punished for doing so, but it was worth it. His gesture had drawn a smile from the countess, and he’d smiled back at her.
Had he instinctively recognized the woman who’d given him birth? Or was it simply that she was the antithesis of Betty?
Not only had she saved his life, but she’d changed it with her kindness. She’d given him an education that he wouldn’t have gotten without her. She’d given him part of herself, not knowing that he was her son.
He was leaving today. He’d already sent word to Peter to prepare the carriage. He’d go back to London and begin his legal fight to reclaim his name and birthright. He would never use Harrison’s name, but the title was his.
“Gordon?”
He heard her voice, but couldn’t bring himself to turn and face Jennifer. He’d never considered himself cowardly, but seeing her at the funeral yesterday had been almost more than he could bear.
“We need to talk, you and I.”
No, they didn’t. The fewer encounters with Jennifer, the better. He hadn’t even been able to write a note to her. The words wouldn’t come. If he didn’t see her, he could pretend that he was handling this situation with equanimity, that he was equipped to understand and even accept it.
“I really must insist.”
Didn’t she realize that you rarely got what you wanted in life? Life was a series of compromises. He’d learned that, even before leaving Adaire Hall.
He finally turned, wishing that he had been able to leave without seeing her.
They stood on opposite sides of the foundation. A curious place to have this confrontation, but perhaps the best spot of all.
“Gordon, what is it?”
Was there something on his face, some expression he couldn’t control? Something in his eyes, perhaps, that indicated what he was feeling?
“I’ve been told you’re leaving. Weren’t you going to say anything to me? What’s wrong? Will you at least tell me that?”
There, something he could respond to without feeling like his guts had been ripped from him.
“I have to return to London.”
“Were you going to go without telling me?”
Yes, if he could have. It would be easier. It would have been better.
The morning sun danced on her hair, bringing out auburn highlights. Her cheeks were slightly pink, indicating her emotions. Her green eyes were too imploring, too filled with emotion for his comfort. She was wearing a burgundy dress beneath her black cloak and looked every inch like Lady Jennifer, perfect, beautiful, and once his.
“I have to go,” he said. He sounded dispassionate enough. There was hardly any inflection in his tone.
She took another step toward him, and he almost turned and walked in the other direction. He couldn’t be near her. He couldn’t be close. Even now, knowing what he knew, he wanted to enfold her in his arms and comfort her.
A habit of a lifetime was difficult to break.
He should cling to those five years when he hadn’t seen her. Five years when he’d had practice in missing Jennifer.
“Would you tell me what I did?” she said. “Are you angry with me? What is it, Gordon?”
He only shook his head, wishing she would return to the Hall.
“Thank you for everything,” he said, his manners finally coming to the fore. “You’ve been very generous.”
“Why are you treating me like we’re strangers? You told me you loved me. You asked me to marry you.”
He looked up at the clear blue, unforgiving Scottish sky. He would forever remember that color. This day, this morning with its winter chill would always strike him as the end. Not of life, but of innocence, perhaps. Or a certain era where he believed that it was possible to achieve his goals. To be happy as he’d always imagined. Those hopes were forever dashed.
“I can’t marry you, Jennifer.”
“Why?”
She was not going to let it go, was she? She was not going to accept that everything had changed until he said the words.
“I’m going back to London, Jennifer. It’s best if we forgot this interlude. That’s all it was. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t real.”
She grabbed her skirt and stepped over the edge of the foundation, marching through the flower bed toward him.
Her cheeks weren’t simply pink now. They were red, and there was fury in her eyes. She’d always had a temper, and it was out in full force.
“What do you mean an interlude?” Her voice was this side of a shout. “What, you came back to Adaire Hall to amuse yourself? Oh, my father is dying, but in the