Forget Me Not Page 27

  Fingers shaking Lydia unfolded the letter she’d received that morning, reading Brian’s hastily scrawled words for the umpteenth time.

  Forgive me, Lydia, my intention was never to hurt you. I wish you nothing but happiness.

  Forever yours in friendship,

  Brian.

  Had he even written the words himself? Or had her father scribed the note in Brian’s stead. She could never be sure. Absently Lydia turned the paper over, noting small letters scribbled along the side of the paper beneath the outer fold. She slid her thumb along the crease, flattening the page, squinting to make out the tiny words. Not English… Gaelic perhaps?

  Lydia gasped, clasping the paper to her breast. Grá mo chroí. The very words he’d spoke while they made love. The note was genuine. Whatever the words meant, he loved her truly.

  Lydia didn’t know whether to be thrilled or devastated by the revelation. If only she’d convinced him to run with her sooner… if they hadn’t been caught… She shook her head, listen to me… if only, if only… Life was not decided on what ifs but on a willingness to take risks, to gamble. Lydia had gambled and lost, even if her father had unfairly stacked the deck.

  With tear heavy eyes she moved away from the window and plopped onto a velvet cushioned chair. Hidden amongst the forest of shelves, books and furniture Lydia wanted nothing more than to disappear for an hour or two and reconcile the loss of her dreams.

  “Rolland,” she tested the viscount’s name, it felt awkward on her tongue. “Mrs. Rolland Kensington. Mrs. Lydia Kensington.”

  Oh, but I will not be a mere missus.

  “Introducing the Viscountess of Northbridge, Her Ladyship, Lydia Kensington.” The words sounded so absurd to her ears she actually laughed aloud. She was not meant for anything so grand. All she wanted was a simple life. To be herself and to spend it with those who accepted her as she was without expectation. Tears swam before her eyes. “Mrs. Lydia Donnelly,” she murmured, the name so perfectly natural it may well have been her own. She wanted it as her own.

  Brian’s ring, hidden beneath her bodice on a length of chain, burned into her flesh. She tugged the necklace, exposing Brian’s gift. The band winked in the soft light in silent testament to the unfulfilled promises it held.

  The door creaked, alerting her of someone’s approach. She cringed, quickly dropping the ring beneath her dress, sending a silent prayer heavenward that it would not be Olivia. Enough hellfire and brimstone had been rained upon Lydia in the last few hours to last a lifetime or three. Dragging a long breath into her lungs, she struggled to compose herself, and finally turned. To her immense surprise the viscount himself stood just over the threshold.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Covington.” Stiffly he nodded, clasping his hands behind his back.

  Lydia blinked back her astonishment and stood. “My lord.” Automatically she dipped in a small curtsy.

  Northbridge cleared his throat and glanced toward the window as though avoiding her gaze. “We have been betrothed for some time, but I fear there has been little opportunity to get to know one another. The days leading up to our nuptials are quickly waning. Could I entice you to come for a stroll through the orangery with me?” The viscount smiled, a grimacing gesture that did not reach his dark, narrow eyes.

  Oh, dear Lord, why now? Why today? Nervously Lydia swallowed, though she had resigned herself to marrying Rolland Kensington, today of all days she could not bring herself to spend time alone with him. Memories of Brian were too fresh, the wounds too raw. “I appreciate the invitation very much, my lord, but I fear that I was just going to retire for a nap before the evening meal. Perhaps another time.”

  A flicker of anger flashed through his eyes. “Then you will allow me to escort you there.” The statement was not a request. One of his hands grasped her elbow.

  She gasped, reflexively jerking away. Something in the gesture seemed oddly possessive. He is just making an effort to be nice, she reasoned, but the anger in his cold gaze remained fresh in her mind. She forced a smile, attempting levity. “I should hardly think that appropriate until after we are married.”

  A second flash of roiling irritation lit the viscount’s eyes, his jaw clenched. His hand shot forward to snare her upper arm with more strength than she’d ever given him credit for. “I insist, Miss Covington.”

