Confessions of an Improper Bride, page 26
She couldn’t speak; she simply stared at him through blurring eyes.
“Why?” Anguish leeched into his voice, ever so subtle but wrenching her heart nonetheless. “Why did you do it?”
“I…” Her voice trailed off. It seemed too overwhelming, too complicated to explain.
“I always liked you,” he said quietly. “But this—this kind of a lie… it is so destructive. You are so different from Meg. How could you ever have believed…?”
Pain squeezed like a fist in Serena’s chest. “I’m sorry, Will. So sorry.”
“Why?” he repeated.
“I didn’t know… at first.” She gazed at his grief-stricken face through watery eyes. “I’d no idea my mother had sent word to England that I was the one who’d died. I didn’t know she was writing letters to you—”
Will closed his eyes. “Good God. It was your mother.”
“I was ignorant of the scheme until you sent your proposal. I don’t think my mother knew exactly how it would end. But when you suggested we marry, it all became clear in her mind. I would be Meg, and I would marry you to secure my own future as well as my sisters’.”
Will opened his eyes. They glistened in the feeble light.
“I’m so sorry, Will. I’ve felt so trapped. No matter what choice I made, I would end up hurting someone who meant a great deal to me.” And she had, of course. “But that is no excuse, is it?” she continued in a near whisper. “I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
There was a long silence. What more could she say? She wanted to repeat her apology again and again, but that would certainly do no good. She bowed her head, awaiting his condemnation.
“I have something else to ask you, Serena,” he said finally, his voice quiet and steady.
“Of course.”
“Do you love Stratford?”
The question slammed into her so hard, it left her breathless. She stared at him, groping desperately for something to say, finding nothing.
Grabbing his glass, he stood and prowled the length of the room before refilling his drink at the sidebar. Finally, he turned back to face her. “I see. You still love him. You would never have been happy with me. You agreed to marry me only because you felt you had no other choice.”
“I am very fond of you. I always have been. Meg—”
“Serena…” His voice cracked, then trailed off, and he shook his head. “You love Stratford, and he’s never stopped loving you. You must go to him.”
No. She couldn’t. Not now. “You don’t understand. It’s not because of him that I—”
“Meg is dead,” Will pushed out, his voice harsh with anger and grief.
“Yes,” she agreed. “She’s dead. She’s been dead for six years.” Six interminably long years.
His eyes dulled. Setting his glass down, he stared past her at the silk wallpaper covering the wall beside the hearth, his fists bunched at his sides.
She watched him in silence. She’d lived with Meg’s death for six years, but to Will it was a fresh, open wound. She rose and went to him, tentatively wrapping her arms around him. To her surprise, he responded, drawing her close and sinking his face into her hair.
“Do you miss her?” he whispered.
“So very much.”
They stood for long, silent minutes, holding each other, awash in their grief.
A rapping noise came from the window, so close that Serena jumped away from Will. She spun toward the window. Darkness obscured whoever lurked behind the glass.
“Let me in, damn it!”
The voice was muffled, but it was deep and low and masculine and sent a ripple of recognition through her body.
Jonathan was outside.
The blood froze in her veins. Serena felt like a piece of crystal. If she moved, she would break. She didn’t want him to be here. Not now, not to disrupt the fragile peace she’d made with Will.
“Do you want him to come in?” Will asked in a gravelly voice.
“I…” She closed her eyes and pressed the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “No. Not really.”
“Stay here. I’ll speak to him.”
She watched him move to the door, open it, walk out, close it behind him. All her senses attuned, she heard his footsteps down the corridor and the creak of the front door as Will opened it. Then there was a soft murmur as he spoke to Jonathan.
Her feet moved of their own volition. She stepped out of the drawing room. Will stood in the entry hall, his back to her. Just beyond him, Jonathan stood on the landing, wearing buckskin breeches and black, muddy boots, his face pale and drawn, his coat soiled, his hair tousled. Something electric buzzed through her limbs.
