Marjorie Farrell (28 page)

“Nora,” he said softly, “we should be getting back. Let me help you up.”

They both spent a few minutes, backs to each other, smoothing clothes and hair, unable to look one another in the face. Sam placed the cloak over her shoulders after shaking off the dried grass and leaves. He shrugged himself into his coat, and they set off for the cottage, not having said a word.

Nora’s silence worried Sam. Was she angry with him? She had certainly been willing, but he had not intended this kind of afternoon at all. He had hoped to get her talking about Northumberland, had hoped to probe her feelings for her late husband, and perhaps, just perhaps, touch on his feelings for her. Instead, he had talked of his own
affaires
,
and taken advan… No, in truth, that would be a ridiculous statement. They had both been drawn to each other so strongly that all barriers had disappeared. But did she think, after this, that he just wanted her as another mistress? Well, he
did
most certainly want her, but he also loved her.

When they reached the cottage, Nora immediately hurried into the kitchen to make tea, leaving Sam alone in the parlor, where he stood at the window, wondering how he could begin. When she returned with the tray and started clattering the cups and plates, he turned to face her.

“Nora, we must talk.”

“I know,” she said, immediately quiet and sinking back into the armchair.

Sam walked over and sat down opposite her.

“I don’t want you to think that what happened on the Heath was merely casual.”

“I was hoping it was not the way you approached all your widows,” Nora said, only half-humorously.

“There have not been that many, Nora.” He smiled. “I have been, in my own way, rather monogamous, and my
affaires
have lasted longer than some men’s my age. Do you feel ashamed of your own response? I did not mean for this to happen so soon, but it was a joy to give you pleasure.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” Nora admitted.

“Nora, I know you have continued to love your husband, and perhaps you feel like you betrayed him. And perhaps you doubt me. But I hope I do not sound the great egoist when I say I believe there is something between us that might help you stop mourning your past.”

“Oh, no, you’re wrong, my lord,” Nora said, choking on something between a laugh and a sob.

Sam started to protest.

“Not wrong about what is between us. Wrong about my husband. You see, I never had a husband to mourn.”

“What do you mean? What about Lieutenant Dillon?”

“There was no Lieutenant Dillon.”

“But Miranda’s father…?”

“Was one Dillon Breen. I ran off with him when I was seventeen.”

“But you are a widow? I mean, he is
dead!”

“Oh, yes, that part is true. He died in a tavern brawl before we could get married. I took what money I had saved and came south after Miranda was born. I settled here in Hampstead and supported us by working as a barmaid until I started writing. Miranda is illegitimate. And I am…well, whatever you wish to call me.”

Nora’s eyes were on Sam’s face, but he found he could not look at her. His eyes fell, and he watched her fingers turning and turning what he had thought was a wedding ring worn in memory of her beloved lieutenant.

He went from shock to fury in an instant. Here he had been pitying her, thinking he had to woo her away from her dead hero, and there was no hero, only a drunken paramour. She had deceived them all. Lavinia had been right from the beginning, and “Mrs. Dillon” had got an earl for a son-in-law after all.

“How could you let Jeremy marry Miranda? Your
—”

Nora’s hand caught his cheek before he could get a word out.

“Don’t you dare say that word. My daughter is worth ten of you. Get out of my house, you bastard. Oh, yes, I will use the word when it fits.”

The slap had been enough to bring Sam back to himself, and he stood there appalled at the word that had risen to his lips. Miranda was everything he could have hoped for Jeremy. She was indeed innocent of her birth. But he could not understand Nora’s deception. He saw her standing there, shaking with outrage, and knew he loved her, no matter how she had lied. He could not marry her after this, because she had destroyed his trust. But he loved her, despite it all.

“Nora, I
—”

“Get out, my lord, or I will not answer for myself. And I wish you better luck in finding your next mistress.”

