It's Always Been You (23 page)

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Authors: Victoria Dahl

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

BOOK: It's Always Been You
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Her mother’s voice dropped to a childish whisper, her eyes like saucers. “He implied that you . . . encouraged . . . your husband’s death.”
“And you believed him,” Kate said flatly.
“No! I never did! And your brother didn’t either. He said you weren’t capable of it.”
Well, more fool he. She’d smashed Gerard over the head and left him to bleed. She was capable of killing, but she hadn’t been capable of killing David. They’d reached a truce, she and David. After the accident, when his legs had ceased to work properly, Iniya had moved into the big house to help care for him. And Kate had begun to see him as a human being instead of a monster.
David had been almost as trapped as she, because he’d truly loved Iniya. He would’ve married Iniya if he’d been able. He’d done everything but marry her, and that had been his mistake. He’d been shunned, mocked, reprimanded. And when he’d become an embarrassment to the English community of Ceylon, he’d been threatened with imprisonment. The governor had taken David’s household as a personal affront. He’d made it his mission to see it changed. So David had made it his mission to replace the governor, and Kate’s family had been his means to do that. That was all. It hadn’t been personal in the least, even when he’d occasionally taken her to his bed.
The same accident that had scarred her cheek had broken David’s spine. And though his health had improved over the years, he’d never truly recovered, and Iniya had stayed in the house. Kate hadn’t found it in herself to resent the obvious love between them, but it hadn’t helped her loneliness. Nor had it helped Gerard’s resentment.
“I must go, Mother.”
“But where have you been? Where are you living?”
“It doesn’t matter. I won’t be there long. But perhaps I’ll visit again someday. You look well, and I’m happy for that.”
“Oh. I see. Be careful, dear.” Her hands fluttered as if she were helpless to say more.
Kate rose and kissed her mother’s cheek before leaving. The scent of faded roses enveloped her, but she turned and walked out, ignoring the awful tug at her heart. She should stay the night, but she couldn’t bear it. She needed to return to Hull and leave that place before she missed her chance.
David Gallow
had
been poisoned, and Kate couldn’t prove she hadn’t done it. She had no choice but to flee, and there was nothing to hold her back anymore.
She woke on the train, disoriented and weary. The rocking kept her submerged in a half-sleep, and the dim light of dawn urged her to close her eyes again. There was so much to do when she got back to her shop. She couldn’t simply walk away or she’d lose every cent of her investment. Better to sell everything outright. Even if she took a loss, she’d leave with something.
As she floated along through the countryside, she tried not to think of Aidan. She was almost glad for her current predicament, because she had no time to feel all the hurt and guilt and doubt.
But the next time she opened her eyes, he was there with such a sweet, sharp intensity that Kate gasped. Not him, but a man who looked almost exactly like Mr. Penrose staring at her over one of the seats. Kate jerked around to check behind her, certain that Aidan must be close by. Why would Mr. Penrose be on this train with her alone?
But Aidan was nowhere to be seen, and when Kate looked again to the man dropping hurriedly back into his seat, she wasn’t entirely sure it
was
Mr. Penrose. This man, after all, was missing his hat, his hair looked as if it had been mussed and then matted down, and his normally pale skin was beet red . . . or at least the shell of his ear was. He hunched deeper into his coat.
Frowning, Kate checked behind her one last time before concentrating all her attention on the man ahead. A whole minute passed, maybe two. Then finally, his head poked slowly up, and he arched a look over his shoulder. When he saw her watching, his eyes widened, and she knew it was him.
Kate narrowed her eyes and surged to her feet. Mr. Penrose slipped low again as if she might give up at this sign of furtiveness. She marched forward and planted herself at his side. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, trying not to wake the sleeping passengers around her.
Penrose kept his eyes clenched shut.
“Mr. Penrose, I know it’s you.”
In the end, he could not suppress his compulsion toward good manners, and he rose to his feet, putting his hand to his forehead as if he’d remove a hat he did not have. Still, he didn’t meet her eyes or say a word.
“Mr. Penrose,” she said sharply, and his gaze finally rose to her. “Are you spying on me?”
“No, Mrs. Hamilton. Of course not.”
“Where is Mr. York?” she demanded.
“In London, ma’am.”
“He sent you after me? To follow me?” As she recognized that it must be the truth, her voice rose, and the people around them stirred.
Mr. Penrose slid over and gestured her to take his seat. “No,” he whispered as she sat stiffly next to him. “He only asked me to see that you made it safely home. Nothing more. He didn’t expect . . . I wasn’t prepared . . .” He touched a hand to his forehead again. “I apologize for my appearance, ma’am. I’ve lost my hat. And I have no luggage.”
