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Was there a chance after all? And if so, did she dare to take it?
Chapter Thirteen
Midsummer Eve, 1816, Crevitch Castle, Somerset
Ashley found his Uncle George asleep in one of the armchairs in the library. He’d come in here before bedtime, thinking to find a book that might help him sleep. It had been a busy day and a busier evening, and he should be tired. Ready to fall into his comfortable bed and not wake up until morning.
And yet he knew that wouldn’t happen.
There was too much on his mind, too many regrets and memories, and the painful acknowledgement that it was time to let Juliet go forever. At one point in the evening, he had found himself watching her, longing for the right to walk across the room and take her in his arms. He had had to work very hard to stay where he was, especially when she seemed to be looking back at him with the same emotions.
His uncle gave a snore and woke himself up. He blinked about him and spotted Ash.
“There you are, my boy!” He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, wincing at some bodily pain.
“You should be in your bed,” Ash told him, fondly. “Do you want me to help you up the stairs?”
Like many of the other guests, George was staying the night at the castle.
“Your mother wanted me to talk to you. I wanted to talk to you.”
Surprised, Ash wondered what that meant. His mother seemed to be doing a lot more interfering than she used to, and he wasn’t sure he was happy about it. True, she had been kind when he spoke of Juliet, and perhaps Juliet’s invitation tonight was because of her, but what his mother didn’t know was that Juliet loved someone else now. It was over.
Seeing her here, in his home, imagining what might have been, had only make things more difficult for him and awkward for her.
“Talk to me about what?” he asked his uncle. “We can discuss any estate matters in the morning. I think we are both tired and—”
“About my decision to send you into the army, Ash.”
His uncle had been avoiding his eyes but now he looked up, as if forcing himself to meet them. He looked shaken and, although Ash could hardly believe it, afraid.
“Do not forget what you owe to your family, Ashley.”
He could hear his Uncle George’s voice, lecturing him before he went to Spain.
“You must marry well, someone who will bring wealth and prestige to Crevitch. You can choose from nearly anyone in the land, you know. Don’t be afraid to aim high.”
And then Ash insisting that he loved Juliet, forcing that promise from George. The promise he had never acted upon.
Now Ash looked about, startled, realising that this was the very room in which their conversation had taken place.
“You did what you thought was right,” he said at last. “I understand that. I don’t blame you.”
George stared at him a moment, and then he sighed. He seemed to have aged even more
in the last few minutes. “I didn’t realise,” he said quietly, “not until Felicity ripped into me.” He smiled grimly at the memory. “You wanted me to talk to Mr Montgomery about his daughter, to ask him to wait until you returned? I didn’t do that. I thought you’d forget her. I thought it was for the best.”
Ash sat down in the chair facing him.
George cleared his throat again. “You were a brave soldier. Too brave. You put yourself into dangerous situations for the sheer hell of it, and when you were wounded in that act of heedless bravery, everyone said how heroic you were. But I think I knew then.”
“Knew what?” Ash demanded quietly.
“That you had done it on purpose, in the hope that you would die. Because Felicity had written to you about Juliet Montgomery’s marriage to Baron Flett, and you no longer cared about your own safety.”
George was staring at him, and he looked grey with fatigue and the memories from that time.
“She knew as soon as we heard you’d been badly wounded. She was very angry. I don’t think you realise how angry your mother can get, Ash.”
