Chapter Thirteen
W illiam did not grieve his father’s death. To grieve someone, you had to have loved them first. And while he had liked his father well enough, that aloof amicability had never extended into love. Not to say that he was glad his father had died. While some heirs waited for their fathers to expire with bated breath, William had never wished ill will upon his. He hadn’t wished... anything. Except to be left alone. And while the late marquess had failed at almost all other aspects of his life—he’d been an absent father, a faithless husband, a terrible lord—he’d excelled at forgetting he had a son.
So no, William did not arrive at Radcliffe Park in the throes of grief.
But he did arrive in a temper.
“What do you mean, my wife is not here?” he growled at Stevens. A steady spring rain lashed at the windows of the front hall and water dripped onto the carpet when Stevens removed his coat. “She left London before me!”
The valet remained expressionless as he draped the wet garment over his forearm. “I am not certain, my lord. I can ask—”
“Kitty went to visit her sister.” This from Jack, who entered the foyer by way of sliding down the banister. As usual, she wore boys’ trousers and her feet were bare. Red coils of hair framed a mischievous grin that widened when she looked at Stevens, and the valet’s countenance turned a distinctive shade of purple as she stuck out her tongue at him. “Wouldn’t let me go. Said it was ‘woman’s business’ and since I ain’t got no tits yet, I had to stay here. This house is enormous .” She spun around in a circle. “How many rooms does it have?”
Clearing his throat to disguise a snort of laughter that would have no doubt sent Stevens straight into an apoplectic fit, William strove for a tone of solemnity when he said, “Radcliffe Park has eighty-four rooms.”
“Bloody ’ell! Eighty-four? I can’t even count that high!”
“How shocking,” Stevens sneered.
“I trust your accommodations are to your liking?” William asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Jack nodded enthusiastically. “The bed is huge . And there’s a bathtub. Right in the room!”
“Then we can expect you to bathe with more”—Stevens’s nose wrinkled—“frequency?”
“Kitty told me to tell ye that she’ll be back for dinner,” said Jack with a withering glance at the valet so reminiscent of Katherine that William wasn’t able to withhold a chuckle. While his wife’s fashion sense had yet to rub off on her young charge, it was clear that Jack had picked up a few of her... personality traits.
“Did she say anything else?” he asked, removing his damp gloves and handing them off to Stevens before dismissing the valet with a curt nod.
“Just the usual. Don’t steal anythin’, don’t make a nuisance of myself, and don’t slide down the stairs.” Jack’s forehead wrinkled as she looked over her shoulder at the banister and then back at William, a rare hint of guilt in her green eyes. “Can ye not tell her I did that? I’ve been trying.”
“Trying what?” he asked, suppressing another smile.
“To follow the rules. Ye nabobs just have so many of them.”
“We do,” he agreed before lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But can I share a secret?”
Jack nodded cautiously.
“Sliding down banisters isn’t one of them. At least not at Radcliffe Park.” And because it felt right, because it felt paternal despite there being no blood shared between them, he reached out and ruffled Jack’s hair. A small gesture. Meaningless to most. But it was something his own father had never done to him and if the widening of Jack’s eyes were any indication, something no parent of hers had ever done either. “Well then,” he said gruffly, crossing his hands behind his back. “I, ah, have business to attend to in my study.”
He could feel Jack staring at him as he walked quickly away. Just as he felt the odd pang in the center of his chest where his heart resided. He closed the door to his study and then leaned against it while he waited for the tightness to ease. But to his discomfort, it didn’t disappear. Rather, it warmed and began to spread, like honey being drizzled into a warm cup of tea. Vaguely, he recognized the warmth for what it was.
Love.
Not the hot, complicated love he had for Kitty. This was a milder, more comfortable version. Wrapped in protectiveness and a fatherly instinct he hadn’t known he possessed. His interactions with Jack had been infrequent at best, but he’d still watched her from afar. She’d been living in his house, after all. Eating his food. Cheating in piquet. Driving his valet mad. And all the while, completely unbeknownst to him, working her way into his heart.
