. Give me something bright and brilliant. I’ve a mind to be outrageous today.”
“When are you not?” Margery replied with an affectionate smile as she disappeared inside Lady Tesh’s dressing room.
Lady Tesh peered at herself in the mirror before holding a brush out in Lenora’s general direction. “You may as well make yourself useful, child,” she said.
Lenora went to her at once, untying the ribbon from the viscountess’s plait and using her fingers to loosen the strands. Soon she was pulling the brush through the shimmering white hair, her long strokes going from the top of the woman’s head to nearly her backside.
“That is lovely, child.” Lady Tesh closed her eyes. “I vow, your touch is much lighter than my maid’s. Half the time, I think she’s got a vendetta against me, for all she tugs and pulls.”
Which would not have surprised Lenora one bit. Though never cruel, Lady Tesh was not the gentlest taskmaster. But now was as good a time as any to ask about their plans; as much as she dreaded the day, she would get it over and done with.
“Do you have any errands you wish us to run for you today, Gran?”
“Not errands, no. Though seeing as you did not have a chance to complete the drawings I wanted of you, perhaps you can make a visit to the cliffs again.”
Lenora’s hand faltered in its brushing as she remembered her last trip there, how she had struggled to sketch the simplest drawing, her recent heartbreak with Peter preventing even the instinctual mechanics of the act. But she could not avoid the place forever. Schooling her features into polite acceptance, she said in a bright tone, “Of course.”
“Splendid.” Lady Tesh sighed. “I’m only sorry Peter shall miss it.”
Lenora focused on keeping her hand steady, though her stomach lurched. “It’s for the best, I suppose. He cannot want to follow us about when he could be exploring the Isle on his final days here.”
Lady Tesh looked as if she’d been struck. “But didn’t you hear, child? Peter left this morning before daybreak. He has returned to America.”
The brush dropped from Lenora’s numb fingers, clattering to the floor. “What?” He’s gone? No, he couldn’t be.
The older woman nodded sadly. “He came to me last night. This morning I had him checked on. His room was empty, his horse gone.”
Lenora did not realize she had ceased to breathe until spots swam in her vision and she swayed on her feet. Lady Tesh’s fingers on her arm jolted her back to herself.
“Lenora, you look as if you’ll keel over on the spot. Sit and I’ll call Margery back to help you to your room.”
“No.” The one word came out loud and desperate, stunning Lady Tesh into releasing her. She had to gain control of herself. It was for the best that he was gone, after all. Now she could concentrate on her future, unencumbered by his effect on her.
She felt a mad laugh bubble up and quickly suppressed it. Unencumbered, indeed.
“That is,” she continued, struggling for a calm she didn’t feel, “I only need a bit of fresh air. Tell Margery I’ve gone out, will you?”
Before Lady Tesh could respond, Lenora was out the door. But once out in the hall, she couldn’t fathom where to go. The only thing in her mind was Peter, and that he had left without saying goodbye.
That mad laugh finally broke free then. There was no need for goodbyes when she had practically driven him from the house the night before. Just leave me alone, Peter, she had begged him. Please. And he had done as she had bid him.
Her chest grew tight, her breathing labored. It was as if she were being pulled by an undertow and didn’t know which way was up. She had to get out of this house.
She collected her drawing supplies and headed out to the stables. In no time, she had a horse saddled and was on her way. The wind was in a furor today, whipping her hair loose from the simple twist it was in. It was not the type of day Lenora would have liked to come to the cliffs. She was never easy out there, though the grotto was fairly protected from the elements. Besides that, there was always a melancholy atmosphere in the place, as if it would never see happiness. Now, however, that only drew her more, grief calling to grief. She hurried out to the cliffs, securing her mount before rushing through the hidden crevice and into the grotto.
It was as it had ever been. Seemingly carved by ancient giants, looking out over the great sea. Making one feel they were at the edge of the world.
She made her way to the boulder, next to the Viking symbol Synne had carved into the stone. Laying her bag on the ground, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Forget him, her mind whispered. He’s gone, and will never return. Even as she fought to purge him from her mind, however, her heart had quite another idea. As battered as it was, it insisted on holding on tight when she so desperately wanted to forget.
The tears came then, a torrent of them. They fell unchecked down her cheeks. And she realized in that moment that there was no way on earth she could release herself from him. Her heart would belong to him always. She would always regret losing him, would always mourn him, until her dying day.