His gaze caught hers and held, his eyes narrowing. “I saw you in the drawing room. I thought… What the hell were you—?”
“For Christ’s sakes, Stratford,” Will said. “You’re going to wake the whole deuced neighborhood.”
“I don’t care!”
“It’s all right,” Serena said, feeling as exhausted as Will looked. All they needed now was yet another scandal. “Come inside.”
Jonathan strode in and threw the door shut behind him. The butler approached from the direction of the servants’ quarters and paused in an archway, candle in hand, surveying the scene with wide eyes.
“In the drawing room,” Serena said. She didn’t want Jonathan to be here—didn’t want to talk to him. But she didn’t want to create a scene, either. She nodded at the butler, dismissing him.
The two men followed her into the drawing room, ominously silent. She closed the door behind them and turned to Jonathan, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now what’s this about? Why are you here?”
“You were embracing him,” Jonathan accused, his gaze swinging from Will to her. “Kissing him. I saw you from outside.”
“No!” both she and Will exclaimed in unison.
“For goodness’ sakes, Jonathan,” Serena added, gritting her teeth, hating that he was making her explain. “I just told him everything. He knows about Meg. We were comforting each other.”
There was a long moment of silence. Jonathan looked between the two of them, evidently trying to ascertain whether Serena was telling the truth. Eventually, he sighed. “I saw the two of you through the window… I thought…”
“Your thought was wrong,” Will said quietly.
Jonathan shoved his fingers through his tousled hair. “Damn. I have no right to feel this way. But when I saw you embracing him…” He winced. “Seeing you two like that, I felt… God, I felt like something was exploding inside me.”
“Oh, good Lord,” Serena snapped, unable to mask the sarcasm in her voice. “You’re one to talk, aren’t you?”
“What are you—?”
“Oh, don’t look so incredulous. You know I saw your mistress. I saw your boy.”
Both men stared at her, mouths agape. Jonathan’s gaze swung to Will. “You haven’t told her.”
Will didn’t respond.
“Tell her now, Langley.” There was a threatening note in Jonathan’s tone.
“It has nothing to do with her.” Will turned away to gather his glass of port.
Serena watched the exchange between the two men, completely befuddled. “What are you talking about?”
They ignored her.
“She’s mine, now.” Jonathan took a menacing step toward Will. “I’m deeply involved, and therefore she is, too. She needs to know the truth, and it needs to end. I can’t lie for you anymore.”
Will’s mouth pressed into a flat line. He wouldn’t meet either of their gazes. A muscle moved in his cheek as he clenched his jaw.
Jonathan curled his fingers into fists. “Tell her,” he said again.
Not looking up at Jonathan, Will gave a jerk of a nod. He strode to one of the armchairs, dropped his body heavily into it, and took a healthy swallow of port.
The drink seemed to fortify him instantly, though he still wouldn’t look at Jonathan or Serena. He set the glass down, and straightening in the chair, his hands clasping tightly over the chair’s upholstered arms, he spoke quietly. “Very well. I’ll tell you everything, Serena. After all, what does it matter now?”
He gave a bitter laugh. Serena stared at him, utterly confused.
“It goes like this: After you and Meg left England, I’d planned to go to sea. There was a delay in the departure of my ship, so I remained in London for several weeks longer than I expected. It was then that I grew to know Stratford better.”
Will’s dark brown gaze found her standing across from him, and his eyes met hers. “Stratford was full of regret for what he’d done to you… He was determined to cut all ties from his family and follow you to Antigua, where he would plead for your forgiveness and ask for your hand in marriage.”
Serena glanced sharply at Jonathan, but he was gazing at Langley, nodding as if encouraging him to continue.
“This plan required some forethought, however, and he was making his final arrangements for the journey when his brother gave him the news of your death.”
“Oh, Jonathan,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It never seemed to be the right time,” he said. “At first, you wouldn’t have believed me. Later… I don’t know. It seemed like an excuse, and I knew you didn’t want excuses from me.”
