Page 34 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Revelations of what the future holds.

Bea ran back to her room, closing the door and setting the basin and salve down on her chest of drawers.

The small looking glass that sat atop the chest showed her reflection reflected her own image, her skin flushed, her blue eyes dark with desire, her lips reddened and swollen from Stonehaven’s passionate kisses.

Moving to her washstand, she poured cold water into the basin, splashed it over her face before burying it in a towel.

She pressed the soft cloth harder against her eyes before stuffing it over her mouth as a sob rose in her chest. The pain of it pushed behind her ribs, making her want to rant and rave, to scream with the unfairness of a life where she was given the chance to love and be loved in return, but could not take it.

For a few moments Bea allowed the indulgence of self-pity, before forcing a deep breath into lungs that refused to expand, her chest tight with misery.

Resolutely, she stood and moved to the window.

Just beyond the trees was the sea. Though she could not see it, she felt it and knew it was there.

Opening the window, she sucked in another deep breath, tasting the tang of salt.

She had done this, she reminded herself, she deserved every second of pain for the way she had manipulated the man she loved, tricking him into believing she was someone else entirely, someone he might care for.

No one had forced her to spend time with Stonehaven.

She had known the danger to her heart, for she might be innocent in many ways, but she was not a fool.

So, Bea composed herself, washed her face once more and patted it dry, changed her gown, which was badly rumpled, and gathered up the things she had used to tend to Stonehaven’s scratches.

She replaced the salve in the medicine cupboard, washed the basin and set the cloths aside for boiling.

Then she walked down to the beach to meet Izzy and Mrs Mabbs and the children, and to think about anything but the man who consumed her mind, who occupied her heart, filling the space until there seemed no room left for anything else.

Though the reverend was likely waiting for him, Stonehaven sat on the edge of the bed for some time, unable to move.

His mind wanted to linger upon thoughts of Sally, upon daydreams of what they might have together, of how it had felt to lie beside her, to feel her heart thudding beneath his palm and know that it beat for him, just as his did for her.

He told himself he was a fool. This was just romantic nonsense.

He didn’t know the girl at all. The accident had left him vulnerable, his confidence shattered, and he might just as easily have formed a connection to one of the Honeywell girls.

How much easier if he had done so. Whilst hardly a brilliant match, he was past caring about such things.

Beaumarsh’s marriage was a wonderful success and if he’d thought he could follow suite he’d be delighted to do so.

He thought about the two remaining sisters.

Izzy was charming, but too young for his taste.

Beatrice was the prize, clearly. For his wife to possess such beauty would make him the envy of the ton.

Bea had always been kind to him too, had always looked at him with admiration, but she was so reserved, so shy, that he had never thought to look in her direction, despite how much he admired her.

Such a quiet girl could never hold her own with him, a man who blustered and shouted as often as he spoke tenderly.

She would likely burst into tears the first time he got irritated and reacted harshly.

Sally would not. Sally told him what she thought and felt; she would not jump in terror if he shouted and stomped about.

Likely she’d tell him not to be such a grumpy curmudgeon and talk him out of his bad skin until he could be rational again.

With a sinking heart, he realised it was pointless to think about it.

He had not fallen for one of the Honeywell sisters, but a serving girl.

There was no way to make her a part of his world without dishonouring her, and that he would not do.

But it also made something else very clear to him.

He could not marry Anne. Though he had offered and she had accepted, and he was honour-bound to go through with it if she insisted, he knew she would not.

His instincts had told him it was wrong, and now he knew he had been correct, though perhaps not for the same reasons.

He could not marry Anne when his heart was engaged elsewhere.

When they had both been free agents, with no romantic entanglements, it had seemed a reasonable solution, for there was always the possibility that they could reignite their friendship, and perhaps even come to love one another.

Now, he knew that was impossible. He would not marry a woman as bright and lovely and deserving of happiness as Anne and condemn her to such a life.

