A Kiss to Remember Page 27

  "Because she was the one who was supposed to love me!" Sterling roared.

  They stared at each other for a long moment, both trembling and breathing hard. Then Sterling strode to the window and stood gazing out at the night, appalled by his lapse of control.

  When he spoke again, his voice was crisp and cool. "My father barely tolerated my company. He would have sold me to a band of passing Gypsies for thirty pieces of silver if it would have bought him a bottle of fresh port or another hour at the gaming tables." Sterling slowly turned to face Laura. "He might have been the one who sold me, but she was the one who let him. I can't understand it. And I can't forgive her for something I can't understand."

  Laura scooped up a handful of the letters and held them out to him, her expression pleading. "But don't you see? These might help you understand. If you read them, then perhaps you'll be able to comprehend how powerless your father made her feel, how he convinced her that your uncle could give you a future that she never could. Then after the deed was done and she realized it had all been a terrible mistake, your father refused to let her have any contact with you. He tore up the letters she wrote to you before she could post them. He persuaded her that you were better off without her, that she no longer had a place in your life. It took her years to find the courage to write you again."

  "My father has been dead for over ten years now. Yet in all that time, she never once tried to see me."

  "Would you have received her?" Laura asked, lifting her chin.

  "I don't know," he admitted.

  "Neither did she. And I don't think she could have borne it if you had turned her away." Laura drew nearer to him. "Even if she had tried to stop your father from letting Granville Harlow adopt you, what power did she have? She had no legal power. She had no moral authority. She was only a woman trapped in a man's world—a world created by men just like you and your father."

  "I'm not like my father," Sterling bit off.

  Laura drew in a deep breath. "You may be right. According to Diana, you're growing more and more like your uncle every day."

  Sterling sank down against the windowsill, letting out a bitter snort of laughter. "Et tu, Brute?"

  "Your mother made a terrible mistake, Sterling. And she spent the rest of her life paying for it."

  "Did she? Or did I?" He raked a hand through his hair. "I've yet to tell another living soul this, but do you know the one thing she did that I'll never forgive?"

  Laura shook her head.

  "After I realized what she and my father had done and I was getting ready to walk out the door with my uncle that day, she knelt down and held out her arms to me. It was the last time I would ever see her, yet I walked right past her without so much as a word." Although Laura stood only a hand's length from him now, Sterling gazed down at the carpet, refusing to look at her. "I have relived that moment in a thousand dreams, but they always end the same. I walk past her open arms, then I wake up to the sound of her crying." He lifted his head, meeting Laura's eyes squarely. "That's the one thing I will never forgive. Never."

  "But who is it you can't forgive, Sterling? Her?" Laura reached up to touch his cheek. "Or yourself?"

  He caught her wrist and gently drew her hand away from his face. "I don't really see that it makes any difference."

  Leaving her standing there, he returned to the desk and began to rake the letters back into the drawer.

  Laura watched him, her face pale and set. "Have you ever asked yourself why you kept your mother's letters if you never intended to read them?"

  Sterling didn't answer her. He simply scooped up the letters that had fallen to the floor and tossed them carelessly on top of the others.

  "The Devil of Devonbrooke might not be able to forgive her," Laura said, "but I'll wager Nicholas Radcliffe could."

  "There is no Nicholas Radcliffe. He was nothing but a figment of your imagination."

  "Are you so sure about that? Perhaps he was the man you might have become if you had grown up at Arden Manor, confident in your mother's love. Perhaps he was the man you could still be if you could only find some small crumb of mercy in your heart—for her, for yourself." Laura swallowed, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "For me?"

  Although Sterling knew instinctively that it was the last time she would swallow her pride and plead for his forgiveness, the last time she would cry for him, he dropped the last of the letters into the drawer and firmly shut it.

  Laura closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were dry. "You broke your mother's heart," she said softly. "I'm not going to let you break mine."

