Page 11 of All Roads Lead To Earls (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #2)

Chapter Nine

G uilt took hold in Hannah. “That was not my intention,” she said. Cursing herself, she wished she could take the words back. She’d not only upset him with her rejection; she’d hurt him on a personal level.

“Do you really not care for me?” he asked.

“I care a great deal for you.” It was unfiltered honesty and the guilt began to lift.

“You are an honorable man and that is an excellent quality, but this has become somewhat silly and gotten out of hand. We both said things to save face. I’m sorry your words to had to be so public.

Once you return to Ireland you will agree that this was a harmless flirtation that was only the result propinquity. ”

“You’re that sure of my feelings, are you?”

She blinked with confusion.

“Well, I shan’t labor the point,” he said. “I thank you for your audience and bid you good day.”

An ache she had trouble naming took hold as she made a curtsey and he bowed over her hand.

She tried to further explain herself. “I believe it is important that we at least be honest with our feelings.”

“Agreed,” he said, then delivered a parting blow. “You also deserve to be honest with yourself about where your feelings lie.”

With that, he walked away with his head high, as if he’d won a hand in speculation, rather than stomping on her heart.

On the other side of the garden, Lady Amelia raised a brow, as if to ask if she needed company. Hannah shook her head and walked to a seat by the south-facing wall.

She’d heard the common adage that time healed all wounds, but this would take forever. It would be so convenient if time could speed up so that she didn’t feel so wretched.

Of course, marriage to Tullamore would not be a hardship at all.

It might even be tolerable. She laughed at herself, calling him Tolerable Tullamore.

His estates were sure to be lovely. There would be staff, she’d learn how to run the estate in a way that would please him.

But it would be a forlorn and lonely life without the love marriage required to thrive.

The Alwyns demonstrated this, as did Lady Amelia and her husband. Lady Amelia herself had not been born into nobility, so it wasn’t as if Hannah would be the first commoner to marry above her station.

Yet in good conscience, Hannah could not have accepted his proposal.

He’d made it in haste, to protect her honor.

He barely knew her. Their awkward conversation just now further proved her assessment – yes, he was honorable, and that was a lovely quality.

But he’d made no mention at all that he held her in any kind of esteem.

Marriage without love would be as cold and miserable as the approaching Welsh winter.

She longed for the joy of companionship and the love that would grow from that. How could they be companions if they were unable to esteem each other, much less develop that esteem into love?

It truly was a horrible mess, and, as reality dawned on her, this was one of her own making.

Lady Amelia’s footsteps sounded on the gravel between the garden beds. Hannah dashed her hands over her cheeks to dry the tears that had suddenly appeared.

“Oh my dear,” Amelia said, holding her arms out for an embrace. “I was hoping for a better outcome.”

“As was I,” Hannah admitted, leaning in to her employer’s kind arms.

“It takes some of them a little longer than others to see sense. Give it time.”

“I know,” she said, “But time takes too long.”

“It does at that.”

Several days later, his mood as dark as the clouds hanging low in the sky above, Patrick’s new coachman drove him the final miles to the town of Holyhead.

He didn’t need the coachman to remind him of how miserable he was, but this man found the perfect times to made observations about his sullen demeanor.

People often said misery loves company, but as far as Patrick was concerned, he was grateful for the solitude. His was a selfish misery that grew more robust with each passing mile.

Soon, he would be on the boat. In a day, he’d be in Dublin.

Good.

He never wanted to step foot in north Wales again so long as he lived.

The coachman stopped for a moment and pulled up the horses. What now, a highwayman? Well, he had nothing worth stealing so the ruffian could go begging.

A knock sounded at the door. It was the coachman. “Sir, please come and drive this last mile with me,” he said in a lilting accent “The scenery is something to behold.”

Patrick huffed, furious that this proud local was trying to cheer him.

Knowing his luck, the moment he sat beside the driver, the rains would fall and he could really lean into his discontent.

As he climbed up, he cast a look about. The landscape had rocky outcrops, stretches of green and some dense thickets marking the edges of fields and properties.

The ocean beyond had white foam capping the waves.

Every now and then a strong gust of wind whipped at his face, bending the shrubs on the side of the road.

The road itself was muddy and potholed, like much of the earlier road.

“Sir, I know it’s not my place to speak,” the coachman said.

“Go on then, that’s why you got me out here.”