  * * *

  Torrential rain poured over Brian as he dashed back to the outer wall of Wheaton Abbey. He’d circled the barn, made a fine show of going back to his cottage, and he prayed none would see his return. Sir William be damned. Brian would more than speak with Lydia. He would take Brandon and Lydia away from the general’s self-serving threats. If necessary he’d toss the girl over his shoulder and kidnap her for real. The only matter left was how to escape the Abbey without Sir William or his lackeys being the wiser.

  Is this the library? He shielded his face, and glanced through the window just above his head. Lydia was sure to be in one of three places—the library, the orangery or her bedroom. Towering shelves, loaded with books, stared back at him through the rain slicked window. Even Lydia’s feminine figure was visible through the blurry glass toward the back of the room.

  “Thank God.” Brian tested the window and easily swung it open. Scaling the slippery wall proved a bit more difficult, but he hauled himself bodily through the window, back into the dry confines of the house. By Christ, his ribs stung. Wiping the water from his eyes, he surveyed the library chalked full of shelves and books.

  “Lydia?” he whispered. Where had she gone? It was imperative he find her, and get the hell away from Wheaton Abbey.

  The rustle of skirts drew his attention, and a glimpse of Lydia behind through the slats of a tall shelf caught his eye.

  Determinedly he strode forward. “Marry me, lass! You’re all I could ever want or need in this life. I lo—” Brian stilled in absolute horror.

  The huge happy eyes staring back at him from across the library were not Lydia’s… but Molly Porter’s.

  He skidded to a halt. Christ, what a stroke of bad luck!

  “Oh, Brian,” Molly cried, a huge grin splitting her pixie round face. Without warning she hurled herself across the room and into his arms. “I have waited so long to hear you say that. I can hardly believe it’s true. Of course I will marry you.”

  Dumfounded and at a total loss for action Brian did nothing when she leaned forward to plant an exuberant—if sloppy—kiss on his lips. He gulped. By damn he felt like an ass. The girl looked so happy and all because he’d not had the sense to look before he leapt. “Molly, wait please.” He grasped her upper arms pushing her from him.

  “Why wait, Brian? It is no matter if anyone should happen upon us now.” Again she leaned in, pecking kisses along his cheek.

  More firmly he held her back. “No, lass, I’m sorry, but there has been a terrible mistake. Ye see I—” All shimmering light drained from her eyes and her bottom lip quivered. The sight slammed him in the gut. “Molly, ye are a lovely girl, but I’m afraid ye’re not the girl for me.” A tear tumbled over her bottom lid, plopping onto her rosy cheek. “When I came into this room, I had believed Miss Covington was here.”

  “Miss Covington?” Molly’s eyes widened in confusion then darkened as understanding set in. “Miss Covington? But she is to marry the viscount! Why would she marry you over a viscount?”

  “Perhaps because she loves me as I love her.”

  Molly backed away from him, shaking her head. “You are a foolish man to believe a woman like Lydia Covington could ever want you.” Her face twisted into a bitter sneer as the sobs began. “That social climbing little tramp has gone as far as she could ever dream. Titles, prestige, fine clothes. She is to have everything! Even you.”

  In that moment Brian wanted nothing more than to slink out of the library and pretend this particular blunder had never happened. What a wretch he was proving to be. Causing two women to cry in one day’s time must be some form of record. However, leaving the distraught Mol
ly would only prove that he was in fact a miserable wretch, and truth be told he couldn’t live with that. Molly was a sweet little thing, he couldn’t destroy her this way; the taste of rejection was acrid.

  “Listen, Molly, please.” Imploringly he held his palms out. “I cannot begin to tell ye how sorry I am for not bein’ more careful before openin’ me mouth. Understand, lass, I never meant to hurt ye or give any false encouragement. Lydia and I have been in love for some time now, several years in fact. I was so excited by the prospect of her bein’ my wife that I never thought to look before the words flew from me mouth.”

  Staunchly, Molly’s chin jutted forward. “If she loves you so much then I wonder what she was doing in here alone with His Lordship, just a few minutes ago.”

  “Miss Covington was alone here with the viscount?”

