Surrendering the Past Read online

  “My Aunt Carrington lived with us for many years. We did not have a governess because Mama believed education to be a detriment to marriage, so my aunt taught us. Then she met my uncle. He was a cleric in our local parish, but he found the profession did not agree with him, so he began tutoring. When they started having children, Mama became increasingly uncomfortable with their presence in the house. I did not realize it at the time, but my aunt explained to me later that there had been unsuccessful attempts at having another heir. Apparently, children can die even before they are born. My mother could not stand seeing Aunt Carrington increasing, so she asked them to leave. Thankfully, my grandfather had managed my aunt’s dowry well, and they were able to start their life here without too much inconvenience.”

  “Life must have been terribly difficult for you then without your aunt to care for you.”

  “But I had Amy and Meg. It is difficult to dwell on any hardships when you have two curious and rambunctious sisters to help care for. Their liveliness was a bit too much for Mama, so I kept them entertained as much as I could. I tried to please her, too, but I failed every attempt until recently.”

  “Jane, you are not responsible for their misery.”

  She shook her head and looked down once more. “If some part of the past can be revisited, if they can find some small part of the happiness they once had, I believe I could be content, whatever my situation. Amy and Meg are so curious about the world; they should live in it. And Mama and Papa deserve some respite from the worries that have plagued them.”

  He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

  “I know my duty.”

  Richard knew not what to say. How could he ever convince her to end the engagement to Litchfield if she thought it was the only way to make her family happy? He could not fault her adherence to duty. If he had been more dutiful and not joined the army, then everything might be different.

  His thumb briefly caressed the line of her jaw before he released her. “It is hard to know the right thing to do at times, especially when your heart is full of grief.”

  “Do you grieve for someone?”

  “My mother.”

  “What happened to her?”

  She looked at him in that curious yet understanding way she had, forcing him to look away before she pulled his heart straight from his chest.

  “She died.”

  The ache that had settled in his chest while he listened to Jane’s story of her childhood quickly changed into a pounding that he was sure could be heard across the park. Much as he would after a battle, he attempted to control his focus and his breathing until his heart slowed to normal. He stared at a tree a short distance away, concentrating on the slight movement of the branches rather than the memories Jane’s words had brought to the surface. One breath at a time, he calmed and turned to Jane when he felt the movement of her horse close to his.

  “Richard?”

  He attempted no disguise when he looked down on her, and her quick inhalation of breath told him what she saw. The night they met, Richard had seen in her the same need to run that he felt, and now their eyes mirrored the guilt from childhood grief they had no control over yet still controlled them. Richard removed a glove and cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb gently wiping the tears that finally fell. He wondered how long she had kept her grief hidden, never allowing others to see her sorrow. She must be exhausted from the effort. Then, moving his horse closer, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, allowing her head to come down to his as she cried.

  They were not in a private setting, and Richard knew Litchfield’s men were likely close by, but he did not care. Although he could not share the burdens in his own heart, fearing that once they broke free he would never again be able to corral them, he found great comfort in helping to carry hers.

  “Jane.” She lifted her head, and his hand returned to her cheek. “I believe it is time we caught up to Amy and Julian.”

  They did not rush through the park as they might have been inclined to do. Richard, instead, led them slowly to their companions, attempting to keep a calm, steady pace. The time to run would come soon enough.

  Chapter 11

  Wesley escorted Rachel and her companion to the Carrington’s that evening for dinner. In the short time she had been out of her father’s house, Rachel had carelessly traveled all over London without the watchful eye of her aunt accompanying her. She had taken on the role of eccentric spinster far too easily, and too early, but he would not allow her to make the trek to Sloane Street after dark without being there to protect her. If she continued to behave as if she had not a care in the world her reputation would suffer. He knew he could not stop her, but he could help her cultivate friendships with those who would not judge her. As he stood with Mr. Carrington enjoying a pre-dinner drink, he could hear her laughing and it made him loosen his own reserve enough to enjoy the conversation.