The irony, he acknowledged, pinching the bridge of his nose, was bittersweet. Over the years, how often had he blamed himself for his father’s lack of attention, lack of love, lack of simple bloody interest ? Henry Colborne had rarely given his son the time of day, let alone shown him anything that might be construed as affection. And in the way of the children, William had assumed the fault was his. When he became an adult, he’d tried not to think about it at all. But he had. Of course he had. Every fight with Kitty that ended with her wanting to leave him, to leave their marriage, he’d thought and why shouldn’t she? If I am not worthy of my own father’s love, how could I demand it of my wife?
The answer was he couldn’t. You couldn’t make someone love you.
But you could make them stay, and so that’s what he had done.
Over, and over, and over again he’d denied Kitty’s request for divorce... and every time she’d asked, every time those big blue eyes had implored him to let her go, the little boy inside of him had felt the sting of rejection once more. Because if his father had taught him anything in the pitifully small amount of time they’d spent together, it was that he was unlovable. And somewhere along the way, he’d taken that to mean he was also incapable of loving, that he was incapable of giving what he’d never received himself. But that wasn’t true, because he loved Jack. The scrawny, foul-mouthed street urchin had wormed her way into his life and under his skin. Proving that he could love. That he wasn’t his father. That he was capable of more than the man whose blood ran in his veins. But perhaps that was the saddest realization of all—that he was able to give love... he just didn’t deserve to receive it.
Wearily, William rose to his feet and crossed the room to his desk to pour himself a drink, his steps heavy both from the long ride that had brought him here and the weight of emotions burdening his chest. He may have loved Jack, and God knew he loved Kitty in all of the ways a woman could be loved. But that didn’t mean they loved him. That she loved him. Why would she? How could she? And if he truly loved her... if he truly loved her, perhaps it was time to give her what she wanted, what she’d always wanted, if he was being completely honest with himself.
Her freedom.
*
“I am sorry again that we could not attend the funeral.” Small lines of regret etched themselves across Mara’s fair forehead as she joined Kitty on the veranda overlooking the rear gardens of Southwick Castle. Rain, as it had for most of the night and morning, fell in a gray drizzle while steam rose in a cozy tendril from the cup of coffee she delivered to Kitty before she sat beside her on a generously upholstered, wicker-framed sofa. “I haven’t been feeling well, and feared I wouldn’t be able to make the trip. Ambrose, bless him, didn’t want to leave me in such a state.”
Kitty drew a knee to her chest beneath the folds of her midnight-blue traveling habit and took a sip of coffee. After delivering Jack straight to Radcliffe Park, she’d instructed the driver to continue on the five or so miles to Southwick Castle for an impromptu visit with her sister. She needed advice, and as she didn’t have many friends, at least none in happy marriages, that meant she needed Mara.
In a world where women married for appearance, title, money, or a combination of all three, the Duchess of Southwick was a dissenter. She had married her husband for love, and while the beginning of her union with Ambrose had been quite rocky, they’d since sailed off to blissfully peaceful waters filled with sunsets and rainbows and dolphins. Kitty may not have wanted the dolphins—she loathed boats and anything to do with the ocean, as stepping off shore never failed to make her stomach do an array of acrobatics—but she did want the sunsets. She wanted the rainbows. She wanted the happily-ever-after. She wanted William . Not the earl or the marquess—she wanted the man. The man who had broken her heart, put it together, and then broken it again. Loving William had never been easy. It would never be easy. They were both too stubborn and too set in their ways for that. But if she bent for anyone, she wanted it to be him. And while scars weren’t pretty, they could be strong.
“The funeral was the same as any other,” she said dismissively. “William’s mother cried a tad more than I thought she would, particularly given that three of her husband’s mistresses were in attendance. And I have to wear a dark color palette for the next six months—you know how black washes out my skin—but it went as well as could be expected.”
“And William?” Mara asked, scooping a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “How is he?”
“He seems to be handling his father’s death well. They were not very close.”
“And you?” her sister said softly. “How are you, Kitty?”
