Once Upon an Achingly Beautiful Kiss (Whickertons in Love #5)

Prologue

Six Years Earlier

At the sound of her father’s voice, Lady Juliet Beaumont, eldest daughter to the Earl of Whickerton, pulled to an abrupt halt outside his study.

She had never been one to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations and she did not mean to do so now; however, there had been a chilling edge to her father’s voice that rooted her to the spot, forcing her to listen whether she wanted to or not.

“What do you mean?” her mother inquired, a cautious tone in her voice as she moved toward her husband. “What has happened?”

Juliet swallowed as she peered through the small gap between door and frame, only catching a brief glimpse of her parents standing with their hands linked.

Her father inhaled a deep breath, as though he wished he did not have to speak the words that lay upon his tongue. “I’ve just received word that,” he cleared his throat, his voice thick with emotion, “Sebastian Hurst…was killed in a riding accident.”

“No!” Juliet’s mother exclaimed, a desperate plea in her voice that echoed within Juliet’s heart. Her own breath lodged in her throat and tears shot to her eyes, blurring her vision. This cannot be true! Oh, please, this cannot be true!

Utterly unaware of her surroundings, Juliet stumbled down the corridor, barely able to see where she was going. She knew she ought to collect herself—her parents would need her—but she could not. All she could think about was Kit! What would this do to him?

As she staggered out the terrace door into the cool spring air, Juliet breathed in deeply, willing her tears to subside.

Only they would not. Her emotions continued to rage in a way she had never experienced before, and so she continued onward, her slippered feet carrying her down into the gardens until she came upon the small pavilion where they had spent many happy moments together.

Of course, Sebastian had never been one of them.

As the eldest son and heir to the Earl of Lockhart, he had rarely spent time at home with his family and the Whickerton siblings on the neighboring estate.

Instead, he had enjoyed the diversity of the season in London as much as traipsing from one scandalous house party to another.

Juliet knew very little about such things, but over the course of her two-and-twenty years, she had overheard whispered words here and there and knew that throughout his short life, Sebastian had acquired a bit of a reputation.

And now he was gone.

Although Juliet had rarely seen him, her heart broke at the thought of such a loss.

She knew she ought to think of his poor parents.

She ought to think of his little sister Nora, barely eighteen—the same as one of Juliet’s own sisters, Leo.

Yet her thoughts lingered with Christopher—Kit, as she called him—Sebastian’s younger brother… and Juliet’s dearest friend.

Leaning her forehead against one of the smooth columns of the pavilion, Juliet closed her eyes.

Fresh tears slipped out and rolled down her cheeks.

Her hands clamped around the strong pillar as she felt herself begin to sway upon her feet at the thought of what Kit was going through at the moment, for the thought of losing her own brother almost made her knees buckle.

Ought she go to him? Her head rose, and she tried to blink back her tears.

“Perhaps he needs me,” she mumbled, remembering the pain in his brown eyes whenever his parents overlooked him in favor of the more important son, the heir.

For despite his tall stature and strong physique, Kit had always been a sensitive man, one who cared, who felt emotions deeply. Juliet loved that about him!

Inhaling a deep breath, she determinedly brushed away the last of her tears before turning to—

Stilling mid-step, Juliet stared across the pavilion toward the wide expanse of lawn beyond it, her eyes settling on the man who had been her dearest friend for as long as she could remember.

Leading his bay mare by the reins, Kit moved toward her, his steps slow and somehow weighted as though iron shackles had been fastened to his ankles.

His shoulders were slumped, and his head was slightly bent; his gaze, however, held hers, such sorrow and misery in his eyes that Juliet felt fresh tears stream down her cheeks.

The need she saw in his eyes propelled Juliet forward, her feet hastening down the few steps to the lawn before large strides carried her to him.

Without stopping, without a single word leaving her lips, Juliet threw herself into his arms, her own wrapping tightly around his shoulders as she balanced herself on the tips of her toes.