  “Mr. Carrington, your wife told us earlier you were delayed by business. If those men who just left are your students, I would hate to meet the men who sired them.”

  The man laughed and motioned for Wesley to sit. “You noticed them, did you? I suppose they are hard to miss. They are the fathers of two of my students, and they are also students themselves. They both work on the docks for very little, and their wives are in service for even less, yet they manage to pay for their boys to come to me to learn to read and to perform basic mathematics. Their lives are harsh, but they have hope for better for their children. They barter for my services for themselves.”

  “Do they unload household goods in exchange for lessons?”

  “No, no. They allow me in their club. I am not distinguished enough to join Gentleman Jackson’s, but I am just rough enough around the edges to join these men and their peers in their pugilistic endeavors.”

  Wesley sipped his sherry and then smiled. “I did wonder how a scholar obtained the physique of a farm laborer.”

  Carrington laughed again. “I came up with four elder brothers and was in competition for something every day of my life. I grow restless without some sort of activity and male comradery. I love my wife and daughters, but a man can only tolerate so much lace and refinement.”

  “Your eldest brother was Henry Carrington, was he not? I believe I came across him a time or two here in town. Your family’s estate is in Cumberland?”

  Taking a slow sip of his sherry, Carrington appraised Wesley and then leaned back in his seat. “Yes, just across the border from Scotland. My nephew inherited it just two years ago but has already increased my brother’s debts considerably. From what I understand, the estate is in quite a bit of trouble.” He sat his drink on the table next to him and laced his fingers across his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “But you already knew that, did you not?”

  “I did.”

  “And what is your interest in my family’s affairs?”

  Wesley eyed the man coolly and then turned to see that the rest of the party was paying them no attention. “Perhaps I can join you when you next visit your club, and I can explain my interests then.”

  Carrington nodded, keeping his eyes on Wesley the entire time, wondering what Litchfield’s heir was holding over his family, and why?

  * * *

  An unfamiliar feeling had settled over Jane since the morning she went riding with Richard. Nervousness was the best way to describe it, but it was not the usual sort. If she had been less sensible, she would have believed her mother’s condition had spread to her own chest and was causing her mind to focus on one subject alone. It was not an unpleasant sensation, but rather unsettling, and it grew every time a pair of deep blue eyes landed on her. To calm her thoughts, she separated herself slightly apart from the rest of the group to out the window toward the darkened woods.

  “Are you out of sorts this evening, Jane?”

  Slightly alarmed by the voice at her side, Jane inhaled sharply and turned to see the object of her rev
erie looking down on her. “Forgive me, sir, I was just woolgathering.”

  “Sir? Are we suddenly back to formalities, Miss Dawson?”

  Jane smiled. “No, Richard, we are not. I did not intend to stand over here alone. It just sort of happened.”

  “While you were woolgathering?”

  Jane shook her head and attempted not to get lost in his smile, but the one he wore then was so natural and brought such a softness to his dark features that she could not fight the sensation that gathered in her chest. So, for the moment, she stopped trying.

  “You have all my attention now, Richard. How shall you entertain me?”

  Richard laughed. “I am afraid my accomplishments in that area are quite lacking.”

  “Do you mean you do not play or sing?”

  “I could show my sword skills, but this is not exactly the proper venue for such a display.”

  Jane wondered at the darker look in his eyes that hid just below the playfulness as well as her own reaction as his smile slowly spread. She was sure she would need a dose of her mother’s tonic before the end of dinner.

  “You promised to tell me stories of the war.”

  “I did, but I have reconsidered that promise.”

  “Why?”

  “Because war is ugly, and you are too lovely to be marred with it.”

  Refusing to be embarrassed in spite of the rising heat in her cheeks, she answered. “Are you marred by it, Richard?”

  “Far too deeply, and I will not burden you with one word of it.”

