Once Beloved (22 page)

“Because you love me.” His conviction squeezed her heart. She couldn't say it, couldn't allow it.

“I don't.”

“You do, whether you are willing to say so or no.”

“I don't.”

“I could make you admit it.”

“You . . . wouldn't.”

“And that is why you love me.”

“No, that's not it. I love you because—”

“Aha!” A blend of triumphant joy and abject relief filled him. “I knew it! Now marry me.”

“It wouldn't work. My life, my family and friends, everything is in London.”

“You've managed to make the trip more than once now. And I hear there are these remarkable machines called trains that make the trip quite speedy. Indeed, they are a modern marvel of efficiency.” He clasped her hand in his, his grip warm and firm but careful not to overwhelm her. Could it be that he was trembling? When he lifted his other hand to stroke her cheek, she definitely felt a fine tremor. She could so easily gut him, but she had no choice.

“People need me there,” she said quietly.

“I need you too, Helena. I need you, and I have never needed anyone. I don't want you to give up the life you have, I swear I don't, not if it makes you content. But there must be a way to fit me into your life as well.”

She shut her eyes as if she could shield herself against his words. No, she couldn't do this. It simply wouldn't work—for either of them.

“My sons . . . I cannot uproot them,” she said, her voice sounding weak even to her own ears.

“We can spend the bulk of the year in London and return here for the weeks when I'm needed at Lanfield. Gordon's sons can help him with the daily work. We can come for lambing and shearing. It would do your citified boys a world of good, you know.”

She couldn't ask that great a sacrifice from him. The farm was his life, his home. Literally, he'd built his home there with his own two hands. It was true that she couldn't simply relocate her family, but she also couldn't possibly uproot Daniel. Not now. Not when she had seen for herself how drastically her selfishness had once before devastated so many people. She shook her head and pulled away from him. “Do not ask for what I cannot give.”

C
reak. Creak. Creak
. Auntie Helena had returned. Hours earlier, when she'd heard her aunt creep stealthily down the stairs, Vanessa had been able to glimpse through the bedroom window a cloaked figure moving in the direction of the stream. Not a woman inclined to a midnight dip, her aunt could only be going to one destination. Now the moon still shone through the curtains, but she could hear early birds calling to one another.

When the footsteps reached the landing, she quietly opened her bedroom door and blocked her aunt's path. “Where have you been, Auntie?”

Stifling a scream, her aunt replied, “Nowhere, dear. I couldn't sleep and so I decided to take some air.”

“You were gone for hours.” She wasn't such a naïve girl as to be fooled by that weak story. She'd told lies infinitely more believable than that about her outings with Billy, and her parents had never suspected. It was strange that she hadn't really thought much about Billy in recent days. She missed him, of course, but then he didn't need to occupy every waking moment, did he? Her aunt's irritated stammering reclaimed her attention.

“I—you—Vanessa, really! You should be in bed asleep, not spying on me. I'm an adult and have no need for a nursemaid. Now get back to bed!”

She nodded but otherwise didn't move. “I love you, Aunt Helena, but now I have a sense of what my parents must feel. You cannot run out into the fields in the middle of the night. It's dangerous. You could be injured, and no one would know. We wouldn't even know where to find you.”

Her aunt ducked her head. Oh, that was a telling clue.

“Or is there someone who would know without a doubt where you were? Someone of whom you've grown quite fond? Someone who lives nearby?”

“That's quite enough,” Auntie snapped uncharacteristically. “I do not need to report to you or justify my behavior. We are not equals, my dear niece, and I do not answer to you. Now go back to your room.”

She backed away, alarmed at the ferocious tone, and hot tears welled in her eyes. She blinked rapidly and couldn't meet her aunt's gaze. When she was back across the bedroom's threshold, she whispered, “I'm sorry for my forwardness, Aunt Helena. It's only that I was concerned about you. I couldn't bear to see you hurt . . . in any way.”

Her aunt gave her a grim smile before tapping her chin affectionately and saying, “You're a sweet girl, Ness. No need to worry over me. All will be well.”

She'd heard that refrain countless times from her aunt, her mother, and all the Needlework ladies really. This time, more than ever, she hoped it would be true. In her aunt, she saw all the signs of a girl's growing infatuation with none of her typical caution or deliberation. She felt a new sympathy toward her mother at being able to see inevitable heartbreak and yet being helpless to prevent it.

