What if he—if they—let their feelings carry them away into more than the kisses she’d seen them sneaking? What if Beth ended up just like Briallen, heartbroken and alone?
No, not like Briallen. She at least had a secret wedding ceremony.
What if she ended up like Senara? Ruined.
“Nara?”
The familiar voice had her jumping to her feet, searching the darkness for the darker shape she’d rather hoped never to see again. When he didn’t show up exactly two weeks after his ultimatum, she’d convinced herself that he wouldn’t come back here again at all, not after Ainsley fed him the false leads. That he’d realize he’d been played for a fool and slink away before the Scofields could turn on him. That he’d just forget about her, as he’d clearly been willing to do for the right price anyway.
She’d had a moment’s pang over the thought of him being in danger when she’d heard their plan—she could admit it. But Rory Smithfield had always been a master at getting himself out of trouble . . . usually at someone else’s expense. She could see that now, looking back on the years she’d known him. “What are you doing here, Rory?” It was the second time he’d shown up at night after the last ferry had gone. Where did he stay when he was stuck here?
Remembering Ainsley’s warning about Rory’s lack of fidelity, she decided she didn’t really want to know.
He came closer, so that the moon’s silver light gilded his handsome features. “I said I’d give you one more chance, didn’t I? Before I go.”
He said it with finality, as if he was talking about more than returning to the village he’d once called home. “Go where?”
He motioned to the sea. “America. Far away from those Scofield blokes—their last note was none too happy. Seems my cousin’s ‘information’ wasn’t so sound.” But he didn’t sound angry so much as amused. “Didn’t think Hank had any deception in him—but my offer to you still stands. Tell me what they actually want to know, and there’ll be enough for passage for two.”
“To America?” Her incredulity slipped out without any conscious effort. It had been one thing to dream of marrying him when it would mean nothing but a train ticket and the ferry ride to reach home again. But a transatlantic passage was something else entirely.
But that wasn’t the real reason she had to say no to the dream she’d held dear for so long. The dream that, with him at least, had never been anything but a delusion. “I’ll not betray my friends or my family for vows that you yourself said mean nothing.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Did Henry tell you I said that? You can’t believe him, you know. He’s just jealous.”
“I heard you myself, Rory. In the Abbey Gardens.”
“I just knew how to play my cousin, that’s all. Come now—you said you wanted a husband. I’ll give you that.” He sidled closer and smiled into the night. “We could have fun together, you and I. See the world.”
This was the man she had hoped to make a future with. It was why she’d done what she shouldn’t have. It was why she’d gone too far. And now . . . would marrying him redeem her? Make an “honest woman” of her? Rid her heart of this terrible feeling that sprang upon her at odd moments?
His fingers caught hers, stroked them. Two months ago, when he’d done that, it had turned her to a puddle of wanting. She caught her breath, almost hoping it still would. That she really did love him. That she could just say yes, apply for a special license, have Oliver marry them tomorrow, and then . . .
Then what? She couldn’t imagine, anymore, spending her life by his side. Perhaps because she’d come to realize, over these weeks at home in disgrace, that he didn’t make her better. He didn’t encourage her as her parents did each other, as she remembered the Tremaynes doing, as Beth and Sheridan did. Still, that slithering voice inside, the one that came from the place where shame burned, whispered, “You have to marry him, if he’s offering. You have to. You gave yourself to him. It’s the only way to make that right.”
She even took half a step closer, breath caught in her throat. But then she saw the flash in his eyes. Not of joy but of . . . something else. Something a few shades darker.
This man couldn’t redeem her. There was only One who could.
“Rory . . .” She had to swallow and drag in a long breath. “I’ve done you wrong.”
He dropped her hand as if it scalded him. “I knew it—Ainsley, right? Old Hank—”
“No!” Exasperation nearly took the place of the contrition she’d been feeling, but she squeezed her eyes against it. Drew that breath in again and reminded herself of Mam’s words. “I did you wrong before—at Cliffenwelle. When we—I should have been stronger than that. I should have helped you be stronger than that. I should have fought for us to do things the right way. But I failed and . . . and I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t respect either of us enough to do right.”
He just stared at her for a long moment. Then he breathed a mocking laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. Henry has sunk his claws in you. He must have done, for you to be talking like that. Spouting all his holiness nonsense.”
“It isn’t nonsense.” And she didn’t need Ainsley to “spout” it at her—she knew it all herself. Had heard it all her life. Had taught it to her girls.
When had she stopped living it? Stopped walking in it? Stopped craving it?
Rory laughed again. “Come on, Nara. We both know life’s only about what you can get out of it. And we’ve wasted years enough concerned only for other people’s happiness. Don’t we deserve to take some of our own? To seek our own life instead of some lord’s or lady’s? This is our chance. Our chance to grab hold of the future for ourselves, not be tied down by other people’s brats.”
The key to your future. Her fingers fluttered up to touch the key and then dropped again. Family. But family wasn’t created by seeking your own good. Family was created by doing good for others. “Don’t speak that way of my girls.”
“They’re not your girls!”
“They are—or they were.” Not by blood. But she loved them. She’d been more mam to those sweet darlings than their real mother ever had been—and she’d let a moment’s pleasure steal them from her.
But there was a path through it. A path that would lead to faith and family and future, if she was brave enough to tread it. “I’m sorry, Rory. I am. Sorry that I never showed you that faith is the better way. I’m sorry I was weak. That I didn’t love you well enough to seek the best for you, not just from you.”
He looked at her through squinted eyes and then shook his head. “Blimey, you do sound like Henry. You’ve never been like that before.”
Hadn’t she? She pressed her lips together. No, she hadn’t. Not with him. After spending all day with the girls, instructing them in kindness and morality, she’d been too lax in her free moments. And that shamed her too—because if it wasn’t what she lived when the Cliffords weren’t watching, then could she really claim it as her own?
Forgive me, Father. The words, silent and sonorous inside her, set loose something she’d kept locked away. Something that made her quake, made her gasp, made her press a hand to her mouth to keep a sob from ripping through her. Forgive me.