Chapter Twenty-five #3
Isabella gulped back her sobs and raised her tear-swollen face. Damien smiled down at her, but she saw the bleakness he could not hide clearly in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her lips softly, gently. It was a kiss of affection, not passion. A kiss of tenderness and comfort. A kiss of love.
She closed her eyes against the pain. All too soon the kiss ended. Isabella felt Damien take her hands in his own. They were warm and solid. She clung to them tightly. Slowly he led her out of the room, across the great hall, and into the sunlight.
A fine traveling carriage stood waiting in the drive, the steps lowered and door opened. It was a warm morning despite the breeze, but Isabella barely noticed.
Damien handed her into the carriage. She was glad of his support, for her feet faltered on the small steps. She settled on the near side and blindly thrust her arms out the open window. She felt Damien take her hands. He lifted one, then the other, to his lips.
“Farewell, my lord,” she said.
“Godspeed, Isabella.”
He dropped her hands abruptly, and the carriage lurched forward. Panic clawed at Isabella’s throat as the wheels crunched down the gravel drive. Within minutes they had cleared the gates and turned onto the road.
Lord Poole gazed broodingly across the coach at her, but held his tongue.
Isabella supposed he was chafed at the delay her long farewell had caused.
She sighed deeply, allowing numbness to overtake her bruised emotions.
She had left The Grange at her brother’s command, because she had no other choice.
But her heart would forever remain behind.
The sound of shattering glass brought Jenkins to the library at a run. He opened the door, fearing what he might discover, but the drapes were shut tight, bathing the room in darkness. Jenkins could barely discern the earl’s tall silhouette.
“Are you all right? I thought I heard glass breaking.”
“I didn’t throw anything this time, Jenkins.” Damien gave a hollow laugh. “I was merely holding my goblet when it suddenly broke.”
“That goblet was made of leaded crystal,” Jenkins grumbled. “You must have been pressing on it awfully hard for it to split like it was a ripe melon.”
The valet lit a brace of candles, then crossed the room to assess the damage. “You’ve cut your hand,” he exclaimed. “And in more than one place.”
“So I have,” the earl replied absently. “Strange, I didn’t even feel it.
” Damien looked down with detached interest as the blood dripped steadily onto the rug.
“Poor Mrs. Amberly will be distressed. I’ve gotten blood all over the Aubusson carpet.
It leaves such a nasty stain. I hope she will not have too much difficulty removing it. ”
“Have you gone completely daft?” Jenkins pulled the earl’s hand toward him and examined the wounds.
There were several cuts on Damien’s palm and a few slashes across the finger pads.
After dousing the wounds liberally with whiskey, Jenkins wrapped the hand with a clean handkerchief.
The earl remained silent through the entire procedure.
“After all that has happened today, the one thing that troubles you is the damn rug,” Jenkins said with exasperation.
“You are missing the point, my friend,” Damien said.
He poured himself a fresh glass of whiskey.
“If I concentrate long and hard on the inconsequential occurrences of today, I can ignore all the important ones. It is a technique I have subconsciously employed for years, yet I only realized that today. However, this afternoon I deliberately turn my attention toward the minute details.”
“You are talking nonsense.”
“I am not.” Damien sighed heavily, and twirled his whiskey glass restlessly in his uninjured hand.
“I have lived most of my life chasing after the unimportant details. My marriage to Emmeline was unhappy, so I ignored her and invested all my energy and time in making The Grange a profitable estate. If I had put half as much effort into my marriage, Emmeline might still be alive.”
“You are not to blame for her death,” Jenkins insisted, watching the earl’s expression change from indifference to regret.
“Oh, but I am.” Damien made a small, guttural noise and bit down on his lip.
“She was my wife, my responsibility. And I failed her. God only knows what she was doing in that passageway, and so it shall remain. We will never learn the truth. But if I had cared more, if I had concerned myself more with her happiness, if I had protected Emmeline properly, she would have been safe. I failed her, Jenkins. And she paid the ultimate price for my neglect.”
“Emmeline never sought or wanted your involvement in her life,” Jenkins said.
“Her friends, her social activities, pursuing her own interests—that is what occupied Emmeline’s days.
She wanted little to do with you or The Grange or even her own children.
She spent far more time living in her brother’s house than she did in yours, even after you were married. ”
“She was my wife, Jenkins. She was my responsibility,” the earl repeated stubbornly.
