Chapter 23
Harry says he wants me now. Wants to marry me. What I want is to trust him again. To believe him. I want to be able to throw myself in his arms and know that I will be safe there forever.
He asks for my forgiveness, and while I can forgive him many things, I cannot forgive him for one thing—the thing that prevents me from accepting him and trusting him.
Of course, he hasn’t exactly apologized for that yet, has he? I wonder if I would feel differently if he ever did.
––––––––
“How was it?” Ilona asked excitedly as they rendezvoused at a nearby pavilion outside the Indian bazaar. Everywhere Fiona looked, booths and small shops overflowed with Indian clothes, scarves, and décor in vibrant colors.
However, Fiona saw none of it as her thoughts were consumed by the man at her side. “It was...enlightening.”
Aylesbury snorted. “With a view. You would have enjoyed it, Mrs. MacKintosh. Things can become very clear at such an altitude. Shall we have a drink? Colin? Sean?”
Hooking her arm around Fiona’s, Ilona gave her a squeeze as they trailed behind the men. “Whatever is going on between you and Aylesbury? Did something happen?”
“Nothing,” Fiona answered. “Why would you ask?”
“No reason. You just seemed happier before you got on the ride.”
“We talked. It was a long talk,” she admitted, watching Aylesbury’s back as he walked away from her, just as he had once before. “I know I’m being a fool, Ilona. But I feel that I would be an even greater fool if I trusted him again.”
“Trust that is lost is always the hardest to earn again,” Ilona said quietly. “But if you want a future with him...”
Fiona shook her head. “I abandoned those hopes long ago, and I have no desire to be his consolation prize after all this time. No, my plans have not changed one whit. I will marry—if not Lord Ramsay, someone else—and move on from there.”
“Consolation prize?”
“He loved Moira.”
Ilona flicked the words away with a wave of her hand. “Pish posh! If he ever truly did, I’ll eat my hat. That new one with the purple flowers I love so much. I would wager I love that hat more than Aylesbury loved Moira.”
“Nonsense, he still cares for her,” she protested. “You can’t deny that.”
Tilting her head to the side, Ilona considered the matter. “No, I don’t suppose I can. But he’s not in love with her. Any fool can see that. Why, he treats her like a sister.”
That prompted a reluctant laugh from Fiona. “He claims she’s more like a distant cousin.”
“You’ve discussed this then?”
“Yes.” Fiona sighed, “Oh, Ilona! He says he wants to marry me. Now. After all this time. What should I do?”
“Do you love him?”
She shook her head stubbornly. She couldn’t admit it. Not to Ilona. Not even to herself. To do so would open her heart to a world of hurt if Harry ever changed his mind.
Ilona frowned. “What happened, Fiona? I remember a lot of speculation about something happening between you and Lord Aylesbury years ago—was it the night of Vin and Moira’s wedding?
No, the year after at Montgomery’s christening, wasn’t it?
I don’t believe any of us know what happened between you that night.
Since then, the incident was all but forgotten with all the babies.
..and well, life going on. I can’t wonder why I would think of it again after all this time. ”
It was an invitation to speak that Fiona could easily ignore, but she was inwardly begging her sister-in-law not to ask directly.
It was difficult to deny Ilona anything.
It would be even harder to remain silent when her feelings were so jumbled and confused, when she truly needed—whether she was mentally prepared for it or not—to talk through her feelings and get another woman’s advice.
“I must ask...”
“Ilona. Fiona,” Coline called over her shoulder. “What a charming little stall over there. Shall we take a peek?”
Casting a look at Fiona that clearly said that the topic hadn’t been completely dropped, Ilona nodded to her sister and tugged Fiona along with her to the textiles stall displaying lengths of sheer, beaded Indian scarves and woven baskets.
While Ilona and Coline had their heads together, exclaiming over the brightly colored silks and gauzes, Fiona absently stroked the cloth as she meandered through the shop.
“The blue for you, my sweet,” a thickly accented voice spoke. Fiona turned with a start to find a dark Indian woman dressed in a deep red sarong, watching her closely with fathomless black eyes. “Not the red, the blue.”
“The red is quite lovely.”
“The blue is your lover’s eyes,” she argued, blocking Fiona when she tried to bypass her.
With a sharp intake of breath, Fiona stared in amazement. “I have no lover.”
The woman shook her head, not believing her denial. “There are many kinds of lovers. Those of the body, those of the heart. He is one. I could show you the way.”
The woman swept her arm, inviting Fiona to follow her to a small tent farther down the row. A colorful banner across the front proclaimed, "Riya Singh, World-Famous Seer.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t believe in seeing the future.”
“You’re having trouble with love, are you not? Trouble with a dark-haired man?”
Fiona looked about, but Aylesbury was nowhere in sight. “How can you know that?”
“There are many ways to see what is to come. Come with me,” the old medium urged. “Come, and I will show you your destiny and help you settle your troubled heart.” Fiona stilled involuntarily, and the old woman chuckled. “Yes, I can see it all. Two men chase after you, and you run away from both.”
“How can you...?” She clamped her lips together, and the fortuneteller’s shrewd eyes narrowed with amusement.
“Come, and I will tell you more.”
It was tempting, so tempting. Not that she believed in the occult, psychics or gypsies seeing the future, but anything might be helpful. Fiona licked her lips. “How much?”
“Come inside, and we’ll talk,” she urged again, her voice a soothing singsong. She slid her hand into Fiona’s and gave her a gentle tug. “Come, child. Come with me.”
A shiver of darkness chilled her. Instead of seeing the benevolence in the woman, she sensed evil intentions. “I’m sorry. I must go.”
Fiona turned away, searching the stall for Ilona and Coline, but the fortuneteller refused to release her hand and tugged more forcefully. “But your fortune. Your future.”
“Let me go,” she cried as the woman dragged her toward the opening of the tent with unimaginable strength.
The older woman’s hands were like talons around her wrist, refusing to release her prey. “I said come with me,” her high singsong voice ground to a gravelly snarl.
Panicked, she pried the woman’s claws from her wrist one by one and pulled away, fleeing like a startled rabbit. Afraid that the woman might chase her down.
* * *
“Fiona!” She spun about to find Ilona waving at her from across the promenade. “There you are! Come on, Aylesbury is treating us all at the teahouse.”
Her heart pounding in a sudden rush of fear, she all but ran to her. Then she saw Harry emerging from one of the pavilions and veered toward him. “It might happen again,” he had said. And he was right.
Another time, it might have incensed her to admit it. Right now, she was too rattled to care.
The smile on his face slipped away as he saw her racing toward him, and he hurried to meet her in swift strides. “What is it? Are you all right?”
“Fine.” Fiona swallowed back her anxiety as his arm slipped comfortingly around her waist. She didn’t want to worry him if the danger had been but a figment of her imagination, nor did she want to mention her recent confrontations to anyone else.
“I’m fine. I just got worried when I couldn’t see you anyone. ”
“God, I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me to let my frustrations leave you open to any danger. Real or otherwise. Are you sure you’re all right?” Aylesbury asked with a frown of concern, hugging her close to his side. “You look flushed.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “And I’m sorry, Harry. For what, or rather what I did not say earlier.”
The furrow marring his brow deepened. “I beg your pardon? Now I know something must be wrong.”
It might have been a joke meant to tease her into a smile, but she only shook her head. “No, not at all. I just need to...believe that I am safe with you. That’s all.”
“You don’t?”
Refusing to glance back and see if the old gypsy was still watching her, she forced a smile for his sake. “I do right now.”