Page 43 of A Lady's Heart Deceived
Him. Do not ever speak his name again. You must think of him ashim.
“Would you grant me a boon, Piers?”
“Of course. Anything. Name it.”
“Let’s agree not to make any mention of former loves for the rest of the day. I know you want to explain what happened between you and her, but I . . .” She sighed.
Her efforts at being light and cheerful had taken their toll. Maggie had little left to give.
The warmth of his hand on hers had her fighting back tears. There were times when Piers appeared to have strong instincts when it came to what she was feeling, but in other moments, he seemed to flounder.
But at least he was trying. At least he cared.
They sat in silence, gazing at the city which spread out before them at the bottom of the hill. If only it could be this way between them always. Friends who could share quiet moments.
She lay her head back against the upright of the bench and closed her eyes.
But what if it could be more? Would you dare to risk your heart again?
There was only one way to find out the answer to that question. It would mean having to open herself once more to the possibility of another crushing heartache.
I’m not sure if I would survive it a second time.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The fire was burning low when Maggie woke in the dark of the night. Piers was asleep in the chair opposite to her, his hands folded on his stomach. She grinned as he twitched in his sleep—he was clearly lost deep in a dream. A glance at the clock on the mantelpiece showed it was just after the hour of midnight. Bed beckoned, but she resisted the call.
After returning to the house, and both politely declining any supper, they had set themselves up in the small sitting room at the end of the second-floor hallway. A warm fire created a cozy nook for the two of them.
While Piers went through his military paperwork, filing reports and writing letters, Maggie penned some of her own correspondence.
She wrote letters to her family, including one to her new sister-in-law, Leah, in Cornwall. Her missives included the highlights of her journey north. She made note of the wonderful food and the interesting sights but didn’t include anything of real substance.
Informing her family of the outcome of her trip wasn’t going to be easy. She didn’t make mention of the discovery that Robert was still alive, her rationale being that some things were better said face to face. Or perhaps not at all. What she was actually going to tell her family, she hadn’t yet decided.
Did I mention that the man I grieved over all those years isn’t actually dead? Oh, and that he already had a wife and family when he met me. But it’s not a problem because he says that my love for him was nothing more than trifling.
Burning shame and embarrassment sat continually at the corner of her conscious thoughts. While her parents and Piers could be trusted to keep it all a secret, she wasn’t sure if living a lie was the right thing to do.
But if it protects the innocent, then perhaps that is the greater good.
Her mind continued to wander, now settling on the man who slept but a foot or two away. Maggie was certain that his dark locks whispered for her to touch them. In repose, Piers was even more handsome than when he was awake. She hadn’t thought that possible, but sleep softened the worry lines which often sat deep on his brow.
Piers clearly had his own problems, and yet here he was, doing his utmost best to help her.
Why didn’t the two of you marry? And why did Lady Dinah hold off on letting the world know you were free? Was she hedging her bets?
Piers stirred in his sleep. Maggie was in two minds as to whether she should wake him and insist he go to bed. But her long experience with both her father and brother had taught her to leave slumbering males well alone. They tended to be grumpy creatures when woken.
She left him snoozing in the chair and went back to her bedroom; there, she collected her heavy woolen cloak and made her way downstairs and out into the night garden. Piers was right about fresh air and the healing effect it had on one’s mind.
It was a crisp November night. The air was clear, but it held the promise of a frosty morning. Maggie loved this time of year.
This year, she would look forward to Christmas at Strathmore Castle—to snowball fights with her cousins and the gigantic bonfire which Ewan always commissioned the estate workers to build for the eve of Hogmanay. The annual march up to the castle by the local villagers, where the First Foot ceremony would take place just after the stroke of the new year, was her particular favorite moment on the entire calendar.
There was just under a month until the family gathered at the ancestral seat—time in which she could put her thoughts to her plans for the fresh year which lay ahead.
To new beginnings.
