Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Something was wrong. Something was utterly, completely, devastatingly wrong.
Elena had been silent from the moment West had seen her that day in the Carraway room. Three days of silence, avoidance, and lowered eyes.
He told himself she was merely uncomfortable and not certain what to do. He’d told himself he would apologize when she was ready and keep his distance until she was. He’d been certain she was being competitive about the challenge and would talk to him once more when it was over.
He was lying to himself.
Fred could barely get a word out of Elena either. She answered his questions, smiled slightly at his antics, but there was no life to it. No life to her.
It was frankly terrifying.
Had West stepped too far with how he had behaved at Carraway? She had not seemed uncomfortable other than with the vulnerability she displayed. She had not argued or forced him away, had not stopped him, had not complained.
He thought he knew her. Thought she would have made her thoughts and opinions known clearly. From the very first day they’d met, she had done this with him.
The fact that she was completely hiding from him now was unsettling.
His Elena was disappearing from his sight, and he was very much afraid she would disappear from his life if he was not careful.
But how could he make this right if he did not know what was wrong?
He had gone for a long ride that morning on his horse, delighting in the sight of his lands, his tenants, his home, and knowing deep within his heart that he needed Elena here to complete it.
Fenmore would not be Fenmore without her anymore.
It could not be.
But today was the day they were to present their plans to the jury Fred had arranged. West had carefully collated all of the information to support his propositions, and had estimated the results for the next five years, barring extreme weather or disaster.
But he still hoped Elena would win. He knew she weas capable of it, knew it was more than likely she would, but it was the anticipation of seeing the genius of her ideas that made him so eager.
She was so skilled, so brilliant, so visionary, and the lack of communication they’d had on the subject was driving him mad.
What had she pulled from their experiences with Mr. Beale in the Carraway fields?
What had she thought up from seeing their livestock in the pastures?
Where could she take Fenmore with new insights and observations?
With her foundation of success, brilliance, and sheer grit, she was capable of anything.
He desperately wanted to see her plans come to fruition, whatever they were.
They were meeting in the schoolhouse for their presentation, as Fred had insisted on neutral territory without finery, so Fenmore’s study, such as it was, could not be used. It was a ridiculous idea, but they had given Fred the authority in this endeavor. They could not very well remove it now.
West dismounted from his horse, pulled his documents from his saddlebag, and walked into the schoolhouse, where the jury of five farmers was already seated and waiting, with Fred standing at the front as some sort of moderator.
Elena was not in the room.
Oddly enough, Frank Tucker was, though, and he was not one of the jury.
Was he simply here for entertainment? A vested interest in the results or the presentations? Curious about what was being suggested?
Fred checked his pocket watch, then tucked it into the pocket of his tweed weskit. “Time to begin.”
West gave him a bewildered look. “Elena isn’t here, how can we begin?”
Frank cleared his throat. “Miss Ellie wasn’t feeling well, so she asked me to make her presentation for her.”
Something dark and cold sank into the pit of West’s stomach as he stared at the young farmer, whose expression was carefully blank.
“I was just at Fenmore,” West said slowly, “and no mention of anyone being unwell reached me.”
Frank shrugged. “I only know what I was told, my lord.”
The room fell silent, and as West looked around, he could see that no one had any answers for that. For her. For anything.
Elena would not miss this. She was too invested in the success of Fenmore and too eager to keep her work going. She would have to be bedridden to not appear for this, and if she had been bedridden, Mrs. Havens would have told him.
She was avoiding him still.
No. No, he would not allow this.
“Absolutely not,” West ground out.
Fred looked startled. “It’s not a forfeiture. She provided a substitute to present on her behalf.”
West clenched his jaw, his hands forming fists at his sides, then shook his head once more. “No.”
“Erm . . . yes?” Fred suggested almost weakly, giving West a look of confusion.
West closed his eyes, his tongue pressing against the front of his teeth. Then he rumbled an exhale and looked at Fred once more. “Then you present mine. Here.” He thrust the materials at his cousin’s chest before storming to the door.
“Where are you going?” Fred all but wailed.
