A Certain Want of Reason (30 page)

Miss Wright shook her hand free. “I needed to tell Lord Rutherford. He is the one in danger.”

“Well, you’ve taken the weapon you say she provided Geoffrey. So he is in no danger now.” Mr. Groves offered a condescending smile. Miss Wright allowed herself to be led away.

“I still have this one, though,” Geoffrey called from the back of the church. He produced a second awl from the lining of his coat. “You were right,” he said to Jeanne. “They did find one of them. So it was quite cleaver of you to bring me an extra.”

“You fool!” Jeanne exclaimed. “I told you to wait until…” She stopped as she realized her mistake, her hands shaking, her face a mask of intense rage.

Mr. Groves turned away from Miss Wright to face Jeanne, a frown of suspicion wrinkling his forehead.

The vicar nervously fingered the cross hanging from his neck as if he considered holding it up like a talisman to fend off Jeanne’s wrath.

In the back of the room, one of the Shady View assistants stepped up to Geoffrey to remove the makeshift weapon from his hands.

Jeanne looked at each one of them in turn with a snarl etched deeply into her features. “You are all insane. This village is insane. This whole part of the world is insane. And if you choose to listen to them, Edmund, then you prove yourself insane.” She flung down her bouquet and stormed out of the church.

The vicar hurried out in her wake and after a moment of uncertainty, Mr. Groves followed, motioning for his assistants to bring Geoffrey.

For some moments, all Edmund could do was stare after them. Perhaps Jeanne was right about this part of the world having gone mad, for her own behavior now ranked as thoroughly crazy. She had arranged to have him killed? Well, then she would have his title and money which, he gathered from her previous rant, had been the primary attraction of the match. And he had to admit he had given her little reason to anticipate much else from the marriage.

After remaining motionless, like him, for some moments, Miss Wright eventually sank to her knees, her eyes closed. Her body soon shook with sobs.

Edmund stepped over and, leaning heavily on his cane, kneeled at her side, tucking his arms around her. “Do not fear. All is well now.”

“He c-could have killed you.”

“No.” He squeezed her arm. “It would have been Jeanne’s doing, Jeanne’s fault.”

“It does not matter. The idea was his at first, remember? I could not stop him.” Her voice fell to a mere whisper. “I could not stop him.” The tears flowed with renewed vigor.

“But you did stop him, don’t you see?”

She shook her head, but took some time to catch her breath before she could speak. “S-so close. He came so close this time. What will happen the next time? Or the next?”

“We shall find a way, do not worry. We will make sure Geoffrey is taken care of.” He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head, loving the way loose strands tickled his nose. Always with the faint smell of lavender. “Thank you,” he murmured gratefully.

They would take care of Geoffrey. And he would take care of her. For so long, he could see that she must have devoted all her energies attending to the needs of her brother and sister. Now the time had come for someone to care for her.

And he wanted to do that more than anything in the world. He hugged her closer, and she at last relaxed against him, her sobs reduced to quiet hiccups.

“Miss Wright, this is hardly the proper time or place for me to say this, but in the days of our acquaintance, I believe there’s been no appropriate time for anything. So I shall speak now. When you came into the church, I hoped it was as Jeanne said—that you wished to stop our wedding because you wanted to marry me yourself. Because that was what I wanted, though I was not brave enough to confess it. Will you forgive me that?”

She nodded against his chest. “But there is nothing to confess. You were bound by honor to marry her.”

“Not any longer.” Now that she has disgraced herself so thoroughly before witnesses, Jeanne would have to relinquish her position as his committee, and Edward would soon be free. He leaned closer and lowered his voice so that only Miss Wright would be able to hear his declaration. “I want to marry you.” He leaned in to kiss her. His lips grazed hers for a brief second before she shrank away from him.

“Oh, no.” She struggled to her feet. “You cannot marry me. I cannot…” She staggered backward for a few steps before turning to run from the church, following the same footsteps Jeanne had trod only a few minutes before.

* * * * *

Lucia slipped on the crusted, icy snow as she made her way out of the churchyard. It was ridiculous to run away like this, as if she were a child trying to leave home over an imagined slight. But by racing, struggling for breath, keeping her focus on the treacherous ground, she kept her unwanted thoughts at bay.

For a while.

There was one thought she wished to remember.

She slowed her pace to a walk.

He wanted her. He cared for her. In his embrace, she felt a peace, a strength—a hope she had never experienced before. There was a chance for something more.

But, of course, there wasn’t.

Because she could not be with him. She could not marry him or anyone else. She would have to find that hope in the life she had always planned, secure within the needs of her own family. Geoffrey and Helen needed her. They had no one else who could care for them. She understood them better than anyone because she was one of them. They needed to stay together. Together and unmarried. The family “peculiarity,” the madness, would not extend to the next generation.

Lucia realized her steps had slowed to the point that she barely traveled forward at all. Indeed, she took rambling odd steps from one dry patch of ground to the next without any thought as to where the steps might lead.

“Miss Wright.”

She felt a warmth descend over her as Lord Rutherford placed his coat over her shoulders.

“You cannot run away from what troubles you. That is one lesson I hope I have learned from all this.” He reached out to steady her as she slipped on a small piece of ice.

“I know.” She sighed. “But it was too awful. I simply could not stay another minute.”

“Jeanne’s conduct, you mean? Or was it the nearness of me?” He leaned in closer, his blue eyes sparkling.

She smiled, wishing she had the strength to look away. “Neither. Your presence made me want to stay, in fact. And that is why it became so awful.”