D
aniel felt as though he'd been gutted. Not that he knew what being gutted actually felt like, but he thought the sharp, stabbing pain in his belly, along with the contradictory feeling that he'd been hollowed out and sucked dry, might be a close approximation. He turned the paper over and over in his hands, wanting to tear it to shreds, wanting to toss it in the fire, wanting to stomp it into the ground. But he couldn't bring himself to do any of that. He looked around the room, stripped of all signs of his faithless erstwhile wife, and still he couldn't destroy this single sheet of paper. He cursed long and loud as he read the letter yet again.

As he neared the end of the letter, he felt ravaged, eviscerated, the pain as devastating now as it had been the day Nancy deserted him. Shadows lengthened as the sun set. Darkness filled the room, the dwindling fire in the fireplace too weak to defend against it. His mind noted the minute changes in the room, but none of it registered. He sat and stared at the paper in his hands.

Gordon burst into the room with an air of urgency. “Danny, I need you to make a run to Leeds.”

“Now? It will be dark before I get there.”

“Yes, now. I received a contract by post; it must have been delayed because the order is due in Leeds by tomorrow. It's lucky that we have the wool to fulfill the order right now.”

He hesitated. “I've a commitment tomorrow. I need to be back here in the morning.”

“All the more reason to leave immediately. Whatever this appointment is, surely it can keep for a day, if worse comes to worst.”

Fine. He'd take the bloody load to Leeds. He'd do whatever anyone damn well wanted him to do because the Fates obviously had no love for him.

Every step that brought her closer to Daniel intensified her anticipation but also her dread. Just catching sight of his candlelit windows from a distance brought her bittersweet glee. Their last night together. Every night she'd spent with him, she'd cursed the dawn. How much harder would it be tomorrow, when she had to leave for good? Letting herself into the house, she spied him sitting in the rocking chair in front of the fire.

Something wasn't right. He didn't stand to greet her, didn't react at all. Perhaps he felt as conflicted as she about this final tryst. With his back to her, she couldn't even see his expression.

Then a chill shot through her as she realized . . . it wasn't the right Lanfield.

“Where is Daniel?” she asked hesitantly.

“That's quite familiar of you, calling him by his Christian name,” Gordon replied. He still hadn't moved from his seat. “My brother is on his way to Leeds.”

“That's peculiar. We recently discussed the possibility of him driving me and Vanessa to Bradford in the next day or so. Why didn't he say he was already going to Leeds?”

“It was an urgent matter that came up suddenly,” he said firmly, as he finally stood, a shadowy bulk outlined by the firelight. An ominous sight that only a fortnight ago would have sent her into near-hysteria. “I can't say whether he'll be back by tomorrow. You and your lass will need to find someone else to cart you around.”

His snide, bitter tone lashed at her. Something was very, very wrong.

“Gordon, since you are here, there is something I feel I should say to you.” She braced herself. This had been too long in coming, and seeing him face-to-face didn't make it any easier. But she owed him this. “I never wanted to hurt you. I wish you could understand—it would have been so much more of an insult to you if I had stayed and married you without affection, especially after having that first brilliant taste of bliss. Did I place my happiness above yours? Yes, I cannot deny it. Yes. But I also meant to free you to find your own happiness. You would not have found joy with me as your wife. And I swear I did not know how terribly my departure would affect the economic future of this village.”

“If you had known, would you have stayed?” he asked, his voice neutral.

She couldn't meet his eyes, but she saw his hands clench and unclench at his sides. Her exhaustion overruled her fear. “I cannot say. I'd like to think I would have pressed Isaiah to slow down and court me properly over a more acceptable period. I would have tried to cajole and convince my parents. In the rashness of youth, I couldn't bear to be parted from him. I was a silly girl, afraid he would forget me when he moved on to other towns and saw other, prettier, more accomplished girls. I could have stayed at least temporarily.”

His jaw hardened. “So, had you stayed, you still would not have married me?”

“When did you know, Gordon?”

“What?”

“When were you made aware that the land merger and the railway deal essentially hinged upon our marriage?”

“What does that matter?”

“It matters a great deal. When did you know?”

In a tortured, impatient voice, he replied. “Remember the day I said we should have our banns read in June?”

She remembered. An echo of that shock ran through, the stunning shock she'd felt when the amorphous future marriage to Gordon coalesced into the cold, hard fact of a wedding date on a calendar. It was one thing to think of being Gordon's wife as some abstract possibility in the distance and quite another to think of an interminably monotonous existence on the neighboring farm. As his wife, day in and day out, her life would be circumscribed by the needs of the farm. Then, too, she'd felt the rush of infatuation with Isaiah, riotous emotions and sensations the likes of which she'd never, ever had any hint of with her betrothed.

