The Veiled Heart (The Velvet Basement Book 1) (21 page)

Max arrived at Lily’s house at nine a.m. It was unfashionably early; but it wasn’t as if he had slept, and looking at the dark circles under her eyes as she stood from her chair in the parlor, Lily hadn’t either.

“Thank you, Masters.” Her voice was cool, a little too quiet. “No tea, Lord Worthington will not be staying long. Please ensure we are not disturbed.”

The door clicked closed as the butler left and for the first time the air between them was awkward.

Lily stood there; the morning sun streamed in through the lace curtains washing her in a veil of lace shadows as she sat back down in an old wingback. The floral pattern covered her face as well as her body. He had ripped through her veils before; these may not be as tangible but he hoped to hell he could do it again.

Max walked over to her, leaned down and kissed her cheek. She didn’t turn toward him and offer her lips, but neither did she pull away.

He sat down opposite her, a small round table between them.

“You look lovely but tired, Lily.”

His hands were trembling and suddenly his heart beat faster in his chest.

Damn, this was it. This was the deciding conversation.

“I think we should get started. And don’t call me Lily.”

Lily pulled out a folded piece of paper from her skirt pocket.

“What knowledge of Freddy and his proclivities did you have at the time of my wedding?”

It was as if she could smell his weakness. Max leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. Her hands sat neatly in her lap, her face sure that he would fail. Well, he wasn’t going down that easy.

“So,
Lily
.” He said her name intentionally, tilted his head to the side. “What I would like to know is if you intend to trust the instincts you had as we worked together with the sheaths and refuge or will you let history take the wheel?”

She scowled.

That was better. You didn’t approach the woman you wanted on the back foot.

“Am I relegated into the men to be avoided at all costs or am I the one who can call on you and take you to Hyde Park this afternoon?”

Lily put her paper down.

“You have things to answer to, Max. You lied to me about who you were.”

“If you recall, I invited you to dinner after we had sex under the eaves and you made it clear you would welcome seeing me again.” It was a cheap shot but he had to find a way to remind this cool reserved Lily who they were together.

“Don’t be vulgar, Max.”

“Lily, had you shown up, we would have addressed this much sooner. It was when I met you later that night, having lied about being too unwell to attend my dinner.” His eyebrows rose at that point and she did that wonderful scowl again. “You made it clear you would not have anything to do with me unless I was a working-class man.” He leaned forward to make his point. He wanted her in his arms, not over there sitting like there was a rod down her back.

“I may not have walked away.”

“You know you would have, Lily, we both knew it. You put the fear of God into me. I did what I needed to do to have a chance to win you.

“I decided then I would reveal myself at a point after I had a chance to show you the man I was. If you had not held such prejudice and narrow views of how to avoid ending up with another Freddy, we would not have been in this mess to start with.”

Lily shot up from her chair and marched around the room. The lovely yellow-and-gray striped day dress swished behind her, mimicking her indignation.

“I made those rules to protect myself.”

She pushed the lace curtain aside and stood at the window.

He got up and walked over to her and stood behind her as she looked out over the garden.

“It looks good in the daylight.”

She nodded.

He tentatively placed his hands on her upper arms. She flinched, he let go and stepped back as pain lanced through him.

“You can’t let him rule you from the grave.”

She stood a foot away and was further from him than she had ever been.

“I need to make sure I am never in that situation again.”

“Do you honestly think I would be another Freddy?”

She turned then. Her face was so white, a pale frame around eyes the color of a fairytale creature.

“No I don’t think you could be another Freddy.

“You know I forgave you your station when you walked towards me on the dance floor. But Worthington? You knew Freddy, Max, really knew him.”

He curled his hands tightly by his side. Held back the instinct to touch her, hold her, kiss her, show her who they were. He’d done that last night to no avail.

“We were thrown together through family. We did not like each other, Lily. We were not friends. He was not a man I liked or admired.”

“Did you know what he was like?”

His breath caught in his throat.

“Yes.”

She moved then. Moved right up close to him, her hand rose up and touched his chest.

His breath was fast as she laid out his sin, the one he couldn’t forgive himself for.

“You all knew what he was like, didn’t you? You all knew what he was capable of.”

“Yes. Many of his friends knew what he was like.”

“You all let me marry him.”

