Page 61 of The Beauty and the Boxer
“I thought so, too, back then,” she said,glancing back into the fire. “Clyde was so convincing. He told me Iwas the prettiest girl he had ever seen and how clever he thought Iwas and how I should marry someone my own age and shouldn’t it besomeone like him?”
“Why was he so invested?” Jack asked.
“Because,” she started, before stopping,biting her lip once more. It was evidently something she hadthought of a lot. “Because of Sarah’s marriage to Robert. The earlwas terribly wealthy and I told him so. Blast my stupid, youthfulfoolishness, but I told him that Robert was planning on setting upa hefty dowry for Beatrice and myself, at Sarah’s request. Shedidn’t want me to marry an old man either and told me in confidencethat I was to refuse every proposal Mama set up for me and theneventually I would be able to choose my own husband. I think Clydehad the very bright idea to marry me and receive that dowry.”
“Ah. I see.”
“I didn’t,” she said softly. “I thought heliked me, genuinely liked me. And he began telling me stories.Stories about us, running away together and being in love for therest of our days—well, I couldn’t help but want it.” She smiledsadly and Jack had the sudden urge to scorch these painful memoriesthat made her eyes so haunted. “I believed him and when he asked meto marry him, I said yes and we ran away.”
“To Scotland?”
She nodded.
“We were there for two weeks. There was atiny cottage at the base of a rolling cluster of hills, before asmall loch. It was humble. The floor was dirt and the bed was madeof straw, but it was cozy. There was a small hearth and not muchelse, but, oh, I did love it.” She paused, the ghost of a smile onher lips as she remembered. “It wasn’t grand in the least, but Iwas so happy.”
Jack felt the strangest sort of pull in hischest. That she could be so happy about a dirt floor and a strawbed simply because it meant she could be with the person she loved,well, it did something to him. He hadn’t realized he was holdinghis breath when she continued.
“I was blissfully unaware of the growingtension between us. At first, I thought he was securing our future.He wrote several letters and when he received responses to them, heseemed annoyed. With the arrival of each letter, his anger grew.The night before he left, we got into a terrible argument. Ithought for the longest time, had I not fought back so viciouslythat he might have stayed.”
A pause followed her words. Fought back? Thewords seemed to be the only bit he understood as fury beganbuilding deep within his core.
“Fought back?” Jack repeated, his voiceoddly chilled. “What do you mean fought back?”
“He hit me,” she said, her eyes glazing overas she spoke, almost in a daze as if she were replaying theincident in her mind. “He had been in a foul mood all that day andI must have suggested something or spoke too much, because rightbefore dinner, he struck me across the cheek.”
A deadly stillness overtook Jack’s entirebody as he processed her words. He stared into the fire as hischest rose and fell. Something seemed to break within him at thatmoment and his fists rounded. He was going to kill Clyde Peterson,actually kill him, when he found him. Because if there was everanything Jack Archer was certain of in his entire life, it was thathe was going to find him.
“Bloody bastard,” Jack bit out, barely ableto contain his rage as fury exploded in his chest. He stood up.“I’ll murder him.”
Meredith shook her head.
“It wasn’t terrible. And I did try to defendmyself,” she said as she continued. “But I was stunned for amoment. No one had ever raised a hand to me before. I supposethat’s a good thing, because the next minute my mind went blank andI hit him back.”
Jack stared at her, almost unable to believethat sweet, soft Meredith could ever lift a hand to someone inanger. He slowly sat back down, eyes locked on her.
“Is that the person you meant then? When Iasked if you had ever hit someone?” She nodded and he felt thecorner of his mouth hitch up as he imagined her striking back atthe blackguard. “I thought you might have had an argument with yoursisters as a child.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t never hit them.”
“No. I should have guessed that,” he said.“And did you make him sorry for touching you that way?”
“I wasn’t very good at landing my fists onhim. I wouldn’t even call them punches,” she said sheepishly. “AndI’m not proud of myself, but in the spirit of honesty, I will tellyou that I flailed my arms as hard and as fast as I could at him,until he ran out the door. He didn’t come back that night and whenI woke in the morning, he was gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes. He wasn’t swimming in the loch or inany of the fields. I went to the tiny village, some miles from thecottage, but no one had seen him. There was chatter in the nextvillage over that a horse had been stolen, but I didn’t think Clydehad done it. When he didn’t return to the cottage that night, Ifigured he had gone to get provisions.”
“How long did you stay there?”
“Seven days. I cried the entire time,thinking that I had ruined everything. It was seven days before theearl, accompanied by Sarah, came to get me, and brought me to myparents’ home.”
“Your brother-in-law went to get you? Notyour father?”
Meredith became very still.
“No. Papa hadn’t been well for some time andhe had died during the two weeks I was away. Mama always says Ihastened his decline.” She gazed down at her hands once more as herfingers knotted together. “I supposed I didn’t help it. I don’tthink she ever forgave me.”
“I doubt his death was your fault,” he said,but she didn’t seem to hear him. “What happened once youreturned?”