Will’s fingers curled around the top of the chair arm, gripping tightly. “It was rumored that Stratford went wild after that—”
Jonathan snorted.
“—but in truth, he’d lost his mind with grief. He blamed himself for your death, thought himself a murderer. He left London and went to Bath. Since my ship wasn’t due to depart for some time yet, I accompanied him.”
Will rose abruptly and walked to the window, clasping his hands behind his back and staring out into the darkness. “We’d found lodgings at an inn, and that evening, we were in the tavern drinking when a young lady drew my attention. I assumed she was a barmaid.”
Will swallowed hard. As if he couldn’t look at either of them, he kept his gaze firmly fixed outside. “Her name was Eliza Anderson. Stratford later discovered that she was the daughter of a town magistrate. She’d climbed out the chamber window of her father’s house that night to come to the tavern for a daring bit of fun with one of her friends—the innkeeper’s daughter. We were eating dinner when she and the barmaids broke into a raucous song. They had fine, lovely voices, and everyone in the tavern stopped to listen.”
Silence descended. Will strode to the sidebar, poured himself a glass of brandy this time, and drank deeply. Serena sank into the nearest armchair and clasped her hands in front of her, not understanding why he was telling her all this.
Will resumed the seat across from her, his expression more troubled than she’d ever seen it. “When the song was over, Eliza brazenly gestured to Stratford and, half-drunk, he approached her. They spoke for a while, and then he gestured to me. Bewildered, and very drunk on my own account, I went to them. When Eliza spoke, I assumed from her accent that she must be the jaded young widow of some country gentleman.”
Will looked down at the glass he clasped in both hands. “She was only eighteen years old.”
Serena nodded, but nausea swirled in her belly. Eliza Anderson was a beautiful lady, only eighteen, so why hadn’t Jonathan married her after he’d compromised her? Did Eliza have a similar story to her own, but even unluckier since she’d ended up with child?
“Stratford said… Well, they’d spoken about me. Eliza took my hand and led me upstairs.” Will swiped a hand over his eyes. “Rather bewildered, I staggered after her.”
Serena froze as realization dawned. Not Jonathan. Will.
Oh, God. She’d judged and condemned Jonathan, but she hadn’t heard the whole story. Still, why had Jonathan looked at Eliza and the child like that? Why had he left Town for three days? It didn’t make any sense.
“Confused, I looked back at Stratford and he gestured for me to go with her.” A desolate look crossed Will’s face. “This was only weeks after I’d last seen… Meg. After we’d last lain together.”
“Oh, Will.” Serena sat very still, unable to tear her gaze from him.
“When we entered my room…” Again, Will hesitated. “She…” He blinked hard. “I said no, but my defenses… No, there is no excuse. I compromised her. Only when I saw the flash of fear in her eyes and then heard her cry of pain did I understand what I had done.” Will sank his face into his hands, his expression awash with anguish. “When I sobered, early in the morning hours, after I’d emptied the contents of my stomach in the basin while she slept, the guilt nearly crippled me. I’d not only compromised an innocent lady, I…” He blinked hard. “I’d betrayed my Meg.”
“Oh, God, Will—”
He raised his hand. “Please. Allow me to finish.” He inhaled shakily, and when Serena didn’t say anything further, he continued. “I left her the contents of my purse. Though it was not yet dawn, I summoned Stratford and we left town at a gallop with me in the lead, full of regret and berating myself violently for what I had done.”
How did the story of Jonathan cuckolding the curate fit in with all this? Serena glanced at him. “What about the curate’s wife?”
“A fabrication,” he murmured.
Will looked at her bleakly. “After a few days, I came to my senses and decided to go back for Eliza. If word had spread about our assignation, I’d do what I could for her. I was certain word had spread—all the patrons of the tavern had seen us mounting the stairs together. Yet I couldn’t abandon Meg, either. I wasn’t certain that she hadn’t conceived when we…” He shook his head. “I wanted to be certain Meg wasn’t in any trouble before I offered for Eliza. I knew I’d hurt Meg, I knew she’d be devastated, but she had other options. She could do better than me.”