Her anger softened. Poor Mr. Penrose. “You swear he didn’t send you to watch me?”
“I swear on my honor. I was only to look out for your safety. I didn’t expect you’d go anywhere but home. Mr. York would never mean for me to spy on you.”
He had a point. Kate was getting her difficulties confused. Aidan wasn’t the one who would follow her across the globe. “Well, I don’t appreciate knowing I’ve been followed, sir. Though I suppose I must thank you for your care. As always, you are an amazingly dedicated employee.”
Penrose flushed. “Mr. York deserves dedication. He is an exacting employer, but I’m learning more about the world of business than I could ever have hoped.”
“I wonder who taught him,” she murmured. “He is not very analytical.”
Mr. Penrose frowned, looking uncomfortable. “I apologize for disturbing your rest, Mrs. Hamilton. Please pretend I’m not here.”
She nodded, but didn’t budge. She didn’t want to go back to her seat now. Being near Penrose was a reminder of being near Aidan. Despite that she felt like a lovesick, broken fool, Kate missed him. Whether she’d meant anything to him, he’d meant something important to her, and that was gone now.
So Kate ignored the hint that she should return to her seat, and simply settled into this new one. From the corner of her eye, she saw Penrose staring at her. “What is it, Mr. Penrose?”
He shook his head and turned to stare straight ahead.
“I’m sorry that my trip to London has put you out. And I’m sorry that . . . you must have been upset to see me there.”
“No, of course not. It’s not that.”
“What is it, then?”
He turned slowly back to her, and she met his troubled gaze. “He
is
very analytical. Mr. York, I mean.”
That was what had upset him? Kate offered an appeasing smile. “I’m sure he’s quite good at what he does.”
“He is. He’s efficient and cold and ruthless. He lives and breathes nothing but investments and income.”
She held back a bitter laugh. “It may seem that way to you when you’re working, but I assure you that he’s always known how to enjoy his life, Mr. Penrose.”
“That’s not true.”
She stiffened at his tone. “I believe I know him better than you.”
“You don’t, Mrs. Hamilton. I mean no disrespect, but I’m not sure you know him at all.”
Kate gasped and drew back, letting him see every ounce of her outrage.
“I’m sorry. I know I’m being unbearably rude, but it seems likely I’ll never see you again after this, and . . .”
“And that gives you leave to say outrageous things?”
His gaze fell for just a moment, and Kate was sure he would retreat. And so he should. How dare he pretend he knew
anything
.
But Penrose didn’t retreat. When he looked at Kate again, his gaze was sharp and sorrowed. “I’d never seen him smile. Not truly. Do you know that?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m not saying he never smiled, Mrs. Hamilton. Just that I never saw it. Until he went to Hull.”
Kate shook her head again, but she was the one who retreated, rising to scramble back to her seat and gather her cloak around her as if she could hide in it. Her stomach churned, and she held her breath, terrified that he would follow and say more ridiculous things. More stupid, hopeful nonsense things.
Despite that she’d donned her cloak, the cold from the window at her shoulder seeped into her as she sat, first chilling her hands, then her arms, then up to her chest and face. She shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her cloak, but her right hand touched something smooth and cold.
Her fingers instinctively clasped it tight, and she drew her hand free. When she uncurled her grasp, there was her grandfather’s watch. It had comforted her on the train ride to London, but she saw it with much different eyes now.
It was the only jewelry he’d given her during this affair, and now it seemed symbolic. Simple, sentimental, used . . . pretty in a worn way. If he’d given gifts to his other mistresses, they’d been nothing like this. He would’ve given those women glittering jewels. Expensive baubles. Things to enhance their beauty.
She squeezed the watch hard in her fist, as hard as she could, wishing she could crush it, break it with her bare hand, destroy what he’d given her. The hinge dug into her palm, gifting her with bright spots of pain to distract her mind.
When she let it go, her palm throbbed and her mind flared back to clarity.
Aidan had let her believe he’d been empty, lonely, and now his man was trying to convince her of that too. That his life had been joyless before she’d reappeared.
Joyless
. As if it had been misery he’d been visiting between those women’s legs.
He’d said himself that it had been the only way he could forget her. He’d buried her inside those women, and she couldn’t forgive that.
But if her heart was so hard, why was she so terrified that Penrose would follow her and tell her more? Why did she feel sick at the thought?
In the end, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t forced to confront her fears, because Penrose let her be. She stared out the window, avoiding even a twitch in his direction as she watched the sky lighten into a gloomy day. And once they arrived in Hull in a flurry of sparks and steam, Kate pretended not to see him hover at the edge of the platform until she’d safely descended and turned toward home.
