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She nodded. Queasiness puddled thickly in the pit of her stomach.
“I fought him,” he said. “And in the scuffle, I knocked a lamp into the straw. That’s how the fire began.”
Oh, no. No, no, no. This was her every worst fear coming true.
She reeled to a halt and turned to him, eyes wide and burning with tearful fatigue. She wished she could shut them and just sleep. Pretend this conversation wasn’t happening. “But …” The word fell off her trembling lips.
“Yes.” He sighed heavily. “You know how it went from there. The horses … most of them died. Horrible, agonizing deaths. Your father was crippled trying to save them. The entire estate was lost, plunging the village into economic depression. And not a day has gone by in the fourteen years since that I haven’t thought of that night. Dreamed of it. And wished that I’d died instead.”
“Oh, no.” Her hand went to her mouth. “You can’t possibly blame yourself.”
Fool thing to say. Obviously, he could. And had, for all the years since. The realization seized her heart and wrung it hard. She couldn’t breathe.
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have fought him back. He wanted to beat that horse. I should have just let him beat me. I’d taken countless beatings from him over the years. If I’d just taken one more, none of it would have happened.”
“How can you say such a thing? That fire, it … it was an accident. It wasn’t your fault, Rhys.”
“I don’t believe in accidents. And it hardly matters whether or not I own the blame. The responsibility is mine, the duty to make it right. I’m Lord Ashworth now, much as I prayed I’d never live to inherit that title.”
“I …” A wave of dizziness unsteadied her. “I think I need to sit down.”
He pulled her over to a small row of steps leading up to a narrow stoop and urged her to sit on the topmost riser.
Then he sank to one knee before her.
“I couldn’t bear to hide it from you,” he said. “You deserve to know the truth. And I need you to know it. If you marry me …”
His voice trailed off. Meredith was struck by the significance of what he’d just said.If. For the first time, he’d used the word “if.”
“If you marry me,” he repeated slowly, “you’ll be waking up every morning next to the man responsible for your father’s injuries, the village’s plight, your own years of work and sacrifice. I need to know you can live with that.” He held up an open palm. “Don’t answer me right now. Think on it, good and hard, before you decide. You were right. I owe you this much, to offer you a real choice.”
His big hands engulfed hers where they lay folded in her lap. “I swear, if you give me the chance, I will fix everything.” Sincerity rang in his voice. “I vow to you before God, I will take care of your father for the rest of his years. I will make certain the villagers never go hungry. And I will devote all the strength of my body and all the determination of my soul to the purpose of making you happy. All I ask of you is the chance.”
She swallowed hard, shivering with emotion.
“I need this, Meredith. I need to make it right, or I don’t know how I’ll go on.” His eyes squeezed shut. “Please. Marry me.”
A tear streaked down her face. Lord, this was terrible. And not in the way he believed. Even if he had knocked over that lamp, she would never hold him blameworthy for that fire, nor any of its consequences. But could she truly consent to marry him, knowing that he viewed their marriage as a sort of penance for sins that weren’t even his own?
Perhaps she could, and that was the worst part of all. Even now, the word “yes” hovered on her tongue. She wanted him so much. Maybe she truly had it in her to let him live under that perpetual burden of guilt and keep him for herself, always. Maybe she could even trick herself into believing that if only she loved him fiercely enough, it would all be for the best, in the end. Did she have the capacity for a lifetime of deceit? She was a little afraid to look within herself and find out.
“You’ll think on it?” he asked.
She managed a nod. “Can we go home? Tomorrow?” She tightened her fingers around his. At home, everything would be clear. There, she would know what to do. “Rhys, will you just take me home?”
“If that’s what you wish …” Wearing a grim expression, he rose to his feet. “Yes, of course.”
She talked all the way home.
Rhys had never known Meredith could have so many words to speak and so very little to say. As the coach rolled on through Somersetshire and Devonshire, their cargo of porcelain and silver clinked in crates above them, whilst Meredith kept up a steady rattle of her own. He supposed she was afraid that if she stopped talking for any significant length of time, he would come forth with another shocking revelation. He didn’t know how to reassure her that there were none left.
So he simply sat and listened—the sound of her voice was never hard on his ears. Every once and a while, she would go pensive for a bit, but soon she’d burst forth with an entirely new topic. All of them, however, had something to do with the inn.
“I’ve decided what to work on improving next, once the new wing is completed.” Without waiting for his encouragement, she continued, “I need to help Mr. Handsford smarten up his house, and add a fresh coat of limewash to the church.”
He silently pondered the meaning of those two gestures, knowing he wouldn’t need to ask for an explanation.
Sure enough, one was soon forthcoming. “That’s one thing I learned from the hotel in Bath,” she said. “Remember we had that lovely view of the river? It’s not only the outward appearance of the inn that’s important, it’s the prospect a guest will see from her room. The church and Mr. Handsford’s cottage are directly across the road. They can be seen from each new room’s windows, so we need to be certain they’re looking their best. The entire village needs to look its best. Clean, bright, cheery. Perhaps we’ll paint all the shutters and sashes red.”
