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One of their mother’s favorite sayings. She saw the last of the tension drain from his face, leaving only compassion.
“Aye, lass, that’s true. I’ll get you back to Whitby and you’ll forget what you’ve been through right soon enough.”
He was wrong, but she honored his attempt to cheer her. “We can’t stay in Whitby, Ben. The scandal of the false Mrs. Symonds will still be the talk of the town.”
He urged the horses to walk on. “Then we’ll buy a sheep farm where no one’s any the wiser about who you are. We’ll get Maria out of that school and have her live with us. Don’t you fret owt, lass. Good Yorkshire air will bring the roses back into your cheeks. This won’t seem so bad when your family’s around you.”
“Yes, Ben,” she said, although she didn’t believe it.
She stared over the horses’ flickering ears and told herself the pain would pass. One day. When she was very old.
When she was dead.
They drove on in silence, while Verity tried not to remember. Remembering hurt too much.
But she couldn’t help it. And her starkest memory was of Kylemore’s face when he’d asked her to marry him today. He’d looked as though her refusal had crushed his last hope.
Ben intruded into her private hell when he shoved a crumpled white handkerchief in her direction.
“What’s this for?” she asked unsteadily.
“You’re crying, lass,” he said in a gentle voice.
“Am I?” She raised a shaking hand to her face and found it soaked with tears she hadn’t known she’d shed.
No, she’d never forget. Not even when age turned her hair gray and lined her face. She didn’t want to forget, however much remembering tortured her.
Silently, she wiped her face and stared ahead. She gave up her futile battle with herself and began to revisit each precious moment of the last weeks.
The cruelty, the violence, the sadness, the sweetness.
The overwhelming love.
Beside her, Ben clicked his tongue to encourage the horses to a faster pace.
“What the Devil?”
Ben’s muttered imprecation stirred Verity from her stupor of exhausted misery.
“Oh!” The curricle lurched to an ungainly halt and threw her hard against her brother’s side. She clutched at his shoulder as the horses neighed and plunged in their traces.
“Someone’s blocked the road, Verity lass,” Ben said, peering ahead.
“Blocked the road?” she repeated daze
dly.
Before she could gather her thoughts, rough hands grabbed her and hauled her from the carriage. Surprise more than terror made her scream for her brother as her assailant hurled her to the road. She landed painfully on one knee and threw out her hands to save herself from sprawling flat.
“Verity!” Ben shouted as two men dragged him from his seat and flung him to the ground beside her. She struggled to rise, ignoring the way her grazed and bleeding palms smarted.
“Don’t hurt him. I’ll come willingly,” she said sharply.
In spite of the harsh treatment, joy flooded her heart. This wasn’t some random robbery. Kylemore must have come to get her and take her back to the valley.
She didn’t care if they couldn’t be together forever. She didn’t care that what they did was wrong. She’d be with him now. That was all that mattered.
She looked up at the brawny men in nondescript clothing who surrounded her, expecting to recognize a Macleish or two.