He shook his head. “I am afraid you’ve lost me.”

“I don’t make any sense, do I?” She took a deep breath, searching for words to explain the paradox. “Lord Rutherford,” she began.

“Edmund, please. And I will call you Lucia whether you let me or no.”

“Very well.” She folded her hands together and stared at them for a moment, as if they could impart the strength to face him. She bit her lip and looked up. “Edmund, I will confess that I am very fond of you.”

“And that’s what’s awful, is it?”

“Yes.” She had started to nod in agreement before fully understanding his words. “I mean, no.” Her face twitched with the beginnings of a laugh. “Well, in a way yes.” She smiled at him in wonder for a moment and he waited patiently for her to continue, eager to listen. Had any man so obviously cared to hear what she had to say before? It was almost as though their souls were attached by an unseen line. “I think I loved you the moment I first set eyes on you—the hunted fool—at the Adrington’s soirée.”

He nodded. “I begin to understand why you see this as something awful.”

Her face twitched again, but this time it was not laughter that threatened to erupt. “The awful part,” she turned and began to move away, not daring to continue until she had put some distance between them, “is that I think you return my affection.”

Even walking unevenly without his cane, he followed her steps so quickly that he soon stood even closer than before. “I believe I should be insulted by that.”

She put a finger to his lips to shush him. “It is awful because we cannot be together.”

“Now this you will have to explain. Why can we not be together?” He took both of her hands in his own, peering closely into her eyes. “Are you married to someone else?”

“No.” She tried to twist her hands free, but he held them fast. “I cannot be married to anyone.”

“Why not?”

“I have a duty to stay with Geoffrey and Helen. To care for them always. I promised my mother on her deathbed—”

He dropped her hands with a loud sigh. “Somehow I knew this would involve a deathbed promise. I want
you
to promise
me
that you will never allow me to require such a promise of anyone. They bring nothing but trouble.”

Lucia took a step back. “You jest, Edmund, when I speak of something very important.”

“I was not in jest, Lucia.” Again, he stepped forward to follow her. “When I am old and dying, I want you to ensure that I don’t require our children to do something that will ruin their lives.”

“You have not heard me, have you? I will not be with you when you are old. I will be with Geoffrey and Helen.”

“Why can you not be with all of us?” He took her hands once more.

“What?” Before the question had escaped her lips, she already understood his meaning. But it would never work. Geoffrey and Helen were her responsibility.

“I can help you take care of Helen—and Geoffrey, once we’ve convinced him that I do not now, nor never have, owned a red cloak.”

“That is very good of you.” She swallowed over the lump rising in her throat. He really believed he could help her, and his willingness was truly touching. But he did not know the half of what he was proposing. “I could not ask you to share a life that—”

“I
want
you to ask me to share that life. Any life.” He kissed her fingers. “As long as we share it together.”

She looked away, fighting against the tingling, joyous sensation spreading from her hands out to the rest of her body. “You are making this very difficult.”

He caressed her hands. “If you mean that I am making it difficult for you to say ‘no’, then I would hope so. I want you to marry me.”

“But I cannot.” She pulled free from his embrace and folded her arms across her chest.

“You can.” He moved until he could catch her gaze again. “I’ve told you, Geoffrey and Helen will be our responsibility—together. You will keep your promise.”

And again she turned away from him, this time keeping her eyes focused on the rocks cropping out from under the snow. She had never imagined divulging this misgiving to anyone before, but he left her no choice. “That is not the only reason.”

He leaned down so he could look up into her face. “You said you are not married.”

“I am not. And I can never marry because of…the family. The peculiarity in the family. Someday I will probably…and I might have children who would…” She shook her head. “I cannot allow that. I could not burden anyone with such a trial.” The stones on the ground melted into a teary blur.

“Yes, you could. You could and you should.” He tilted her chin up as he stood to his full height, then placed his hands on her shoulders. “I am asking you to.”

She knew she should look away again, because if she continued to avoid his searching, earnest gaze, she could still keep him at bay and keep him from sacrificing his life. But this time, she could not turn away. “You do not know what you ask.”

“Listen.” He very nearly laughed. “You said you think you loved me at the Adringtons’—when you thought I was crazy. And you did not even know me. Will you not allow that I, after knowing and admiring all your fine qualities, might be able to love you even if your behavior were to turn a bit odd on occasion? Do you believe me less capable of love than you?”

“No.” Her objection did sound mean, when he phrased it in those terms. But still… “You really have no idea what you might have to endure in a future with me.”

“No, I must admit you are right, that none of us knows what the future holds.” He pried her arm loose so he could wrap it in his own. Then he started the two them walking back toward the church, leaning on each other as they traversed the uneven ground. “I do know that for most of my life, I imagined a future without someone like you, without your sweetness, and loyalty and gr—”

She stumbled over a collection of rocks, but he caught her before she could fall. She smiled. “I believe you were going to endow me with the virtue of grace, were you not? It is fortunate I was able to correct you in time.”

“Now it is you who jest when I am trying to be most serious.”

“I am sorry.” For a fleeting moment, she wondered whether she could keep the conversation light until they reached the church and thereby dissuade him from making his point.

But she did not want to.

“All that I endeavored to say is that I had never before dared to dream that I might enjoy a life with the company of such an agreeable woman. And the prospect makes me want to explode with happiness.”

She nodded. “You anticipated an unpleasant marriage.” She sighed. Did she really want to bring up this point? She had to. “But now that encumbrance is gone. I daresay you might have your choice of a great many agreeable young ladies.”