Chapter Seven
Durward spent the next few days constantly torn by extremes of opinion.
Although the idea of marrying Carina would not go away, he had no right to offer her a disgraced name.
He could not take her with him into the unknown rigours of exile.
That would be criminal. And yet the notion of leaving without her opened a yawning black chasm.
Worse yet, when he was gone, who would look after her?
Especially if her father relapsed. Durward’s presence in her life could be doing her reputation no good whatsoever, so all he was doing was lessening her chances of marrying a good man who would care for her.
Whoever that man would turn out to be, Durward hated him.
If he married her, he made her a viscountess and could settle a comfortable sum on her. She would be able to reside at his London house, or his country seat, be a friend to Bethany, and a good influence on Duncan...
Fantasy and foolishness. He would be condemning her to a life of loneliness, without children or a proper marriage, dumping the burden of his responsibilities on her head.
Which was what he had always done. He left Duncan to Bethany, his estates to stewards because it seemed sensible when he was clearly not destined for a long life.
But practically speaking, this was evasion of his own responsibility, just like marrying Carina and abandoning her.
No, he should leave her now, while he was still no more than a moment’s gossip in her life.
Before her liking, her friendship, could turn into anything deeper and hurt her.
Already, she was less than immune. He had been around too many women not to know that she would have let him kiss her that day on their countryside walk.
He heard her moments of breathlessness, gloried in her awareness of him as a man, even as he castigated himself for allowing things to get even that far. He had to tear himself away.
That was the bleak knowledge he woke to on the morning Calton’s letter finally reached him. The decision had stayed with him since the night before, so he knew in his heart it was the right one.
So when he went downstairs to take his breakfast, it seemed somehow inevitable that the innkeeper brought him Calton’s letter.
He nodded his thanks and stared at it. So, this was it. Foster was dead.
A wave of grief washed over him with such force that he almost howled. I killed my friend.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t meant it.
The risk should only have been his own. Yet Foster lay dead, all that he was, the fun, loyal friend of years, erased from the world, leaving his family—whom Durward knew—to mourn, along with all the other friends Durward had deprived in one unforgivable moment of temper and over-confidence.
It had been bound to happen sooner or later. And yet what hit him even more powerfully than guilt, was that he would never see Foster again.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing his anguish was the least of this tragedy. Staring at the unopened letter, even burning it so that he never had to read it, wouldn’t change the reality.
He snatched it up and broke the seal.
Greetings, Durward!
Good news I thought you would appreciate. Foster lives and has been sitting up in bed talking. The doctors are refusing to pronounce him out of danger yet, but there is definitely cause for hope. And we know what a stubborn devil he can be.
No idea if you’re still in Harwich or sailed but I shall keep sending updates to the Lion until I hear otherwise. Spoke to your sister yesterday, and she and Baldeston are, like me, en route to the Hawthorns’ party. She hopes you will join us there.
Servant in a hurry,
Calton
“He lives,” Durward whispered.
“Beg your pardon, sir?” said the innkeeper’s wife, plonking a huge plateful before him. “Is something wrong?”
Durward blinked at her and swallowed. A smile seemed to rise up from his toes, unstoppable and joyous. He beamed at her. “Absolutely not. It is a wonderful, glorious day.” And I shall waste none of it. Ever again.
CARINA’S MORNING ALSO began well. It was the first time Papa had left for work without Durward taking him, and he seemed rather pleased with the novelty. It was a pleasure to wave him off in good humour and not be living on tenterhooks for the rest of the day.
There had been no further summonses from Mansel Manor, which was a relief to Carina, especially now that Papa was earning again.
There was food in the larder, and the savings were making a gradual recovery.
All was right with the world, especially when Papa sent hasty word at midday that he had run into Durward and was bringing him home for supper, probably about seven.
She sang to herself and she cleaned and shopped and cooked. All was right with her world for another day. She could ignore the knowledge that it would not last forever, that any kind of happy ending with Durward was impossible for her. She lived in the moment and was happy.
