Chapter 21

 

“Wherein broken hearts, schemes, and breaking ground.”

“Where the bloody hell have you been?”

As she’d expected, Kit was incandescent with rage by the time she made it back to their lodgings. His fury fell away in a moment however, when he saw she was pale and miserable and close to tears.

“Charity? Charity, what happened? Are you hurt?” He pulled her into a fierce hug and any remaining grasp on her emotions fell away. She clutched at his jacket and sobbed, knowing it would only make him frantic but unable to stop herself.

“Damn it, Charity, tell me what’s wrong! Did something happen?”

There was terror in his voice now, real fear in his eyes and she tried to look at him, to shake her head and reassure him, but they were twins and he’d always seen more than she cared to show him.

“You saw him and he… he…? By God, I’ll kill him.”

“No!” Charity shouted and grasped hold of his arm as he turned from her. “No, Kit! No! He’s done nothing wrong, nothing at all. He asked me to marry him.”

Kit spun around, staring at her, his confusion clear, “He did?”

Charity nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t about to tell Kit that he’d never actually said the words. The words had been in his eyes, in everything he’d said and done. If she’d stayed to watch him wake, she knew they’d have been the first words on his lips.

She sat down and Kit crouched before her and took her hands. “I don’t understand. You’re in love with him, Charity. It’s so obvious it’s painful. If he wants to marry you, why—”

“Why do you think?” Charity demanded, snatching her hands away, incredulous that her brother couldn’t see the obstacles before them, but then he was the romantic one. For Kit, love was everything. The practicalities of where a body would eat and sleep were nothing compared to living the emotion. He felt the experience should encompass you heart and soul and that nothing and no one should hinder it, no matter the who, what, or where. She was the practical one. She was the one who read his poems and pointed out that a night on the moors would be cold and damp and far from romantic, no matter how beautifully he wrote of two star-crossed lovers spending the night there. They’d more likely end up with wet feet and a nasty cold rather than a night of passion.

Kit shrugged, clearly at a loss, and Charity gave an exasperated laugh, shaking her head.

“Oh, Kit, he’s a viscount. They marry noblemen’s daughters and spend half the year in town, going to parties and the theatre and who knows what else people like that do. Look at me.” She waved an arm to encompass her sun-browned face, her well-worn clothes, and her hands already rough from work, which would become red and chapped in the winter. “I’m not made for that world, Kit. I don’t belong in it and… and I don’t want to belong. Can you imagine me spending half my life here?”

Kit sat back, frowning at her as he crossed his legs. “You’d not last a month,” he said, the words full of understanding. “It would be like caging a bird.”

Charity smiled and gave a little huff. “Well, nothing half so romantic, but yes. But if that was the only reason then I would try, Kit. For him, I would try.” She reached out her hand and he took it, the pity in his eyes making her heart ache. “They would never accept me. You know how cruel people can be, Kit. They would cut him, ridicule him, and if that happened he would come to resent me. Even if he didn’t, I… I would know everything he’d lost on my account and I couldn’t bear it.”

Charity burst into tears and Kit got to his knees, hugging her.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, holding her tight. “Damn it, this is all my fault. I saw the way it was between you, I saw the way you looked at him from the start. I should have made him leave before this began.”

There was anguish in his voice and Charity looked up at him, astonished.

“How can you, of all people, say that to me?” she demanded, pushing at his shoulder and staring down at him. “I love him, Kit. I love him with all my heart, so much that the pain of it is tearing me apart, but I’ll leave him because I love him. I’ll let him go because it is better for him if I do. Isn’t this what your poems are all about?” she said, becoming strident now as Kit’s eyes glittered with emotion. “Isn’t this the great love that people die for? The all-consuming emotion you’ve longed for? I found it, Kit. Me! Charity Kendall, who never set foot farther than Tillforth.” Charity let out a breath, a tremulous smile at her lips. “You should celebrate for me, you know.”

Kit laughed, though she knew his heart was bleeding for her. She could see the pain in his eyes, and perhaps a little envy at having found what he’d been seeking.

“Charity,” he said, his voice low, “did he know you would say no before…?”

“Before he took me to bed?” she asked, making him sigh at her plain speaking. “No. I didn’t give him an answer, I just—” She avoided Kit’s eye, knowing he could tell when she was lying. “—prevaricated, and then I left while he was still sleeping.”

Kit cursed and rubbed a hand over his face. She knew his desire to break her lover’s nose warred with his own beliefs about love and life. It was clearly harder to enforce such rules when they applied to one’s sister.