For a moment, Kit seemed as still as a stone column. Then, however, she felt his arms come around her, holding her tighter with each moment that passed, as though he could no longer bear the crushing pain. His forehead sank to her shoulder, and she felt the soft wetness of tears fall upon her skin.

“I’m so sorry,” Juliet whispered then, her voice choked. “So very sorry.” Saying these all but meaningless words made her feel even more helpless, and so she simply held him tighter.

It was all she could do.

If only she could take his pain away.

If only.

More than ever before, Christopher Hurst, now only son and heir to the Earl of Lockhart, was grateful for the slender young woman who held him in a tight embrace that threatened to squeeze the air from his lungs.

He, too, hugged her with every bit of strength he had left in him, fearing the moment he would have to release her.

Nowhere in the world did Christopher feel more at peace than when Jules was with him.

He had always felt so. Even as a little girl with pigtails and freckles, she had had a way about her that had completely disarmed him.

Her warm moss-green eyes always shone with kindness and compassion, her heart always seeing the good in everything and everyone.

She never spoke much, but whenever she did, he knew to listen.

She was his conscience, his compass, guiding him through life with a steady and kind hand.

And Christopher had needed her last night…

…when they had received news of his brother’s death.

…when his world had come crashing down.

…when he had seen fear and regret in his parents’ eyes at the thought of the earldom now resting upon his shoulders.

Christopher had never been good enough. Never. He had always known that. Although he had never known why. Even as a child, he had done his utmost to please his parents, to make them proud, but the look upon their faces had never changed.

Disapproval.

Disappointment.

Regret.

Fortunately, Christopher had only been the second son, and so his parents had lavished most of their attention—good or bad—on Sebastian. No matter what scrapes his elder brother had gotten into over the years, in their parents’ eyes he could do no wrong.

Even though Christopher had never been able to understand Sebastian’s roguish ways, he had loved his brother.

The thought that he would never see him again, never again hear him chortle in that way of his or spot him lounging on the settee after a night out at the local tavern almost brought him to his knees.

“I’m so sorry,” Jules mumbled, her voice full of sorrow and anguish. Her hands brushed up and down his neck as he held his face buried in the crook of hers. “So very sorry.” The warmth in her voice made Christopher crush her against his chest, certain that she would object at any moment.

She did not.

Oh, how he had needed her last night! Only it had been too late to call on her.

Christopher almost had, before his father had called him back, reminding him in a stern and disapproving way to show proper manners.

And so, Christopher had sought solace elsewhere, following his dead brother’s example and headed down to the village tavern.

Quite literally, he had drowned his sorrows.

Christopher cringed at the thought of what he had done. He had not been himself, and yet that was no excuse. If Jules ever were to find out—

Even more than before, Christopher recoiled from that thought. He could not bear it. Although he was used to seeing his parents’ disappointment, he could not bear the thought of seeing the same upon Jules’ face. He needed her to look at him the way she always had with those big, green eyes of hers.

As though he were a wonderful man.

As though he were worthy of this life.

As though he deserved to be loved.

Forcing his arms to release their crushing hold on her, Christopher looked down into Jules’ tear-streaked face.

Her eyes glistened with sadness, with compassion as she reached out to cup his face with gentle hands.

“What can I do, Kit? Please, tell me,” she sobbed, biting her lower lip as her teeth began to chatter. “What can I do?”

Christopher wished that there were something—anything!—she could do, that somehow, she could squint her eyes or snap her fingers and rewind time. Swallowing, he shook his head. “I need to go,” he croaked, his voice raw as though he had spent last night screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I understand,” she replied as the pads of her thumbs gently traced the line of his cheekbones. “Send word if you need me,” she dipped her head to look up into his lowered eyes, “and I will be there. Do you hear?”

Christopher nodded, even though he knew he would not. Until the end of his days he would remember the way she was looking at him now, and he would not risk that changing.

Ever.

He knew he should not see her again. Not while he stood so close to the precipice, her belief in him the only thing keeping him from falling into that black pit.

He needed her to be his conscience, his compass.

Today more than ever before.

He was no longer the second son.

Now, he was the heir.

Heaven help them all!