If the past days had taught him anything, it was that he was not helpless.

The road ahead might well be strewn with dangers for a blind man, but as George had so eloquently said, he would fall on his arse plenty, but he’d get back up again and keep on doing it too.

He’d show the bloody world that he was still the man he’d always been, and if that meant making mistakes and making himself ridiculous now and then, well, so what?

He was the Marquess of bloody Stonehaven, and no one was going to take that away from him.

Bold words, he thought sourly, and ones he meant to live by, but it did not soothe a heart unused to such passionate emotions, unused to not getting what it wanted, when it wanted it.

For the love of a girl who many would think below his notice, he would endure the pain and the regret and the loneliness and take comfort in the fact that his honour was still intact, and that Sally would always know that she had his heart, whatever good that might do her.

Stonehaven got to his feet, feeling as if he had aged a decade in the moments since Sally had left the room.

He wanted to do nothing more than stay within these four walls and lick his wounds in private, but his host had asked for a moment of his time, and he would give it.

Then, he must visit Anne at once and explain to her that no banns would be read, no marriage would take place.

He smiled at that, imagining the relief on her face, especially when he explained he was not doing so for her, but for himself, so there was no further need for her to feel guilty.

“Ah, Lord Stonehaven, just the fellow,” the reverend said cheerfully as Stonehaven opened the parlour door.

The day had grown cooler, and, with the evening, a chill was in the air.

Stonehaven could smell wood smoke and hear the crackle of a newly lit fire in the grate.

“I’ve opened a very interesting bottle, anticipating your presence. ”

“Ah, more bribery, is it?” Stonehaven said with a wry smile.

“If you wish to view it as such,” the reverend remarked, taking no offense. “I prefer to think of it as a method to soothe your nerves and help you think clearly upon an emotive subject. Here is your glass, my lord.”

“Mark Bevin is the subject, I collect?” Stonehaven said coolly, holding out his hand to accept the glass of wine.

“He is.”

Stonehaven sighed and lifted the glass to his nose, smiling as the complex aromas blended into something quite spectacular.

He could smell the forest, earthy, mossy scents, but spice too, a hint of Christmas that made him feel sorrowful that he would never experience that season in this house.

He could imagine the Honeywells’ home as the embodiment of everything Christmas stood for, and the wine evoked a picture of Christmas Day that made him feel increasingly melancholy.

Now, here was the Reverend Honeywell, as kind and good a man that ever lived, imploring him to save the life of a foolish boy who had hurt Stonehaven in ways he would never consider doing when sober.

Lashing out and retaliating against the stupid young man would not give him his sight back, nor make him feel better.

Indeed, Honeywell’s influence must be more insidious than even Stonehaven had realised, for he accepted now that he did not wish to revenge himself upon Mark Bevin, and that doing so would only make him increasingly bitter as guilt weighed him down.

“Well, sir, tell me what you think about that!” Honeywell demanded, a delightful hint of self-satisfaction ringing in his words.

Stonehaven laughed. Despite everything, he could still find humour in the situation, wretched as it was.

He would miss the old man. He took a sip of wine, savouring the intricate flavours and allowing the pleasure of something so rare and fine to distract him for just a moment.

He sighed. “Are you quite certain you are a man of God, sir? For I feel sure that the other fellow would use such tricks.”

“Ha! True, true,” Honeywell chortled gleefully. “But I promise ’tis not so. I have only your eternal soul in my thoughts, and the pleasure of sharing something so splendid with a fellow who appreciates it as I do.”

Stonehaven smiled and took another sip of the wine.

“Then I must thank you for your kindness, for all that you have done for me, and for the wisdom that you have shared. You are wiser than perhaps I gave you credit for, and for that I am sorry. I will bring no charges against Mark Bevin. He is free to go on the proviso that he must work for you, for the good of your church and the community for a period that you must decide. I know you will be fair, and that your influence will ensure that he will not behave in such a manner again.”