His hand came over hers as it lay over his heart. It was cool and small under his. The tendons in his neck felt like they had constricted and swallowing was almost impossible.

“Lily, please, I did what I could.” An unexpected pain shot through his torso. The deep realization that he, in fact, had lost her the moment he left her with Freddy. That showing her who he was now would never wipe out that mistake.

“Did you?” Her eyes were like deep wells of sadness as she looked up at him.

They said what he had known all along. Whatever he had done, it was not enough. Nothing that failed was enough.

“It’s too late, isn’t it?” His voice was tight. That pain in his chest worsened as her eyes shimmered below him.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

He moved down and kissed her. A soft kiss as her eyes spilled.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a large envelope.

“These are for you.”

“Your knuckles.” Her fingers ran over the rough skin.

“Yes.”

She’d find out soon enough what he’d done for her.

“Come find me if you change your mind, Lily. It’s hard on a man to lose his heart’s desire twice.” He ran his hand along her cheek. It was damp.

He turned, stood there a moment waiting for her hand to reach out, for her voice to ask him to stay. They didn’t.

He moved to the door.

Pain seared through his chest. He waited for her to call him back, yet only silence filled the space.

The latched clicked open, he stepped through the door.

And he left.

Left the only woman he had ever loved.

That cord he’d always felt connected them was now as fragile as a spider thread floating in the breeze.

The door clicked closed behind Max as he left, she moved forward, locked the parlor door and then her legs finally gave way.

Miriam sank down onto the carpeted floor, her skirts puffing out around her, and cried. Deep sobs of aching pain tore through her.

He’d let her go. He’d actually let her go and she had made him do it.

Instinctively, she’d known that a man like Max would take her well-being onto himself. That he would see her plight as a failure of his ability to have protected her. On this one thing, she was guaranteed to win.

But despite the rightness of her position, despite the fact that she deserved more than she’d gotten, that she and every other woman in a similar plight deserved the protection of every good man who had turned a blind eye, Max included, she wanted him.

She bowed down to the carpet her muscles curling her into a ball.

Max was the one who’d made her feel that she deserved more. That she could do things of importance with her time and funds, that she could in some way help those in similar circumstances as she had been.

Her breathing dragged in and out in uneven gulps she let the tears come. Let them come all they liked. Her arms wrapped around her as she rocked letting the small sounds of pain out into the room.

It was a long time before she stopped rocking and just sat there. There had been knocks on the parlor door. Aunt D’s voice perhaps. It was hard to say and really she didn’t care.

A part of her wanted to crawl up to her room and slide under the covers. Go back to where she was a year or two ago. A place where she didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to think, didn’t have to deal with the world.

… I took you as a survivor. I still think you are, so I reached the conclusion you were sulking.

Max’s words wrapped around her, she was a survivor and she would most certainly not sulk.

Miriam sat up straight. The wall clock read, one p.m. The sun warmed her back. She lifted the large envelope he’d handed to her.

Three interior envelopes separated the contents. A small note in Max’s script was included.

Lily, please read the contents in the order the envelopes are marked. A few things will take some time to process. If you are reading this alone, I have failed to argue my case and will not be there to help you with this next step. Please do me the final courtesy of reading in the order I have prepared for you.

The last envelope, the third one, I ask that you open after you have dealt with the first two.

M

Miriam opened the first envelope. It was a note from Maurice, papers releasing a substantial sum of money and the deed to a house to her and her management. Maurice’s note simply stated. Funds and a house to start a women’s refuge. Don’t ask for any more.

Her heart started to beat hard as she re-read. This was enough money for her to start a life independent of Maurice’s allowance and that as the widow Rothbury and live a modest but comfortable life.

The house would be a perfect way to begin the refuge once she had established some benefactors to help with the running expenses of the household, and to care for and settle the women who came through.

This action was not Maurice, though.

Maurice never gave anything away. He had in fact said there was nothing for her to have when she went to speak with him about the refuge. That the family needed her to marry the wealthy Baron Digby.

Miriam picked up the second envelope.

Freddy’s handwriting was the first thing she saw. Tension rippled over her body, as if seeing his script would somehow allow him to reach back to touch her.

It was a pile of letters between him and Maurice.

Miriam looked at the dates, selected the oldest and began to read.

In the next hour, the sum of her suffering found a home.

Maurice.

