Retreat From Love (25 page)

“Brett, no,” Freddy said urgently. Brett ignored him as he stared at Anne with tortured eyes. She wasn’t sure if he even saw her anymore.

“I don’t know how he knew. But he ran at me, his horse literally ran into mine, pushing us back. My horse…” Brett shook his head. “Erasmus, he stumbled back, he couldn’t get his footing. There were bodies and debris all around. And suddenly the world exploded.” Brett’s hands flew up and covered his face. “I flew through the air, I heard the screams.” He shook his head. “Mine? Erasmus? Bertie? I don’t know.” His hands fell away and he turned to stare out the window. “The next thing I remember I was under Erasmus. My leg was numb. He’d broken it. I shoved his head off, and he was dead.” Brett straightened from the wall and ran his hands down his jacket as if wiping something off. “That damn horse. He’d born the brunt of the shrapnel from the explosion. He saved my life, he and Bertie.” Finally Brett looked back at Anne. “But Bertie wasn’t so lucky, Anne. He died when that cannonball hit the ammunition wagon.

He was blown to bits. For what? For me? Damn it, what the hell kind of thing is that to do? For me?”

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Anne saw Brett as if through a long tunnel. Like that first day at the pond. She barely heard him anymore.
Bertie, oh my God, Bertie.

“I thought he’d been shot,” she whispered. She stumbled to her feet. “I thought…a bullet. No one told me…” She was going to be sick. She knew it. She was going to be sick. She ran for the door.

“Anne!” Freddy called, trying to catch her arm. She shook him off, her hand clamped over her mouth. Outside. She had to get outside.

She heard a sob. She knew it was her, but she couldn’t control it. Part of her was completely numb. It was as if she was watching someone else fumble with the garden door latch, their hand shaking so badly they couldn’t grasp it, or turn it. Both hands grabbed at it desperately as with a roar everything came back. She heard Freddy and Brett calling her name, she heard her gulping sobs, and she felt the cramps in her stomach.

The door flew open at last and hit the wall with a bang behind her. She didn’t even make it off the back steps. She simply leaned over the railing and threw up. She was shaking and crying, and she wanted to stop but when she tried she heard Brett’s voice again.
He was blown to bits.

“Anne?” her mother’s voice called, worried. “Anne!” Suddenly her mother’s scent surrounded her, warm arms held her up, and Anne stopped trying to hold back. She was heaving uselessly, her stomach empty. She collapsed in her mother’s arms.

“Bertie,” she sobbed. “Bertie.” She couldn’t say the rest. She couldn’t say the words.

“Anne,” her mother soothed, her hand brushing Anne’s hair back. “Darling.” She helped Anne to her feet. “Freddy, here, help me with her.”

When Freddy’s scent and arms surrounded her, picking her up, carrying her into the house, all she could think was who is with Brett? Who is comforting Brett?

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October 7, 1811

My Dearest Anne,

Brett is writing. I don’t know what. He never receives any mail, and I’ve never known him
to send any. Perhaps he is writing a book. Like Chaucer, or that Byron fellow. With my luck it
will be Plato’s
Republic
. I shudder at the thought. He’ll soon have me reading it and discussing
its virtues. I leave it to you, dear Anne, to tell him that I was a complete failure at university. I
haven’t the heart to disillusion him.

Mr. Matthews is a regular visitor. He would gladly sit and discuss Brett’s epic tome, I’m
sure. The two are forever lost in conversations about the value of gold or the Socratic Method. It
has driven me to drink. None of that now, Anne. That is the excuse I am using.

I think I should like for you to mention Mr. Matthews to Jerome. I know it is a hard thing,
Anne, but we shall have to fill the living in Ashton on the Green eventually. I believe that Mr.

Matthews would fit the position quite well. As I’ve told you, darling Anne, he reminds me of the
Goode Vicar. I should like to find a place for him there.

We must make a place for Brett as well, Anne. I cannot imagine life without him, truly. He
is like another brother to me. Speaking of which, Anne, in answer to your query, no, I have
received no mail from Freddy. I have received very little from Jerome. I suppose they are all glad
to have me far from sight and mind.

Needless to say I haven’t heard from the duchess. For this I am heartily grateful. Do try to
stay out of her way, Anne. She can be quite uncharitable where you Goodes are concerned. I have
not forgiven her, Anne. I have not.

