His Mountain Miss (Smoky Mountain Matches) (21 page)

What would that gain? A temporary stay of the inevitable. Better he left as soon as possible. If she were to see him again, who knew what she might do. She suspected something rash and embarrassing and totally unlike her, like begging him to take her with him.

There came a soft knock on the door.

“Come in.” Shoving the hair out of her eyes, she scooted up in bed.

Jane entered bearing a small tray, still dressed in her nightclothes and wrapper, her loose auburn hair gleaming in the watery light. “I thought you might like a cup of cocoa.” She smiled over at her as she slid the tray on the dresser. “There’s a biscuit with strawberry jam, too.”

She came and sat on the bed, empathy etched in her youthful features. “It’s a pity about the rain. I’d hoped we could go for a jaunt in the woods or perhaps have a picnic down by the river.”

Touched, Megan gave Jane’s hand a squeeze. “You’re very sweet to try and cheer me up. Perhaps the rain will let up and we can go for a ride later.”

Despite her young age, Jane understood the importance of distraction.

“Are you going to be okay?”

No. Not without Lucian. “In time—” She inhaled deeply, trying to dislodge the pain in her heart. “In time, I will learn to live without him.” But she’d never stop loving him.

Tears glistened in Jane’s sad eyes. “I feel the same way about Tom. He hasn’t been to church since...well, you know.”

“We can help each other through this.” Battling emotions, Megan hugged her.

Sniffling, Jane leaned away. “I should get dressed.”

“Me, too. Lottie will be waiting to be milked.”

Jane closed the door with a soft click. Megan made herself get out of bed, trudged over to the wardrobe, and, choosing a navy skirt, she paired it with a buttery-yellow blouse. When another knock sounded as she was pulling her blouse over her heard, she thought it was Jane again.

But it was Nicole, standing hesitantly in the doorway, teeth worrying her lower lip. Strange. Nicole wasn’t the uncertain type. She typically barreled through situations with single-minded determination.

“I thought...” she began. “Well, would you like for me to do your hair? I have some combs that would look nice with that blouse.”

Megan opened her mouth. Closed it. “Uh, yes, I’d like that very much.”

A tiny smile lifted her lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Megan didn’t move, struck dumb by her sister’s offer. Nicole wasn’t sentimental or overly sensitive to others’ feelings, which made her offer all the more meaningful. Tears threatened. She quickly blinked them back as Nicole returned with said combs.

Seating herself in the lone wooden chair, Megan folded her hands in her lap. Nicole had a gentle touch, carefully combing through her curls and securing the sides with the sparkly combs. She handed her the mirror.

“What do you think?”

Megan smiled tremulously up at her. “I think you did a marvelous job, sis. Thank you.”

Looking wistful, Nicole touched a curl with the tip of her finger. “It’s not hard to make you look beautiful. I’ve always wished my hair was blond, like yours.”

Standing, Megan took her hands in hers. “But you have such gorgeous hair,” she protested, “as black and silky as a raven’s wing. And your unique violet eyes handed down from Grandmother O’Malley are a lovely contrast.”

She scrunched up her nose. “This black hair makes me look like a witch.”

Megan gasped. “That’s ridiculous!”

“That’s what the boys at school used to say.”

“They were only teasing you,” she insisted. “Besides, we both know true beauty resides in the heart.”

Nicole looked thoughtful. “But you have to admit that being well-groomed is important.”

“Megan, you should come here,” Jane called from the living room. The queer note in her voice brought Megan running. Nicole followed closely behind.

“What is it?”

She stood at the door holding a crate, her expression one of confused wonder. “This was delivered for you.”

“So early? Who was it?”

“More importantly, what is it?” Nicole asked.

Peering down into the crate, Megan’s breath hitched. There, huddled together in the corner of the crate on a worn blanket, were two small brown rabbits with white fuzzy tails.

“Jimmy Dixon said a stuffy-looking man paid him to deliver these to you.” Jane stared at her. “Do you think he was talking about Lucian?”

A hundred butterflies unleashed in her tummy. “I can’t think of anyone else it could’ve been.”

Nicole picked one up and cuddled it close to stop its shivering. “I don’t understand. Why would he send you rabbits when he can afford to send something much more valuable?”