Would having a station built in Marksby have made a significant difference? Somehow, she doubted it. Both families might have benefited financially for a time, but Gordon now was functionally the same man he'd been then. A good man, undoubtedly. Dependable, hardworking, responsible. But he had no aspirations beyond the farm's success. He'd never wanted to see or do anything more. She didn't fault him for that. In fact, she almost envied his singular focus. But she would have died inside, one day at a time.

Gordon cleared his throat and said, “My father informed me that morning. He said that the consolidation of our lands would be a strong inducement for the rail representatives. He didn't order me to do anything specific, just gave the clear impression that a marriage sooner rather than later would be advantageous.”

She'd already been smitten by Isaiah at that point. She recalled how she'd clung to him, distraught, when he'd met with her a few days later. He'd been agitated when he'd arrived, and that was the night he'd first suggested they elope. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence, she realized. Isaiah must have known about the arrangements. To him, there were other towns that would do just as well for a station. She'd been tossed back and forth like a child's ball. But, no! She'd made her own choices. Isaiah hadn't kidnapped her. Had she known of these emotionless financial undercurrents, would she have still gone with him?

Even now, when she looked back, she couldn't believe she'd taken such a mindless risk. It all could have gone so wrong. If Vanessa or really any of her boys or her nephews and nieces tried to do such a thing, she'd be among the first to barricade them in their bedrooms and nail the windows shut. But she'd eloped. And she'd found a loving, devoted husband, a doting husband who'd indulged her desire to see the world. They'd made a beautiful family. When she'd said, “All will be well,” she couldn't in her wildest dreams have imagined her life with Isaiah would flourish that wonderfully well. Until the day he had been taken from her.

“I'm sorry, Gordon, but I wouldn't have married you. I didn't love you, and you deserved someone who did.”

“You were always so blind to my feelings,” he responded caustically. “I'm sure you couldn't have known, but I
wanted
to marry you and not just because of our families. We'd known for so long that we were intended to be together. I suppose I developed expectations. I built my own vision of what our future together would be like, and I wanted it. Your prediction wasn't so different from my own—I imagined coming in from the fields for dinner to be welcomed home by you smiling and surrounded by all our beautiful bairns. But my vision was a lovely thing to me, not the prison you pictured. No, this work doesn't make for an easy life, I'll grant, but I find it deeply satisfying, and I believed you would too.”

“You were born to this life,” she acknowledged, “and you are uniquely suited to it. I knew then that you were meant to keep the Lanfield farm thriving, and not just because it was expected of you. I knew this was the life you craved, and you were so lucky to have found it so directly. Not everyone finds their path so clearly aligned with their happiness. You needed someone who would feel as at home here as you do, someone who found joy in the land and the beasts and the labor just as you do. I would have tolerated it, but you deserved more than just reluctant acceptance.”

“Daniel's done playing your errand boy . . . although he made quite a show of it.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, a cold fist squeezing her heart.

Gordon's eyes narrowed menacingly. “You're a smart woman. I'm surprised you didn't ferret out the scheme yourself, especially after I found you in Daniel's home the morning after the rainstorm. He warned me not to be too theatrical, but I knew better. He was afraid I'd drive you off then, but he doesn't know you like I do. I knew my affronts against your man would make you dig in your heels.”

“You know nothing about me!” she said, grasping at the first thing she understood. “You had a scheme? To what end?”

“You should have suffered terribly for your desertion,” he replied, every word loaded with bitterness. “And yet you look hale, you speak of a happy life with a pretty family, and you lead a life of luxury compared to how we scrape and scrabble here with no guarantee of security from season to season.”

“What was this scheme?” she asked again, enunciating every word with growing indignation.

“Married or no, you broke your troth and abandoned this village. Your reputation here was already ruined long ago.” At that, his mouth twisted into a grotesque smile. “The problem is that you still show no remorse. You have no shame. So it wasn't enough for someone to bed you; such a faithless slut would be easy to seduce. No, you had to be convinced of some deeper emotion, some romantic commitment. You had to be wooed. And Daniel did his job quite admirably, though I can't account for how he could stomach touching you.”

Gordon's harsh words stabbed at her, every syllable another shiny finely honed blade slicing through the core of her. This was exactly what she'd feared. She'd forced herself to suppress those instincts, those alarm bells, in order to trust his word.
Fool. Desperate mindless frowsy ninny.
There weren't enough words she could heap upon herself. But focusing on the words was the only thing that kept the horror at bay.