There was absolutely no reason for Mara’s question to bring a rush of tears to Kitty’s eyes, but it did. Maybe because she was tired and hadn’t slept well the night before. Maybe because the coffee was a touch too bitter. Or maybe... just maybe... it was because Mara’s concern was a reminder that no matter what happened, she had a sister who loved her. A sister who had always taken care of her. A sister who had, quite literally, shielded her from blows meant for her. A sister she had taken for granted and taken her anger out on. A sister who would still drop whatever she was doing at a moment’s notice to sit with her on a veranda in the rain. Blinking the pinprick of waterworks away, Kitty cleared her throat and said, “That is why I’ve come here, actually. I need to know how you did it.”
Mara’s brow creased. “How I did what?”
“Made Ambrose fall in love with you, of course.”
“Oh,” her sister said with a startled laugh. “I... well... I’m not sure, to be honest. I don’t know if it was any one thing, but rather a combination of little things that helped us both realize how much we meant to the other.”
“He did save you from the wild dogs,” Kitty reminded her. Several months ago, Mara had gone for a nighttime walk in the orchards of this very estate and had been set upon by a ruthless pack of feral canines. Had Ambrose not gone searching for her, it was likely they wouldn’t be having this conversation today. While fighting the dogs off, Ambrose had sustained a bite and a subsequent infection that had nearly taken his life.
“Yes, he did.” Mara shuddered. “On days like these, his leg still pains him. When we were last in London I went to visit Dr. Chadwick and she gave me a poultice to wrap around the scar tissue. It does seem to help ease the ache. Do you know she has eight cats? I managed to count them all when I was in her office.”
“Why would anyone want eight cats?”
“She’s an American.”
“That explains it.” Kitty paused. “I was short with you, wasn’t I? While you were caring for Ambrose and I came to visit, I was terribly unkind and you asked me to leave.”
“Oh, Kitty, I’m sorry—”
“No,” she interrupted, “ I’m sorry, Mara. I’m sorry for how I’ve acted. How I’ve treated you. How selfish I’ve been. I... I became so accustomed to being your little sister that I forgot I was an adult, responsible for my own decisions and my own choices. I took my anger out on you... I’ve been taking my anger out on you... and I shouldn’t have.”
“But you were right.” Her luminous brown eyes glistened with tears. “I did marry Ambrose and leave you, Kitty. With him .” She didn’t say their father’s name aloud, but she didn’t have to. They both knew to whom she was referring in the instinctive flinch of their bones. “I wrote to you. I asked how you were doing, and when you wrote back you insisted that you were fine. That you’d met a dashing young earl and your life was perfect, but in my heart... in my heart I knew better.”
“You were a bride with her own problems to be solved. Your focus should not have been on me, and I shouldn’t have expected it to be.” When Kitty’s tears threatened to return, she kept them at bay with a watery smile.
How maudlin they must have appeared, sniffling into their cups on a rainy day. A duchess and a marchioness crying over past regrets when there was far more suffering to be found in the world than what resided on a beautiful veranda. But pain was pain, and Kitty was determined to make amends for the hurt she had caused to the person who had loved her the longest.
“Before Alessandra died, William came to me. He wanted to make amends. To ask me to wait for him while he saw her settled. But he didn’t know how long that would take, and I was too proud and too damned stubborn to wait. I didn’t come here for the country air, Mara. And I didn’t come here for you, my sister, who had just been abandoned by her husband. I came to Southwick Castle to hide. I came here to hide,” she repeated softly as a single tear, so light that she hardly felt it, traced a watery trail down her cheek, “and when I returned to London for the Season, I thought I could forget William and move on. But no matter how many men I danced with, he was the only one I thought about. I saw his face everywhere. I heard his voice in my dreams. He was an ocean away and I still couldn’t escape him.”
“Because you loved him,” Mara prodded gently. “Even after all that had happened with Alessandra, you still loved him.”
“I did love him.” Blast it, where were all of these tears coming from? “And I hated him. And I missed him. And I wanted to never see him again. Then suddenly, there he was. A year later, standing in the middle of a ballroom, just like the first night that we met.”
“You realized how much you meant to each other,” said Mara, picking up the story as she had been told it, “and when he proposed to you in the gardens, you said yes.”
