The Trouble with Love (Distinguished Rogues Book 8) Page 24

  He believed it, too. When he’d spoken to the vicar, and after he’d explained that there would not be a wedding involving Miss Quartermane, the man’s first response was to enquire about whether he had considered asking for Whitney Crewe’s hand, instead.

  It seems Whitney had been more sociable than he’d realized, and there was a greater disappointment that she had gone away than expressed for the Quartermanes’ hasty departure.

  “Thank you. I don’t expect to return soon, so if you need anything, just call at the estate and Thompson here will take care of you both.”

  “Well, I won’t need any new dresses for many years,” Nancy said with a laugh.

  They had reached his carriage, but he turned back. “Why is that?”

  Nancy beamed. “Miss Crewe gave me an armload of gowns and frilly things she said she couldn’t possibly take with her. Some of it were too fine for me, but she said I could do what I liked with everything I didn’t want. Miss Jones has a pretty new gown for her wedding day, Mrs. Jennings a fine shawl for church, and Miss Lambert has a sturdy pair of boots and thick stockings for the coming winter. It’s almost as if she’s already your lady and taking care of us.”

  “That was very generous of her, and of you to share,” he said, and he was more than pleased. Whitney would make an exceptional countess one day. “I hope upon my return to bring her home with me.”

  He did not say how long that might take. He’d no notion how long Whitney’s travels and adventure would take, but he wanted to be at her side for all of it. If she would have him. He would wait until he was sure he was well and healthy before even mentioning the possibility of fulfilling his dreams, of marriage and a family, with her.

  Chapter Thirty

  “I do apologize for the inconvenience,” Captain Williams told her, fidgeting and looking uncomfortable amid the delicate chairs of Everett’s parlor for the third time this week. “I’m under orders to wait until the weather improves.”

  “Well, you can hardly be blamed for poor sailing weather.” Whitney nodded, peeking outside at the fine day. How the wind could be so brisk here and absent from the port where the ship remained at anchor confounded her. “How soon do you think we might be able to get underway?”

  “That is in the hands of the weather gods. Sunrise tomorrow, or it could be as long as three days hence.”

  Whitney had already been delayed days, and now there seemed no choice but to be patient a little longer. “I see. Well, thank you for coming all this way, Captain Williams. I shall extend my stay here and remain in readiness for your eventual summons.”

  He touched his cap politely, and Mr. Roberts showed him out. Once she was alone again, she flopped back in her chair and groaned. “This is so unfair!”

  “Did you say something, Miss Crewe?”

  She turned, discovering her companion hovering at the door. She’d become very comfortable around the kind woman, since making her acquaintance. She considered her as much a friend as a paid companion already. “Only complaining of the lack of wind.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  She considered a moment but then nodded. Why not? She had nothing else to do and no desire to paint. “May as well. Thank you.”

  “I’ll be back in a moment. Oh, and now that you’re not leaving today, could Mr. Roberts slip down to the market for me?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “He won’t be back for at least half an hour. I hope that suits you.”

  “I’m not expecting any other callers today.” She smoothed out her skirts as if she’d not a care in the world.

  But once Mrs. Roberts had gone, she put her head in her hand and cursed softly under her breath, dispirited by the delay that would keep her stranded in the port town. It was not fair. She was ready, more than ready to leave everything behind and start again.

  She heard a door open and close somewhere in the house. Mr. Roberts, undoubtedly running off on his errand.

  “Am I doomed never to leave England,” she whispered.

  “If you are doomed to stay, I shall be the happiest of men, Miss Crewe,” Everett replied as he stepped into the room.

  Whitney sat up so fast her head spun. “Everett?”

  His lips twitched with a smile. “Hello, Trouble. What the devil are you still doing here?”

  Whitney squinted at him again. Yes, Everett was truly here, one brow raised, and looking more handsome than was possible. Her heart beat wildly at the sight of his pretty face as she stood. She drank in the joy of seeing him again. He looked very good in his dark coat, and although she should be ashamed, she rushed across the room and threw herself into his arms.

  He caught her and held her tightly against his warm, hard body.

  “What are you doing here?” she exclaimed.

  He released her slowly and then stepped back. Whitney drank in his appearance again—and then noticed he wore a dark band about his upper left arm.

  “Oh, Everett. I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

  She hugged him tightly again, but he seemed eager to escape her embrace.

  “Be careful,” he warned.

  Unfortunately for him, she happened to like holding him. “This is careful enough.”

  He cupped the back of her head gently, holding her firmly at arm’s length. “I missed you.”

  “It’s been a week,” she reminded him. Far to many horrible lonely hours where she was denied his company.

  He brushed his gloved fingers across her cheek softly. “And in that time so much has changed that I could not wait to speak with you again.”

  That reminded Whitney that he was supposed to be a husband. Or had the wedding been put off because he was in mourning now. “Where is Alice?”

  “In London.”

  Relief was instant and overwhelming. Alice loved London, and Whitney loved Everett. “What brings you to Dover?”

  “You,” he said.