“Tell me he was careful, at least,” he said, his voice a growl as he glanced up at her.

Charity opened her mouth and then felt the blush that scalded her cheeks.

Oh.

She’d been so caught up in the moment she’d not even considered…. So much for being the practical one.

“Oh, for the love of God!” Kit exclaimed, throwing up his hands now. “Charity!”

Charity opened and closed her mouth, too appalled herself to reply.

“I’ll kill him,” Kit said, getting to his feet, his mouth thinning into a hard line that sat ill on his beautiful face.

“No, you won’t,” Charity said, standing and clutching at his hand. “He wasn’t to know I’d refuse to marry him, or that I’d run away from him. This was my doing, Kit. My choice, not his. I wanted to be with him, just once before… before….” Her voice quavered, and Kit’s face softened, understanding in his eyes.

“Oh, Charity.” He pulled her close and stroked her hair. “My heart is breaking for you, truly, but what if you’re with child? That would change everything. It would have to.”

Charity shrugged, knowing if she was carrying his baby, Luke would move heaven and earth. He’d stop at nothing before she agreed to marry him. Yet she could raise a child alone if it came to it. She kept such thoughts to herself, knowing Kit would not be so sympathetic if a baby was involved.

“Well, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” she said, giving him a crooked smile before letting go of what remained of her control and crying her heart out.

It would be the only time she showed such weakness, she promised herself. From now on, she would be strong, determined. She would need to be, for she knew he’d be on her doorstep soon enough, demanding that they marry. This was only the beginning of her fight, and one she must be strong enough to win, for both their sakes.

***

Kit escorted her home to Brasted Farm and saw her settled before returning himself to London a week later. Charity worried for him, for the strain of the journey on his health, and the fact he’d be alone in London with no one to check he was looking after himself. His publishing house had requested him to attend a meeting, though, and Kit was full of excitement, and yet afraid to leave her alone. It was his big chance to be a real success, a famous poet, and Charity knew he couldn’t miss out on it, no matter the cost.

“Go!” she said, exasperated, as Kit dithered on the doorstep.

“But…” he began, aware that she’d cried herself to sleep every night since they’d left London. “I can stay. You might need me if—”

“Kit!” she said, a warning note in her voice now. “This is your big moment, and I might remind you that we need the money you bring in. Don’t you dare spoil it now.” She leaned closer and kissed his cheek. “Go. I will be here when you return and none the worse for your absence, I promise you. You’ll be famous, Kit, I know you will, and I’ll be so proud of you. So, run along now, and make sure you take care of yourself. No walking in the rain or going to sleep in damp sheets, make sure your bed aired and keep that chest of yours warm.”

Kit groaned and rolled his eyes as she knew he would.

“Fine,” he grumbled, before raising a finger to point at her, narrowing his eyes. “But you stop crying now, you hear me?”

Charity nodded, her expression solemn, though it was a promise she would be unlikely to keep. “I will.”

She watched him ride away, sitting on the low stone wall surrounding the farm as his figure grew smaller and smaller and finally disappeared. The rain had stopped at least, and it was warmer, if damp. The clouds hung low in the sky, promising that the sun was not to be seen again for some time, and that more rain would come soon enough. She prayed Kit would make his journey without getting wet. The damp was terrible for his chest and she knew damn well he’d not heed her words and take care of himself.

At least the weather was good for the garden, she assured herself. For her own part she was relieved that the sun had stopped shining. It would be all too easy to remember Luke here, working in the sunshine, stopping what he was doing to smile at her, or give her a cheeky wink.

If she was honest it surprised her that he hadn’t turned up yet. No. Not surprised, shocked. She’d assumed he’d come here directly after her having left him in such a way. So far, however, there had been no sign of him. Not even a letter.

Perhaps he was angry with her. Perhaps he was so angry he no longer wanted to marry her. Perhaps, a spiteful voice murmured, perhaps he’d not wanted to marry her at all and was no longer interested now he’d had what he’d wanted.

No.

She’d not believe that. It was easy enough to believe he was angry though, so angry he didn’t want to see her again. For if not, why wasn’t he here? Why hadn’t he come to demand to know why she’d left?

Why wasn’t he putting up a fight?

Charity frowned, not understanding it. Not that it mattered. If he didn’t come, it made her life easier. If he didn’t come, she’d not have to persuade him of all the reasons they couldn’t marry. She could avoid the emotional scene she’d been dreading. That should put her mind at ease… and yet, it did not.

