Promise Me Forever (7 page)

“Your stepfather mentioned that you’d announced plans to return to Texas.”

Lauren detected sadness in her mother’s voice. “Yes.” She took a deep breath, knowing the following revelation wasn’t going to be well received. “I’ve been working in a shop, earning a wage, saving so I can pay for my passage back to Texas.”

She’d sought the position shortly after Kimburton had delivered his proposal, when she’d realized that she couldn’t bring herself to marry him. And if she couldn’t marry him, as kind and generous as he was, she would never marry anyone—at least not anyone in England. Texas might be a different matter. She felt more at home there, had more in common with the people. She didn’t have
to put on airs, could be herself. Could find the happiness that had eluded her in England.

“When could you find time to work with all the volunteering you do at the mission, helping the poor?” her mother asked.

Lauren gave her mother a sad smile, which she wasn’t certain she could see in the darkness. “I lied. I wasn’t volunteering. It appears deception runs in the family.”

Her mother took a step toward her. “You will resign your post tomorrow. Taking a job is beneath you and will cause your stepfather untold embarrassment if word gets out that his stepdaughter is working in a
shop,
of all places. What in the world were you thinking?”

“That I would wither and die if I had to stay here much longer. Ravenleigh is no longer responsible for me, Mama. And neither are you. I love you, but not the life you’ve given me. I’m going back to Texas; if it kills me to do so, I’m going back. So in a way, I guess you did me a favor. If you’d given me the letters, I might be married to Tom by now—then what choice would I have had except to be the dutiful wife of an earl?”

Having left Ravenleigh’s more than an hour ago, Tom now sat in his fancy library, surrounded by objects that had belonged to those who’d come before him. The only things he’d contributed to the room were several bottles of whiskey he’d
brought with him from Texas, the latest opened bottle held to his mouth as he gulped the brew.

Lauren’s hair had darkened over the years to the rich sheen of golden honey. Tom had wanted to release it from the pins holding it in place and have it pour over his hands. He’d wanted to keep his mouth fastened to hers. He’d wanted to hold her in his arms and never release her.

But she had plans to return to Texas, and apparently it made little difference to her that he would no longer be there when she arrived. How could he compete with what Texas had to offer when he hadn’t wanted to leave either?

He hadn’t expected Lauren to be waiting for him, but it still disconcerted him to realize that a small part of him had held a measure of hope that she would be. Maybe from the beginning, he’d had unrealistic expectations where she was concerned, which was an odd thing for a man who had lived his life always being realistic about the possibilities and his options.

In the letters he’d written to her, he’d described his plans, his dreams, and Lauren had been part of them all. When she never wrote back, he should have hopped on a boat to find out why she was ignoring him. Not that he’d been in a financial position to go anywhere. He’d spent ten years working hard, saving money, and planning for the day when he could come for her.

He’d had everything in place, had actually been
planning his trip to England when the investigator had found him. And everything he’d been preparing had suddenly seemed to be for nothing. None of it mattered. None of it was going to accomplish anything. He was going to have to leave his cattle business in someone else’s capable hands. The house he’d recently built had no one living in it.

His land, his house, his dreams…they all belonged to another man, the cowboy he’d thought he was. And now here Tom was, trying desperately to figure out exactly who he truly was, the place in this world that was his by right of birth.

The Earl of Sachse.

He figured he didn’t look much like an earl. Didn’t act like one either. Not that he was bothered by either of those things. He was used to a man being judged on his character, the strength of his handshake, the integrity of his word. Not his speech, his clothes, or his ability successfully to balance a teacup on his knee.

A man could reek to high heaven, but if he kept his word, he was worth his weight in gold. Dependability. Common sense. Integrity.

He lifted the bottle to his mouth and gulped the amber liquid, relishing it as it burned its way down his throat, warming him from the inside out. He wanted to pack up his things and catch the first steamship out. He couldn’t blame Lauren for wanting to do the same.

It was close to being summer, but he had a fire
burning in the fireplace. A chill and dampness saturated the night. He wondered if he’d ever get warm living there, wondered if he’d ever come to love it the way he loved Texas.

Sometimes he thought the cruelest thing his mother had done was to give him a glimpse of a life that he couldn’t hold on to forever. He’d reached for dreams not knowing that he’d have to betray them for the duty that was predetermined from the moment he was conceived.

He didn’t
need
any of this, but it needed him. They thought the barbaric American didn’t understand, but he understood it all too well. He was British by birth, American by upbringing. Something within these walls called out to him. Something beyond them touched him.

He couldn’t explain it. To be part of two countries, to love one and to want to love the other. To want to belong and to know that, deep down where it mattered, he didn’t. And he probably never would.

L
auren sat beside her bedroom window, the curtain drawn aside just enough that she could look out onto the fog-shrouded street, see the dim glow of the gas streetlamps. A kerosene lamp—the flame low—on a table beside her bed provided the only light flickering in the room and served well her melancholy. All these years she’d felt abandoned. All these years, Tom had kept his promise.