“Oh, Will, she didn’t want anyone but you. Ever. She loved you so much.”
He flinched, then closed his eyes for a brief moment before resuming his story. “The night before I planned to return to Bath, I told Stratford my idea.”
Will drained his glass of brandy.
“I didn’t agree with the plan he proposed,” Jonathan said, “because I knew how much he’d cared for Meg, and I knew that this would destroy everything between them. So I formed a new plan. I’d go to Bath in Langley’s place to take care of Eliza’s needs—if, indeed, she needed anything. For all we knew, she had no use for us. But I knew I held a great share of the responsibility for what had happened.”
“We both wanted to be sure we’d done right by her,” Will added.
“So you went to Eliza and—oh, Lord.” In a sudden panic, Serena looked back and forth between both men. “Do you know the identity of the father?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Will said, a harsh, raw edge to his voice. “Stratford never touched her.”
“In Bath,” Jonathan continued, “I learned that her father had found out what had happened between her and Langley. The man tossed her out onto the street, saying daughter or no, whores were not welcome in his house.”
“She had taken the coin I’d left her and made her way to London. She was young and naïve, and didn’t understand how expensive London is,” Will said. “I only discovered all of this much later, for soon after Stratford and I went our separate ways, I was called to service on my ship. But he searched for Eliza for months, until he found her in a workhouse, several months gone with child.”
“Oh, no,” Serena breathed.
“I set her up in a house,” Jonathan said.
“And he took responsibility for both her and the child.”
“It was better that way. Better that Langley keep his reputation untarnished, for Meg’s sake. I wanted to tarnish my reputation, to blacken it as much as possible. It was my revenge on my father and my brother for their part in your death.”
Serena released a harsh breath. The child wasn’t Jonathan’s. He was Will’s. It seemed impossible… but she saw the truth of it in Will’s anguished eyes and Jonathan’s clear ones.
“I ultimately agreed to the scheme because I didn’t want to hurt Meg. I didn’t want to reveal to her how low I’d fallen.” Will shook his head, his lip curling in self-disgust.
“Until now, the only three people who knew the whole truth were Eliza, Langley, and myself,” Jonathan said. “My cousin Jane knows the boy isn’t mine, but she doesn’t know whose he is.”
“Even the boy doesn’t know—” Will’s voice cracked, and he bowed his head.
They sat in silence for long, torturous minutes. Will wasn’t exactly the man Serena had thought he was. Neither was Jonathan, for that matter.
“The way the child was looking at you,” she murmured. “The way Eliza went to you. The familiarity between you all… I made assumptions I shouldn’t have. I assumed you’d lied. I thought you’d run off with your mistress and child.”
“I didn’t, Serena. Some part of you must have known that I didn’t.”
“Still, seeing her… and the way the boy clung to you…”
“They’re my responsibility—they have been for years. She had nowhere else to go.” He released a shaky breath. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But it wasn’t my secret to tell.”
“I understand that much.” Serena tilted her head, thinking. “But the child could just as easily have been yours, couldn’t he? It’s just by chance that he happened to be Will’s instead.”
Jonathan closed his eyes. “No doubt you’re right. But I’m here with you now. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you again.” Kneeling beside her chair, he clasped one hand on each side of her face and tilted her head to face him. His voice was torn, ragged. “Forgive me.”
Heat washed over her face as she stared at him, his hands rough on her cheeks.
“I wish I could go back,” he murmured, “and relive the past six years knowing you were alive. Apologies seem so insignificant… but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the past years. I’m sorry for the last three days. I should have told you. Should have made you understand before I went with Eliza.”
“Why didn’t you?” she whispered.
“When I saw Eliza and the boy when we returned from Prescot, I knew something drastic had happened, for I’d told her to come to my house only in the event of an emergency. I was surprised and concerned, and by the time I turned around to look for you, you and your aunt had gone inside. I knocked later, just before I left Town, and the butler said you were not at home.”