“To get Elena once and for all,” he barked over his shoulder.
He had never been more grateful that the schoolhouse was not far from the estate, and that it was close to the house, in fact.
And beyond that, he was immensely grateful that he had chosen to ride over.
It meant he did not have long to wait before he was back to his house, practically leaping off of his horse, and striding into the house without a care for his boots, his clothing, or his volume.
“Elena!” he bellowed into the great hall, knowing his voice would carry enough for someone—anyone—to hear him.
Swift steps echoed from one of the corridors, and then Mrs. Havens was there, her eyes red and her hands wringing together.
His vision narrowed to her alone. “Where?” he managed.
Mrs. Havens hiccupped. “She’s gone. She’s left, said she could not stay any longer and would send word when she’d settled elsewhere.”
“How?” he hissed.
“She hired a coach from the village, and it met her here. She’s been gone less than half an hour.” Mrs. Havens flicked her gaze to the entrance, then back to him, her message clear.
Go get her.
West growled darkly. “I’ll be back for dinner, Mrs. Havens. And Miss Elena will require a hot bath when she returns. See if Mr. Andrews might fetch water from the lake for boiling.”
He turned on his heel and did not wait for her answer.
Once back on his horse, he nudged his heels in hard, his horse taking off at such a speed, it nearly threw him. But he held on, settled in, and began the chase after the woman he loved.
The minutes and the miles stretched out ahead of him, his focus sharpening with every beat of his heart.
If he could get to them before they reached Derby, which was the most likely place to meet a coach to go anywhere else, he had a chance to find her.
Once she caught a carriage elsewhere, she would be lost to him.
And he refused to let that happen.
His heart surged into his throat at the sight of a lone carriage in the distance, and he forced his horse harder, vowing to rest the creature well once they returned home to Fenmore.
Home.
He would never take such a word for granted again.
He was gaining on the carriage, closing the distance with an efficiency he was quite proud of. The carriage was not racing, which was a relief to him. Elena wanted to get away, but she was not begging them to flee with any sort of desperation.
Could she have wished for someone to stop her? For him to stop her?
She would never admit that, of course. That would be too soft, too vulnerable, too fanciful.
But he did wonder.
“Ho, there!” he bellowed to the coachman, though his voice was likely lost amidst the hooves and the wheels. “Stop the coach!”
He continued his mad pace, forcing his horse onto the grass and pulling alongside, glancing through the window as he did so.
Elena sat there, staring ahead with a distance that did not suit her, her hair in her usual plait and, if he was not mistaken, tear tracks on her cheeks.
Oh hell no.
“Elena!” he roared. “Stop the coach!”
She jerked in surprise, then gaped fully when she saw him riding beside the coach. He watched her lips form his name, then felt a cheer within him as she banged on the wall of the coach.
Just for emphasis, West rode a little farther and yelled for the coachman to stop again.
The vehicle slowed, the horses easing up in their pace until they came to a stop. West reined his horse in, then flung himself off to stride to the coach.
Elena was already out and walking towards him, her eyes wide. “West! What are you doing here?”
“Me?” he yelled as he approached her. “What are you doing in that coach, Elena?”
She stiffened on a sharp inhale. “Leaving. It was time.”
West folded his arms. “Was it? Why?”
“Scandal,” she snapped. “And you are the master of Fenmore. I could not stay anymore. You have a plan.”
Her emphasis on the word made him cock his head. “Plan,” he repeated.
She gave him a clipped nod. “At Carraway, you said, ‘This was not part of the plan.’ And I agree, I was not.”
Oh, his sweet girl . . . So impulsive, so disbelieving, so naive where he was concerned.
“You left before the challenge,” he told her, not addressing her misconception yet.
Elena shrugged. “It did not matter. I prepared my thoughts, and your jury could decide which plan to use. The last act of Williams, or not.”
“You don’t know what you were going to win, if you were selected.”
Her smile was soft and wobbling. “Would it have mattered?”
West tried not to smirk. “It might have. I don’t know, I did not stay.”
Her brow creased. “You didn’t?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “As soon as I heard you were unwell—a gross falsehood, by the way—I came after you.”