Your Devoted Servant,

Bertie

* * * * *

Freddy stood very still by the window in the Goodes’ drawing room. He didn’t want to upset Brett. The last time they’d been here had been yesterday when Brett had broken down and told Anne about Bertie, and then Anne had collapsed. Freddy didn’t want to push Brett into a similar breakdown today.

God, just the thought of Anne and Brett yesterday and what they’d gone through made Freddy feel sick. Brett had hardly spoken to Freddy since. As they were leaving yesterday Brett had paused right after he’d mounted his horse.

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“How did you find out?” Brett’s voice and demeanor had been normal, if a trifle subdued. The question had been simple, but Brett didn’t need to explain. Freddy knew what he was talking about.

“Stephen told me,” Freddy had answered, keeping it as simple as Brett’s question.

Brett had merely nodded and then ridden off, in the opposite direction of Ashton Park.

Freddy had let him go. He clearly needed some time to think.

Freddy hadn’t seen him again until this morning. Brett had appeared in the breakfast room door while Freddy was sitting there sipping his coffee, unable to eat a bite. At Brett’s arrival he’d put his cup down slowly and waited, letting Brett take the lead.

“I should like to go check on Anne.”

Freddy had nodded and without another word rose from the table. And now here they were.

Brett was looking at a rather good landscape on the wall. It wasn’t good enough to warrant his undivided attention, however. Freddy watched him for a few minutes until suddenly Brett spun around with a frustrated growl and shoved his hand into his hair.

He stalked over to the sofa and threw himself down upon it. Freddy was frozen. This behavior was so unlike Brett. He was always so composed, so in control. But the last week he’d been slowly losing his hold on that control. It was what Freddy had hoped for, and yet now that it was happening he wasn’t so sure it was a good thing.

“Where is she?” Brett demanded, his frustration evident in his tone.

“Mrs. Goode said she’d be a moment. She’ll be here, Brett.” Freddy tried to keep his tone soothing. He was at a loss as to what to do. Brett hadn’t asked for his help or comfort. But restraining those natural impulses was killing Freddy. He felt as if his heart was an open wound. Brett had shut him out yet again. And Freddy had to let him.

He had to let Brett find his own way now.

Freddy heard the footsteps first. He knew immediately they were Anne’s. He’d come to recognize her step, just as he recognized her scent, the sound of her voice, her laughter. He knew the moment Brett heard her. Every muscle in Brett’s body tensed. It was as if he’d been turned to stone.

Anne appeared in the doorway. Freddy had to bite his cheek to stifle the

exclamation on his tongue. She was haggard. It looked as if she’d cried most of the night and gotten very little sleep as a result. She looked like a broken porcelain doll, propped up by sheer will alone.

She stood there staring at Brett for what seemed forever. Brett didn’t move. He didn’t even stand. Anne walked slowly across the room until she stood in front of Brett.

Brett stared at the front of her gown, blinking and swallowing, unable to meet her eyes. Finally Anne reached out and tipped his chin up with a finger. Then she cupped his cheek in her hand. Without a single word spoken between them Freddy felt the tension ease. Then Anne simply climbed into Brett’s lap. He wrapped her in his arms and held her like a child, petting her hair. And then he began to shake. Anne sat up and 128

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he lowered his head to her breast and laid his cheek against it with his eyes closed, his face pale. Anne soothed him with wordless hums, one arm tight around his shoulders, rubbing his arm. Freddy was about to leave them alone when Anne held out her hand to him blindly.

There was a crashing relief inside of him. She needed him. They needed him. He slid down onto the sofa next to Brett, who didn’t look up. Anne’s back was to Freddy and she scooted over, clearly intending to partially sit on him. He had to squeeze in tight next to Brett to catch her bottom on his thigh. Brett snuggled closer and loosened his arms slightly so Anne could rest her head on Freddy’s shoulder. Brett’s head remained on Anne’s chest, and Freddy had no choice but to wrap his arm around them both. He slid his arm under Anne’s around Brett’s shoulders and he felt Brett shiver.

Then Brett burrowed into Anne who held him close and leaned on Freddy. Freddy held them both up.

They stayed that way for a very long time.

Finally Anne whispered, “I will stay with you as long as you will have me,” and Freddy understood that the subject of marriage was closed.

