Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
“No legacy is so rich as honesty.”
Not only were we on the path toward Brackenridge Hall, but it seemed that the estate was our final destination. It loomed ahead, the rooftop dusted in fresh white snow.
I held tight to James’s arm as he led me around the back of the house. I often forgot that this was the home James had been raised in, though his brother had been the one to inherit it. He put a finger to his lips and reached out toward a dead, bare bush, pulling it back by the thickest branch.
Behind it was a short door, half concealed by dry vines.
“A secret passage?” My eyebrows lifted in surprise.
James nodded. “When I was a child, I sneaked down here all the time.” His face lit up at the memory.
“Thomas, my brother, was a rascal as a boy, much less stern than he is today. Together we would sneak into the secret room behind this door when we were hiding from any trouble we had made. Here, we thought no one would ever find us.” He chuckled.
“It wasn’t until years later that we learned our mother always knew we were here, but let us keep our secret.
She believed that a secret shared between two people was a treasure.
It meant trust and friendship. But of course, she always saw good, never bad.
She hoped our secret place would keep us close all our lives.
Now, I don’t know if that’s the reason, but we have always been dear friends as well as brothers. ”
I found myself smiling at his warm story, at the fondness of his mother’s memory. I hoped I could be a better sister for Clara. I wanted to make up for the years we had lost being closer to enemies than friends.
James reached forward again and forced his fingers behind a crack in the wall. He pulled, and the wooden door moved. The dead vines snapped as he pulled the door all the way open, revealing a narrow, steep staircase upward. Cobwebs hung from the dark, low ceiling, and dust floated in the air.
“We are going in there?” I gulped.
James laughed, but I couldn’t muster a sound.
He grinned. “After you, miss.”
I scoffed. “There is no possible way. How do I know you’re not leading me to my death?”
“What could possibly be in this stairway that is so dangerous?” He looked vastly amused.
I searched my mind for a plausible response. “A criminal. A monster. Or—or a creature with sharp claws and glowing yellow eyes.”
James laughed, then bent down, peering behind the door. “Oh, yes. There he is! One moment.”
I watched as he ducked down and walked through. He had only taken a few steps before he was swallowed in darkness. I heard several seconds of commotion, dramatic clattering and exaggerated shouting. I had to hold my hand over my mouth to hide my laughter. This was ridiculous.
After a moment, James came back into view.
He poked his head out of the doorway. I could easily imagine him as a young boy—probably with rosy cheeks and even messier black hair, bright green eyes too big for his face, shining with adventure.
The thought was so endearing, I forgot not to grin at him.
“I have defeated the beast.” He cast me a smile and reached out to grasp my wrist. I was about to protest, but he pulled me forward. I ducked under the doorway. “We must hurry,” he said, whispering now. “I destroyed the creature with the glowing yellow eyes, but the monster still lives.”
I slapped him on the arm. “Do not frighten me like that.”
James laughed, and I allowed myself a smile in the dark.
In truth, I didn’t feel overly afraid. James was here.
For some reason, he made me feel safe in every sense of the word.
As we walked up the endless stairs in the dark, I gripped his arm against my better judgement.
I couldn’t see him in the darkness, but I could feel him right beside me, warm and strong, and that was almost a greater torture.
Finally, we paused our climb and James touched a door in front of us.
He slid his hand until he found the handle and pushed the door open.
Natural daylight flooded in from high above us.
James stepped into the room, then reached down to assist me.
My gaze scanned the new surroundings. It was disorienting.
Three triangular windows sat just below the peaked ceiling.
It was a tiny room, bare except for two chairs, a stone fireplace, a pile of chipped silver, and a stack of framed paintings.
As my eyes adjusted to the light, I walked over to the paintings.
The brushstrokes in the top painting were perfect, the colors vibrant.
It was a painted landscape of Craster—I could tell by the rocky coast and tile rooftops.
But the sky was much bluer than I had ever seen, and the grasses much greener.
To be sure, I turned to James. “Is this Craster?”
