The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(34)

God damn. He’d not meant to say that aloud.

A pained silence filled the room.

Farleigh stared at him with pursed lips, although his solemn expression was soon replaced with a weak smile. “It’s about time you were honest with yourself. Perhaps you can salvage something from this. Perhaps it’s not too late.”

He wanted to say that too much had happened, that they could never reclaim what they once had. He wanted to contradict any words spoken in pride, to say that a part of him would still sacrifice his life to save her.

Vane placed his drink on the side table and stood. “Thank you for your time and your hospitality.” He took Rose’s hand and bowed. “But I must see if Pierre is ready to leave. I have an evening appointment that I cannot miss.”

Farleigh strode over to the drinks table and placed his glass on the tray. “I’ll walk with you.”

Vane was venturing as far as the hall, not heading out on a pilgrimage to Rome.

Once out in the hall, Farleigh stopped and put his hand on Vane’s shoulder. “You’re always welcome here and at Everleigh. I shall remain in town for a few days. Perhaps we might meet for supper tomorrow evening?”

Vane cared for this man like a brother. “What so you can press me to speak to Miss Darcy?”

“No, I thought I might challenge you to a game of chess. It is the only pastime I know of where I stand a chance of beating you.” Farleigh offered a mischievous grin before adding, “But while we’re on the subject of Miss Darcy, all I ask is that you open your heart to the possibility that she is still your everything.”

Vane’s throat grew so tight he could barely breathe. He tapped Farleigh on the upper arm. “Your wife is waiting. If anyone deserves happiness, it is you. All I ask is that you make every second count.”

They parted ways. Vane did not wish to linger and so decided Wickett could return for Pierre. As he settled into his carriage, all thoughts should have been on his secret mission to spy on Estelle. Equally, he should have been imagining the multitude of ways he would hurt Lord Cornell.

But one feeling dominated all others.

He had never felt more alone in his entire life.





Chapter Ten





“Finish your broth, and then you must rest.” Mr Erstwhile sat beside his wife’s bed and stroked her brow.

Estelle had passed the open door on her way downstairs to wait for Mr Hungerford. She stopped to listen merely to gauge if they were keeping something from her and if Mrs Erstwhile suffered from a more serious illness than a fever and upset stomach. But the love and devotion expressed between the couple touched her heart, and she felt compelled to watch.

“I’m so weak,” Mrs Erstwhile said. “It has been years since I felt so helpless.”

Mr Erstwhile brought his wife’s limp hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her pale skin. “You will get better, my love. But you must believe it will be so. Besides, what on earth would I do here without you?”

A lump formed in Estelle’s throat. In her experience, only a lucky few shared such a special connection.

“Do you remember the day we met, when you walked into the drawing room to lay the fire?” Mr Erstwhile said, feeding his wife a spoonful of broth. “You looked so nervous.”

She swallowed down his offering. “I was terrified. It was my first day working for your father, and I tripped over the rug. You helped me to my feet.” A warm smile lit up her face. “Always the gentleman.”

“In that moment when our eyes locked something wonderful happened — something truly beautiful. It was as though I had finally come home.”

“I remember.”

“Then just as our love was worth fighting for, so you must fight to regain your strength.”

“I will.”

“Promise me you will try.”

“I promise.”

Estelle crept away but returned to her room instead of heading for the stairs. Once inside she settled on the bed, curled into a ball and hugged her legs to her chest.

Oh, Ross!

Once, her heart swelled with the same soul-deep love Mr Erstwhile spoke of. But she had made a terrible mistake. One that had cost her everything she held dear. While the Erstwhiles had the strength to fight for what mattered, she had been too weak to battle with two patriarchs. Too easily coerced and manipulated.

If only she could go back to that fateful day.

Yes, she had made the ultimate sacrifice for Ross, and for Fabian, too. And yet not a day passed when she wished she had thought of herself. But it was too late. A marquess did not marry a criminal no matter how blue her blood.

Tears welled in her eyes.

Why could she not forget? Why could she not learn to live in the present, instead of dwelling on the past? Those thoughts echoed through her mind until sleep brought her temporary peace.

Estelle woke to a knock on her door. Mr Erstwhile called out, “Miss Brown?”

“Yes” came her drowsy reply.

“Mr Hungerford is here.”

“I’ll be down in a moment.”

The last thing she needed was to hear Mr Hungerford’s declaration. The gentleman could be quite determined when he put his mind to something. If he refused to accept her answer, she could always catch the next mail coach heading north. Running away from Faucheux had saved her from a truly terrible existence. If she had the strength to refuse the Frenchman, she had the strength to do anything.