Simple, Kitty thought dimly. It sounded so simple that way. But the truth—the truth she’d kept hidden from her sister—was much more violent.
Standing up, she went to the railing and stared blindly out into the rain as a chill worked its way down her spine. “The proposal didn’t happen... precisely like that.”
“What do you mean?”
Kitty had grown up on a steady diet of secrets. Her mother’s murder. Her father’s abuse. The money she had pretended to have. But secrets did not sustain the soul. They destroyed it. And she was tired, so bloody tired, of starving her soul for the sake of keeping her secrets safe. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Then she told Mara everything about that terrible night, leaving no detail out. And when she was finished, when she had completely purged herself of lies, she turned around slowly, bracing herself for condemnation.
Instead, she had only comfort waiting.
“Oh, Katherine .” On a hiccupping sob, Mara rose from the sofa and wrapped her in a tight embrace that forced the air from her lungs. “You said you found Father dead from drink! I had no idea. You should have told me. I could have helped you. Supported you.”
“You’re not . . . you’re not upset?”
“Only that you withheld the truth from me.” Taking a step back, Mara adopted the stern-older-sister expression she’d perfected when they both still wore pinafores. “Father was... Father was deplorable, Kitty. What he did to Mother... what he did to me... what he threatened to do to you...” She pressed her lips together. “There was no goodness in him. Only darkness. I was relieved when you wrote me that he’d died. Knowing how it happened does not change that.”
“William does not like to talk about it.” Kitty leaned heavily against the railing. “He blames himself for our father’s death and for Alessandra’s suicide.”
Mara frowned. “Neither was his fault. Not really.”
“ I know that, and you know that, but he doesn’t know that.”
“Have you told him?”
“I...” Her mouth opened. Closed. “I’m not sure.”
Between the yelling, and the lovemaking, and the long stretches of stony silence that had consumed their marriage, had she ever actually told William that she did not hold him responsible for what had happened to her father? Had she ever told him that if she searched deep inside of herself, she—grudgingly—understood why he had done what he’d done where Alessandra was concerned?
No.
No, she didn’t believe that she had.
“You should,” said Mara when she shook her head. “Because I did not make Ambrose fall in love with me. Love is not something that can be ordered or coerced. It must bloom naturally in rich, healthy soil that can sustain it through the inevitable seasons of a marriage. Only when Ambrose was vulnerable with me and I with him, only when we trusted each other with our innermost thoughts and feelings, did our garden start to grow and blossom into the love that we have today.”
Kitty rolled her eyes. “William isn’t a daffodil, Mara.”
“And you’re certainly no buttercup,” her sister quipped. “But you are deserving of loving and being loved, Kitty. No matter how hard our father worked to convince you otherwise.”
“I should go back to Radcliffe Park,” she said when her throat swelled yet again. Had she known that her conversation with Mara would be this emotional, she’d have brought cucumber slices with her. There was nothing worse than puffy eyes. “William will likely have arrived by now, and we... we have much to discuss.”
“I’ll be here if you need me.” Mara accompanied Kitty to the entrance hall where she donned her bonnet and gloves. “I do not anticipate traveling anytime soon.”
“Is your illness that serious?” Her brows drew together. “You don’t look sick.”
“I am not ill , per se.” The Duchess of Southwick’s cheeks took on a warm, pink glow as she linked her hands together across her belly. “Ambrose and I are expecting.”
“Expecting what?” Kitty said blankly.
“A baby . Right before Christmas, according to the midwife.”
Kitty’s gaze went to Mara’s covered stomach, then her face, then her stomach again. “I’m... going to be an aunt?” Logically, she knew that was the typical order of things. A proposal, a wedding, and then a baby. But it was different when it was her sister. Different when it was her little niece or nephew growing inside of Mara’s belly. “I’m going to be an aunt!”
“The best aunt,” said Mara, smiling through another onslaught of tears. “This is our chance to do it over. To raise a child who knows only love and kindness.”
“You’ll be a wonderful mother. You have been for me.”
“Oh, Kitty.”
Laughing and crying, the two sisters hugged each other tight.