He nodded, a sort of grim look in his eyes. “My mother painted it.”
I turned my gaze back to the painting in awe. “It is beautiful. But why did she depict it so differently?”
“It’s a depiction of Craster in the spring.”
I looked at him in surprise. “Is it truly this beautiful?”
He smiled. “It is.” He walked over to stand beside me, and I watched his eyes sweep over the painting, a sort of longing in his expression.
“My mother was ill when she did this. She finished it mere days before her death. This town was such a joy to her, and spring was the only season she hadn’t yet painted it in.
” He crossed his arms, as if to keep some piece of himself from falling apart. I had never seen him like this.
“Her hands were always shaking,” James continued. “She couldn’t even lift a glass to her lips, but when she was painting, they were still. After she died, my father moved all her paintings to this room. It hurt him too much to see them. He died just a year later, when I was eighteen.”
I drew a breath, stricken by the raw grief in his face, the honesty of his words. He turned his eyes away from the painting and back to me.
I didn’t know what to say, for fear of ruining the understanding growing between us. “I am sorry. That must have been very difficult for you.”
He gave a soft smile. “I miss them both every day. But I was fortunate to have no doubt as to their love for me, and mine for them. I treasure that.”
My heart ached, a sharp pang in my chest. “How did you know?” I swallowed. “That they loved you?”
James looked at my face for a long moment. “They told me every day, but they also showed me. They cared deeply for my happiness, and they did all they could not to hurt me. There is a softness with which you are treated when you are loved. There are no conditions or selfish intentions.”
I pretended to understand, giving a slow nod, but my heart sank. I had never been told I was loved. At least Mama cared for my happiness…didn’t she?
James gestured to the chairs in the center of the room. The moment we sat down, he leaned forward. “I understand you have a confession to make?”
My stomach flopped with nervousness. Why had I offered to tell him anything? “I believe it was a trade that we agreed upon.”
He nodded. “That we did.”
“Perhaps you can share first.” I gave a cajoling smile. “Who was the woman you wrote the love letter for?”
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing up at me in exasperation. “I will tell you, but only if you tell me one thing.” He paused. “Why do you wish to know?”
His question bristled over my skin, a sharp reminder that even I didn’t know the answer.
Why did I care to know? Why didn’t I just dispose of the letter?
As I thought about what to say, I realized I couldn’t tell him the truth about this.
The reason I wanted to know was because I envied her.
To be loved by a man like James made that lady very fortunate.
I stopped myself. I didn’t want to be loved by anyone, especially not someone so far below my ambitions. So why did the thought of that woman choke me with longing for what she had?
James was waiting for my answer, but I still didn’t have it.
Why do you wish to know? Why did I? My voice spoke words I hadn’t planned for.
“You know about so many things that have hurt me. And…I realized that I don’t know very much about you—about the hard things you’ve had to bear.
I wish to be a confidante, a…friend, as you have been mine.
” I looked at him, surprised by the shyness I felt.
He looked at my face for a long moment, and for some reason I regretted calling him my friend. Had I overstated our relationship? Perhaps he only thought of me as an acquaintance or neighbor.
He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Her name was Mary.” His voice took on a formal tone.
“She came from a family well-positioned in society, but not wealthy by any means. I was still grieving the deaths of my parents, and she came here during the summer to visit her cousins. She did not like it here and missed her life in London.”
That sounded quite a lot like me. I swallowed.
“We connected over our different forms of heartache, and as we came to know one another, I thought I had fallen in love with her.” He breathed in slowly.
“I never professed my feelings to her, but she knew. I finally summoned the courage to write my feelings in a letter. I planned to deliver it personally, but when I called upon her, she was no longer here. She had returned home to marry a man with whom she had a previous engagement—an engagement to a wealthy viscount. She had kept the entire thing a secret from me.” He looked down at the floor.
“She never loved me at all. She cared for nothing but a title and a fortune, which I lack.” He was silent for several seconds, and finally looked at my face again.
“Why did you carry the letter with you after so much time?” The question spilled out. It had been in his pocket when it had fallen out onto the table.
