Page 12 of Mine This Winter
After years of imprisoning his emotions, he released them from their shackles. “You could have told me you were unsure about your feelings. You could have been honest instead of blaming my father. Hell, even when your brother delivered the letter written by your own hand, I struggled to believe you wrote it. That’s how much faith I had in you. That’s how much faith I had in us.”
Despite the vehemence in his tone, she stared through him, not saying a word. But then she shook her head. “What letter?”
“The letter you sent the night I left England.”
She started blinking and couldn’t seem to stop. “I never sent you a letter. One minute, we were kissing and enjoying a picnic, and I believed my whole life was mapped out before me. Hours later, Oliver told me you’d left. I’ve been confused ever since.”
What the devil?
He scoured his mind, dragging buried memories to the surface. “Oliver delivered the note to Whitney Grange. It looked like your handwriting. I feared your father had discovered our secret, decided I wasn’t good enough and persuaded you against a match.”
The frown lines on her brow deepened. “I was told you’d had a change of heart. I came to Whitney Grange in the dead of night, but your father said you’d left for the Continent.”
The words penetrated his armour, bringing with them the sudden realisation all was not as it seemed. Had he spent five years living with a mistruth? Five years trying to forget the woman whose callous words had cut like a knife?
“Do you take me a fool? I heard the truth fall from your lips.” He had not waited at Whitney Grange like a milksop. He hadn’t bothered to saddle his horse but had sprinted across the fields, hoping to change her mind and make her see sense. “You said you couldn’t marry a pauper. You said you couldn’t risk a child inheriting my father’s roguish ways.”
She jerked. “How could you think I would say such things?”
Simon dragged his hand down his face. “For the love of God, I saw you in the garden. I heard you tell your father you wanted to marry someone with a title.”
She touched her fingers to her forehead as if dazed. “I don’t know who you saw that night, but it wasn’t me. What time did you call?”
“Seven. Ten minutes after your brother left.” It had taken that long to catch his breath and stop his head spinning. “You were sitting on the bench amid the topiary, talking to your father. Your father chased me away.”
“I—I went to visit Miss Marsham that evening and didn’t return until eight. You may ask my brother and maid.”
Confused, he stepped back. “You wore your blue pelisse with the sable-trimmed hood. The one you said made you itch.”
She suddenly snapped her spine straight. “Then you didn’t see my face. You couldn’t have.”
He closed his eyes briefly against the memory. Every cell in his body had convinced him it was her. “No, but based on?—”
“Oh, Lord!” Gwendolyn clasped her hand to her mouth, smothering a keen cry. Her knees buckled. She would have hit the floor had he not caught her. Tears streamed down her face. She grabbed his coat lapels. “I—I gave Mrs Samuel that pelisse.”
Simon froze.
The truth hit him hard in the chest.
The Gwendolyn he knew would never have been so shallow.
He’d been duped.
Five years wasted.
Five years spent living a lie.
He couldn’t speak, which was just as well. He might not have heard the heavy footsteps trudging along the landing, followed by a sharp feminine gasp.
“Mr Payne?” came a woman’s voice from the corridor outside. “You gave me such a terrible fright. What are you doing wandering about in the dead of night?”
Yes, what was Payne up to?
Had he been checking the route to the beach?
“I might say the same of you, Mrs Astley.”
“I’m unused to keeping country hours and am on the hunt for entertainment. Perhaps you’d like to join me for a little tipple. Something warm to chase away the cold. Have you brandy in your room?”
