Chapter Fourteen #2
Words that she could not believe to be true.
He saw her doubt and smiled, cruelly. “’Tis true, Esme. When we return to Wolvesley, you can ask your father as much. He is still the judiciary, is he not?”
She could only nod as dread pooled inside her.
This cannot not be.
“The Earl of Wolvesley has always insisted his children live within the law.” Crispin seemed to be enjoying himself.
Esme thought of her father, of his constant love and kindness to his family. And his intolerance of lawbreakers.
She hung her head, knowing she could not bear to disappoint him.
But memories of Wolvesley gave her a shred of hope, which she clung to like a raft in a storm.
“You know as well as I do, Crispin, that ’tis not fitting for an earl’s daughter to marry in secret. We cannot return to Wolvesley as man and wife.” She smoothed her skirts, as if nothing else in the world troubled her heart.
“I have no argument with that.” He paced toward her, grasped her by the wrists and pulled her, inelegantly, upright.
Esme gasped with shock but would not give him the satisfaction of seeing the depths of her alarm. She regarded him steadily, this man she had once thought she loved.
“We will return to Wolvesley as a betrothed couple and there we will have a wedding grand enough to befit an earl’s daughter.” His sour breath hit her face.
Before she could frame a response, the servant’s door banged open and out strode Adam, in a rage greater than she had ever witnessed.
“What is the meaning of this?” he thundered, his gaze taking in Crispin’s hold of her wrists. “Step away from the lady, sir, if you wish to ever walk again.” One hand went to the hilt of his sword.
Esme could have swooned with relief, but Crispin did not move. “Your concern does you credit, my good man. However, it is ill-placed. I am Lady Esme’s betrothed, recently returned and ready to escort her home.”
Skilled warrior though he was, Adam could not disguise his surprise. His eyes flew to Esme.
“Is this true?”
Nay, she wanted to shout.
But how could she do that? If, in the eyes of the law and the church, it was so?
“Tell him, Esme.” Crispin’s voice had the ring of steel.
She nodded, though it cost her dear. “’Tis true,” she half whispered. “Though ’tis also true that I was not anticipating Crispin’s return this night.”
As an explanation, ’twas woefully inadequate. Adam must think so to. She saw his incredulity do battle with something worse as he sheathed his sword.
He fixed his gaze away from Esme and gave a perfunctory bow. “Forgive the interruption, sir. Milady. I will leave you, now.”
“Stay a while.” Crispin waved his hand. “We intend to leave for Wolvesley at first light. Can you make sure the carriage is ready?”
Esme winced to hear Crispin give orders to Adam; a man worth so much more than he, in every way that mattered.
But Adam stood firm. “I do not serve the Earl of Wolvesley. Nor do I serve the de Nevilles. I am here only as a favor to Sir Callum Baine. But if my services are no longer required, I will also be leaving at first light.”
With that, he swiveled on his heel and was gone.
The only man who might have saved her.
But how can anyone save me, when this trap is entirely of my own making?
Esme wanted to sob. More than that, she wanted to run after Adam and beg his assistance. But she could only stand by the dying fire with the man she must now wed.
Crispin yawned widely. “It has been a long day, but a dare believe it has ended well. Time for bed, sweet Esme.”
His hand at her waist made her nauseous. She deftly stepped out of reach. “Very wise, Crispin. Though I am afraid ’tis too late to expect the maid to make up a guest chamber. You must sleep here, before the fire.” She was about to add that she would fetch him a blanket, but she changed her mind.
He was not so easily dissuaded. “Will I not keep you company in your own chamber?”
Esme shook her head. “Not until we are married in the eyes of my father,” she said firmly. “Good night, Crispin.”
She walked from the room without a backwards glance, not hesitating until her chamber door was bolted behind her. Then she sank back against the wooden panel and allowed her despair to surface.
What now?
She had little choice but to return to Wolvesley on Crispin’s arm, as Crispin’s betrothed. ’Twas an outcome she would have longed for, just days earlier. But now the prospect filled her with a mixture of dread and grief.
Dread for the loveless years ahead.
Grief for the joy she might have known with Adam.
Esme blinked back her tears, focusing on the glow of candlelight from the dresser to keep her rooted in the present moment.
Her mother had long taught her to face the hardships of life without flinching. “What can’t be cured, must be endured,” was a favorite saying. But so was, “Fortune’s wheel never stops turning.”
Esme clung onto the thought, picturing her mother’s finely drawn face and kind eyes. “Things have a way of working themselves out,” she would say to her children, whenever they railed at some injustice.
Things had certainly worked out for Frida, happily married to Callum even though, for a while, he had been their brother’s sworn enemy.
Likewise for Tristan, ensconced in domestic harmony with Mirrie, though for years he was blind to her and the love she had for him.
Esme pressed her lips together. Rather than feeling envious toward her siblings, she allowed these reflections to give her a flicker of hope.
Hope that was born out almost straight away, when a tentative knock sounded at her door.
Esme spun around and shot back the bolt. She did not need to ask who was there.
It must be Adam, come to put things right.