  “When did your sister pass away?”

  “A few days ago.” He closed his eyes briefly. “It was quite simply the worst night of my life.”

  She took his hand in hers. “I am so sorry.”

  “She is at peace now, buried the day before yesterday.”

  Whitney led him to a chair and pressed him into it. “You came all this way to tell me?”

  “Yes. No.” He sighed deeply. “I came, not expecting you to still be here.”

  Was fate yet again tipping its hat in her direction and giving her one last chance to be with the man she loved? Unfortunately, she was at a loss for words at that moment. She simply stared at him, trying not to smile because he was in mourning now.

  “I want to tell you something important that I hope will please you.” He smiled quickly. “It seems you were right.”

  “That would be a first,” she quipped. “But what about?”

  “I could have met you as a married man today.”

  “Could have?”

  He nodded slowly. “If Miss Quartermane hadn’t cast me off, I would have been married to a woman I could never love. You were right that I should never have offered for her.”

  Whitney forced her mouth to close so she could swallow. “When did she end the engagement?”

  “The day I told her about Emily’s poor health. She was quite upset and fearful. They left my estate the next morning while I was away, in something of a panic I’m told.”

  “What day was that exactly?”

  He bit his lip, and then winked. “The day before you left Twilit Hill.”

  “So they were gone before we made love in the garden? That would mean I was not the worst friend in the world for wanting you.”

  His grin returned. “I was not engaged to Miss Quartermane then, and you are the best friend anyone could ever want.”

  She shook her head, eyes filling with tears at his deception. “Why didn’t you tell me you were free?”

  He leaned forward, hands clenched together between his knees. “I couldn’t risk that you m
ight stay. Because of what happened between us, I was afraid you might think I expected you to change your plans for me. I learned about your parents from Miranda, how they died, and I could not risk it. I could not abandon Emily, and with my houseguests gone, I spent every moment with her until her last breath.”

  “You were a good brother.”

  “I’m not so sure.” He shook his head, and Whitney lowered herself to kneel at his feet.

  She clasped his hand and laid her chin upon it as she looked up at him. “I suspect I know why you feel that way. I really do. When my parents were ill, at the very end of their suffering, I just wanted it to be over. For an end to their pain, and mine.”

  He tightened his grip on her hand. “How well you know me. I didn’t want to lose her, but I wanted her to go so she would not suffer again.”

  Whitney nodded, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. “It isn’t fair that anyone should suffer.”

  He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “No, it wasn’t fair.”

  Whitney rubbed his thighs briskly, shaking off her sadness. “Now what for you? Are you returning home soon?”

  He shook his head. “I made a promise to call on you. Do you still care for me, Whitney?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Such a foolish question. I am kneeling and touching you while we talk, aren’t I?”

  A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “So you are.”

  “I would be sitting in your lap and kissing you if I thought you would allow it,” she admitted with a soft laugh, hoping to divert him from his grief.

  His eyes sparkled with warmth and her heart melted. “When do you leave?” he asked.

  “I await the wind and tide, unfortunately. One of which seems to have vanished completely. All of Fremont’s ships are becalmed in the harbor for the present, or so Captain Williams keeps telling me.”

  “What rotten luck for you,” Everett said with a slow grin as he pulled her to her feet to stand with him. He brushed his thumbs over her rings. “But how fortunate for me that I arrived before you could sail. Do you have plans for today?”

  “I am entirely aimless,” Whitney confessed.

  “Let me spend what time you have left ashore with you. There is so much I want to say to you, now that I can.”

  “I’d be very grateful for your company.” Whitney grinned widely. “Where shall we go? What shall we do?”

  “I think our first step is to find me somewhere else to stay,” he said with a wink. “The proprieties must be observed.”

  “You could stay. This is your home, and Mr. and Mrs. Roberts make wonderful chaperones.”

  He glanced around. “So you truly did hire someone?”

  “I would be foolish to travel alone, wouldn’t I? There are any number of scoundrels who could seduce me,” she teased.

  “I’m one of them,” he confessed. He seemed to consider the matter a few long minutes but then nodded. “We must always take care of your reputation.”

  “And yours, too,” Whitney agreed, and saw him smile again. She walked her fingers up his chest. “I’m glad you have come, and I know what you’re thinking, my dear man.”

  He cast a quick glance around the room. “I am calculating how many hours it will be until we can undress ourselves,” he whispered.

  “Exactly.” Whitney grinned. “Mr. and Mrs. Roberts retire early every night. You’ll like them, I think, and they will like you, too.”

  He laughed softly. “Now, about that conversation we must have. I am now free to say—”

  The man was simply too adorable. Whitney flung herself into his arms again and held him tightly. “I feared I’d never see you again.”

  “I did too.” He kissed the top of her head. “I am free to speak from my heart at last. I love you so much, Whitney. I think I must have fallen the moment you beckoned me close.”

  “And I love you, too, but it will do us no good. I am to leave any day now.”

  “I don’t want you to stay,” he promised her.

  Whitney drew back, staring at him in astonishment. “You love me but don’t want me?”