  “I do not accept that. Friends share burdens. You said we are to be friends. I will not let you break that promise.”

  He stepped closer, and as his eyes captured her own, she felt his thumb trail from her wrist to her elbow and then back down. “I have no desire to.”

  She was saved from responding when the maid entered to tell Mrs. Carrington that dinner was ready to be served. Richard offered Jane his arm, and they followed the others into the dining room. Seemingly without thought, Jane leaned into him for just a moment, unknowingly encouraging the thoughts that were swimming in his own head.

  * * *

  Later that evening, three women stood at the piano, looking over the available sheet music while waiting for the men to join them. Rachel’s finger reverently trailed over the title of one before setting it aside. Standing beside her, Amy noticed the look on her face.

  “Do you not like that piece?”

  Rachel smiled sweetly. “It is one of my favorites, but I rarely play it and never in public.”

  Amy picked up the music and glanced over the notes. “It does not seem very difficult.”

  “It is not that. This was a favorite of someone dear to me, whom I lost.”

  “Oh, a relation?”

  Rachel shook her head. “My betrothed. He died many years ago.”

  “I am so sorry. How did he die?”

  “Amy,” Jane admonished then placed her hand on Rachel’s arm. “Do not speak of it if it distresses you.”

  Rachel placed her hand on Jane’s and squeezed it affectionately. “It is all right. His name was Christopher, and he was in the navy. The ship he was on vanished while out on maneuvers. No one knows if it was raided and destroyed by pirates or if the French or a storm overtook them. But, to be certain, everyone on board was lost.”

  Amy moved to stand on the other side of Rachel, and the two sisters attempted to provide support as she continued her story.

  “We had not been engaged long. My father did not approve of the match and refused his consent. Christopher was a second son with little money and connections my father did not value. I do not know what caused him to change his mind. I have always suspected Wesley spoke to him on Christopher’s behalf. They were dear friends. Wesley felt the loss almost as deeply as I did.

  “Since then, I have refused to marry, though my mother does parade me in front of desperate gentlemen on a regular basis. I loved Christopher. When I was with him, I felt wanted and safe. I gave him my heart, and whatever happened to him, he still has it. The words ‘convenience’ and ‘obligation’ must be reviled by anyone who has ever felt the slightest notion of love. I could not bear to feel so little after having felt so much.”

  Though she kept by Rachel’s side, Jane turned her head away in order to disguise the impact of her words. Just as she did, however, the doors opened, and the gentlemen entered the room, led by her uncle. She watched as he approached his wife, taking her hand and kissing it gently. Since she was a little girl, they had been her ideal of marital felicity. They shared a mutual respect and affection and, Jane suspected, a great passion that had lasted for many years. When had she given up hope for the same?

  Suddenly, she found herself standing in front of a set of broad shoulders shielding her from the rest of the room. She once again felt warm fingers wiping away her tears.

  “Jane.” His whisper brought her eyes to his, and she knew that if they had not been in company, he would have kissed her, and she would have let him.

  Chapter 12

  Richard had not envied his brother much growing up. Other emotions always supplanted any natural jealously that would come from a second son. Now, as he paced his room trying to relieve the restlessness that had become common since he returned to London, he wished for just a touch of his brother’s cool reserve. Wesley would not have been affected so by Jane’s openness that evening nor would he allow himself to forget, even for a moment, that Jane was intended for another man—their father.

  But Richard did forget or, at least, did not allow thoughts of Litchfield to corrupt the time he spent with her. He would have been concerned for any woman who aligned herself with his father, but he had fallen under Jane’s spell, and concern became desperation. His fate was sealed the moment he touched her cheek in the park. He had to keep her safe no matter the cost.

  Another turn around the room did nothing to relieve his agitation. He walked to his dressing room to retrieve his coat along with a walking stick that concealed a long, thin sword. He would not face the cold London night without some protection and would get no relief inside the walls. He made his way down the stairs and into the London night in the direction of his father’s townhouse.