“Why?” she asked softly. “So I could do more for the estate?”
“Elena,” he rumbled, unfolding his arms and closing the gap between them. “My sweet, fiery girl. I want you to come home. With me. Scandal or no scandal.”
Her eyes turned glassy and she shook her head. “For Fenmore?”
He took her face in his hands. “No, my love. For me. Fenmore will never be home for me unless you are there as well. I am hoping these tears of yours are for more than just the house and the crops.” He swiped a wash of them away with his thumbs.
“They are,” she croaked amidst more tears, her eyes searching his.
West lowered his brow to touch hers. “Is it too selfish to hope that they might be for leaving me as well?”
A wet sob escaped her, her fingers gripping at his coat. “West.”
He dusted his lips over hers, tasting the salt of her tears.
“I love you, Elena. My Elena. This was not part of the plan, and I do not care. That was what I meant. You are the most gloriously unexpected complication, and now I want a new plan. Or no plan. Just you. I am so in love with you. Please, come home to Fenmore with me. Come be my home. Come drive me mad for the rest of our days. Marry me. Stay.”
Elena nearly crumpled, but threw her arms around his neck, hauling herself into his arms. “Yes,” she sobbed as her lips found his neck. “Yes, please. Please, West. I love you.”
He exhaled a hoarse, rough groan and wrapped his arms around her so fully, so completely, that he could feel her heartbeat against his chest. “I love you, Elena.”
Her body trembled and shook in his hold, and he ran a hand over her hair soothingly.
“It’s all right, my love,” he murmured, turning to kiss her hair, her brow, her cheek, anything within reach.
“It’s all right. You are loved. You are wanted, just as you are.
You are mine, and I am yours. It’s all right. ”
When she settled, she pulled back and stroked his jaw with a hand, her smile watery but bright. “You don’t mind the scandal? You’re marrying your brother’s widow.”
“Half,” he grunted, turning a rough kiss to her palm. “And no one knows that detail but us and the solicitor. I think everyone else will just be delighted that you’re staying forever.”
She beamed and pushed up on her toes to kiss him, the action light and soft.
West kept her from moving away, deepening the kiss insistently and without restraint. Elena whimpered, then sighed, curling her hands into his hair and tugging just enough to drive him wild.
He wrenched his mouth away from hers, panting and desperate for her, but fully aware they were out in the open on a public road to Derby. “Home,” he gasped. “I need to get my glorious, brilliant, daft woman home.”
Elena laughed and nodded. “Take me home, my stubborn, handsome, neanderthal man.”
West growled before stooping and wrapping his arms around her legs, tucking his shoulder under her stomach, and straightening with her draped securely over him.
“West!” she shrieked on a wild laugh. “Put me down.”
He only patted her legs and looked at the coachman, watching them with amusement. “Back to Fenmore, please. I’ll pay you double.”
“Aye, sir!” he called back.
West turned and began the trip back to his horse.
“West,” Elena giggled as she pounded halfheartedly at his back.
“Hush, woman,” he scolded. “I am carrying you off. We can talk later.”
She dissolved into further laughter. “Fine, but can we stop by the schoolhouse first? I want to know who won.”
“I did, my love. No matter what the results are, I won.”
She harrumphed. “No. What will my prize be if I win the actual challenge?”
“You are ruining the romantic moment!” he groaned as they neared his horse.
“Priorities, West,” she insisted. “Challenge first, romance later.”
He pulled her off his shoulder and set her safely on the ground before taking her face once more. “No, love. Romance, always. Challenge, always. You and me, always.” Then he winked. “But if you win this actual challenge, you can get a horse for yourself. Not just Chestnut. And we’ll go riding.”
Elena beamed at him and arched up to plant a decisive kiss on his lips. “Done. And if you win, I’ll marry you sooner rather than later.”
West gave her a slow, devious smile. “Oh, you have yourself a deal, Elena. Come on.”
He mounted his horse, pulled her up in front of him, and they rode back to Fenmore together.
Where they discovered that, in their absence, a combination of both plans was formed by the jury.
Which everyone involved was pleased with.