Maurice had sold her carte-blanche to Freddy and his perversions. Maurice had used the information she’d given him to blackmail Freddy for more funds. But with a big payoff to Freddy, that Freddy would be able to do as he pleased with her, and Maurice would support him through silence.

Sweat flushed over her face.

Miriam got up and ran out of the room, making it to the washroom moments before she threw up.

Her hands shook, her belly rolled.

The face looking back at her in the small ground floor washroom was pale. The rims of her eyes were puffy and a little red.

The landscape of her suffering realigned.

Her suffering may have been ignored by the wash of social protocols; but that general blind eye had not been the driving force to keep her in her prison of a marriage. That had been her family.

What brought the tears back to her eyes as she looked at the woman in the mirror were a few other letters.

Mr. Maxwell Sotherby had written to Maurice about Freddy, had strongly advised against the wedding. Another letter from Mr. Sotherby, threatened knowledge of both Maurice and Freddy in some incident that Mr. Sotherby, said would be made public should he hear of any harm coming to her.

Miriam didn’t have to guess who Mr. Sotherby was. The Sotherbys were second cousins removed from the Worthingtons. He was Max, her Max.

There were also a few letters from older family friends suggesting that Maurice check on her. That there were concerns at some remarks Freddy had made.

She had not been forgotten.

Those who were concerned had taken steps. No one would have guessed that the concerns fell on the ears of her true tormentor.

It was an odd sensation, walking upstairs and changing into her riding habit. She could feel everything, hear everything and at the same time, it was as if everything were covered in a blanket.

What do you say to a man who was your brother, who was your protector; the one you could go to as head of the family to help navigate through the lows of life?

When she came back down the stairs, Aunt D was at the bottom.

“Miriam dear are you well?”

“I’m going to see Maurice.”

Aunt D said something else but it floated over her, was washed away by the numbness.

Instead, she walked single-mindedly out the front and mounted her horse.

Sensations and sounds were muffled, had no sharpness. Even on her horse, and the ride to Maurice she had no idea what she would say to him. Miriam twisted tight on the reins, on her crop as she thought of all the things she had gone through.

Her balance was all off when she slid down the horse and was ushered into Maurice’s front parlor and tea ordered. It was surreal. How often had she come here seeking a refuge from Freddy, a chance to breathe without Freddy lurking somewhere and finding fault to trigger punishments?

Cynthia and Maurice entered a short time later. Cynthia helped a very badly beaten Maurice to sink into a chair. Maurice looked up at her and grimaced as he moved. His face was swollen, his nose broken. He had not just been beaten, he had been brutalized.

Cynthia stepped forward.

“This is all your doing, Miriam.” Cynthia’s hand was wrapped possessively around Maurice’s as if he was defenseless.

That illusion was well and truly gone. The expectation had always been there from her family that she would do what was needed, especially as Maurice never quite succeeded when he set his sights on something. There had always been a shortfall in his abilities, in what he managed to achieve and what was required. When the time came for her to marry, the family had all turned to her to marry well. To get them out of the hole because Maurice would not be able to do it.

“What do you mean?” But she knew what Cynthia meant. Whom Cynthia meant. It was hard to know what she was supposed to feel, but guilt wasn’t it.

Her gaze took in the damage Max had done to Maurice and emotion welled up in her chest. An opening that came from the very center of her and out. It was full of strength. Not in sympathy for Maurice, oh no. That was never going to come from her for him again.

No, it was for Max. Max had done this for her, had stepped forward, and unlocked the pervasive pain she felt. The pain that everyone had abandoned her, had left her to the mercy of a man who had none. Instead, he had given her the power of knowledge, a chance to release the shame and anger that drove her to avoid everyone.

He’s found that the blame lay with one man and he had taken it upon himself to punish that man for her in the most base of ways.

That pulsing heat in the center of her chest grew and Miriam sat up straighter in her chair. Looked squarely at Maurice. No glances away, no uncertainty.

Maurice leaned forward and spoke through thick, split lips.

“Worthington came over and championed your cause last night. What nonsense have you been telling him, Miriam? More of that nonsense about poor Freddy?” Maurice had the gall to look her in the eyes as he spoke. The letters Max had given her were burning to come out of her pocket.