  He caught her fingers and tugged her into his lap. “You crave adventure, and I love you for it. I will not forge bonds between us that destroy your dreams. I had responsibilities until my sister’s passing. I would never want you to give up what you hold dear. So you will travel the world, discover new sights and paint them, but I hope that from time to time you will think of me fondly, and write on occasion, so that I may know that you are well and happy and safe.”

  “I always think of you. It is most distracting.” Whitney tugged on the ring encircling her thumb. She couldn’t bear to let him think her indifferent. “This belonged to my father. I want you to wear it always.”

  She held the beloved relic before Everett’s hand and found a finger the piece fitted. He stared at it. “Do I dare imagine this means we are engaged?”

  “You can. I will not be away forever, even if I cannot say when I will return. Can you bear to wait for me?”

  “Only if you wear this.” He tugged his signet ring off and placed it on her bare thumb. “Wear this and know I will always be yours,” he whispered.

  Whitney admired the ring, deciding it looked perfect on her hand among her others. “We are engaged.”

  “We are indeed.” Everett pressed his head to hers. “I will wait for you, for however long it takes.”

  Whitney’s eyes filled with tears, and she lifted her face to his, yearning to feel his lips slide across hers just once. They stared at each other, but Everett merely pulled her into his arms and held her close. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You couldn’t ever,” she promised. Holding each other close had to be enough. For now. “I see your face whenever I close my eyes,” she whispered.

  “That must be distracting,” he said with a chuckle.

  “It is wonderful. You know I find you very pretty,” she murmured.

  “Ah, about that. You know that I love your unconventional ways, from your enjoyment of wetting me to your fondness for wearing pink, but do you think you might describe me as…well…a little less feminine in future? We are engaged, after all, and the other sounds almost insulting.”

  She laughed loudly. “My dear Lord Acton, if I should speak the truth of how well I admire your body, we would both be cast out of good society for at least two dozen years.”

  “Two dozen? Well, I’ll risk it to hear the truth from your lips just this once.”

  “You are the man of my fantasies, a most arousing package of masculinity that makes my knees weak and my breath catch every time you are near. I am in love and lust, my dearest lord, and I fear I am quite mad for you.”

  “Mad for me is better than being mad at me,” he whispered. “I confess I experience similar desperation that soon you will be so far away. So I have a compromise to offer: take me with you, Whitney Crewe. I’ll carry your bags. I am, as I have forever been, all yours.”

  “So wonderfully romantic of you.” Whitney grabbed his head and drew him close to deliver the kiss she’d waited her whole life to offer the person who’d claimed her heart.

  Epilogue

  Six months later…

  Whitney twitched in her mourning gown, staring out at the changing colors of the sea one last time from the terrace of her temporary home with a feeling of great trepidation. She was leaving today; beginning the journey to England after the sudden death of a man she’d come to admire so much. She once would have given everything she owned not to have to go back home but accepted she must.

  But she couldn’t be selfish. She had achieved her dream, studied and painted every day, learning so much about the life of a painter, too. Enough to know that her art would always be important to her, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy her now.

  Whitney was about to set off on a new journey that would consume the rest of her life.

  She rested her hand over her churning stomach and sighed. Everything was about to change. Her whole wo
rld was about to alter, settle into place—if she were fortunate.

  “I think we have everything ready to go,” Everett promised as he strode across her terrace, his strong voice evidence of his good health and vitality. Coming to Florence to mourn his sister had done wonders for his outlook on life. He no longer frowned so much. He even ran about a bit after the local boys when they tried to play tricks on him.

  She could have turned to face him, admire his tanned features, yet she knew them by heart. She could never get enough of looking at him, and, if she had her way, she never would have to. “Did you have Roberts check under the bed?”

  “At my villa and at yours.”

  His hands closed over her shoulders and he drew her against him, pushing her grief aside. She had been mentored by a little-known painter she’d met one night at dinner, who had charmed her and Everett both. Roland had become her staunchest supporter, and the hardest taskmaster she’d ever had. Under his watchful eye, she’d stretched herself as a painter. Under his discerning gaze, she’d come to understand where her greatest strengths were as a person, too. “I saw his wife this afternoon. She wished us a safe journey.”

  “I spoke to her, too, just a few minutes ago.” He squeezed her shoulders. “She will be all right without him. She has her children and grandchildren to support her. She is surrounded by family and her friends here.”

  “I’m glad she has them.” She fell silent, enjoying Everett holding her. Whitney wasn’t sure what she would have done if she’d lost him, as he’d feared she might. They had lived largely separate lives for the sake of propriety, but she was more in love with him than she’d thought possible.

  Whitney had found keeping a proper distance from him, one he’d claimed was required for her health, incredibly frustrating. He merely winked whenever the topic of forbidden pleasures came up and soon changed the subject, most often to her latest work or someone else’s they’d recently seen. They had maintained an independence from each other and slept alone every night too, but, now they were going home to England, Whitney wanted the separation to end. “When are we going to talk about it?”