Page 8 of The Wayward Lady (The Wayward Widows of Willoughby Hall #1)

T he conservatory’s glass panes wept with rivulets of rain, mirroring Lavender’s inner turmoil as she listlessly arranged a bouquet of lilies. Her fingers trembled slightly, betraying the emotions she struggled to contain. It had been raining since she and Kendrick met on the beach yesterday. The inclement weather matched her mood, but she could not bear to hide in her room any longer, suffocating under the weight of her thoughts.

Her mind wandered to Kendrick as she placed a pristine yellow bloom in the crystal vase. His gruff voice, piercing dark eyes, and the way his presence filled a room—he had monopolized her thoughts constantly since they had met, and she didn’t know what to do with herself now that their time together had come to an end. The ache in her chest intensified as she remembered the hurt and embarrassment of their last encounter.

“My dear, how are you faring?” Genevieve’s warm voice startled her from her reverie.

She turned, forcing a smile. “I’m... fine.” As she said those words, she wondered how many times she had said them before, even when they were completely untrue. It seemed she’d been claiming to be fine her entire life. Unfortunately, she rarely had been. However, no one had ever been able to see past her generally sunny facade to the darkness below.

But she had dared to believe that Kendrick might...

Genevieve’s emerald gaze softened with sympathy. “I have just been to see Mr. Wycliffe.”

Lavender’s heart skipped a beat. “You what?” she exclaimed, a mix of anger and curiosity coloring her tone. She loved her friend, but certainly, this was overstepping. “Genevieve, you shouldn’t have—”

“I know, I know,” Genevieve interjected, holding up a hand. “But I couldn’t stand by and watch you suffer without understanding why.”

Lavender’s brow furrowed, her earlier anger fading into gratitude. She badly wanted to know whatever Genevieve had found out. The not knowing was killing her. “What did you learn?”

Genevieve sighed, her usually confident demeanor faltering. “It seems our Mr. Wycliffe has endured more than we realized. His wife... She left him for another man, taking their child with her.”

“A child?” The news hit Lavender like a physical blow. She sank onto a nearby settee, her mind reeling. Not only had he forgotten to tell her about his wife, but he had also omitted all mention of his child .

“Yes, a daughter named Miranda. She would be thirteen now, but he hasn’t seen her for seven years.”

Seven years . He had been abandoned seven years ago, and knowing him as she did now, she realized he’d probably been completely alone that entire time. Until he had finally opened up to her, letting her into his garden and perhaps even his heart...

“Oh, Kendrick,” she whispered, her anger fading and heart breaking for the man she had come to care for so deeply.

As she imagined Kendrick alone in his study, pouring his pain into his beautiful stories, a wave of empathy washed over her. If anyone in the world was lonelier than her, it was him. Perhaps that was why they’d bonded so quickly.

Genevieve, ever perceptive, reached out and squeezed Lavender’s hand. “He wasn’t at all what I expected, my dear. I can see why you like him, and I feel for him, too.”

Lavender looked up, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “I wish there was something I could do for him.”

“Well,” Genevieve said, a hint of her usual determination creeping back into her voice. “With your permission, I can put my network of contacts to work. We will see if we can find out what happened to his wife and child. Perhaps then he can move on. It is not right for that woman to have left him in limbo for so long.”

“Yes, please do. Thank you, Genevieve. You are such a wonderful friend,” Lavender murmured, her mind already elsewhere. She stood, needing the solitude of her room to process this new information. “If you’ll excuse me...”

As she retreated, Lavender’s thoughts were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Could she forgive Kendrick for not mentioning this before he made a romantic overture toward her? If he had been alone all this time, could he really consider himself married? Perhaps he’d been so overwhelmed with passion he’d temporarily forgotten... And he had told her as soon as he’d returned to his senses.

The more she thought about it, the less angry she became.

She longed to comfort him, to wrap her arms around him and ease the pain he must be feeling.

She had tried so long and so hard to have a child of her own. Her heart broke to think that he had a little girl out there, and she had been kept from him for so long.