***

Dev smiled at the serving girl and refused a second helping of stew. His appetite had deserted him the moment he’d awoken to an empty bed. The first helping he’d forced down was sitting in his stomach like lead as it was. He stared out of the window, a tankard of ale in his hand. Charity was an hour’s ride in that direction. If he made haste, he could be there before it got dark.

With a heavy sigh he lifted the tankard and drained it. There was no point in seeing her yet. He knew it, but it didn’t stop the longing for it turning his chest inside out.

Tomorrow he had meetings all day again, and at least that kept his mind busy. His plans were becoming reality, albeit gradually. Slowly, slowly catchy monkey, he reminded himself, and then grinned as he imagined Charity’s indignation at being compared to such a creature. Damn, but he missed her.

Soon enough, he promised himself, soon enough she would see that there was no denying him. She could dig her heels in and provide as many reasons they could not marry as she cared to, but his reasoning would win out. He loved her, she loved him. The world could go to hell in a handcart for all he cared. Yet, if she cared what the world thought, as from her letter appeared to be the case, then he would build the world anew with his bare hands, and if she didn’t believe him… she could just watch.

Luke. His real name on her lips was something that haunted him at odd moments of the day and night. He’d stopped on the moors today, convinced he’d heard it on the wind, yet there had been nothing and no one around him. He’d always hated being called Devlin; it had been his father’s name. So, his friends, such as they were, had called him Dev. His father had hated it, which had been good enough reason for him.

During his time on the farm he’d realised he hadn’t missed those friends with whom he’d spent his leisure hours at all. Once he’d returned to London he’d grasped a sad fact: not one of them had asked after him during his disappearance. They’d not wondered where he was, or shown any concern. Oh, the invitations had begun again once they knew he was back in town, but not one of them had called to enquire as to his absence, or if he was well.

It had been his own fault, he reasoned, once he’d given the matter some thought. He let no one close enough to be a real friend, and he’d shared nothing of himself. Not until he’d pretended to be someone he wasn’t. How ironic, that it had taken lying about his identity to discover who he really was. Still, no matter how it had happened, it had happened, and he wouldn’t ignore the truth of what he’d discovered. He wouldn’t go back to being that man, living that life.

He couldn’t.

With that decided in his mind, he got to his feet and headed upstairs to the room he’d booked for the duration of his stay. The landlord had been beside himself to get such a lengthy booking, and from him of all men. The countryside was abuzz with the news he’d sold Devlin Hall, and he knew many people thought he was bankrupt. He’d paid the landlord in advance to stop the fellow worrying about it. The idea amused him. Perhaps if Charity believed he had pockets to let she’d marry him immediately? He’d toyed with the idea but refused to begin their married life on a lie, and besides, the thought of her marrying him out of pity rankled. No. She’d marry him because she loved him, and because she knew they’d be happy together. He would make her see it if it was the last thing he did.

The next morning, Dev looked over the plans that his surveyor had brought him.

“You’re sure?” he asked, excitement making his heart thunder in his chest.

“All the results of my investigations have been conclusive, my lord. This is the place.”

Dev grinned at him and slapped the man on the back. “Then why are you still standing here?” he demanded, though he was laughing. “Begin! Begin at once, the sooner the better.”

The surveyor, a Mr Appledore, who was a middle-aged man with a wide girth and a twinkle in his eyes, had gained Dev’s approval by being the only man who hadn’t kowtowed to him. He had told Dev what was what without so much as a glimmer of apology, thoroughly unimpressed by Dev’s title or his bank balance.

His finances had in fact been something Mr Appledore had forced Dev to prove, much to his chagrin, but tales of his bankruptcy and spendthrift ways were rife. Appledore was a local man who knew gossip, but he also knew the land and knew what it was that Dev was after, and it appeared as if he’d found it.

It was close to Plymouth, but still on the edge of Charity’s beloved moors.

“If it’s all the same to you, my lord, I’d have you sign your approval in writing before I hand things over and set the wheels in motion.”

“Yes, yes,” Dev said, shaking his head and signing the proffered papers. “There, now will you get on with it, blast you?”

Mr Appledore sighed, and gave Dev a reproachful look. “Aye, my lord, now I’ll get a move on. May I ask when the happy event is due?”

Dev raised his eyebrows in enquiry.

“In my experience,” Mr Appledore replied, his tone dry, “when there is this much pressure to begin works, there is either an impatient wife or a frustrated bridegroom in the equation and seeing as you’re not married….”

Chuckling, Dev passed the man back his signed documents. “Quite right, Mr Appledore. Not married yet.”