He hesitated, his brow creased. “I don’t know.
I suppose I was holding onto something I should not have been holding onto.
” A light laugh escaped him, and he shook his head.
“It was good that you took it from me. I have since been able to find a great deal of healing by not constantly reading those words. I have realized that I would much rather give my heart to a woman who will value it.”
I studied the remnants of heartbreak and betrayal in his features.
Had I ever broken a heart like this woman had broken his?
Guilt pooled in my stomach as the realization dawned on me that I was exactly like her.
There was little I wouldn’t sacrifice for the opportunity to marry a viscount. My heart pounded.
After a moment, the rawness cleared from James’s expression, and he gave me a serious look. “It is your turn now. Your confession?”
I took a deep breath and tried to appear calm. I wished I could reverse time and not have agreed to tell him anything. Once he knew the true reason I was here, how I had lied to him, there would be no hope of him ever respecting me again. “I was not entirely honest with you.”
He watched me, waiting for me to continue.
I breathed deeply and rubbed my gloved hands over my skirt.
“My sister and I were sent here to Craster on an errand.” I swallowed.
“My father…he was familiar with all the gaming halls of London. He gambled away our entire fortune, leaving us in ruin. My mother secured a place for herself to live with one of her cousins, but sent us, her daughters, to a cottage on the tip of England, where no one would know of our disgrace.” I tried to keep my voice even, to shun the bitterness.
“I had one assignment from her, and it was to secure a match of title and wealth who could save us. Your brother was her primary choice.”
I didn’t dare look at James in the silence that followed.
“You’re fortune hunters.” His voice was hard.
I couldn’t deny it. My throat was dry as I swallowed. “I failed, obviously, and I have no intention of trying again.”
“I suspected it. But not from your sister.”
I glanced at his face, shaking my head. “Clara never supported it. What you see between my sister and your brother is completely genuine. She truly cares for him. I have never been so sure of anything in my life. Please do not worry over your brother. He is ardently loved by Clara, I assure you.”
“But you tried.” His frown deepened. “You lied to me. My brother could have very well lost his heart to you and been betrayed. How does your conscience allow that?”
My pride came to life again, provoked by his anger.
“And I would do it again! I will do it again somewhere else.” I took a deep breath.
“I don’t intend to live in a dirty cottage for the rest of my life.
A woman must be intelligent enough to understand that a life of ease and comfort is the only happiness that can be afforded.
The woman you loved…she understood that.
She did not want to live in Craster forever, and I cannot blame her. ”
Hurt flashed in James’s eyes.
“My mother has taught me well.” I swallowed hard.
“Even if love exists, I want no part of it. It is a hindrance of dreams and goals. It is an imitation of joy and entirely unnecessary. Forgive me if I want something more. Love will fade. Freedom and wealth in a marriage will serve me forever and well. Even if Clara manages to marry your brother and save our family from ruin, I will still meet the expectations my mother set for me a long time ago. I am determined to have the future I always wanted.” My words burned in my throat.
“And I’m sorry if that ruins your opinion of me. ”
I didn’t wait for James to speak or move or stand. I turned away and strode toward the open door. James didn’t follow me as I hurried down the dark stairway alone, hastily wiping away the sudden tears that dripped off the tip of my nose and streaked down my cheeks.
Was I lying again? My words had not rang entirely true. They had felt like a rehearsed script. I thought I knew what I truly wanted, but the longer I was away from Hampshire, I felt my desires being threatened, my dreams cracking under the weight of my wayward heart.
When I finally burst through the outside door, I took a deep breath of the cold air. What had I done? Why had I revealed so much? Surely James hated me now. But wasn’t this the life I had chosen? Was a life without love just a life of hate after all?
I took a deep breath and scolded myself for questioning it. Everything was better this way, because I could never love James. To love him was contrary to all I had ever dreamed of. It would be difficult, but I needed to forget him.
No more secret meetings, pianoforte duets, or amusing conversations. A few weeks of distance would be the best place to start.