Would receiving his letters have made any difference at all? Would reading his words have eased her loneliness? Was her unhappiness rooted in leaving Texas or only in leaving him?

She remembered crying herself to sleep so many
nights, missing him so dreadfully; but when his letters never came, she’d begun to shift her thoughts to Texas, to all the things there that she missed. It was a lot easier to yearn for something that could never betray her than continually to risk being hurt by longing for someone who already had.

Only he hadn’t. That was the irony behind the entire situation. She had lived the past ten years through the prism of deception.

Looking inward more than outward, she suddenly realized that she was listening intently for the pop of rocks against her windowpane. Tom had always come at night, long after everyone was in bed, and Lauren would crawl out the window and climb down the old gnarled tree…

When she’d first come to England, she’d chosen her bedroom in the London residence based on its easy access to a large tree outside, as though she thought some night Tom would be standing outside trying to get her attention, surrounded by shadows and moonbeams, inviting her to join him. She wasn’t certain when she’d given up on his coming for her. It was as though one moment she suddenly realized that the hope had vanished, leaving behind a gaping hole of loneliness that she’d despaired of ever being able to fill.

She couldn’t help but believe that he’d experienced the same loss. A promise broken not by their hand but another’s. It hadn’t been fair to either of them.

The click against the windowpane nearly caused her heart to stop. She peered into the street. And there he was. Her cowboy, with his black duster reaching his calves and his hat in his hand. A cowboy in the streets of London.

She parted the curtains a bit more, so he could see that he had her attention, gave a quick wave, extended a finger—that she wasn’t certain would be visible to him—to signify that she would be down shortly, closed the curtains, and hurried to her wardrobe where she found a simple dress that required no confining corset. Its loose fit and buttons in the front freed her from needing assistance in putting it on. It was something she’d purchased when she still had the hope that he’d come for her, something she wanted to have on hand so she’d always be set to go the moment he appeared. She’d taken such pains always to be ready, and yet nothing had truly prepared her for his arrival.

She unbraided her hair, brushed it out, then pulled it back, using a broad silk ribbon to hold it in place. She certainly didn’t look elegant, but she couldn’t help but notice that she did appear as though she was anticipating
something
. Being with Tom. At a scandalous time of night. After so many years. For just a moment to be a young girl without cares.

Opening the door, she peered into the hallway decorated with portraits, plants, and small tables adorned with enough items to keep the maids
dusting for the better part of each morning. No one was about though. She rushed quietly along the corridor, down the stairs, grateful to discover that the butler was not standing watch in the entry hallway. Her heart pounding with anticipation, she crossed over to the heavy mahogany door, opened it, stepped outside, and closed it behind her. She tiptoed down the front steps, along the walk, until she reached Tom.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“I was sitting in my stuffy library, drinking my whiskey, and it occurred to me that I could give you a little bit of Texas to night.”

“And just how in the world—Oh!”

Quickly sliding an arm beneath her knees and one at her back, he’d swung her up into his arms.

“Shh!” he ordered, holding her close.

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she wound her arms securely around his neck and pressed her head to his shoulder. Lord, but he’d gotten considerably stronger over the years. She didn’t want to be impressed or flattered by his attentions, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

“Escorting you to my carriage.”

“This isn’t the proper way to do it,” she chastised, as his long strides ate up the distance.

“I’ll let you demonstrate the proper way later. I want to get us on our way before anyone comes out to stop us.”

A footman dressed in Sachse livery opened the carriage door as they neared. With a smoothness that made her wonder who he might have practiced this maneuver with, he had her inside the carriage, climbing in behind her as she took her seat. He sat across from her, lost in the shadows, but she could feel his gaze fastened on her. The carriage sprang forward.

“How did you know which room was mine?” she asked, to shatter the silence weaving around them.

“I paid a servant handsomely to tell me.”

“It had best have been handsomely. If my stepfather finds out, the poor man will get sacked.”

“If it was a man.”

He sounded so diabolically clever and pleased with himself.

“Do you have a destination in mind?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“I’d rather it be a surprise.”

She glanced out the window. “I spoke with my mother after you left. She admitted to taking your letters.”

“I’d pretty much figured out that she had.”

“She burned them.”

She thought she heard him grunt, maybe with regret over the loss of his words that could never be recovered.

“Did you get the letters I wrote you?” It oc
curred to her that she’d been so stunned to learn that he’d written that she hadn’t thought to ask.

“No.”

She sighed wistfully. “I guess she took those as well. I used to leave them in a silver bowl in the entryway so a footman could see that they were sent out in the morning mail. It never occurred to me that…” She let her voice trail off.

He leaned forward, took her hands. His were rough, callused, not the hands of a gentleman. Would Tom be as embarrassed by what his hands revealed about him as her mother was?

“It doesn’t matter, Lauren.”

Only it did matter. His words were irretrievably lost to her.

He said nothing further. Maybe he didn’t need to. Simply being with her was enough for the moment.

Christopher Montgomery watched his wife’s misery with an aching in his heart.

“Come away from the window, Elizabeth.”

