and listless walks around the cottage. Genevieve now dreaded her daily jaunts to the springs-she couldn’t erase from her mind the torturous image of her and Simon together. If the heated water wasn’t necessary to relieve the pain in her hands, she’d never visit there again.
She tried to keep up her spirits in front of Baxter, but he wasn’t fooled, and she knew he wanted, in his words, to “break that damn viscount into tiny pieces.” She wished she could be angry with Simon, but she wasn’t. He’d offered to continue their relationship. Indeed, he’d offered her the only thing he could. She was simply going to have to set her feelings aside, put them away using the same tactics she’d employed when Richard was no longer part of her life. The problem was, while she’d found a place inside her to submerge her feelings for Richard, there simply wasn’t enough room for all the emotions, the wants and hopes and dreams Simon had inspired. Where could she possibly bury something so huge?
Fifteen days after Simon had left, a knock sounded on the door, and for several seconds Genevieve couldn’t breathe as anticipation tore through her. Had he returned? Her ridiculous hope died when Baxter admitted an older gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Lester Evans, a solicitor from London.
“I’ve a letter for you, Mrs. Ralston,” Mr. Evans said, withdrawing an envelope from his waistcoat pocket. Genevieve froze at the sight of the maroon wax seal. It was Richard’s crest. “I represented Lord Ridgemoor’s interests for many years. He gave me this letter a year ago, instructing me to deliver it to you personally in the event of his death. I’m more sorry than I can say to be carrying out that wish. Should you have any questions or wish to contact me before I depart for London tomorrow morning, I’ll be staying in the village, at the Sheepshead Inn.”
Mystified, Genevieve watched him return to his elegant carriage, then she retired to her bedchamber. Sitting on the wing chair before the fire, she broke the wax seal and unfolded the single sheet of ivory vellum with hands that weren’t quite steady.
My darling Genevieve,
Since the day I ended our arrangement, it has been my greatest hope to someday see you again, to stand in front of you and to give you these words in person. I’m sorry you’re receiving them this way, through this letter. But under the circumstances, this unfortunately is the only way.
I’ve always prided myself on telling the truth, which made it so difficult to lie to you. And lie to you I did, when I told you I no longer wanted you. Genevieve, I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you, a beautiful young woman whose paintings touched my heart. I’ve loved you since the first time I touched you, a love I’ve never felt for another person. I know I hurt you when I ended our arrangement so abruptly and I can only say that doing so nearly killed me and filled me with a pain that has lived with me every moment since. But it had to be done. Threats had been made against me, and I realized that, given my feelings for you, you would be in danger. Certainly you would be the perfect weapon for my enemies to use against me-I’d give up anything for you, including my life, in a heartbeat, and I couldn’t allow them to know that.
So I cut you from my life to guarantee your safety. I could stand being injured myself, but couldn’t bear to think of any harm coming to you. Knowing your feelings for me, knowing the caring, loving woman you are, I had to push you away irrevocably, sever the tie between us completely, and that meant in a way that would hurt you, that would snuff out your feelings for me, that would prevent you from coming to me and that, thereby, would keep you safe. I want you to know it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and only the fact that the threats against me increased afterward enabled me to stay away from you, to not travel to Little Longstone, fall to my knees before you and beg your forgiveness. But you have to know that not a day, nay, not a moment passed that I didn’t miss you, want you, love you with every breath.
While I can no longer ensure your physical well-being, I can guarantee your financial well-being. Toward that end, I have established an account in your name at the Bank of England, the details of which Mr. Evans, my solicitor, can help you with, along with giving you any other assistance you might require. I wish I could do more. And I wish I could be with you. Now. Always.
Thank you for loving me, darling Genevieve, and for allowing me to love you. You brought me nothing but joy. I hope you can forgive me. Please know that I wish you every happiness life can bring.
Yours,
Richard
GENEVIEVE stared down at words through eyes blurred with tears. He’d loved her. He’d always loved her. And he’d only wanted to keep her safe. A sense of relief-that she hadn’t misjudged him, hadn’t been the fool she’d believed herself to be for the past year-suffused her, mixing with grief for Richard’s death, and sadness that he was irrevocably gone from her life, a brew of emotions that overwhelmed her. Setting the letter aside, she buried her face in her hands and cried. She wasn’t certain how long she sat there, but when her tears finally ran out, the tightness and bitterness that had squeezed her heart for the past year was gone, replaced with a sense of peace and gratitude for having known and loved Richard. She’d let him go a year ago and although she’d been hurt, she’d moved on with her life-started again.
Fallen in love again.
With yet another man she couldn’t have.
She could only pray her heart would heal a second time. But given the continued depth of her misery over the loss of Simon, she didn’t think her prayers would be answered.
The next two weeks didn’t pass any quicker than the first two, nor were they any easier. Yet as the frequency of Baxter’s pitying looks lessened, she assumed she became a better actress.
Exactly one month and two days after Simon had left, she decided she’d mourned long enough. The day dawned sunny and crisp, and she resolved this was the day she was going to smile again. Laugh again. And mean it. She’d start off with a long soak in the springs to loosen her sore joints, then spend some time writing. But first she’d reread all her pearls of wisdom to Today’s Modern Woman. Hadn’t she written that Today’s Modern Woman didn’t mope after a man? Yes, she had. And it was about time she took her own advice.
After a delicious breakfast of eggs, ham and Baxter’s blueberry scones slathered with butter and jam, she bade her giant friend a cheery goodbye and headed toward the foyer.
“’Tis good to see ye smile, Gen,” Baxter said. His own grin was tinged with such obvious relief she felt ashamed and annoyed at herself for not better hiding her misery from him.
“It feels good to do so. I’ll be out for at least an hour. Why don’t you walk to the village?” She adopted an innocent air as she donned her pelisse. “Isn’t today the day Miss Winslow normally visits the butcher shop?”
A red flush crept all the way to the top of Baxter’s bald head and he scowled. “Don’t know. But seems we could use a bit o’ bacon around here.”
“Excellent idea.” Satisfied that she’d done what she could to toss her friend in the path of the woman she hoped he’d soon realize he loved, she headed for the springs at a brisk pace. “Today I will be happy. Today I will be happy,” she murmured. If she said it enough times, surely it would become fact. Indeed, she was smiling when she rounded the curve that brought her to the springs-a smile that froze along with her footsteps when she saw that her sanctuary was occupied.
Simon stood next to the bubbling water. Her stupefied gaze took in his dark-blue great coat, unfastened to reveal a jacket of the same color, a snowy white shirt and cravat, and buff breeches. His black boots gleamed, although the toe of the left one bore several unmistakable rows of teeth marks. In one hand he held Beauty’s lead- no easy task as the dog had turned into a tail-wagging, tongue-lolling, barking bundle of canine energy that strained for freedom the instant she saw Genevieve. In Simon’s other hand he held an enormous bouquet of pale-pink roses.
Their gazes met and every emotion, every feeling she’d struggled to bury for the past month ripped from its shallow grave to inundate her: the longing, the desire, the love. Before she could think of something to say, something that didn’t include the phrases
The puppy raced toward her, and with a laugh Genevieve crouched down. Beauty greeted her with a plethora of wriggling doggie adoration. Genevieve ruffled her furry ears, scratched her scruff, then obediently rubbed Beauty’s belly when the dog flopped on her back.
“She missed you.”
Genevieve looked up. Simon stood less than six feet away, staring down at her with an indecipherable expression. After giving the dog another fond pat, she rose, refusing to acknowledge the unsteadiness in her knees. “I missed her, too. I cannot believe how much she’s grown.”
