Dying Forever (Waking Forever Book 3) (23 page)

Managing a weak smile, Aeden hugged Bryce. “
I’m sorry for you, too.” He kissed the top of her head. “You must want more. A husband, children.”

Bryce stepped back and though her heart shouted at her to correct her brother, to tell him she didn’t want any of that, she nodded. “I do.”

Looking at the sky, Aeden turned toward the stable. “We’re very late. I’ll see you tonight.” He left her standing in the dark, wondering how she could love him so much, trust him with her life, but not be able to share her most secret thoughts and desires with him.

Walking toward the large, two story stone house that sat atop a slight hill, Bryce had been shocked by recent revelations about
who
she wanted to spend her life with and feared her brother would be, too.

Hope
Atherson was the only daughter of James Atherson. His wife Claire had died in child birth and the man adored his daughter, while wielding a heavy hand with his oldest child and only son, Thaddeus. The second day Bryce had been working in the Atherson house she had seen a large portrait of a woman in her thirties, with dark, chestnut colored hair and intense light brown eyes. She had learned this was the late Mrs. Atherson, and her daughter could pass as her younger self.

Based on her experience with wealthy families in Ireland, Bryce had assumed the
Athersons would pay her little attention, short of instructing her on their preferences for how the silver should be polished and when they wanted their beds turned down at night.

“
Your name is Bryce?” Hope Atherson had asked while Bryce was hanging washed sheets along the clothes line behind the house.

“
Yes, miss.” Bryce stopped what she was doing and holding the damp sheet in front of her, looked at the ground. Her mother had taught her never to make eye contact with the masters.

“I like it. It’s different.” Bryce could hear the smile in the woman’
s voice and worked up the courage to make eye contact with her.

Bryce’s green eyes were met by intense brown ones that seemed to swirl as flecks of light skittered across the iris
es. “It was my great grandfather’s. He fought in the Irish Rebellion.” She couldn’t hide the pride in her voice and, feeling self-conscious, blushed as she looked back down.

“That’s fascinating. I don’t have any interesting family stories. My grandfather came over from England, bought the land our house is built on, and then he bought more land, and - well -” Looking across the fields she shrugged. “Here we are.”

Bryce knew there must be more skill to amassing the sort of wealth the Atherson family had and found Hope’s casualness about her station in life odd. Bryce had nothing and couldn’t imagine being so flippant about having every need and want met.

“It’s lovely
, miss.” Bryce managed through a tight throat. She hadn’t spoken to anyone but her family and a few of the other servants since she had arrived nearly a month ago. The last person she thought would be interested in talking to her was the mistress of the house.

“It truly is.” Hope’s response came barely above a whisper and when Bryce looked up at the woman, there was a glint in her eyes that Bryce didn’t understand, but
she felt her heart pounding in her chest because of it.

Entering through the servant’s entrance at the back of the house, Bryce was greeted by Mrs. Bradley,  the head housekeeper. She managed Bryce, two other girls, and Bryce’s mother in their daily chores.

“
Miss Whelan, you’re late.” Even though the woman was two inches shorter than Bryce, and nearly as round as she was tall, her attitude commanded respect.

“It won’t happen again
, ma’am.” Bryce hung her makeshift shawl on a wooden peg just inside the door and stomped her feet on the stone floor to remove any loose snow and mud. Catching her mother’s disapproving look from across the kitchen, the redhead mouthed she was sorry and knew she would hear from her mother on the topic later.

“See
that it doesn’t, Miss Whelan, or I shall have to tell Mr. Atherson.” The plump woman resumed her work in the kitchen as she and another woman named Gladys went about meal preparation. “Miss Atherson left a note that you’re to take her breakfast up this morning. She likes the tray waiting for her, so you will take it up at half past the hour.” The woman looked at Bryce, her eyes narrowing. “Do you understand?”

Bryce nodded,
left the kitchen, and began making her way through the house. Every morning, she would open the thick curtains she had closed the night before. Mr. Atherson insisted on this exercise every night in the winter. It kept the house warmer as the dense upholstery of the chocolate colored drapes blocked the drafts that seeped through the window panes.

It took Bryce nearly a half hour to finish with the drapes, and by the time she returned to the kitchen it was time to take Hope her breakfast. W
ithout a word, she picked the silver tray up from the wood block at the center of the kitchen and began walking toward the back stairway.

Looking over the contents of the tray, Bryce smiled. Hope was a creature of habit, and Bryce had nev
er known her to eat anything but dried apricots, one poached egg, and two toast points for breakfast. She liked her tea at room temperature with a teaspoon of sugar.

Pushing the latch on the door to Hope’s room with her elbow, Bryce balanced the tray as she used her hip to open and then close the large wooden door. The sun had been up for almost an hour, but the bedroom was still cloaked in relative darkness
because the heavy drapes were still drawn.

The room was larger than the
entire Whelan house in Ireland. Its walls were painted a robin’s egg blue with raspberry trim along the edges of the wall paneling. Hope’s bed was large, with a thick down stuffed mattress and mahogany headboard. Placing the tray on the light oak vanity nearest the bed, Bryce crossed the room and pulled the drapes open.

“Oh, I’m still so tired.” Hope’s voice was low and sleepy as she pulled the white duvet over her head.

“It’s seven thirty, miss.” The few times Hope had asked for her to bring her breakfast, this had always been the greeting she received. “You don’t want to sleep the day away.”

Hope pushed the duvet down so only her legs were covered,
revealing the thin white sleeveless shift she wore. She rubbed her hands over her face and sitting up, looked closely at Bryce. “Please don’t call me
miss
.”

Bryce blushed. “Sorry. Habit.”