  After she was gone, Sterling swung his chair around, no longer able to bear the sight of the door she had just walked out of. His glance fell on the one letter he had missed, the letter lying crumpled and all alone on the fireplace grate.

  He ought to light a fire, he thought savagely. Ought to toss the whole lot of them into the flames and watch them burn. Biting off an oath, he reached into the fireplace and plucked the letter from the cold ashes.

  He slid open the drawer, determined to seal it away with the others. But something stayed his hand. It might have been an elusive whiff of orange blossoms or the shock of seeing the deterioration of his mother's gently looping script in the last days of her life.

  Sterling's own hands trembled as he slowly uncrumpled the letter, smoothing it on the blotter before him. It was dated January 28, 1815—only five days before his mother had died.

  My darling son,

  Please forgive my atrocious penmanship. The laudanum I'm taking to dull the pain seems to befuddle the hand as well as the mind. Don't waste any of your pity on me. It is not such a terrible thing that I should die, only that I should die without seeing your precious face one last time.

  My Maker and I made our peace long ago, so I have no fear for my future. I consider myself blessed among women because I had the privilege of being your mother, if only for a few short years.

  His mother's voice was so clear she might have been standing just over his shoulder. Sterling pinched the bridge of his nose, thankful that his uncle had caned all the tears out of him long ago.

  We never said a proper good-bye and I have no intention of saying one now. Although I have been deprived of your sweet company for much of this life, it is my hope that I can watch over you from heaven. That I can send sunshine to warm you on a cold winter's day and pass my unseen hand over your brow when you are weary and the day is long.

  Wherever this life may take you, know that I will follow. And if I can't, then I will send one of God's angels in my stead.

  Sterling laughed in spite of himself. "You sent me an angel, all right, Mama. An avenging one."

  As much as it is within my power, I will see to it that you never walk alone. Not in this life, nor in the next. My hands may be shaking, but my heart is steady and it is with that heart that I make this final promise to you—a promise I will endeavor to keep through all eternity.

  Ever your loving mother,

  Eleanor Harlow

  Sterling traced his fingertip over her palsied signature. It was ever so slightly smeared, as if a tear had fallen, then been hastily blotted away.

  "You tried to keep your promise, didn't you?" he whispered.

  Laura had been wrong. He hadn't broken his mother's heart after all. In the end, her heart had been strong and true enough to survive all the cruel disappointments of her life—even his indifference.

  He gently folded the letter and set it aside. Drawing in a shaky breath, he reached down and slowly slid open the drawer. After a moment's hesitation, he chose a letter from the top of the stack, broke the wax seal, settled back in his chair, and began to read.

  When the duke of Devonbrooke came barreling out of the study the next morning, he plowed right over a freckled young maidservant. She tumbled to her backside, letting out a startled shriek and dropping the mop she'd been carrying.

  "Oh, Yer Grace, I'm ever so sorry! I didn't know you was in there."


  She was struggling to scramble to her feet when he caught her by the arm and hauled her upright. "No need for apologies, dear. I'm the clumsy oaf, not you." He thrust the mop back into her hand and continued on his way, glancing over his shoulder to find her staring after him, her eyes as round as saucers.

  Sterling supposed he couldn't blame her. Although he was still garbed in his formal attire from the night before, it was much the worse for wear. His cravat hung loose around his neck and he'd abandoned his tailcoat altogether. He'd raked his fingers through his hair, but that had only made the unruly strands wilder than ever. But he was sure the most unsettling thing about him was his grin. A grin he couldn't quite suppress, no matter how hard he tried. After watching him mope around for weeks, a somber scowl his only expression, was it any wonder the poor girl thought he had lost his wits?

  Although it was nearly midmorning, the foyer was deserted and the hall was unnaturally quiet, much as it had been when his uncle still lived. Sterling didn't realize how accustomed he'd grown to the cheerful chaos of Lottie and George quarreling, Dower swearing, and Cookie singing as she bustled about the kitchens. They must all still be tucked away in their beds, he decided, sleeping off the aftereffects of the ball.

