Chapter 3 #2
It was her opinion, and of course the reason he’d sought her out when the mail coach broke down, to make her remember, draw her close and then reject her when she needed him most. “We don’t need to be.” What would it take to defrost her?
A slight huff of breath came from her, and when he assumed she wouldn’t respond, she said, “I rather think we do. From all accounts, if rumors are true, you haven’t changed from the young man you were that long-ago Christmas.”
Ah, so now she’d decided to play his game? Very well. How interesting that her recollection was colored differently than his. “When you crushed me?”
She uttered an unladylike snort. “That assumes you cared. I set you free to find your own path, the one you wished to forge regardless of what I wanted.”
Is that what she thought? Those plans he’d had would have benefited them both, and had been most lucrative. He glowered instead of striving to explain, for what good would it do? “I did care.”
“Not enough to come after me, to fight for me—for us.” She waved a hand as if that would dismiss a veritable lifetime of hurt between them. As if he no longer mattered.
Perhaps he didn’t, for hadn’t he moved on with his life, found other things to fill the void Lucy had left?
He kept his anger at the forefront, so vulnerability couldn’t sneak in.
How the hell was he to know she’d wanted him to come after her?
“You made it clear there was no us when you refused me.” Oh, how his heart had been wrenched and shredded.
He hadn’t been able to accept that it had been the end between them, so once the Christmas holidays were over, he’d sent her a letter asking once more for her hand.
Not only had she refused him in writing, she’d sent his letter back with hers, telling him to look inside at the man he was, the one he wished to be, and if he changed, she would reconsider.
That was the last communication there had been between them, for he’d remained in high dudgeon for quite some time.
She gawked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “Because I left the party that night early and without giving my promise?”
Her inability to see her part in the farce worked to further annoy him. Bitterness filled his chest, and he let it rage. “No, because you married my best friend less than two years later.”
Pregnant silence brewed between them for long moments, broken only by the clip clop of the horses’ hooves and the crunch of gravel beneath the wheels. They’d left London proper before Lucy spoke again.
“I had to go on with my life, Colin,” she said in a quiet voice. “You accepted your freedom readily enough. Went to London and sowed wild oats, which meant what we’d shared wasn’t strong enough to pass the test of time. It was good we found that out before we’d wed.”
“Wild oats until I married around the same time.”
“That was our fate.” She shrugged as his jaw worked to form a smart reply. “When Jacob came home from the war, wounded, he and I spent time together during his convalescence. We talked, took long walks through the Derbyshire countryside, remembering our childhood, exchanging hopes and dreams.”
“Except the parts where I made an appearance.” This time the cynicism leeched into his voice.
She ignored his rejoinder. “It was inevitable we fell in love. I… I was ready for that part of my life to begin.”
Without me. Why had she not been eager to set up housekeeping with him?
His chest ached, or more specifically, his heart pained him.
Suddenly, he didn’t want to talk anymore or even goad her.
It made him remember too much, and regrets crept in bringing guilt with them.
“I never forgave Jacob the trespass,” he admitted in a whisper, but didn’t look at her. He couldn’t.
“He knew that, but always hoped you would,” she replied in a matching low tone. “He loved you like a brother and took it hard when you abandoned him—us.”
How the devil could he go on being friends with them knowing that she preferred Jacob over him, wanted his best friend in her arms, in her bed, when she’d thrown those same feelings away, the ones she’d previously held for him?
Colin rubbed at his chest above his heart in an effort to relieve the never-ending ache. He wished the conversation would end, yet he needed to hear everything about her life. “Did you… ah… have children?” The words were forced from a tight throat.
“Yes.” The word was propelled into the air on a barely-there whisper, as if she was loath to admit such a thing. “Two. A boy, Simon who is fifteen, and a girl, Beatrice, who is thirteen. They are my life now.”
What sort of a mother was she, and did the children resemble her? At one time he’d thought he and she would have a passel of little ones, stair steps of each other, with her slight almond-shaped eyes and his impish grin. “They don’t travel with you.”
“No. They went ahead a few days with Lydia, for they insisted on bringing the cat, and I had business in Town to finish before I made the trip.”
Ellen stirred in her sleep. She gave off what sounded like a laugh. Perhaps she dreamed of happier things than were currently discussed.
Lucy smiled at her before giving her attention back to him. “It’s a good life.”
“So it seems,” he replied with a frown. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I wish to immolate my daughter.” He closed his eyes, but he knew sleep wouldn’t come, not while Lucy was so close.
And so not his. What a horrible idea it had been to render traveling assistance to her.