0764213512 (R) (19 page)

To Stella-bell—as you begin your greatest adventure to date, you may perhaps need the respite of a fictional one. Brice

She had known that night, as she traced a finger over the then-fresh ink, that it meant something more than just a random gift to a childhood friend. How could he possibly give her a book with such a title unless it were a promise? A secret. A claim upon her, that
she
was the one he meant to have and to hold.

And now he had wed another.

Stella leaned against the carriage door for a moment and drew in a deep breath. He had barely spoken to her since he had offered his hand to Rowena. There had been no opportunity for her to dissuade him from his promise, no time to assure him that she loved him, had always loved him, and that she was so sorry she had been holding him at arm’s length since she returned from school.

She had thought it the best way to win him. A misstep, apparently, but it couldn’t be the end of their story. It couldn’t. How was she to know that he would have despaired of gaining her love so completely that he would propose to another?

It had been a decision prompted only by compassion, she knew, and the desire to help. The very desire that made him the man Stella so loved. He had rashly pledged his hand, and he would honor it.
Had
honored it. But if he was happy with his choice, why did he watch Stella so closely when she was out for a promenade with Geoff or Ella? Especially when his new wife was nearby. It must be strange for him to watch them interact—the girl he had loved so long and the wife he had hastily taken.

Pushing away from the carriage, Stella tucked the novel into her pocket. She would find a way to make things right. She
must
. She owed it to him, to them. There had to be a way.

It sounded as though someone else may already have one. If so, then Stella would be a fool to ignore them.

And Stella Abbott was no fool.

She stayed behind the carriage, peeking past the corner, until the two dukes meandered their way toward the manor house. Of its own will, her gaze followed the graceful stride of her beloved. She couldn’t even remember when he had first captured her heart. It seemed as though it had always been his. That she had grown up specifically for him. Made herself into what he would want her to be. She’d sought an education so she could hold her own in society, but the greater lessons had been the ones she learned with Ella—the angle at which a duchess held her head. The smile one wore in company. The way one spoke, laughed, connived.

Lessons no one had bothered teaching Lady Rowena Kinnaird. And surely Nottingham realized already what a mistake he had made. Surely he saw that his wife would bring him nothing but shame.

He had done his part. He had gotten her away from that raging laird. But a life as her husband? No, he couldn’t want that. So how fortunate for him that marriages could be . . . undone.

Lady Pratt
.

Sometimes it just required a little help.

Eleven

A
fitting with a dressmaker had never left Rowena shaking before. But they’d never been so long before. Nor had she ever been left standing in her undergarments with so many others in the room. In Castle Kynn, fittings were quick, efficient affairs to create her a quick, efficient wardrobe. Nothing fancier than a few serviceable evening dresses meant to see her through several years without needing updates.

At the moment, the two more experienced duchesses—Charlotte and Brook—were debating how long the hem was likely to stay fashionable at such-and-such a length, and whether the waistline was going to change again next season. The dowager duchess kept talking about trends over the years, the younger about the latest mode in Paris.

How Brook could be just as fluent in silks and ruching as she was in engines and horseflesh, Rowena didn’t know. But she was ready to escape. She wanted to go . . .

Home.
But where was that?

Finally the ordeal was over, and Lilias did up the last button on Rowena’s drab grey day dress. The last day, she was assured, she would have to wear it. The seamstress promised her several simple items by the following morning.

One more day to feel like herself. Rowena’s right hand went to where the gold band encircled her left ring finger. Perhaps there wasn’t a
herself
left to feel like anymore. Perhaps, whomever she had once been, she had given it up when she married the Duke of Nottingham.

Or perhaps Malcolm had stolen it from her.

“You look as if you could use an escape.”

Rowena wasn’t sure when Ella had slipped into the room, but her warm tone and welcoming smile relaxed something within her. Her old friend had been, at best, aloof these last ten days. Seeing a hint of the old Ella brought out a smile. “I could, yes.”

“Well then.” Ella held out an arm, over which was draped Rowena’s frayed-sleeved jacket and old hat—brown and frazzled next to Ella’s pea-green kimono jacket and stylish toque, which she positioned on her head as they turned to the door. “You haven’t seen Whitby’s maze yet, have you?”

“Only from the windows.”

“It’s great fun. I ought to know my way by heart by now, but I always take a wrong turn or two—and the earl has the loveliest statuary at the dead ends. They make it worth getting lost.” She slid the green silk-satin jacket on as she spoke.

Rowena slid comfortable, worn wool over her own arms.

Ella linked their arms and led her from the room. “From the looks of the sky, we could be in for a storm today, so I thought we had better get our exercise while we may. Though Stella is lost in Whitby’s library and wasn’t to be budged.”

“Ah.” So Rowena was second choice. She made sure to keep her smile in place as they descended the stairs at a nearly normal pace.

It faltered when the faint cry of the baby echoed to them. The way the wailing grew louder, the nurse must be searching for Brook—little Abingdon had the sound of hunger in his cry, and apparently the young duchess didn’t subscribe to the practice of a wet nurse, much to the horror of Rowena’s mother-in-law.

Rowena could understand though. If she’d had her babe, she would have wanted the pleasure of holding it close. Giving it life. Watching eyelids flutter and rosebud lips purse, little hands curl and uncurl in contentment.

She wanted a babe. Not Malcolm’s, but . . . If only she could desire her husband. If only she could master her own reactions, if only she felt as safe by his side when they were alone as she had when they were facing down the monster in her family’s drawing room.

Ella chuckled. “Well, had I not rescued you when I did, it seems little Lord Abingdon would have done.”