“I will apologize in advance for talking out of turn, but I must speak my mind.”

“Get it over with, then.” The sooner this was over, the sooner he could get back into the carriage and wallow in his sour mood.

“When I first met my wife, she turned me down.”

He refused to take the bait. He knew exactly what this was about. But how dare this man who barely knew him make such assumptions?

Then it hit him, word must have already spread that he’d been turned down.

The coachman waited a good while for the reply that did not come, and eventually shrugged.

“I’ll do the talking for the both of us then.

I offered her, and she turned me down. And it there were a great many people who knew about it and by day’s end it felt like everyone in Caernarfonshire knew all about my business. ”

Grumpily, Patrick pulled his collars up against the wind but did not reply.

“But what nobody knew,” the coachman continued undeterred, “not even my future wife, was how I felt about her . Because I was too thick between the ears to notice that I hadn’t told her. I knew she was the only one for me, but I never said naught and she didn’t read my mind neither.”

Patrick grunted, barely following along.

The coachman said, “I’ve heard the talk, I know there’s gossip about you offering for Hannah Jones.

And you’re embarrassed that everyone knows you offered and she turned you down.

But did you tell her what was in your heart at all?

Because from everything I’ve heard, it seems as if you missed that step, and it’s an important one. ”

“I should have you flogged.”

“You can flog me but it won’t change facts. There’s a turning circle coming up, and it’s the last one before we get to the port.”

The carriage was on the downhill run at this point, and the top of the Holyhead lighthouse came into view.

Patrick clamped his jaw shut.

The coachman clearly didn’t value his life, as he kept on talking. “I take it from your silence that you didn’t tell her how you felt.”

With a huff, Patrick said, “I didn’t think I had to.”

“Well sir, you might well be an earl, but you’re the biggest fool I’ve ever met. If you didn’t tell her how you felt, how was she supposed to know?”

“Because I’m an earl!”

He was sure the coachman called him an idiot under his breath.

In stony silence they approached the turning area, which was full of mud and rocks and looked like the worst place to try and turn a carriage around.

“Last chance,” the driver said.

“Get off,” Patrick said.

“’Scuse me sir?”

“You’re done here. Take this letter with you, and deliver it to the boat.”

“May I grab my carpet bag from the back?”

“Be my guest,” Patrick ground out.

He waited in the cooling wind for the coachman to get his things and then come back to stand near the horses. He said farewell to each and then asked, “Is there anything else you’ll be needing me for?”

“We are quite done,” Patrick said.

The coachman waved and turned around, walking down the road toward the port.

It took perhaps half an hour for the driver to vanish from view. It took another second more for reality to land with a thud onto Patrick’s soul.

He could flog himself for being so incredibly dim.

When Lady Mary had ‘warned him off’ Miss Jones by telling him not to form an attachment, it wasn’t because the lady was trying to play games with his head, or that she did not think Miss Jones was good enough for him.

Which is what he had thought at the time.

No, it was because Miss Jones was so valuable and important to Rosstrevor Hall. A tonne of bricks could not have landed harder on him as he finally understood he wasn’t good enough for her!

He urged the horses on and headed toward the port, where he hoped to catch sight of his driver. He found him and apologised profusely, then gave the man an extra crown to show how sorry he was.

The sun was low on the horizon as the driver climbed back into his seat and Patrick sat beside him, their backs to the town of Holyhead.

With a flick of his wrists and a smile on his face, the driver urged the horses forward. “It will be nightfall before we reach the crossing,” the driver said. “Nobody will take you across in the dark, it will be too dangerous.

Patrick ran his hand across his brow in frustration. The coachman was absolutely correct. He’d have to wait to cross in the morning, but at least he was now heading in the right direction.

He’d been such a dolt. What a prize fool he’d made of himself, but that he could live with. If he’d ruined his chances with Miss Jones, he doubted he could.

As soon as he saw her, he would tell her how he felt. He didn’t even know himself how he truly felt about her, because those words hadn’t come yet. He’d sleep on it tonight and hope the proper words would arrive in the morning.

Even though he didn’t have the words, the feelings were there, and those feelings were showing him that he couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life without Miss Jones in it.

Once he told her, the decision on whether to reciprocate those feelings would be hers to make.

If she rejected him again, he’d simply have to live with his idiocy. But at least she would know. And so would he.

Why had it taken him so long to realize this?