  He was halfway up the stairs when he heard Addison's crisp footfalls on the marble floor below. "Your Grace!" the manservant called out, his voice resounding with an uncommon urgency. "I must have a word with you."

  "Sorry, Addison. I haven't a minute to spare. I've wasted enough precious time already."

  "But, my lord, I—"

  "Later," Sterling sang over his shoulder as he strode across the balcony, heading for the east wing.

  A snippet from one of his mother's letters echoed through his mind:

  My little Laura grows more lovely every day, yet still I find myself fretting over her future. I fear she will not be content with mere affection as long as she hungers for that all-consuming passion which most women dream of, but never find.

  Sterling was surprised to find the dogs milling restlessly about in the corridor outside of Laura's door. As he approached, Caliban began to whine while Cerberus lifted his massive foot to paw at the door.

  "What is it, lads?" he asked, bewildered by their behavior. "I wouldn't blame her for locking me out, but you're hardly deserving of such a fate."

  Sterling tested the knob, only to discover that the door wasn't locked at all. As he pushed it open, the dogs brushed past him and began to circle the room, sniffing at everything they could reach.

  As Sterling gazed around the barren chamber in mute disbelief, he was tempted to do the same. It seemed that her scent was all that remained of Laura. The room had been stripped of everything else that had belonged to her, leaving no sign that it had ever been occupied at all.

  Except for the folded piece of stationery that rested in the middle of the satin counterpane.

  As Sterling reluctantly unfolded it, he was reminded of the first time he had seen his wife's bold handwriting when she had written to inform him of his mother's passing. Although he hadn't admitted it, even then he had found her voice impossible to resist.

  Dear Sterling,

  I have no way of knowing if you'll ever read this or if you'll simply shut it away in the desk drawer where you keep your heart.

  There can be no denying that I wronged you. Although I might be willing to continue to pay for my sins for the rest of my life, I don't think it's fair to ask my unborn child to share in that penance.

  As the chamber began to spin, Sterling decided he ought to sit down. But he missed the edge of the bed and ended up sitting heavily on the floor. He leaned his head against the bed, sucking in a deep breath before continuing.

  It seems we are both to be commended for having done our duty. Since your attentions will no longer be necessary, I have decided to retire to Arden Manor for the duration of my confinement. Being that your sole reason for marrying me was to acquire an heir, I'm assuming a daughter will be of little interest to you.

  A daughter, he thought, dazedly running a hand over his mouth. A dark-haired, freckle-faced child who would bound into his arms and fling her chubby little arms around his neck. A bright-eyed dreamer still innocent enough to believe a sleeping prince could be roused with nothing more than a kiss.

  I must warn you that should our child be a son, I will not allow him to grow up in that mausoleum of a house with a cold, unfeeling ogre for a father. He will be raised right here at Arden Manor where he can be surrounded by sunshine and kittens. He will have his irrepressible aunt Lottie to adore him and his devoted uncle George to teach him how to cheat at whist. Cookie will stuff him full of hot cross buns and when he is old enough, Dower will teach him how to swear like a man.

  I will call him Nicholas and I will raise him to be the man you might have been had the world and your uncle not poisoned your soul.

  And no one, not even you, will ever take him away from me.

  "That's my girl," Sterling murmured, surprised to feel moisture on his cheeks.

  Please do not blame Diana or the servants for not alerting you to our departure. As I'm sure you know, Dower can be very resourceful when he has to be. Despite our differences, I shall continue to be…

  Your devoted wife,

  Laura

  Sterling pressed the letter to his lips. "If I have anything to say about it, you most certainly will be."

  He scrambled to his feet and charged out the door, already bellowing for his cousin.

  * * *

  Chapter 28

  « ^ »

  But even if that day should never come,

  know that I will always love you…

  As Sterling approached the north wing, a most remarkable sound slowed his long, impatient strides. He pressed his ear to the door of Diana's suite, beginning to wonder if lack of sleep wasn't scrambling his senses. But no, there it was again.