They arrived together shortly after seven and at once she saw the change in the viscount. She couldn’t pin down exactly what it was, but it was as if some great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“You have received good news?” she asked, as they sat down to the first course of soup and fresh bread.
He smiled at her, and her heart skittered in its usual, foolish way. “The best. Foster, the man I shot in a duel, seems likely not to die after all.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“Nothing is certain,” he warned, though she had the impression he spoke to himself here rather than to her or Papa, “but there is hope now, and I need not escape the country just yet.”
Could this day get any better? “I am so glad,” she said fervently. “For you as well as for him and his family.”
Papa nodded portentously. “You have been given a second chance, Travis. You must make the most of it.”
As Papa himself was doing.
“I intend to,” Durward said. “With the urgency lifted, there are matters I need to sort out away from Harwich. Family matters, business matters.”
Without warning, the bloom of her happiness wilted. “You are going away.”
He met her gaze, his eyes intense and lit with excitement.
But not for me. For leaving...
“For a little,” he said evenly. “I must get my life in order.”
Of course he must. Even Papa, nodding sagely over his soup, acknowledged that.
And Carina was pleased, truly she was, or would be once the silly disappointment had passed.
More than anything, she wanted the blackness gone from his eyes, from his outlook.
She wanted him to be happy. Was it selfish to wish to be part of that?
When she had always known she could not be. ..
She smiled brightly, while her heart began to break. It was only as she cleared away the first course, refusing to let Durward help her, that she realized part of her inexplicable anger was at herself.
For years, she had been flung this way and that by events or by people she could not control.
Her mother had died, leaving her at the mercy of her father’s grief and his descent into the bottle.
The neighbours had shunned her and she had allowed it.
Lady Mansel had chosen to employ her, Sir Hugh to insult her.
If her father had hauled himself to sobriety, it was not through anything she had said or done, but through Durward.
Enough, she thought suddenly, all but slamming the soup bowls down by the kitchen sink.
I have to stop allowing myself to be pushed around by life or by other people.
If I want him—and God help me, I do!—I must act, take the risk.
And if I lose, well at least I will have tried and may get on with my life. ..
And so she pulled herself together and exerted herself to smile and make conversation while they ate the rest of the meal. She answered his wit with her own, and the banter between the three of them grew merry and fun. Durward’s eyes sparkled when they looked at her, and hope surged.
“Where does your sister live?” Papa asked once.
“In Wiltshire,” Durward replied, “but I shall find her right now at Lady Hawthorn’s house party.”
That gave her pause, for a moment. His trip now sounded more like fun than responsibility.
“But I hope to be back in Harwich in a week,” he added. “Two at the most.”
I will bring you back sooner, she promised silently, her heart beating hard with anticipation and fear.
After the meal, she made tea and served it in the parlour, where Papa began to fall asleep in his chair. Durward rose and took the cup from his limp hand.
“I must go,” he said, setting the cup in its saucer on the table. “You will give him my farewells?”
“Of course,” she said, standing with him as her heart beat harder yet.
She followed him into the hall, where he picked up his hat and smiled at her.
“Thank you for yet another lovely evening. I shall miss you.” He took her hand, and the thrill of his touch spread through her skin.
This time, she could not afford to wait for him to act, to speak. She summoned her courage and said breathlessly, “Good.”
Laughter sprang into his eyes, yet she felt his fingers loosen. It was now or never. She caught her breath, clinging to his hand, and stepped closer. The scent of his skin, clean and fresh with a hint of lemon, was intoxicating.
“Au revoir,” she whispered, standing on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to his.
He was so male and lean, she hadn’t expected his mouth to feel soft. The sensation was novel, sweet, and something she would never, ever regret. But with despair, she knew it was not enough to keep him. How had she ever imagined it would be?
“I love you,” she whispered brokenly against his lips.
And with that, everything changed.