Page 7 of The Wayward Lady (The Wayward Widows of Willoughby Hall #1)

T he rain lashed Lavender’s face as she tore through Kendrick’s garden toward Willoughby Hall. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks, blinding her. Sobs wracked her body, each gasp for air mingling with the cacophony of raindrops on leaves.

How could she have been so stupid? The memory of Kendrick’s lips on hers, tender yet passionate, now felt like a dagger twisting in her heart.

Married. She couldn’t believe he was married! They had been friends for months; how could he not mention something so important? Why had he kissed her if he had a wife? And where was his mysterious wife anyway? They obviously didn’t live together. Did he have another home in London?

Her feet carried her swiftly across the muddy path, her wet clothes clinging to her uncomfortably. Willoughby Hall loomed ahead, a bastion of safety in her storm of emotions.

Lavender burst through the front door, leaving a trail of mud and rainwater in her wake as she stumbled toward the drawing room. She pushed the heavy oak door open with a trembling hand, relieved to find Genevieve, Eden, and Daphne gathered around the tea table.

“Good heavens!” Genevieve exclaimed, her green eyes widening at the sight of Lavender’s disheveled state.

Eden rose swiftly, concern etched across her face. “Lavender, what’s happened? We’ve been worried sick about you ever since the rain started. We sent some of the footmen out to look for you.”

Lavender’s legs gave way, and she sank to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. “I’ve been such a fool,” she wailed, burying her face in her hands.

Daphne knelt beside her, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, which only made her cry harder as she remembered Kendrick doing the same. “There, there, dear. Tell us what’s troubling you.”

Through hiccupping sobs, Lavender recounted her encounter with Kendrick. “He found me on the beach,” she began, her voice quavering. “We took the shortcut along the cliffs, and I... I fell.”

“Were you hurt?” Eden interjected, her brow furrowed with concern as she swept Lavender with her gaze, looking for injuries.

Lavender shook her head. “No, but then he... he kissed me. So passionately. I thought...” She trailed off, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. She had thought that he cared about her. That he was as enamored of her as she was of him. Those moments she had spent in his arms had been some of the most erotic in her life. She had never felt such a spark with Geoffrey, which made no sense. She had been married to Geoffrey for years.

Genevieve leaned forward, her silver-streaked auburn hair gleaming in the firelight, her concern obvious. “What happened next, my dear? Did he force himself on you?”

“He better not have,” Daphne snarled, looking ready to go to Seacrest and murder him where he stood.

Lavender shook her head quickly, twisting her cold hands in her lap. “He took me to his home to get out of the rain. He was so sweet, so caring. But then...” Her voice broke. “Then he told me that he was sorry that he kissed me, that he shouldn’t have done it because... he was married.”

A collective gasp filled the room. Lavender’s heart clenched, remembering the tenderness in Kendrick’s dark eyes as he tended to her, the warmth of his touch as he wrapped her in the blanket. How could it all have been a lie?

“Oh, Lavender,” Genevieve murmured, her tone a mixture of sympathy and restrained anger. “I’m so sorry.”

“Did he offer any explanation?” Eden asked, her brow furrowed with confusion.

Lavender shook her head miserably. “I didn’t give him the chance. I just... ran.”

Daphne’s blue eyes flashed with indignation. “I cannot believe the gall of that man! To lead you on like that, knowing he was married all along.” She shook her head, even more beautiful in her anger. “And to think, none of us had any inkling he was attached. How could he have kept such a secret?”

“Perhaps his wife is abroad?” Eden suggested tentatively, but her voice held a note of doubt.

Genevieve grimaced. “Even so, behaving as he did with Lavender is unconscionable. A married man has no business kissing young ladies on cliffsides, rain or no rain.”

Lavender’s cheeks burned with shame. She was not a young lady. She was a widow in her thirties. She should have known better and been more cautious. But Kendrick had seemed so genuine, so caring...

Daphne’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts. “Lavender, darling, I don’t mean to be insensitive, but what on earth possessed you to get so involved with him in the first place?” She leaned forward, her gaze intense. “We have such a wonderful arrangement here. No men to answer to, no expectations to fulfill. Why complicate things?”

Lavender’s breath caught in her throat. “I... I don’t know,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I suppose I just enjoyed his company. It felt nice to have someone to talk to, to share things with.”

“But you have us for that,” Eden pointed out gently, sounding a bit hurt.

“You’re right,” Lavender said quickly, forcing a smile, even though it didn’t seem the same. As much as she loved her friends, it wasn’t like having a romantic partner. And even though it was ridiculous, she knew she had started to see Kendrick in that way. She had started to believe they might have a future together. “Of course, you’re right. I’m fine, truly. I will be, anyway. It was a momentary lapse in judgment, nothing more.”

As her friends continued to discuss the situation, Lavender’s thoughts drifted, shivers still wracking her. She nodded and agreed at the appropriate moments, but inside, her heart ached. How could she explain to these strong, intelligent women that deep down, she longed for something more than the life they had built here together?

Later, when Lavender finally retired to her room, she stripped off her wet clothes and sank onto her bed, again giving in to her sorrow, tears stinging her eyes and sobs choking her. She missed it—the simple joy of having someone to love, someone who loved her in return, the comfort of shared meals, laughter, and dreams. Her time as a wife had not been perfect, far from it, but there had been moments of such sweetness. She had felt needed and cared for, at least in the beginning.

