Page 72 of Better Love Next Time
He tightened his embrace. “No, you will not.”
“I cannot stop my mother’s pianoforte from being taken. Oh, I cannot. Sir Jeffrey does not honor her memory. He did not when she lived. He killed her, Julian. With his abuse. He beat her, you know. And she killed herself. The gardener found her below the garret window. The tower where we played. They said it was an accident, but I know.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I know.”
He eased to the floor, bringing her down to his lap. “Maybe it was an accident.”
“She gave all her gowns to Clara days before. She wrote a letter to Father Dunlevy and left it in my desk. She wrotemea letter.” She sobbed. “I cannot begrudge her choice. She was miserable. She was beautiful. If you could have seen her smile, you would have loved her as I do. If you could have played cards with her or seen her grace. Or heard her play pianoforte or sing or tell a tale. She would weave a story for weeks, and there were princes and poor girls and happy endings. But there are no happy endings.”
“There are,” he said. “You will have a happy ending, fairy.”
“I will throw myself from the garret if I am forced to marry Staverton.”
“Shhh.”
“There is no shame in it. Why is it a sin to escape anguish and violence? Why did God make rules for women to suffer?”
“God did not. Men did.” He gave her a gentle shake. “Listen to me. There will be no windows for you. Do not let Sir Jeffrey win this. If you take the window route, he wins. Your sole path to victory is to live. You will repel Staverton. You are resourceful. Brilliant. You are a schemer, aren’t you?”
She frowned. “I suppose.”
“Suppose? Who can scheme better than I?”
“No one.”
“You. I must work thrice as hard. You, on the other hand, have only to utter a few words, and everyone believes you.”
She suspected he was attempting to make her feel better regardless of the facts. “I don’t lie often, do I?”
He laughed, peering down his aquiline nose in the confident way of his ancestors. His was an illustrious family. Even if he had the inclination, he could not marry her. As a second son, he required a wife with a generous dowry.
She bit her lip at the depressing truth.
“Ah, don’t cry. It makes me want to blather. What would your mother want for you?”
Her mother had written it.Do not surrender to your fears. You are strong. And though the road may be long, you, daughter of my heart, will find true happiness.
“To be happy,” she said.
“Can you be happy if Sir Jeffrey wins?”
“No,” she said and thanked Mary and God for sending her Julian at her lowest.
“You know what I just realized? I didn’t write you a letter today.”
“But you are here.” And she wanted him to stay. Forever. She was already anxious he would leave soon.
He enfolded her into his arms again, her cheek resting against his damp hair. He had come to her in a rainstorm. “Did you ride here?”
“I ran. Quickly. Dearest Kitty… I am in receipt of your letter dated the fourteenth of March. As it was delivered by Clara, I feared you had decided not to know me and so waited to read it, a man wandering aimlessly in the rain, until I returned to my room. Much agony occurred between. I also threatened Georgiana with a facer. Not my finest moment.”
She lifted her head. “What?”
“A minor detail. I read your letter?—”
“Did you remove your wet clothes first?”
Julian stiffened. His voice dropped an octave. “I did.”
Her face colored at her indecent question.