The bleeding-heart flower.
He’d kept the one she’d used to demonstrate the story, so it meant something to him.

She took the other rabbit out and held it close, its frantic heartbeat pulsing against her finger. How darling. “We don’t know for certain that it was Lucian who sent them,” she said firmly, ignoring the sudden leap of her pulse.

Setting the crate on the floor, Jane took turns petting the animals, whose fur was damp from their journey in the rain. “They are so precious! What will we name them?”

They spent the next half hour debating names and where they were supposed to put them. When they heard boots thump against the porch, they stilled. Looked at each other.

“You get it, Megan,” Jane urged, eyes wide.

Handing her rabbit off to Jane, Megan wiped her palms against her skirt and, sucking in a breath, opened the door. It wasn’t Lucian. Swallowing her disappointment, she greeted fifteen-year-old Jimmy.

“I have another package for you, Miss Megan.” Huddling beneath his slicker, he thrust a rectangular-shaped box at her. Then he dashed back out into the rain before she could question him. Her sisters crowded around the table where she placed the box. She carefully lifted the lid. Inside lay a pair of elegant, beaded ivory satin shoes lined with ivory kid and possessed of shapely heels.

“These are exquisite, Megan, and easily paired with a wedding gown.” Nicole returned her rabbit to the crate so that she could admire the shoes.

Jittery with nerves, Megan explained with a growing sense of wonder, “Lucian is following the pattern of the bleeding-heart legend. I told him about it one afternoon when we were walking through the woods. He actually kept the parts of the flower.”

“How romantic,” Jane said with a sigh.

Megan couldn’t speak. What could be his purpose? He’d been resolute in his determination to leave.

When Jimmy arrived the third time, she caught his arm. “Who sent you, Jimmy?”

“The fancy man from New Orleans.”

“Mr. Beaumont?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Can you tell me where he is now?”

He lifted a shoulder. “He left.”

Megan stared. It couldn’t be. “He left town? Are you certain?”

Unaware of her distress, he nodded matter-of-factly and waited for her to release him. “Th-thank you, Jimmy. You may go.”

She turned back to find her sisters looking at her with sympathy.

“I—I don’t understand.” She spoke through her tears. Was this simply an extravagant way to say goodbye?

Utter devastation washed over her. He was well and truly gone. For good.

Needing immediate escape, she tossed the box on a nearby chair and grabbed her shawl. “I’ve got to go.”

“You’ll be soaked through within the space of a minute!” Jane called as she stepped out onto the porch.

“Don’t worry,” she said over her shoulder, barely able to form words. “I won’t be gone long.” That wasn’t a promise, just a hopeful saying to allay her sister’s worries. In truth, she wanted to keep going, to go somewhere new and strange and devoid of memories.

“But—”

Ignoring her, Megan hurried down the steps and raced for the woods, unmindful of the raindrops pelting her. Jane was right. It didn’t take long for her to be soaked through, her hair a sodden mass on her shoulders. Entering the lush green woods, she slowed to a fast walk. The onslaught wasn’t as steady here, the canopy overhead acting as a makeshift shelter.

She walked and walked for what seemed an eternity. Walked until her feet ached, the insides of her boots rubbing blisters on her toes. Walked until she was shivering. Spying a hollowed-out log, she sank down, huddled beneath her damp shawl and stared about at the woods she suddenly didn’t recognize.

Did she care that she might be lost? No.

Did she care that she might have to spend the night out here? Not in the least.

It didn’t matter that she’d skipped breakfast and that she didn’t have her weapon with her. Nothing mattered, really, except that she was miserable. Soon, very soon, she was going to have to try to find her way back, to be responsible, but for just a little while, she would allow herself to grieve the loss of her one and only love.

* * *

“He did what?” Lucian stared at Jane and Nicole in dismay. “Why?”

“Jimmy told her that you left town, and she got upset. She tore off into the woods and hasn’t returned,” Jane repeated, wringing her hands.

Lucian pushed down his irritation at the lad. He had more important things to worry about...like finding Megan and admitting he’d been wrong. “How long has she been gone?”

“Over an hour.” Nicole chewed on a fingernail, something he’d never seen her do.