A tear slipped down her cheek as she gazed out the window at Seacrest. Daphne was right. She should be content. She should want to be strong and free like the others. But oh, how she missed being loved.

K endrick stood at the window of his study, his eyes fixed on the rain-lashed gardens stretching out toward the cliffs. His calloused fingers drummed an agitated rhythm on the windowsill as he replayed yesterday’s disastrous encounter with Lavender in his mind.

“Bloody fool,” he muttered, his voice tinged with self-loathing. “You’ve driven her away for good this time.”

He knew it was probably for the best, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to go to her, try to explain himself, and, most of all, kiss her one more time. But how could he do that to her? Isabella was an obstacle he could never overcome. When she’d left, she’d taken more than just their daughter. She had taken his future as well.

Lavender deserved so much more than he could ever give her.

A sharp knock at the front door startled him from his brooding. His heart leapt, a surge of hope coursing through him. Had she come back?

Kendrick hurried to the entryway, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it. He swung the door open, a tentative smile on his lips—only to have it fade as he found himself face-to-face with the formidable Duchess of Ashbourne.

He had glimpsed her from a distance before, but this was the first time he’d actually met her in person. Her posture was regal and imposing, every inch the embodiment of nobility. Her silver-streaked auburn hair was scraped back in a severe bun, emphasizing her elegant features. She was probably near fifty but still lovely.

This obviously wasn’t a social call, though, as her green eyes flashed with barely contained fury. “Mr. Wycliffe,” she said, her refined voice as sharp as a blade, “I believe we need to have a conversation about your deplorable behavior toward Lady Crestwood.”

Kendrick’s shoulders slumped because he knew he deserved this. In fact, he was glad Lavender had such a powerful friend to look after her. “Your Grace, I—”

“Save your excuses,” the duchess cut him off, sweeping past him into the house. “I demand an explanation, and it had better be a good one.”

As Kendrick closed the door, he felt a familiar ache in his chest. How could he possibly explain the tangled mess of his past?

“Your Grace,” he began again, his voice low and rough with emotion, “I never meant to hurt Laven—” He cut himself off, realizing he should not be using her given name. “Um, Lady Crestwood. I care for her deeply, more than I have cared about anyone in a very long time. You have to believe me when I say that I am furious with myself and wish I could take it all back.”

The duchess’s eyebrows arched skeptically. “Then why did you neglect to mention your marital status until after you’d thoroughly compromised her?”

Kendrick winced. “It’s... complicated. My wife, Isabella—she left me. Seven years ago.”

The duchess’s expression softened slightly, but her voice remained stern. “Go on.”

With a heavy sigh, Kendrick gestured to a nearby chair. “This might take a while. Would you like some tea?”

The duchess shook her head but settled regally into the chair, and Kendrick took the one opposite hers.

He cleared his throat, wondering how honest he should be, and then decided to tell her the entire truth. He felt as though this formidable woman would be able to see right through any lie he told. “My wife, Isabella, and I were married young. She was very beautiful, and I thought I loved her, but we hadn’t been together very long before I realized she wasn’t suited to be a country wife. She was volatile, immature, and wanted far more than I could give her on a gardener’s salary. She wanted to move to London. She wanted to travel. And she resented me for not making enough money to allow her to do so. After our daughter Miranda came along, she grew even more depressed. She cried all the time. I didn’t know what to do...”

He trailed off, lost for a moment in those dark days. He had been so frustrated, so unprepared to deal with Isabella’s rioting emotions. In hindsight, he wished he had been better equipped to offer her comfort instead of turning cold and distant.

The duchess sighed, some of her hostility fading. “I don’t know that any of us are prepared for the realities of marriage when we are young.”

Kendrick nodded. “I didn’t know how truly miserable she was until I came home one night seven years ago, and she and Miranda were gone. She left a note, telling me how much she hated me, that she had fallen in love with someone else, and that she and Miranda were moving to Spain with him.” He swallowed convulsively, surprised by how much emotion the memories of that night still stirred in him. “I’ve spent years trying to find them, and I believe she did go to Spain, at least initially, but it’s as if they vanished into thin air. She didn’t tell me the man’s name, just that he was a soldier, so the trail quickly went cold.”

The duchess’s eyes widened in surprise. “You have a daughter? I had no idea...”

“Few do,” Kendrick admitted, his heart clenching just at the mention of Miranda. “Miranda would be thirteen now, and I haven’t seen her since she was six. I have kept it to myself for so long. But Lady Crestwood made me want to open up again, to trust. I know I should have told her. And I meant to, eventually. I had no intention of kissing her on the cliff yesterday. I was just trying to get her out of the weather. But then she fell right on top of me....”

The duchess regarded him silently for a long moment. Her tone was softer when she spoke, though still laced with disapproval. “While I sympathize with your situation, Mr. Wycliffe, it does not excuse your treatment of Lady Crestwood. She has been hurt before, and I will not stand idly by while she suffers again.”

Kendrick nodded, having seen evidence of that himself and hating himself even more for what he had done. “I understand. I never meant to cause her pain. I only wish I could explain...”

“Perhaps you still can,” the duchess said, rising to her feet. “She is a good person, and I am certain she’d listen to you. But first, you must sort out your own affairs. Good day, Mr. Wycliffe.”

As the door closed behind his exalted guest, Kendrick buried his face in his hands, wondering how he could possibly untangle the mess he’d made of things.