Hopelessness filled her. And with it came a grief she had never felt before. Grief for a life she had desperately wanted, though she had known all along that her part in Hillram’s death had made that an impossibility. She had been too cowardly to face her guilt over that tragedy, and this was her penance.
She gasped, her hand finding the stone wall, her fingers digging into Synne’s carving. She could not handle this pain. It would destroy her. She’d held back as long as she could, but she was tired, so damn tired, of fighting what was in her heart. Heaving a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and did what she had never allowed herself to do: she let go.
Like a wave, it crashed over her head, filling her up until she thought she’d drown from it. The force of it ripped an uncontrollable sob from her aching chest. She let it come, dropping to her knees, falling to the cold stone floor.
She cried as she hadn’t since her mother’s death. Her arms came about her middle, holding tight as the grief wracked her body. As if she could hold herself together by sheer force. But nothing could stop it now that it had started. On and on, it rolled, the tears falling until there was nothing left to give. And still it demanded more from her, turning her inside out with the pain of it. And all the while images flashed through her mind: Peter’s cold eyes when he’d turned her away, the pain in Hillram’s face when she’d told him she didn’t love him, her father’s disappointment as she failed him once again, Peter attacking Lord Redburn. Hillram’s eyes closed forever, his blood soaking her skirts.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her sobs subsided and then stopped altogether. She lay there for a time, breathing deeply, her cheek pressed to the dirty stone floor. When her body started to ache, she rose, her limbs stiff. She stood there, looking down at the damp patch her tears had left on the ground, then to the wide-open ocean beyond the grotto. She had come to the Isle hoping to free herself of her guilt over Hillram’s death by forcibly remembering the most painful memories of their time together. But she was going about it all wrong. She had been from the start.
Because it all came back to her how much she had cared for him. He had been one of her closest friends. They had been playmates when young, confidants as they’d gotten older. Yet she hadn’t been able to love him. Not as he’d wanted, not as he’d needed. Not as he’d deserved. She rubbed her aching chest. That final truth had overshadowed all the good that had been between them. And because of that, she hadn’t grieved for him as she should have.
Weary beyond belief, she stumbled back, to the rock she had been sitting on. As she sat, her foot hit something hard.
Her bag.
She stared at it uncomprehendingly for a time. For three years, she had thought that by refusing to paint from her heart, she was somehow serving a necessary penance. Instead she had managed only to stifle emotions that she needed to properly come to terms with Hillram’s death. She had not realized that truth until her growing feelings for Peter had begun to awaken the part of herself she had brutally repressed.
It was time to face her memories, and the emotions that came with them, now. Or she would never properly heal. Frightened but determined, she reached down with shaking fingers, pulling her drawing pad and a pencil from the bag.
She balanced it on her knee and looked out over the grotto. And then, putting pencil to paper, she began to draw.
The lines came haltingly at first, her fear still holding her back. Soon, however, her fingers found their rhythm. She expected to draw the grotto. Yet it was Hillram that appeared on her paper, his face youthful and carefree as it had been when they’d first become friends. When that sketch was done, she pulled out a fresh page. Again her fingers went to work, this time sketching Hillram at the Elven Pools, a tricorn hat perched atop his head, holding a stick aloft as his sword. Another sketch of Hillram, and another, until she had a small stack of them, remembering all he had been to her. When her pencil finally stilled, she stood, holding the pages to her chest, and moved to the edge of the shelf. Then, giving the drawings a gentle kiss and a whispered “I’m sorry, my dear friend,” she let them go.
They sailed off on the wind, twisting and dancing in the air as if to bid her farewell before falling from view. She felt it then, the loosening of the band around her chest. But she wasn’t done yet, though exhaustion pulled at her.
Returning to the boulder, she took up her supplies once more. Now, however, instead of Hillram, she drew Peter. Image after image blossomed from her pencil, each one coming faster than the one before: Peter glowering and angry on that first day, Peter vulnerable at the dinner party, Peter kissing her in the ballroom, Peter coming for her in the storm. She did not stop until every page had been covered with sketches of him. At the end of it all, she looked down at her work and smiled. Though she missed him, though she would always miss him, she could look back and remember the happiness of the time they’d shared.
The idea that she could feel joy through her pain so stunned her, a laugh soon followed. She’d thought to return to who she had been before Hillram’s death. But that young girl was no more. This was who she was now.
And she was glad of it. She felt stronger than she had ever been in her life.
But she had best be getting back to Seacliff. They would be wondering where she’d gone and must be worried sick. Packing up her supplies, she started off for the house.