Miriam rose and started to stalk around them, Maurice and his blind defender Cynthia. It was surprisingly easy, hearing Maurice make a weak man out of himself on top of him being a selfish and cruel man.
“Yes, poor Freddy. He adored you,” Cynthia piped in. “Last night Worthington came in bellowing all manner of nonsense and beat Maurice after saying some very nasty things.”

Miriam walked around the room, she slapped her crop on her leg as she paced. She looked at the room, the picture of their parents, Maurice’s wedding photos. The ugly Egyptian vases Aunt D had brought back. This was the family home; she grew up in it. It was tainted now. The seeming sanctuary it presented in her marriage was a sham. Her hand curled around her crop and it flicked hard on her leg.

“That man is still sore I turned down his offer for you.” Maurice muttered as the tea was brought in and Cynthia started to fuss.

A cold wash ran through her and Miriam stopped, held her breath.

“He offered for me?” This couldn’t be.

Her heart started an odd awkward beat.

Maurice sat up straighter as if this information would save him the abysmal downfall.

“Yes, he came by and made a fuss that Freddy was a nasty piece of work and that he wanted to marry you instead. Freddy doubled his offer and I turned Worthington down.”

“He offered for me… back then? He didn’t even know me!” The world started to spin. Who she thought Max was, the kind of man she thought he was had begun breaking down and reforming all over again.

“He said he met you one summer.”

The effort to sit forward was too much and Maurice collapsed back into the chair, causing Cynthia to rush to the sideboard for a glass of water.

“He was most unpleasant, Miriam, not at all suitable husband material. He resorted to blackmailing both Freddy and me to ensure that Freddy behaved. And to my knowledge he did.”

“Behave? Why would you think that, Maurice? Why would a loving husband need to be blackmailed to behave?”

Maurice ignored her and allowed Cynthia to feed him some water, the tea service forgotten.

“You knew what he was.”

Her crop came up and she backhanded one of those ugly vases with it. Her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling in great heaves. The crash as the vase hit the wall and shattered silenced Cynthia’s cooing.

“Now Miriam, calm down, every man has his secrets. He would never hurt the sister of a friend.”

“You let me marry him?”

“He was a fine man in our assessment.”

Her crop came down on Maurice before she knew what came over her. Cynthia screamed and threw herself over Maurice, protecting him.

Miriam reached into her pocket and pulled out the letters, placed them on the table.

“I read them. I know what you did, Maurice. Your own sister.”

Cynthia reared up, picked up the letters, and shoved them back in her chest.

“We don’t want any more of your nonsense, Miriam. It was always about you. We will be going to the estate while Maurice recovers. We hope you will have pulled yourself together when we return.

Miriam curled her hands around the letters, taking them from Cynthia. She had known as well. She and Maurice. It was there in Cynthia’s eyes, a smug satisfaction.

“What you both allowed was abominable.”

It was easier to walk out than she thought. The sun as she stepped out of the front door and mounted her horse looked new. A cleaner brighter shine.

There was something purifying about the truth. That dark haze of her past remained back there in Maurice and Cynthia’s parlor. Out here, she was in a new world. One where people stepped forward for her. One that contained a remarkable man who had found her, walked her out from under that dark weight and given her strength, hope, and a vision for a good life.

It was a few hours later that she returned home after a ride in Hyde Park. There were people to thank and friendships to rekindle. She spent the rest of the day with Aunt D, sharing her vision for the shelter and her reasons for needing to do it.

There were many tears before she crawled into bed that night.

It wasn’t until she almost dozed off that she remembered the third envelope.

Miriam put her dressing gown on and went down to the parlor. The last envelope lay on the small table near the window.

She turned on a small gas side light and sat down in the old wingback to read the contents. Her finger shook and her heart beat fast.

Miriam slid her finger under the seal and peeled it open, a single fabric flower fell out. A rather old and faded blue fabric cornflower. They had been her favorite when she was a young girl. There wasn’t a summer hat without them somewhere on the brim. However, there was only one she ever gave away. That afternoon in the boathouse to the boy with eyes so blue, it was as if she’d fallen into the sky as she looked into them. And he had kissed her, had held her face as if she were the most precious thing.

Her heart beat harder and her throat tightened.

She had made a big mistake.

Her hand shook as she clutched the flower to her chest and knew, just knew, that some part of her had known all along, had somehow remembered even if she consciously hadn’t.