Jenkins shook his head. “Are you going to wallow in guilt and self-pity for the rest of your life to atone for this great sin? Is that why you let Poole drag Miss Browning away? Are you punishing yourself?”
“God, I hope not,” Damien replied honestly.
He crossed the room and pulled one drape panel open.
He stood looking out the window for several minutes.
“I have nothing to offer her, Jenkins. I know Isabella left because she thought it would forestall Poole’s revenge on me. She is a noble and unselfish woman.”
“She is,” Jenkins agreed.
“I doubt Lord Rathwick would have been able to bring me to trial without a shred of evidence, but Poole certainly would have pressed him hard to prove that I murdered Emmeline. Now Poole will have to content himself with my financial ruin. I feel certain he will demand payment of the mortgages by the end of the week.”
Jenkins looked at the earl consideringly. “Can you pay them?”
“No.” Damien shrugged expressively. “I have some funds put aside, but it is not enough. I’ve tried, but have been unable to secure any additional loans.” The earl squared his shoulders. “We will have to start over.”
“Miss Browning would rise to the challenge,” Jenkins said, knowing it was true.
“It hurts a man’s pride to offer so little to the woman he loves,” Damien said quietly.
“I’d say that depends on the woman.” Jenkins’s lips tightened.
He watched the earl closely, but Damien’s expression never faltered.
Gritting his teeth, the valet turned to leave.
“Think hard, Damien. Don’t allow Poole to take Miss Browning from you.
Then he really will succeed in having his revenge. ”
Jenkins shut the door quietly as he left, hoping his words would propel the earl into action. It was so unlike Damien to remain passive when challenged. He had always lived by the creed that no obstacle was insurmountable.
Apparently, the shocking events of yesterday afternoon had hit the earl hard, and he wasn’t thinking clearly. Jenkins prayed he would come to his senses quickly before he lost the chance to claim the happiness he so richly deserved.
Damien drummed his fingers on the windowsill.
He pushed the heavy drapes aside, and as he watched the brilliant streaks of red and gold sunlight begin to disappear from the sky, a terrible loneliness invaded his soul.
Isabella was gone. And somehow he was going to have to learn to live without her.
Without her radiant smile and sparkling wit.
Without her unflagging loyalty and unselfish regard.
Without her willful attitude and outspoken tongue.
Damien turned sharply from the window and began pacing restlessly about the room.
How he wished he could ignore the pain gnawing in his chest—and deny the fear creeping into his heart.
Had he made a dreadful mistake? Was Jenkins right?
The question nagged at his brain, refusing to quit. Should he have asked Isabella to stay?
The future stretched before him, empty and unappealing. Damien did not doubt that Isabella held a deep affection for him. He had seen and felt her pain when she bade him farewell. Did he have the right to accept her regard? Was he worthy of her love?
He clasped his hands behind his back to keep them still.
He searched his heart and his conscience and considered all he had lost. He had lost the chance to share his life with an honorable, beautiful woman.
A woman he admired. A woman who made him laugh, who challenged his intellect, who fired his blood.
A woman who was affectionate and nurturing to his children. A woman who was as at ease with the maids as she was with the nobility. A woman who stood up to his temper and forgave his occasionally incorrigible behavior. A woman he loved.
Lord, he was a fool! Pride be damned. And Poole be damned too! Damien’s fighting spirit emerged. He was not going to allow his one chance at true happiness to escape unchallenged. He was going to do whatever was necessary to claim the woman of his heart.
“Jenkins! Jenkins!” Damien raced from library shouting loudly for his servant. His heart pumped with excitement as the rightness of his decision resonated through his being.
“Send someone to the stables and have them instruct Fred to saddle my horse immediately. I need to change my clothes and I require your assistance.”
“Planning a trip?”
“A rescue.” The earl grinned at his valet, then took the stairs to his dressing room two at a time. “Hurry, Jenkins,” he called over his shoulder. “The coming darkness will hamper my pursuit, and they have already been on the road for most of the day.”
A rueful smile tugged at Damien’s lips as he envisioned his quest. He was going to ride hell for leather to find Isabella and Poole. He was going to bare his heart, nay his very soul, to the woman he loved.
His smiled dimmed slightly. All he could do now was pray that she would have him.