Her contentment, however, was short lived, for there was a familiar carriage in the drive.
Lord Redburn.
Goodness, but she had forgotten about him completely all the morning long. Her steps faltered, reality crashing down on her. She had felt as if she were a new person. But nothing had changed in her life. Peter was gone and on his way back to America, and she was still engaged to a man she did not wish to marry.
Frustration and anger pounded through her. She had punished herself these three years, thinking she was worthy only of a loveless marriage, believing she didn’t deserve to follow her heart.
But that wasn’t true. She had her passion for her art back now, and a new lease on life by finally embracing both the bad and the good in her past. She had not deserved to be made to feel she must marry Hillram, though she had loved him only as a friend, had not deserved to be foisted off on Lord Fig or Lord Landon or Lord Redburn. And she had not deserved to be second in Peter’s life, overshadowed by a revenge he could not let go of. Like the water of the Elven Pools, determination and persistence bringing about unimaginable beauty, she deserved to cut her own path in life.
But what could she do to claim her independence? As a woman of good breeding, she had neither skills nor experience.
The bag holding her supplies bumped into her leg. She had forgotten about it. In a flash, she remembered the fever that had overtaken her to draw, and the relief she had found in it.
Her fingers tightened on the strap. Perhaps there was something else for her, after all.
She marched inside and straight on to Lady Tesh’s sitting room. Her gaze immediately fell on Lord Redburn seated close to Lady Tesh and Margery.
“My lord,” she said without preamble, “I am most anxious to talk to you. Alone.”
“My dear,” he said, a warm smile lighting his face as he rose, “I’m glad you’re here, for I have brought you a surprise.”
“I am most appreciative, but perhaps that had better wait until we’ve spoken.”
“Er, Lenora?” Margery ventured.
Lenora did not take her eyes from Lord Redburn. “I am sorry, dearest, but I really must insist on speaking to Lord Redburn now.”
“But, Lenora—”
Frustration reared. If she didn’t do this now, she would never have the nerve. “Not now, Margery,” she bit out.
“I did not raise you to be rude, Lenora.”
She gasped and whirled about. “Father, you’re here.”
He stood by the window. His face was as it ever was, craggy and stern, no softness marring the harsh lines. He lifted one eyebrow. “I see you are still stating the obvious.”
She clasped her hands in front of her. “I didn’t expect you.”
“No doubt, or you would not have been running wild like some hoyden. If I’d known this is what becomes of you when you’re here, I never would have agreed to send you.”
Lenora flinched at the blatant rebuke, her cheeks burning.
“She was doing a favor for me, Alfred, so you may remove that stick from your posterior,” Lady Tesh drawled.
“Damn it, Olivia,” Lenora’s father snapped, “you always were too soft on her, letting her do as she wished, giving her too much independence. If you had kept better control of her when she was younger, she would be readying herself to be a duchess now.”
Lady Tesh took hold of her cane and rose, leveling a glare on Sir Alfred that was positively chilling. “His Grace is not yet in his grave and you dare say such things?”
Lenora had never heard such a frightening tone from the viscountess. Even during the few times she had truly railed at Lenora and Margery, she had never sounded so terrifying. Sir Alfred’s lips tightened, and though he offered no apology, he nodded, once and sharply.
He leveled that cold stare at Lenora. “Well, I see you have not mucked things up yet with Redburn here. It’s time we talked about the wedding. I’ve brought a special license with me from London. We will have this done and settled before the day is out.”
There was a moment of stunned silence before the room burst into noise.
“Alfred, you cannot mean to marry her off so quickly, and in such a shabby manner.”
“Sir Alfred, our dear Lenora must have more time.”
“I say there, Sir Alfred, I’m all for moving things along quickly, but this seems a trifle hasty.”
Lenora, for her part, remained silent, staring at her father in disbelief. It was all so cold, so calculating. A mere business transaction. Was that all she was to him? Was that what she had been to him all this time?
Sir Alfred raised a hand for silence. “Enough. We will have a wedding today and see this done with.”
“No, Father, we won’t.”
Again that imperious brow rose, though this time it was accompanied by a flare of anger in his cold eyes. “You have no say in the matter.”
“I do. And I say I will not marry today. Nor,” she continued, turning to Lord Redburn with an apologetic look, “will I ever. I am sorry, my lord, but I cannot marry you.”
His expression, ever kind and considerate, turned puzzled. “I’m sorry, Miss Hartley, I don’t believe I heard you right.”