  When Jane spoke to him about her brother, Richard could not help but think about Wesley and those rare moments of their childhood when they were allowed to be friends. He did not trust Wesley, but he wanted to. Admitting that to himself was not easy and stirred up enough turmoil to fuel a hurried escape back into battle, if Jane’s predicament had not grounded him. He stopped abruptly as the truth of that last thought took all the air from his lungs. He had run from Litchfield all his life, and helping Jane do the same would tie him down for the first time.

  As his heart raced, he looked for something on which to focus. The moon was bright, casting shadows all around him, but they provided no comfort. The sound of a horse sighing close by drew up his head. He had not realized that he had stopped so near Litchfield House. A carriage with the Litchfield crest stood outside, and Richard immediately moved out of the light. The door opened, and he expected to see that the earl had returned, but, instead, he saw Wesley followed by Colonel McAlister. They spoke a few words, and then McAlister reentered the carriage before it drove off.

  Anger quickly replaced panic, and Richard allowed no rational thought or conflicting emotion to lessen the fire of it. If he had maintained the honesty of thought from a moment earlier, he could acknowledge the relief of being back in familiar territory. Anger was something he knew well, and he was determined to find out what information and promises the house of Litchfield managed to pull from his commanding officer.

  Moving quickly, he made it up the steps before the door closed, taking Wesley and the butler by surprise.

  “Richard! What the hell are you doing here this time of night?”

  “I will speak to you, Brother.”

  Wesley gave the butler a stern dismissal and then turned his attention back to Rich
ard. “Unless you want the entirety of Litchfield’s staff to know your business, I suggest you lower your voice and come with me to my study.”

  Richard followed but did not bother to keep quiet. “Where did you go after dinner that kept you out so late?”

  “I met with an acquaintance of mine. I did not know my whereabouts were so interesting to you.”

  “I could say the same.” They entered Wesley’s study, and Richard quickly closed the door and grabbed his brother, turning him around to face him and then pushing him back. “I do not know why it surprises me that you would have my colonel in your pocket. You are Litchfield’s heir, after all. You have learned deceit from the best. Did McAlister inform you of my every move these last two years?”

  “He did.” Wesley had stepped closer and was prepared to block the punch Richard threw with his right hand, but he was still open to the one his brother had landed with his left. He grunted from the pain of it but did not falter, instead managing to push Richard against the wall. “A man with so much gambling debt can easily settle his accounts by providing information.”

  Richard pushed back. “Why, Brother, was it so important to know where I was so long as I was gone? We could have all lived quite happily knowing nothing of each other.”

  Wesley managed to get one leg behind Richard, hooking it around his ankle and bringing him down to the floor.

  “Because, you bloody idiot, if I had not paid McAlister, Litchfield would have, and the chances of you making it out of battle alive would have been non-existent. He would have made sure you did not survive your first trip to the continent, not after you threatened to kill him in front of his peers. His letters to McAlister inquiring after you were burned without being opened, and your whereabouts were unknown to him until you returned to London.”

  Richard sat on the floor, breathing heavily and cautiously taking in what his brother had just said. “Why would you care if he found me?”

  Wesley threw his hands in the air and shouted. “Because I failed to protect you then!” He took a deep breath and calmed before speaking again. “I failed to protect both of you, and I cannot have the blood of two people on my hands.” Wesley turned and walked to a table in the corner. He filled a glass nearly full and then walked back to Richard. He held out his arm to help Richard up, handed him the glass, and then returned to the table to fill another. He sat in a nearby chair and gently held the brandy in his hands as his arms rested on his knees. “I should have removed her from that house as soon as I reached majority. I had no money of my own, only what he allowed me, and I used that as my excuse for inaction. But it was Litchfield, his words and his manipulations, that kept me by his side instead of helping her.”