“I do not think this is going to work, Freddy,” Brett said for the fourth or fifth time as Freddy stood still and let Havers, his valet, tie his cravat.

It had been almost a day since they’d seen Anne last. As they were leaving the Goodes’ yesterday, Anne had promised Freddy she would come to dinner at Ashton Park tonight. Freddy and Brett had spent the day in the village, buying Anne gifts and chatting with quite a few people. They had each sent one gift to her this afternoon, along with a note telling her that Freddy’s carriage would arrive at seven to transport her to Ashton Park.

Freddy was glad to see that Ashton on the Green had a viable market. So many small villages were fading these days as manufacturing and enclosures dried up their livelihood. Freddy was determined not to see that happen here. Changes needed to be made, but he had every intention of seeing them made slowly and in such a way as to benefit all his tenants.

Brett sat on the sofa in front of one of the long windows in Freddy’s private drawing room. He had his hands splayed on his thighs as he stared down at them. It was a position Freddy was achingly familiar with. Brett sat like that when he was upset and trying to hide it. The sofa was covered in light blue silk, soft cream pillows tossed at the arms on either end. Brett’s black evening trousers and jacket were a stark contrast against it. Freddy used to sneak into this room when his father was duke and curl up on that sofa in the sun, like a cat. This was one room his mother had not changed. Neither had Jerome. Neither would Freddy.

Freddy put down the letter from his solicitor he’d been perusing over Havers’

shoulder while the valet worked on some elaborate knot or other. Freddy hated these damn cravats. He’d walk around with his shirt open and his throat bare if it wouldn’t 129

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cause bedlam among the staff. He sighed. Havers stopped and simply stood there holding the ends of his cravat, waiting for God knows what.

“Of course it will work, Brett. Have faith.” Freddy looked askance at Havers and the valet immediately started to work on the damn cravat again. It seemed as if he was almost done, but Freddy couldn’t tell. He wasn’t standing in front of a mirror. So much for trying to accomplish two things at once. He’d hoped to get through his correspondence before dinner.

“Anne has made it very clear that she does not desire marriage, Freddy.” Brett sat in the middle of the sofa, and he reached over and grabbed the pillow on the left arm.

He set it in his lap and began smoothing his hand over the soft silk of the pillow, then running his fingers through the fringe on its edges. Freddy’s gut seized and his cock twitched.

Freddy took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. Wouldn’t do to show Havers a rampant cock.

“That’s simply because she has never been a mistress. She was born to be a lady, Brett, and, in spite of her denials, probably envisioned herself as duchess one day. She will not like the role of mistress.”

Havers finished with an economic fluff of Freddy’s cravat and stepped back.

Absently Freddy touched the cloth lightly, and the move amused him. What exactly did he think he was doing? Checking Havers’ work? As if he knew what the damn man had done to the damn thing. “Thank you, Havers. You are dismissed for the evening. I shall ring when I need you again.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” Havers said. He bowed slightly. “Good evening, sir.” He turned toward Brett and bowed again. “Good evening, Mr. Haversham.”

“Good evening, Havers,” Brett said absently. Freddy doubted he even noted

Havers’ exit from the room.

“I think you are underestimating her determination not to wed one of us, Freddy.”

Brett sounded amused, but underneath it was an insecurity that Freddy was only now beginning to recognize and understand. All these years Freddy had believed that Brett’s quiet fortitude was the visible manifestation of Brett’s confidence and even temperament. He now realized that it frequently disguised his insecurity and uncertainty. While he’d been providing everyone around him with a rock to lean on, Brett had been struggling alone in storm-tossed seas. Freddy was stricken over how immature and foolish he’d been until recently. He hadn’t been there for Brett, and Brett had known it, he’d known Freddy wasn’t ready for him, and so he’d stayed away. Well, Freddy was older, wiser and ready now, damn it.

“Her reasons for not marrying one of us are weak and easily abrogated,” Freddy assured him as he walked over to sit next to him on the sofa. “She’s scared, Brett. She’s scared of us, of her past, of the future.” Freddy reached out and idly ran his fingers through the pillow’s fringe as it sat on Brett’s thighs. It was a marvelous feeling, the soft, slick fringe feathering across his fingertips, leaving a slight breeze in its wake. No 130