Her father’s eyebrows shot up. The only thing he’d ever wanted was a son. She’d never give him hers.
“Scarlett, do not do this. You have to marry the Wadsworth boy,” he demanded. “Any sons that come from that union will be the next Baron Wright.”
He seemed to have forgotten that if Constance, too, had sons, it would not be so cut-and-dried.
“That sounds like an order.” Scarlett pushed in her chair and gripped the back.
“It is. It has to be.”
“I only take orders from my superior officers, and as I recall, you have elected not to serve in a war you have never approved of.” The ice in her veins permeated her tone.
“This visit is over.” He spoke through gritted teeth.
“I agree.” She kissed her mother’s cheek on the way out of the dining room. “Happy birthday, Mother. I’m so sorry I cannot give you what you want.”
Then she removed herself to her room, where she quickly changed into her uniform and packed her dress into her suitcase.
As she came down the stairs, she found Constance waiting for her at the threshold, dressed identically, suitcase in hand.
“Do not do this to us,” her mother begged, coming out of the drawing room.
“I will not marry Henry,” Scarlett repeated. “How can you ask me to? You would see me marry a man I loathe? A known abuser of women, all to keep what?” Scarlett asked, softening her voice.
“It’s what your father wants. What the family needs.” Her mother lifted her chin. “We’ve cut the staff. We’ve sold most of the land at Ashby. We’ve economized the last few years. We all make sacrifices.”
“But in this case, you’d like to sacrifice me, and I’ll not have it. Goodbye, Mother.” She walked out of the townhouse and sucked in a shaky breath.
Constance followed her, shutting the door behind her. “So I guess we’ll need to purchase new train tickets, seeing as ours were for tomorrow.”
She did not deserve her sister, but she hugged her anyway. “How do you feel about applying for a transfer?”
Chapter Eleven
Noah
Scarlett, my Scarlett,
Tonight, I miss you more than my words can possibly convey. I wish I could fly to you, even if just for a few hours. The only thought that keeps me going here is knowing you’ll be with me soon. On nights like tonight, I escape by picturing us in the Rockies, at home and at peace. I’ll teach William how to camp and fish. You’ll be able to write—to do whatever you want. And we’ll be happy. So happy. We’re due a little tranquility, don’t you think? Not that I regret volunteering for this war. After all, it brought me to you…
She slammed the door in my face.
She actually slammed the door in my face.
I sucked in a deep breath, noting the particular burn in my lungs that always accompanied the high altitude. Of all the outcomes I pictured during the flight, this hadn’t been one of them.
The solution had come to me while I’d been rereading Scarlett’s and Jameson’s letters. He’d been able to break down Scarlett’s walls because he’d been there, holding on to that suitcase in Middle Wallop, so I’d packed mine and gotten on a plane.
I steadied my temper, lifted my hand, and knocked again. To my surprise, she answered.
“As I was saying, hang up on me—” My words froze in my throat.
There was something very wrong here. Georgia looked…off, as though she had just been delivered the kind of news you had to sit down to hear. Not that she wasn’t as beautiful as always, but her skin was bloodless, her face slack, and her eyes—those exquisite blue eyes—were empty.
“Is everything okay?” I asked softly, my chest tightening.
She looked right through me for a second. “What do you want, Noah?”
Something was definitely wrong.
“Can I come in? I promise not to talk about the book.” My chest tightened with an immediate, overwhelming urge to fix whatever had gone wrong.
Georgia’s brow knit, but she nodded and opened the door for me.
“Come on, let’s get you something to drink.” Did this have to do with Damian?
She nodded again, then led us down the hall and into an expansive kitchen. It was all I could do to keep my hand off the small of her back or offer her a hug. A hug?
I’d never been this far inside the house before, but the kitchen fit what I had already seen. It was a Tuscan theme, with tawny-colored cabinetry and darker granite countertops. The woodwork was ornate but not overdone. The appliances were professional grade. The only thing that seemed out of place were slightly discolored pieces of artwork pinned to a bulletin board on the wall.
“Why don’t you sit down,” I suggested, gesturing to the stools that lined the kitchen island.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” she asked, averting her gaze.
“Let’s just pretend our roles are fluid for the moment.” I moved to the stove, noting the teakettle on the back corner burner. To my relief, Georgia sat down, resting her forearms on the granite.
I dropped the keys to my rental car into my right pocket, filled the teakettle with water, and set it back on the stove, igniting the gas burner. Then I began my hunt.
I opened three cabinets before I found the one I was looking for. “Do you have a favorite?”
Georgia looked past me to the carefully organized tea supply. “Earl Grey,” she responded.
There was a squeezable honey bear next to the tea, and on instinct, I brought that to the countertop, too.
“You’re not having any?” Georgia glanced toward the singular packet of tea.
“I’m more of a hot chocolate kind of guy,” I admitted.
“But you’re making tea.”
“You look like you need it.”
Two lines appear between her eyes. “But why would you…” She shook her head.
“Why would I what?” I braced my palms on the island across from where she sat.
“Never mind.”
“Why would I what?” I asked again. “Why would I take care of you?” I guessed.
Her gaze flickered my way.
“Because, contrary to popular belief, I’m not that big of an asshole, and you look like your dog just died.” I tilted my head. “And both my mother and sister would kick my ass if I didn’t.” I shrugged.
Surprise flared in her eyes. “But they’d never know.”