The girls must be beside themselves with worry.
He was beginning to worry, too. Running off in the midst of a rainstorm wasn’t like Megan. But she’d been upset. Because of him.

“I’ll find her,” he promised, unable to accept any other outcome. She knew these woods like the back of her hand, and she was smart and capable.
Lord, help me,
he prayed, believing with all his heart that God cared. That He was listening.
Please lead me to her.

He’d gone about this all wrong. By sending the gifts, he’d tried to be romantic, something he knew was important to her. He should’ve come here first thing and simply talked to her.

Roaming the woods, he searched for signs that someone had recently passed through. He called her name, listening for some sort of response besides the constant, dripping rain. When he at last spotted her hunched on a log, wet and pale and miserable, his fears melted away. Relief weakened his knees.
Thank You, God.

“Megan.”

Startled, she whipped her head up. Stark pain twisted her features. Pain
he
had caused her. Muttering in French, Lucian strode over to her, crouching at her knees so that he could look her squarely in the eyes.

“
Je suis désolé,
mon chou.
I’m so sorry.”

* * *

Megan blinked once. Twice. Lucian was really here. He’d found her somehow.

“I thought you left,” she whispered. “Jimmy told me you left.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “He was mistaken.”

He looked upset. Dashingly handsome, as well, his wet hair appearing nearly black, slicked back from his forehead. She had to bury her nails in her palms to keep from lifting a hand to his dear, lovely, austere face.

“I went about this all wrong.” He sighed and shook his head.

Desperate for answers, aching to launch herself into his arms, she said, “What’s going on, Lucian? Why did you send those gifts?”

“That was my sorry attempt at romance,” he said grimacing, then frowned as a shudder racked her body. Standing, he shrugged out of his black slicker and wrapped it about her shoulders, its warmth enveloping her. Then he sat close beside her, angling his body so that he could look her full in the face.

“I’m not a hero, Megan. I’m not a prince or a knight or a musketeer. I’m no Mr. Darcy or Mr. Knightley or any of Jane Austen’s other leading men. I’m just a normal man.” His obsidian eyes intense, his gaze lovingly caressed her face. “A man who loves you.”

Megan didn’t dare breathe or move for fear this was just a dream or a figment of her imagination. Surely this wasn’t real. Lucian
loved
her?

“You’re wrong, you know.” She lifted a shaky hand and pressed it against his hard chest, directly over his heart. At the intimate touch, he sucked in a sharp breath. “You
are
a hero. You’re a man of such deep feeling, Lucian. You possess a courageous yet tender heart. The people closest to you, the ones you should’ve been able to count on, betrayed you and yet despite all that, you opened yourself up enough to trust me. To care for Sarah and the other children. You forgave your mother her deception and allowed yourself to grieve her passing, a difficult, painful thing. A strong man is a man who faces his fears head-on. That’s what makes a man a hero.”

Ever so gently cupping her cheek, he said wonderingly, “I don’t deserve your sweet words. None of that would’ve came about without you, my love.”

Giddy with joy, she watched as he reached into his pocket and produced a flat, velvet box, held it aloft on his outstretched palm. “I have one final gift for you.”

Her stomach flip-flopped. “You do?” She looked at the box for long moments before lifting her gaze to his face.

“Aren’t you curious what it is?” he prompted with an endearing smile.

Heart pounding, she took the box from him, fingers fumbling on the lid. At last she was able to open it. There, nestled in the velvet folds, lay a key.

“It’s the key to Charles’s house.”

Lifting her chin, he gazed at her with tender devotion. “I would like for it to be
our
house. Yours and mine together. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Oh, Lucian, I—I want that more than anything else, but...what about your resolve to marry for duty?”

Cradling her face in his hands, he declared, “I only determined to marry for duty because I was afraid to be hurt again, afraid of hurting someone like my father hurt my mother. I admit, I’m still afraid. But my love for you is stronger than my fear. With God’s help, I can be a good husband to you.”

She covered his hands, smiled at him with all the love she felt for him shining on her face. “You are the only husband I want.”

His eyes lit with happiness. “So you’ll marry me?”

“Yes!” She laughed out loud, joy unlike she’d ever known filling her heart until she thought it might burst. “Most definitely.”