But this was not Ceylon, and she was not as weak as she’d once been. There was no gray pall to smother her feelings about Aidan. She tried to walk faster and leave them behind, but they gripped her, clutched at her, no matter how quickly she moved. They stayed with her past the docks and into the lanes and followed her down the dim alley toward her shop.
She unlocked her door, then shut it hard behind her. But a terrible foreboding followed her in. Her heart whispered frantically that she’d done something very wrong.
She answered it with stubborn silence.
Plodding up the stairs, Kate stopped at the top and looked listlessly around—saw her tiny, neat parlor, her undersized bed. She had to leave it all, but surprisingly, she felt no grief at that. After all her hard work, it seemed to mean nothing to her at all.
The power of the horse beneath him was a relief. Each strike of hoof against ground felt as if it channeled some of Aidan’s rage out of his body and into the depths of hell. But in the end, it channeled nothing, because as soon as he wheeled his mount to a stop and jumped down, his rage was back. He normally felt better after a ride, but today he was buried in his own emotions, and the idea of walking back into his brother’s home made his skin crawl.
Still, he hadn’t been able to stay another moment in London, in his big house full of nothing and no one. The house seemed nothing more than the building that had once held Kate. At least she had never been here.
His instructions to the groom were interrupted by the breathless voice of a footman. “Mr. York!” He rushed across the horse yard. “A letter, sir.”
Aidan snatched the paper from the footman’s outstretched hand and tore it open. Finally . . . news that she’d arrived in Hull. And that was it, he supposed. If she could not forgive him his past, what could he do? He hadn’t died ten years before any more than she had. He’d had a life. He’d made mistakes.
But his outrage was as hollow as the rest of him. Mistakes, after all, were accidental. He’d made his willingly, and so they weren’t mistakes at all. Just awful, awful choices. And he hated her for knowing them.
He’d come to his family home without thought. His mother’s birthday was in two days, and she’d never forgive him for missing it, but that hadn’t been his primary motivation. No, he’d returned home like any injured animal would. For comfort. Understanding. Or simply to howl in rage.
But it didn’t matter where he was; he still thought of her. Why had she visited a solicitor’s office in London? Surely she couldn’t pursue divorce on her own? The cost would destroy her.
Her next stop had been even more mysterious. Derby. Her family’s home. Had she visited them? Or just stopped to walk through her old world? Penrose hadn’t offered details. And Aidan was too proud to ask, though he suspected he might change his mind sometime in the future.
Stealing in through a side door, Aidan rushed toward his room, intent on ordering a bath and dinner. Then he’d drink his way to sleep, God willing.
But as he passed the library, he knew he’d made a mistake in coming home. He wasn’t alone here. Marissa called his name, and he came to a reluctant halt as she rose from a chair by the window, her face tight with worry.
“Pardon me,” he growled. “I need a bath.”
She frowned as if he were speaking a foreign language. “Come in, Aidan. Please? I need to speak with you.”
He tried to temper his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m not in the mood for idle conversation right now.”
“It’s her,” she said softly.
“I don’t have the patience for riddles or—”
“It’s Katie. Katie Tremont. You found her.” The hope in her face made him scowl.
Aidan gave in with less grace than a mad dog, stepping into the library and slamming the door behind him. “Your husband has been telling tales.”
“I was worried. You were—”
“It hardly matters now,” he snapped. “I found her, yes. Congratulations on ferreting out the story, Marissa. It must be quite exciting for you.”
“Stop it!” she ordered, her spine snapping straight.
“You’ve no call to be cruel to me. Nor anyone else in this house. What are you even doing here?”
That stopped his raging heart. Did even his family not want him now? “What?”
“If you’ve found Katie, if you love her, what are you doing here, moping about?”
“She’s married.”
“And? You’ve already looked into dispensing with that obstacle.”
“And?”
he snapped. “And she knows about me.”
“Knows what?”
This was not a conversation a man had with his sister. Aidan crossed his arms and glared at her, but Marissa simply stared back, eyebrows posed in a question. He cleared his throat and tried not to squirm.
“Well?” she pressed. “What is it?”
His outrage floated away, escaping him. “I’m not . . . That is . . . I have not been the man she expected me to be. I have not made myself proud, much less anyone else.”
Aidan half-expected his sister to shush him and tell him how wonderful he was. But she only pressed her lips tight together.
He tried to feel irritated instead of embarrassed. “I see that you agree.”
“You have spread yourself thin, by all accounts.”
“Jesus,” he bit out. When she shrugged, Aidan spun toward the door. “Well, then. You have your explanation.”