  Diana was giggling. His staid cousin, whose smile was as rare and precious as a rose blooming in winter, was actually giggling. Then came an even more shocking sound—the low, husky murmur of a man's voice.

  Sterling was too stunned to think. He simply lifted his foot and kicked open the door.

  Diana sprang up in the bed and snatched the sheet to her breasts, her dark hair tumbling loose around her pale shoulders. "How remiss of me," she said with acid politeness. "I must not have heard you knock."

  Next to her in the bed, a wild-eyed Thane appeared to be torn between ducking beneath the blankets or making a leap for the window. "Are you armed?"

  "Not at the moment," Sterling bit off. "Although I can ring for Addison to bring me my pistol if you feel it's necessary."

  Thane raised a placating hand. "Let's not be so hasty. There's no need to call me out. I can assure you that my intentions toward your cousin are entirely honorable."

  Sterling took in the garments scattered all over the floor, the rumpled bedclothes, the telltale flush on his cousin's cheeks. "Yes, I can certainly see that."

  "I've been trying to talk him into eloping to Gretna Green," Diana admitted, settling back on the pillows with a feline smile.

  "And I won't hear of it!" Thane was so outraged, he seemed to forget all about Sterling. "After all the years you've made me wait, you owe me a proper wedding. I want every gossip and scandalmonger in London to see what a beautiful bride you make."

  "But I don't think I can wait another day to become your wife."

  As the two of them rubbed noses, all but cooing at one another, Sterling rolled his eyes. "Laura's gone. She's left me."

  Thane and Diana exchanged a knowing look.

  "I can hardly blame her," Diana said.

  Thane shrugged. "It was only a matter of time, wasn't it?"

  Exasperated by their lack of alarm, he added, "She's carrying my child."

  Diana tilted her head to the side. "Is that why you want her back?"

  "No," Sterling snapped, his heart too full to manage anything else.

  Diana waved her hand
s at him. "Then why are you wasting time talking to us? Go after her! Go!"

  Sterling winked at his cousin before turning a threatening glower on his best friend. "I suggest the two of you elope, Thane. Because if you're not married by the time I get back, I'm afraid I'll be forced to shoot you."

  As he dragged the door shut on its loose hinges, the last thing he saw was Diana's triumphant smile.

  Sterling Harlow was going home.

  The hedgerows and fences flew past, their glossy leaves and weathered stones gilded by the light of the setting sun. The blue sky was slowly melting into shades of pink and gold, edged with a deepening ribbon of purple.

  As the day waned, summer seemed to follow. But Sterling drove his mount through the pockets of chill air so quickly he hardly felt them. He had no reason to fear the coming autumn. He planned to spend it toasting his toes in front of the hearth in the cozy drawing room of Arden Manor, watching his beautiful young wife's belly grow.

  If she would have him.

  Before he could find out, he had one more stop he had to make.

  By the time Sterling reached the churchyard of St. Michael's, the shadows of twilight were falling fast. He looped his horse's reins over the cemetery gate and picked his way through the leaning stones until he reached his mother's grave.

  Although Laura couldn't have been home for more than a few hours, a bouquet of fresh orange blossoms had been tenderly laid at the foot of his mother's stone. Sterling dropped to one knee and brought them to his nose, breathing deeply of their familiar fragrance.

  The alabaster angel who stood guard over the grave watched him with knowing eyes. Laying aside the flowers, Sterling gently traced the inscription on the stone with his fingertip.

  Eleanor Harlow, Beloved Mother.

  He bowed his head, free at last to grieve not only for the years they'd lost to his father's greed and duplicity but also for the years his own pride had cost them. He remembered kneeling in the church at Laura's side, pretending to pray even though he knew no one was listening. Now he knew someone was listening, yet there were no words to express what he so desperately needed to say. So he simply knelt there, his spirit in turmoil and his heart bereft.