There was nothing to say, and Sam left immediately. Nora stood there until she heard his horse’s hoofbeats fade away. Only then did she cry. She hated herself for it, but she had hoped, even in those last few minutes, that Sam would not let her send him away without demanding more of an explanation, that he would at last understand, and love her enough so that the past did not matter. I am still a fool, she thought, only older this time. She left the tea where it was and went to bed, where she curled in a wretched ball and cried herself to sleep.

* * * *

As Sam rode back to London, he was more and more surprised and appalled by his immediate reaction. He prided himself on being a tolerant man. He knew, after all these months, that Nora was not truly a scheming mother. And he loved Miranda as much as he did Jeremy. Why had he been so outraged? Why had that word come unbidden to his lips? The only explanation he could find was that he was hurt and angry at Nora’s lack of trust in him, and more than that, her deception of Jeremy. He felt Nora had, in some way, made a fool of him. Here he had been approaching her slowly, not wanting to rush her because of her feelings for her dead husband, only to find out there was no husband at all.

What had kept her single, then? he wondered. It was admirable she had managed to support herself and her child on her own, but surely she had received at least one offer? And after her response on the Heath, he could not believe it was for lack of passion.

When he arrived home, he tore off his coat and cravat and settled into his library with a decanter of brandy. He intended to get thoroughly and mind-numbingly drunk.

He was halfway there when the Duke of Sutton was announced.

“Show him in,” said the viscount.

Simon’s footman led him in and settled him in a chair. He waited until Simon and Sam exchanged greetings, then was dismissed almost immediately by the viscount, who suggested he take himself down to the kitchen and have the cook fix him some tea.

Simon, who had wanted to hear about Sam’s progress with Nora, smelled the brandy on his friend’s breath and knew something fairly serious must have disturbed the viscount, who was not a heavy drinker. He accepted a drink, and sipped it occasionally as he listened.

“I have been made a fool of,” Sam was saying. He paused and swallowed more brandy. “Or I have made a fool of myself. I am not sure.”

“Nora?”

“How did you know?”

“I can’t think of anyone else in your life who could get you drinking like this,” Simon replied with a smile. “Did you rush your fences?”

“No. Yes. No, not in the way you mean. That is to say, she seemed very open to my approach and I intended to propose to her. But I opened by mentioning that damned husband of hers.” Simon jumped as Sam hurled his empty glass into the fireplace. “How is this for a bit of humor, Simon. There never was a husband. Here I am hoping to woo her away from her memories, and there are none. Or so I gather.”

Simon sat quietly.

“You know what this means, Simon? It means Miranda is illegitimate. The Countess of Alverstone is a bastard.” There was no anger in Sam’s voice now, only a great weariness.

“Does that bother you so, Sam, now that you have come to know Miranda?”

“No. You know me well enough to know it would not, after the initial shock. No, what bothers me is the deception. To let Jeremy marry without giving him a choice; I cannot forgive her for that.”

“But that was the ground of her objection all along, Sam,” Simon said, puzzled that the viscount did not understand. “Miranda herself was ignorant of her own history until Nora told her why she couldn’t let them marry. And Miranda told Jeremy, so he could make a free choice. It was Jeremy’s decision, and I can’t say I blame him, to keep it all private. Didn’t Nora tell you any of this?”

Sam sat very still. “I never really gave her a chance. In fact, I grossly insulted her and Miranda. She only told me she had never been married and that her lover had died. But how did you know all of this, Simon?” Sam asked, realizing Simon knew more than he did.

“Nora told me all of it months ago. When she realized Miranda and Jeremy were truly in love with one another, she did not know what to do or whom to turn to. My first advice, by the way, was for her to do nothing. Forgive me, but it seemed best for everyone concerned. Then, we both decided she needed to tell Miranda and Jeremy, and let them choose. And so all those most directly affected knew.”

“And you knew all of this when I came to you before, and said nothing?”

“It was not my secret to tell, Sam,” Simon replied. “I knew if Nora came to love you, she would tell you herself.”

“She certainly told me, but not because she loves me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. It sounds like you gave her no chance.”

Sam relived his scene with Nora. “You are right. And now I have lost her through my unforgivable insults.”