  Pertly, Molly tipped her nose. “Yes. From the guilty way that she ran from this room I can only imagine what they were doing.”

  “When Lydia ran from this room are ye certain she was guilty? Or may she have been frightened?” Urgently, Brian stepped forward, grasping her above the elbow. “Please, Molly, this is very important. What did ye see?”

  Molly narrowed her eyes scathingly. “I came in to dust and found Lord Northbridge and Miss Covington already here. The two of them looked mighty cozy standing arm in arm by that there window, discussing his escorting her back to her chambers. Miss Lydia took one look at me and bolted through the door. She was guilty, Mr. Donnelly. Think twice on whether or not she really loves you.”

  “Molly—”

  Before he could finish, she blew past him and into the hall.

  “Damn it,” he cursed. A shiver of unease swept his spine.

  “Mr. Donnelly.” A woman’s voice called from the back of the library. He turned to see the portly housekeeper, Mrs. Hayes, addressing him. “I came through the side entrance and also saw Miss Covington with Lord Northbridge. The door was wide open, and at first I was terribly embarrassed to intrude. Anyhow, His Lordship may have held Miss Covington’s arm but I wouldn’t call the manner cozy. His Lordship looked rather angry, and Miss Covington looked frightened when she fled the room”

  The tickling of unease tripping up and down his spine flared to life, searing his senses. Something was wrong. What exactly he did not know, but he sure as hell would find out. “Where did she go?”

  “I’m not sure, Mr. Donnelly, all I saw is that she turned left leaving the library.”

  Left. Was the orangery to the left? “Did the viscount follow her?”

  Mrs. Hayes shook her head. “Well, no. At least not right away. He left a minute or two after Miss Covington.”

  “My thanks, Mrs. Hayes? Would ye do me a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “Would ye run up to Miss Lydia’s room? If she is there come to the orangery and tell me. It is of the utmost importance.”

  “I will, Mr. Donnelly, and I shan’t tell her of any of this affair.”

  “Thanks to you again. I am beholdin’ to ye for this, and please, tell no one that ye’ve seen me here.” Without another word Brian sped through the Library door, hastening to the orangery. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that the viscount and Lydia had been alone, except that Northbridge seemed put off by Lydia’s presence in a crowded room. Why would he suddenly desire her private company? Moreover what reason would Lydia have to be frightened of Lord Northbridge? She’d never openly feared the man before, yet it was the only logical reason Lydia would have for running from the room.

  If the viscount touched or harmed her in anyway… Fists clenched at Brian’s sides… God help him.

  Brian abandoned caution and opened every door between the library and the orangery. If Lydia was hidden in any of the twenty-six rooms and broom closets between he would find her. At door thirteen—he should have known not to open such an unlucky number—he found a couple in a rather compromising position on a coffee table. Damn, but this weather had everyone acting like fools. “Er, uh, excuse me,” he muttered, not looking at their faces; some things he just didn’t need to know.

  The sweet scent of the orangery wafted across Brian’s nostrils even before he reached the door. His hand fell to the handle and he threw a silent prayer heavenward, please, Lord, let her be in here... without Northbridge. Heart in his throat he peered through the glass window beside the door.

  Row upon row of blooming roses and flowering fruit trees met his gaze. The atmosphere enveloping the orangery was perfectly serene, almost dreamlike; he understood why Lydia loved it here. Relief spiraled down upon him as his very prayer was answered. A goddess, Lydia stood alone in a pool of perfect roses. A consortium of multicolored pedals kissed the glow of her skin and the honey-gold glow of her eyes. A small smile lit the curve of her flawlessly pink mouth, and her fingers gently feathered the silken pedals of a pale flower. Perhaps a Forget-me-not? The array of pristinely arranged foliage unfolded endlessly behind Lydia but Brian could not take his eyes off of her. In that moment all uncertainty faded, his hand fell to the door handle and he prepared to take the first step toward the rest of his life.