“Mm.” Rowena had held the wee one for a few minutes the night before. Not long—she knew her yearning would be on her face, and she hadn’t the energy to face all the teasing of procuring herself a child of her own soon. But it had been long enough for her to breathe in the sweet smell of talcum powder and lavender, of young life and easy acceptance.

At the base of the stairs, she looked up and realized that Ella had been studying her. Though no suspicion darkened her eyes today. They shone with their usual light. “Do you miss your sister? I know she is hardly a babe like Abingdon . . .”

Rowena’s lips pulled up in a grin. “She would squeal in protest at the comparison. But aye, I do. Fiercely.”

“You should send for her when we get to Midwynd.” Ella bounced a bit, her eyes lighting still more. “There’s nothing like having a child about. She could stay the winter with us. Perhaps even into spring.”

Rowena’s head buzzed as they gained the out-of-doors. “I had considered asking if she might join us for Christmas.”

“Well, of course she can. No, she
must
! I can think of nothing better. We’ll tell the plan to Mama and Brice this very evening. I know they’ll heartily agree.”

Rowena smiled as some of the tension melted away. “Thank you.” Everything would look different, brighter with Annie chattering at her side. And perhaps, if she let herself dream, Father and Elspeth would let her stay longer. Forever.

Ella fell to studying her again as they strolled across the lawn between the house and the maze. She made no secret of it, and Rowena said nothing to interrupt her regard. Her friend didn’t speak again until they’d entered the mouth of the maze and green shrubbery walls towered over them. “I owe you an apology.”

Rowena brushed her palm over the leafy wall. “An apology for what?”

Angling a
you-know-what
glance her way, Ella tugged her to the left. “I’ve been reserved, and you know well it’s not my nature to withhold my affections from those who have claim to them.”

Within a few steps, they made their first turn. Rowena was too short to see over the top, so there were just deep green walls all around her and a roiling grey sky overhead. She aimed a small smile at Ella. “But it’s been a long time, Ella. We’re not children any longer.”

“No.” Ella’s voice was tight and so soft that Rowena could scarcely hear it over the wind that whistled past them. “We’re not, and that’s the problem. You’ve married my brother.” Turning wide eyes on Rowena, she rushed to add, “Which I don’t object to in principle. It’s just . . . the method. And though I know my brother made his decisions of his own will, and though I believe you both when you say you weren’t complicit in setting him up . . . I suppose it took my heart a while to catch up with my head on the matter.”

“Of course it did.” Had it been Annie forced into a marriage with someone utterly unsuited to her, Rowena knew she would have been much slower to forgive and accept than Ella. “I dinna blame you, Ella.”

“And that’s just the thing.” They paused at a fork in the path, and Ella motioned to the left. “The Rowena I knew as a girl certainly would have blamed me. She would have railed at me—she would have demanded I give her a fair chance to prove herself. What happened to that Rowena in the ten years since we first met?”

Rowena blinked and pulled her coat closed tighter. Had she ever really been like that? Quick of tongue and confident? It seemed she’d always lived in fear of her father.

But no, she knew she hadn’t. For the first decade of her life, she had been as bold as he had been kind. His shadow had just cast itself over her past, dimming all the good memories. “I dinna ken.”

Ella let forth a gusting sigh and led them around another turn. “Perhaps we’ll figure out the answer together, then.” A wall loomed ahead, the path turning either left or right. This time Ella came to a complete halt, and her brows knit. “Right, I think.”

“Ye
think
?”

“Well, I told you I always take a wrong turn or two, but it’s no matter. Even if we get lost, it won’t take more than twenty minutes to find our way out.”

Rowena pressed her lips against a smile. Ella could get lost in her own garden as a child, and it didn’t appear that her sense of direction had improved any. “I’m not so sure those clouds will hold off for another twenty minutes.”

“A little rain never hurt anyone.”

Not in the heat of summer, perhaps, but the air was far from warm today, and Ella’s silky jacket wouldn’t provide much by way of protection.

Thunder rumbled its agreement.

Ella drew her bottom lip between her teeth. “Definitely to the right. I’m absolutely certain.”

Rowena followed, but she somehow wasn’t surprised when they arrived at a figure of a frog wearing a crown and looking at them as if to say,
“Hello, fly. You look delicious.”

“Oh, drat.” Ella narrowed her eyes at the frog. “Don’t look at me that way, Edmund. You never turn into a prince no matter how many times I’ve kissed you.”

A laugh slipped from Rowena’s lips, the first in far too long. “Ye’ve named him?”

“We always seem to meet this way.” She stomped forward and planted a kiss upon the frog’s granite nose. “Do at least send a princely friend of yours along, won’t you?”

Rowena folded her arms around her middle to hold in the warmth. “Perhaps he will.”

Her grin bright and unfettered, Ella spun back around and all but skipped back the way they came. “The left. I knew it was the left.”

Rowena followed, even as a few stray raindrops plopped onto the flagstone path on which they trod. “And how long will you wait for your prince, Ella?”

“As long as it takes.” She flashed a smile, but it was more muted than Rowena expected. “And you have found yours already. I do realize the circumstances are storm-ridden. But I cannot wait to see how the Lord turns it to sunshine for you.”

Sunshine to fill the dark, empty places . . . A lovely thought. But probably more fairy tale than reality. “Perhaps.”

The wind gusted and ripped through the path, nearly snatching Ella’s toque from her head. She held it down with a laughing shriek. Rowena made no objection when Ella increased their pace, but though they’d corrected their first mistake, all too soon they stood before another decision.

Ella looked at the three-pronged fork with flinty determination but a distinct lack of certainty. “I got this one right last time. Or was it the time before?”