With each step, her heart grew heavier, torn between self-preservation and the undeniable pull of a kindred, wounded soul. This new information shouldn’t matter to her. Kendrick belonged to someone else and could never truly be hers. But oh, how she still wished that he could.

L ater that afternoon, Kendrick sat alone at his desk with a glass of whisky. He stared at the blank page before him, unable to find the words that had been flowing so easily lately. When Lavender had gone, it seemed she’d taken all the words with her.

The duchess’s visit had unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

With a heavy heart, he took another sip and closed his eyes, letting the alcohol numb his thoughts. But even in his drunken state, he could not escape the memories that haunted him.

Telling Her Grace about Isabella and Miranda had brought up so many things he had thought he’d shoved to the far corners of his mind. The rage and despair he had felt when he’d come home to that empty house and found Isabella’s note seemed so fresh at this moment he felt like he was still there. He had known she was unhappy but never thought she’d leave. He had certainly never believed she’d take Miranda, who had brought him so much joy, away from him forever.

He had tried to provide for them as best as he could on his meager salary as a gardener. They’d had a comfortable if plain cottage on the estate of the earl who employed him. But it wasn’t enough for Isabella. She had always wanted more, dreaming of faraway places and adventures beyond their simple life.

Kendrick blamed himself for not being able to give her what she desired and for not being able to make her happy.

As he drank more whisky, memories flooded back to him in an overwhelming rush. Isabella’s smile as they danced under the stars on their wedding night... her soft laughter as they watched Miranda take her first steps... the warmth of their little family on lazy Sundays spent in bed reading together.

But now those memories were tainted by bitterness and regret. By angry words and shouting matches. Guilt washed over Kendrick like a wave crashing against rocks, threatening to drown him in sorrow.

He knew it was useless to dwell on the past or blame himself for Isabella’s actions, but it was hard not to wonder where they had gone wrong and what could have been if they had just been able to talk it all out.

At last, he pushed to his feet and stumbled upstairs to bed, collapsing atop it without undressing. Thanks to the whisky, sleep claimed him almost immediately.

T he next morning, Kendrick awoke with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. It was uncharacteristic of him to drink so much, but perhaps last night’s folly was exactly what he needed to overcome his inaction.

He stumbled out of bed and went downstairs, feeling more exhausted than when he had gone to sleep. His mind was still consumed with thoughts of Lavender and the pain in her eyes when he had told her he was married. He regretted hurting her and knew that it was time for him to do something about it. He should have gone after her and tried to explain or at least attempted to see her in the days since. She deserved to know the truth, and it had been cowardly of him to hope that the duchess had told her all that he had so foolishly not.

As he made his morning tea, his mind whirled with possibilities. He wasn’t as helpless as he’d once been. Now, he had the money to hire someone who could help him find Isabella and Miranda. He needed some closure. He couldn’t keep living in the past, constantly torturing himself with guilt and pushing others away. His time with Lavender had taught him that, if nothing else.

Taking his tea to his study, Kendrick sat at his desk and penned a letter to his solicitor in London. He asked the man to hire someone to find Isabella so he could obtain a divorce from her. This would not only free him from his past mistakes but also allow him to finally reunite with Miranda.

With each word on the page, Kendrick felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders. It was time for him to take control of his life again and make amends for the pain he had caused others. He should have moved heaven and earth to find Miranda. He hoped that when he did, she could forgive him for giving up, for believing it was hopeless.

As soon as he finished writing, Kendrick sent off the letter and began planning for when he found Isabella. He wanted everything ready so he could act quickly once she was located.

For the first time in years, Kendrick felt hopeful about the future. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to make things right again.

Only then would he be worthy of reaching out to Lavender.

As days turned into weeks, Kendrick anxiously awaited news from his solicitor. Each day felt like an eternity as he continued going about his daily tasks on edge, thinking of nothing but finding Isabella and Miranda. Could his daughter ever forgive him for all the lost years? He hoped so. He also hoped that when he finally extricated himself from his marriage, Lavender could forgive him, too.