  Footsteps sounded behind him. He turned, expecting to see Mrs. Hayes come to tell him Lydia was not in her room, and froze in utter shock as the tall, ungainly form of Northbridge stopped before him. Damn it! If anything was going to ruin this moment it would be the presence of Lydia’s fiancé. Christ! Could the two be meeting in the orangery? Bile rose in Brian’s throat at the mere thought. In any case he could hardly profess his love for Lydia and demand she marry him in the presence of the man she was betrothed to. Northbridge would fly into a rage… notify Sir William… Sir William would then make good on his threat to put Brian in a pine box… Lydia and Brandon would be left to the general’s selfish schemes… He stared dumbly into the viscount’s dark eyes, hoping the other man would speak first.

  Northbridge stared back at him, an unreadable expression adorning his ever ruddy face. “I’ve been waiting for you Donnelly. I know why you’re here.”

  Something in the viscount’s voice set every hair on the back of his neck straight on end. Uncomfortable, Brian glanced down the deserted hallway, debating his quandary. Pain exploded in Brian’s skull as a swift blow to the back of the head sent him to his knees. The world spiraled in a dizzying array of pin prick flashing lights, the display was absolutely nauseating.

  “I overheard you and Sir William arguing, and I’ll not let a stable hand and that scheming runaway bitch destroy everything I’ve worked for,” Northbridge sneered. “If this location were a bit more discreet I would kill you here and now. No matter.” The viscount raised a heavy plank high above his head. “Your old friend Jonathan Roark will be along shortly to see that you’re taken care of. Enjoy Hell, Donnelly, and not to worry, your little Lydia will follow you shortly.”

  “No,” he gasped. Holding his head in both hands Brian tried to rise, to defend himself—defend Lydia—but he did not even make it to his knees before a second blow to the temple laid him flat. Lydia! Valiantly he tried to cry out to her, but the blackness closing in made any movement, sound or action impossible.

  In that moment his life began and ended all at once. Everything he and Lydia could have been together… as one… flashed before his eyes. There lived a single moment where he knew no fear or loneliness, was truly liberated in his heart and soul, and in the next… it shattered. Lydia was gone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “My lord, why are you doing this?”

  The Viscount sneered condescendingly as he dragged Lydia toward the back door of the orangery. “I owe a great deal of money, my sweet, which is precisely why I agreed to a betrothal with a chit of your class. This afternoon I heard Donnelly and your father in the drawing room. I cannot afford to take the chance you’ll run off again.”

  Lydia was too stunned even to scream as he pulled her through the door and into the blustery afternoon storm. The day was near as dark as the night. “H-how do you know about that? D
id Brian say something to my father?” Lydia slipped in the rain soaked grass, but Northbridge continued dragging her bodily by the left arm into the yard.

  “I’ve no doubt you and Donnelly were scheming all through Cumberland,” the viscount’s voice was barely audible over the din of rain and thunder. “That lowborn son of a bitch actually had the gall to request your hand.”

  “He asked to marry me?” Lydia murmured breathlessly. She grinned—absurd seeing as she was being abducted and dragged through a raging thunderstorm—but just the same she smiled from ear to ear, tasting the rain as it coursed down her face and into her open mouth. For a single instant all fear diminished and for half a beat her heart swelled with the knowledge that Brian loved her.

  The viscount wrenched her arm, cruelly indicating for her to pick up the pace. “Yes, he asked to marry you, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. He’ll be dead within the hour if he hasn’t been finished already. Roark should be carrying out my implicit orders to carry him from the grounds as we speak. Nothing will go wrong this time around. Nothing.” Northbridge’s jaw set in a hard line. “I had hoped to have your sizeable dowry, and then inherit your father’s vast stores when he was killed on our wedding night, but you went and botched that.”

  Lydia’s heart nearly stopped as the fleeting moment of bliss was doused with the fear Brian may already be lost to her. “I-I don’t understand. I thought you could pay off the debts with my inheritance after we wed?”

  “Ha! Your money would only serve to pay my creditors by half. Keith was hired to do your father in after we were married, but someone moved early and bungled the entire thing. When you disappeared the night before the wedding I feared your dowry and the subsequent inheritance from your father’s demise would be lost to me. It wasn’t until after you returned to the abbey I learned that Keith had double crossed me to save his own skin.”