Hope slid to the edge of the bed and took the tray from Bryce. Putting it on the end of the bed, she took Bryce’s hands in hers. Bring the redhead’s fingers to her lips, she gently sucked on the tip of Bryce’s index finger. A quiet moan escaped the woman as she slid the entirety of Bryce’s finger into the warmth of her mouth.

Bryce’s knees felt
wobbly, as if they might give out on her. She closed her eyes in an effort to stop the room from spinning. Seconds later, Hope was pulling her forward and down on top of her as they fell back on the bed. Hope took Bryce’s face in her hands and pressed her lips to Bryce’s, her tongue slipping past the woman’s full lips.

“You’re amazing
.” The brunette murmured as her mouth made its way to Bryce’s neck.

The sound of a door slamming down the hall brought Bryce to her senses. This had been the way of it for Hope and her for the past three months. What had started as titillating and confusing flirtations had escalated to stolen kisses and intimate touches.

Bryce had kissed women before. Innocent girlhood crushes when she was still a teenager, but she had never known the longing and want Hope triggered in her. She was in love for the first time in her life, and she wanted more, though she scarcely knew what that meant.

“Why are you stopping?” Hope looked at Bryce, her brown eyes unfocused by desire.

“Someone might come.” Bryce mustered all her will and pushed away from the beautiful woman. Standing up, she straightened her skirt and smoothed her hair.

With an expression akin to a pout, Hope got out of bed. “You always stop.”

She was right. As much as Bryce wanted her, her upbringing forced her to be cautious and untrusting of anything that might be a source of happiness for her. Hope and she could never be together. Besides being two women, they inhabited two entirely different worlds.

“I’m sorry
, miss.” Bryce forced back tears as she walked toward the door.

Grabbing her wrist, Hope spun Bryce around and pulled the woman to her. “Don’t call me miss and don’t apologize for wanting -
this
.” She roughly pressed Bryce’s hand to her breast.

In a rare unguarded moment, Bryce
initiated a kiss. Her lips brushing lightly across Hope’s, her tongue teasing the woman. A knock on the bedroom door drove both women away from each other and Bryce quickly stepped toward the door. Hope turned her attention toward the otherwise forgotten breakfast tray.

“Come in.” Her voice was calm, Bryce was amazed at how easily she slipped back into her mistress
role.

Mrs. Bradley entered the room, a disapproving look on her face as she
eyed Bryce. “Forgive the intrusion, ma’am , but if you aren’t needing her any longer, Miss Whelan has chores to attend to.”

Without looking back, Hope popped a dried apricot in her mouth and nodded. “That’s fine.”

Bryce turned and followed Mrs. Bradley out of the room. Once down the hall, the stout woman turned to Bryce. “I don’t know what about delivering a breakfast tray takes fifteen minutes, but whatever it is, stop.”

A surge of blood rushed to Bryce
’s neck and face as she felt a wave of fear and embarrassment wash over her. Luckily, Mrs. Bradley had already turned and was walking toward the back stairway, so she didn’t witness the mortification.

Leaning against the wall, Bryce’s heart pounded in her ear
s.
She knows.
Sweat formed on her forehead and she lifted her head, taking several deep breaths before she trusted herself to walk without fainting.

“M
iss Whelan? Are you okay?” Thaddeus Atherson was standing near the front stairway, looking curiously at Bryce.

“Yes. Yes
, sir.” Bryce wiped at her forehead and turned to walk toward the back stairway.

“Wait.” The man closed the space between them in several long strides. He was over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and the same light brown eyes as his sister. “You don’t seem well. Should I get someone?”

Bryce shook her head. “That’s very kind, sir, but I’m fine.”

Before she could leave, the man grabbed her forearm and stepped to within inches of Bryce. “
Perhaps you need to lie down? My room is right here.” He nodded toward his bedroom door.

Bryce’s earlier humiliation was replaced with fear. She had noticed Thaddeus looking at her from time to time, but hadn’t imagined this. “No thank you
, sir. Mrs. Bradley would have my hide.”

Stepping back, Bryce looked at the man’s hand still wrapped around her arm. Just before he released her, he squeeze
d her arm to the point of pain and Bryce winced. “Some other time perhaps.” Backing down the hall, a broad smile spread across his lips. “You take care of yourself, Miss Whelan.”

Wanting nothing more than to run down the hall, Bryce forced a polite smile, and then slowly walked toward the stairs, her heart pounding as tears streamed down her face.

It was the
middle of July. The frigidness of the winter and the chill of spring had long since passed, and the Atherson farm was teeming with activity as the last crop of cherries were being harvested.

James Atherson had been hosting the area’s largest harvest celebration for the past five seasons, and this year would be no different. Mrs. Bradley was preparing the hous
e staff for the upcoming gala and every servant was enlisted to decorate the large estate in a variety of floral and pine garlands accented with opulent blue and red cotton ribbons.

Bryce was walking up the main
path toward the house when she spotted Aeden placing a series of brass lanterns along an adjacent walkway. Glancing toward the house and calculating she had another five minutes before Mrs. Bradley came looking for her, the woman trotted toward her brother.

“Can you believe all this?” Bryce smiled as she greeted Aeden.

Rising from his knees, the man wiped at the sweat on his brow and, shielding his eyes against the midday sun, chuckled. “I spent the better part of last week gathering all the pine, berries, and branches for the garland. At one point I thought the foreman was going to ask me to arrange it.”

Bryce smiled. “I’m sure you could have worked it out.”

Taking the handles of the two wheel wooden cart that still had five lanterns sitting on it, Aeden pushed it further down the walkway. “To be clear, I didn’t want to work it out. I would have preferred the work in the fields to feeling like a Miss Molly with all those flowers and ribbons.”

Bryce frowned. “Miss Molly?”

Aeden pulled another lantern from the cart. “Yeah, you know - boys that like boys.”