Placing her bag down on the nearest chair, she walked to him and took his hand in hers. “You’re a wonderful man. And any woman would be happy to have you for her husband.” She drew in a deep breath. “But I cannot marry you.”
His brows drew down in the middle. “But the contract has been signed.”
She squeezed his fingers. “I cannot in good conscience continue on with this engagement. Forgive me. I know you will find someone else to care for, and who will care for you in return.”
He continued to stare, dumbfounded, at her. Lenora’s heart ached, that she must hurt this good man.
In the next instant, however, his face twisted into harsh, ugly lines. He yanked his hand free. “Are you truly so simple that you believed this was about affection?”
As Lenora recoiled, stunned speechless, he spun to face Sir Alfred. “I did my part, and would have even gone through with this travesty. I will be cleared of my debt to you.”
“The wedding was never finalized,” her father bit out, shooting her a furious glare. “Your debt still stands.”
“You old reprobate,” Redburn snarled. “It was bad enough you foisted me off on a woman who has the stain of three failed engagements on her. I was not happy to have such damaged goods. But I was ready to take that on. My debt is cleared, or I will have all of London know what you’ve been about, selling your daughter to the highest bidder.”
With that, he stormed from the room.
Lenora, mouth agape, watched him go, before turning slowly to look at her father. A man she had known and loved all her life yet appeared a stranger to her in that horrifying moment.
“You would have given me to him in exchange for a debt?”
His lip curled. “Did you think the man was in love with you? Damnation, girl, you really are as simple as he says.”
She stared at him. “How could you?”
A harsh laugh burst from his lips. “It’s no different than what I did with Fig, and that idiot Landon. D’you think they wanted you for your sparkling personality?”
The breath left her. There was not an ounce of affection in his expression. And she realized in that moment that he didn’t love her, and probably never had. She was a piece of property to him, something to be used for gain and nothing more.
A kick to the gut could not have hurt more.
Lady Tesh stepped forward. Her voice shook when she spoke. “Alfred, I have always known you were a cold man, but this goes beyond what I believed you capable of.”
“Do you honestly believe interactions like this don’t happen in Society? Please, Olivia, you cannot be so naïve.”
The viscountess drew herself up, leveling a furious stare on Sir Alfred. “I am fully aware that many families trade position for fortune, using their daughters as leverage. But I never knew a man to use blackmail to force his daughter into a union. You are a—”
Whatever vile name Lady Tesh was about to say was lost as Lenora laid a gentle hand on her arm. As touched as she was by Lady Tesh’s passionate defense of her, she needed to stand on her own two feet now. “I need to do this myself, Gran.”
The quiet words dampened Lady Tesh’s ire in an instant. She searched Lenora’s eyes before, with a sad nod, she patted her hand. “Margery,” she called to her granddaughter, “let us be off.” She glared at Sir Alfred, one last rebellion. “We have to see that a carriage is made ready for our guest, after all.”
The two women left, closing the door behind them.
Lenora took a deep breath and faced her father. “How could you do it?”
“How could I try and marry you to a rich and titled gentleman?”
“You didn’t do this for my benefit,” she said, her hands shaking. “It was for you and you alone.”
Anger suffused his face. “Do not turn this on me, girl. You should have done your duty and married where I willed you. Lord Redburn was your last chance. I warned you I would not look kindly on this union dissolving. Or have you forgotten?”
“I’ve not forgotten.” Her heart twisted, for all she loved him still.
But now was not the time for a faint heart. She would have this out with him now, and learn her fate for good or ill.
“You said you would disown me if my next engagement fell through. And it has.”
“Yes,” he spat.
For a moment, a single fragile moment, he appeared so much older than before, his face ashen, the fine lines about his eyes and mouth deeper than she remembered. He had always seemed beyond the frailty of mere mortal men, had been larger than life to her. But he was not a young man, having been so much older than her mother. He would surely not want to end his days alone.
Taking her chance, she stepped toward him and laid her hand on his sleeve; it was something he never would have permitted before, yet she could not be fearful now. Their entire relationship, her entire future, rode on this moment.
“You cannot mean to cut me from your life, Father,” she said quietly. “I’m your daughter. We’re all the other has.”
She thought she saw him falter, and hope bloomed bright. But in the next instant, he shook her hand from him. His face turned openly hostile, a furious flush coloring his cheeks.
“You think that means anything to me, girl?” he snapped. “You have always been a burden, and now you’re an embarrassment as well. I’m done with you.”
He stormed out the door, leaving Lenora alone in the middle of the room, her heart breaking for the second time that day.