“Don’t. This is important. It’s important to all of us, Aidan. Don’t just leave.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, you never want to talk about it. You want to hunch over it like a hermit with his treasure, raging at anyone who comes near. Is your pain so precious to you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Do you think you’re the only person who’s ever lost anyone?”
“That’s not it at all!” he shouted. “I’m ashamed of myself, and all I wanted was for her not to know. I just wanted to go back and be that other man. The man I was meant to be. But there’s no going back, and no hiding the truth, and she will not have me now.”
“Did she say that?” Marissa asked calmly.
“Of course she said that. What else could she say?”
“Perhaps she will change her mind.”
“But she will know, and I can never take that away. Everywhere we go, every woman we meet, she will have to wonder, won’t she? Every sly word or cunning smile . . . She will suspect, and sometimes she will be right. Could you live with that? Would Jude ask you to?”
“I don’t know, but I suppose I have asked him to. Perhaps he is the one to advise you.”
That brought him up short and pulled him from his selfish world. “That’s not how it was with you, Marissa.”
She shrugged again and dropped into her chair. “Not quite, no, but I was hardly pure, and every man wants a pure wife, doesn’t he? But I am the woman he fell in love with, and so he accepts it.”
“But it’s different for Jude. He had his own life. He wasn’t forced to live in misery while you ‘spread yourself thin’ as you said.”
Marissa’s face finally softened into sympathy. She took Aidan’s hand, and pulled him to sit beside her. “Is that what happened to her, Aidan?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I thought she was happily married. She implied that she’d been content. But then . . . she said things. I don’t know what happened to her, and that hurts worse than I could imagine.”
His sister squeezed his hand and laid her head on his shoulder. “Give her time. Go see her in a month or two. If she loves you, she’ll forgive you.”
He shook his head. “She deserves better.”
Marissa sighed and wrapped both her hands around his. “You loved her so completely, Aidan. There is nothing better than that.”
They sat in silence for a long while before Marissa kissed his cheek and rose. “I’ll leave you to your brooding, then. For now.”
“Pest.”
She blew him another kiss and hurried out. He did not like this writhing hope she’d left with him. It was an awful thing and he wanted it gone. It reminded him too much of what Kate had said. That she’d waited for him. That she’d thought he would come for her.
What had been done to her?
Thoughts and fears wrestled inside his head. He wanted to scream, to rage, to injure. His imagination raced to provide him with fuel for his turmoil, filling his mind with things he could never wish to see. My God, she’d been so young and sweet and everything good in his life. What had been done to her?
Perhaps she did not need a divorce. Perhaps Aidan could rid the world of her husband. Hunt him down and kill him.
I was not a horse to be broken to another rider.
A chill spread beneath his skin. He’d thought that he resented her love for another man, but he would take that back in an instant now. He’d give her the perfect husband to have loved for those ten years. Anything not to know that she had been broken.
“Ah, God,” he groaned, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.
“Well, don’t weep like a mewling child,” a voice rasped from across the room.
Aidan sprang to his feet, twisting toward the sound. “What the devil?”
No, not the devil, only that sneaky old Aunt Ophelia pushing up from her chair hidden in the arch of the window. Again.
“Blast it,” he muttered, stepping toward her automatically to help her rise. “I knew you were eavesdropping before, weren’t you?”
“What?” she cried. “Speak up!”
Aidan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She’d heard nothing. Thank God.
“Nothing, Aunt Ophelia!” he shouted.
“When’s dinner?”
“Eight o’clock!” he yelled, then muttered, “Same as every night,” under his breath. Her cane knocked his shin, ringing it like a bell.
She shuffled past him, her kerchiefed head reaching only half the height of his body. “You’re a fool.”
Aidan frowned and leaned closer, clasping her elbow to steady her frail body. “Pardon?” But she ignored him and shuffled all the way to the door, pulling her elbow from his grasp halfway across the room. “I’ve been walking for eighty years.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She narrowed her half-blind eyes in irritation. “Puling babe.”
Aidan tucked his chin in. “I’m sorry . . . What did you say?”
“Some men never get over teat-sucking for comfort.”
He stumbled back in horror. “Aunt Ophelia! What did . . . ? You . . .”
She spun back toward him with surprising speed and pointed a crooked finger in his face. “I said grow up or I’ll dress you in short pants like you deserve!”
Aunt Ophelia escaped before he could stop her, likely because he was paralyzed with confusion. He now had no idea if she had been eavesdropping or was simply mad as a fiend. He could certainly hear her muttering to herself as she moved slowly down the corridor. Aidan could only shake his head and hope that everything would make more sense tomorrow.

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