Page 87 of Hearts of Briarwall

“Cyril stopped by to retrieve her on his way home from town. He thought it would save us a trip in this weather. She wanted to wait, but Cyril insisted.”

She spun to look at the house, as if she could determine at a glance whether her friend remained or not. Numb and already feeling terribly alone, she tugged Spencer’s coat off her shoulders and held it out to him by her fingertips. The chill of the afternoon’s storm took advantage of her exposure once more, and her skin immediately prickled in the breeze.

He stared at her. “Wear it to the house,” he whispered. “You’ll be cold.”

She shook her head, steadying her emotions. “I’m full of fire, remember?” When he still didn’t reach for it, she dropped it to the stone floor. She stared at it a moment, caught in the sensation of abandoning something precious. Caught in the sensation of abandoning him. She wasn’t used to abandoning anything.

“Come, Hero,” she said roughly, then turned. As the dog met her and stayed at her hand, she felt the initial burning twist of her first real heartbreak. But the men wouldn’t see that. They would see a woman walking away, tall and untorn.

Upon entering the house, she climbed the stairs to her room and stood dripping in the middle of it, the newly unveiled events of the past whirling in a different kind of storm above her head. She lifted the linen throw off the end of her bed and wiped her face and hands. She walked to the table at the window and picked up the portrait of her mother.

The click of the door opening startled her from the quiet. Fallon slipped into the room and shut the door behind her.

“Miss?” she asked in her quiet way. “You’re quaking with cold. Shall I draw you a bath?”

She met the woman’s soft eyes. “Fallon?” She could say no more, choking to get air through her silent sob as Fallon’s arms drew around her, and they both sank to the floor.

“Shh, miss. Shh. All will be well in time. Shh.”

After her bath, Lydia dressed and dried her hair in front of the fire as Fallon brushed it. Her skin felt raw beneath her clothes, as if she’d shed her old skin and exposed this new layer too soon to the elements.

“I should like to go to Florrie’s for a few days. I shall leave tomorrow. Will you accompany me?” She needed her friends, and Florrie’s home had space. Violet’s mother hovered, and Ruby’s house was out of the question with all those men about.

Fallon paused. “Of course, miss. Shall I call Grantmore Hill?”

“Yes, please. They’ll need to send a car.” Oh, how she wished she knew how to drive. If so, she could leave now. She winced. The roads would be muddy. “And Fallon? Don’t tell my brother. He’ll be out when we leave, and I’ll send him word when we arrive.”

Fallon lifted a brow.

“I’m not running away. I just need ... distance.”

“Yes, miss.”

After several more brush strokes, Lydia gently cleared her throat. “Has Mr. Hayes gone?”

“I believe so.” Fallon set down the brush and reached into her pocket. “He asked me to give you this after he left.” She held out a folded sheet of the crisp parchment they kept in each bedroom for guests.

Lydia stared at the note, then quickly took it before her mind changed. She pressed it to her lap.

Without another word, Fallon began braiding and twisting Lydia’s hair upon her crown, leaving the back down. She then rolled the back portion up in strips of muslin. “I’ll leave that to finish drying, miss. The curls’ll be right soft. I’ll be calling at Grantmore Hill now.”

When at last the door closed behind her maid, Lydia picked up the note. Its weight had been tremendous as she’d waited for the chance to read it alone.

With trembling fingers, she opened it and willed herself to read it calmly and carefully.

Lydia,

I don’t know if I’ll have the chance to prove myself to you, but please know I am innocent of the wrongdoing your brother accuses me of. My father, in his pursuit of status and increase, was blinded and guilty, and in the end, the weight of his choices killed him. He did take my idea, but he twisted it, and that betrayal has brought me as much pain as his actual death. Despite all this, I know my father loved our family. That is the thing about family, I suppose. We cannot dictate the way they show us their devotion. I’ve worked hard to remove all of his debts and provide for my mother and sister, though their circumstances are humble. We carry on. I will carry on.

I did not in any way try to romance you into investing your money. The romance came all of its own accord. I struggled against it until I forgot why I was fighting it. I cannot regret it. I only regret the pain I’ve caused you.

Lydia, it appears I’ve flown too close to the sun, and like Icarus, my wings have fallen apart. Perhaps I should have chosen a different character for comparison. Perhaps Peter Pan.

Your brother is right in one thing: I have nothing to offer you. I’m a Brummie from Ward End, starting from nothing, and you are my lovely Lydia of Briarwall.

I wish you everything bright and warm. Do not ever settle. That is not what you were made for.

When I smell lavender and rain and woods, I shall forever be filled with memories of you. Forgive me.

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