From the tone of his voice, the duke could almost see the expression of despair on Sam’s face. He knew his friend had reached that stage of drunkenness when all optimism turns into its opposite, when the comfort of alcohol inexplicably disappears and one is left even lower than when one started drinking.

“Sam,” said Simon, standing up, “I must get back, or Judith will be wondering where I am. I came over without leaving word. Would you ring for James?”

The viscount looked up, hurt at his friend’s desertion. “You are leaving already?”

“I must. And right now”
—Simon smiled—“there is nothing I could say or do to make you feel better. It will look different in the morning. Well, not immediately,” he said, laughing, “but after a strong cup of coffee. Then you must go back and face Nora again. Apologize. Give her a chance to forgive you and tell you her story. I know from my own experience, my friend, that even the most angry words can be forgiven if they are between two lovers. And while I don’t know it, I suspect that Nora is well on her way to loving you.”

James arrived and led the duke out, while Sam stood at the library door. Suddenly sleepy from all his drinking, he stumbled upstairs, had his valet pull off his boots, and fell into bed half-dressed.

* * * *

The next morning he awoke late, with his head pounding. He had intended to ride out to Hampstead early, but decided to wait until the afternoon, when his head, he hoped, would be clearer. To get Nora to even admit him, he knew he would have to be his most persuasive.

* * * *

While Sam was nursing his hangover, Nora was furiously walking the Heath. She had awakened with far more energy than the viscount, and needed the physical activity before sitting down to write. Her heels pounded down the path, and all her energy was concentrated upon a red-hot ball of anger in her belly. Had she been asked what she was angry at, she would have been hard-put to answer. At Sam’s insult, of course. But not simply that. His lack of trust in her. He should have known I would not deceive Jeremy, she thought. And how could I have let myself respond to him like that? Her cheeks, already flushed with exertion, became warmer as she remembered what had happened on the Heath. I have learned nothing, she thought. I am still too easy won. And yet, she thought, the Sam I thought I knew wasn’t really such an intolerant snob. Why did he get so angry and not give me time to explain? But then, of course, I didn’t give him a chance anyway.

Her walk did calm her considerably, however, and by the time she had a light luncheon of bread and cheese and apples, she was ready to work. She was truly absorbed by the time Sam arrived, and did not hear him until she finally became conscious of loud knocking on the door. Thinking it was Joanna or Tilly, she hurried out, intending to turn her visitor away, knowing either would understand when she said she was working. When Nora saw the viscount, she was so surprised, she started to tremble and her instant resolution to turn him away was shaken when she saw the hesitant, humble look on his face.

“Nora, you have every reason to wish me at blazes, but I beg you to give me a chance to apologize.”

Nora could think of nothing to say, and motioned him in with her hand.

“May we go into the parlor?”

They were standing in the hall, and Nora had made no move, nor uttered a word.

She turned and led him in, gesturing him to sit as she crossed to the fireplace and added wood to the fire.

Sam watched her stir the still-glowing embers and lay two apple logs on the fire. They caught almost immediately, and Nora straightened up and turned reluctantly to him. Still standing in front of the hearth, she said:

“You had something to say to me?”

“I wanted to tell you how sorry I was for yesterday. I don’t understand my reaction yet myself, except I know I was furious you hadn’t trusted me with your story. I felt made a fool. Here I have been keeping myself from courting you because I thought you still cared for a husband you never had. At any rate, I beg your pardon. I had no right to question you, and I am as fond of Miranda as I am of Jeremy.”

Nora wanted very badly to hold on to her righteous anger. It was the only protection she had against him and her feelings. But his tone was so obviously sincere, and his explanation reasonable, that she found it difficult.

“I accept your apology, my lord. I too said things I regretted. And I can understand your anger at being deceived.” Her tone was softening, and Sam felt hope stirring when she continued. “But I cannot understand how you thought I could have deceived Jeremy, or believed I was lying when I said I opposed the marriage. Jeremy decided it served no purpose to tell you or Lavinia. And there is no fear the truth will ever come out. Unless you find it necessary to tell it.”