“You could have stopped her from leaving.”

“She’s twenty-four, old enough to make her own decisions.”

She spun around, tears in her eyes. “You had more than enough time to go down there and confront him.”

He smiled slightly. “I believe he was wearing a pistol.”

She failed to appreciate his poor attempt at humor. He crossed over to her, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close.

It hurt his heart to see her suffering so. She’d shared her three daughters with him and then blessed him with two more. Unlike most aristocrats, he’d never wanted a son. His twin brother should have been the Earl of Ravenleigh, but that secret was known only to the two of them. With a clear conscience, Christopher would pass the title on to his nephew. But for now, he cared only about comforting the woman he loved beyond all reason.

“If we forbid them to see each other, they will find a way, no matter how badly you wish they wouldn’t.”

She tilted back her head. “He doesn’t understand the rules here. He’s going to ruin her.”

He wiped a tear from her cheek. “Or he might prove capable of giving her what we never could: happiness.”

“But at what cost?”

“Sometimes all we can do is be there to help our children stand back up if they fall.”

“And if we’re responsible for the fall?”

More tears had gathered in her eyes, far more than he could possibly wipe away.

“Elizabeth—”

“Oh, Christopher, I did something horrible, and I don’t know how to make it right.”

He drew her against his chest. “Just tell me, love, and we’ll make it right together.”

It was so quiet on the bank of the Thames, just outside of London. The ground was cool beneath Lauren’s back, in spite of the fact that she was lying on Tom’s duster, inhaling the scent of him as she stared up at the sky.

“It’s never as clear as a Texas sky. I’ve never seen a falling star here.”

“If you did, what would you wish for?” Tom asked, trailing his finger lazily up and down her arm.

She turned her head to look at him. He was braced on an elbow, gazing down on her. She’d thought he’d do more than hold her hands in the carriage, but he hadn’t. And perhaps that was the reason her heart had tightened, then swelled, because he was with her not for an unbuttoned bodice, but for something more. A piece of what they’d left behind in Texas, left behind in their youth.

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure I would wish.”

“Did you stop believing in wishes coming true?” he asked.

She released a small laugh. “No, I still believe they come true, but unfortunately, when mine have it hasn’t always been in a way that I expected or had in mind.”

“What did you wish for that you didn’t want?”

“It was one of the nights when we were down by the creek. I found myself envying the life you’d led; it took you so many places, gave you so many
experiences. I was feeling dull and boring. I wished on a falling star, I wished that I would travel. I just didn’t think I would go so far, or be gone so long.”

“I always liked that about you. That you believed in wishing.”

“I was concerned you thought I was just being silly.”

“No, Lauren. Just because I couldn’t believe didn’t mean that I didn’t appreciate that you could. I hate knowing you don’t wish anymore. I think you ought to take up the practice again. You might be surprised how your wishes might turn out.”

“If I were wishing, I think I’d wish for your letters back. What ever did you say in all those letters?”

“Well, let me see if I can recall.” He turned his head up toward the sky as though he would see the words written on the stars.

“Dear Lauren. I ran across three stray calves today. They had no brand so I branded them and added them to the herd. Yours, Tom.”

She laughed. “How frightfully romantic.”

He turned his attention back to her, and she could see his grin. “It gets better. Dear Lauren. I worked to get an ornery steer out of a muddy bog today. Almost broke my back doing it. I really missed you. If you’d been here, you could have done the pushing while I did the pulling. Yours, Tom.”

Laughing harder, she shoved his shoulder. “That is
not
what you wrote to me.”

He chuckled low. “Pretty much. I’m not much of a letter writer. Most of them weren’t long. Just a sentence or two, just enough, so I could keep my promise to write every day.”

Reaching out, she cradled his cheek, rubbed her thumb over the mustache that she was coming to adore. It suited him. “And to think, all this time, I never knew.” How could her mother have destroyed his letters? “If you wrote as often as you said, you must have written over a thousand letters.”

“You doubt my claim?”

“No. But I doubt all you wrote about was cattle.”

He turned his head, and she wondered what he was looking at in the distance.

“After a few months passed, and you didn’t write back, I thought maybe you were as bored by my letters as I was, so I tried to write about something other than cattle. I wrote about how lonely I was.”

Her heart tightened into a painful ache for the loneliness they’d both experienced over the years.

Taking her hand, he began running his thumb in a circle around her palm. “Do you remember what you wrote in the letters I never got?”

“Not exactly, but close enough for you to get the gist of it. Dear Tom. All the girls I meet are lady something or other. I don’t know how to be a lady. Yours, Lauren.”

“You are a lady, Lauren. You always have been.”

“A lady wouldn’t have offered to let a boy unbutton her bodice, so that ten years later he’s still demanding that he be allowed to do it.”

“You can’t blame me for wanting to. Hell, darlin’, what if I gave you a present all wrapped up and all I did was let you untie the string. You can’t tell me that ten years later you wouldn’t still want to see what was inside the package.”

Oh, he made her want to laugh again. She combed her fingers through his thick hair. “Oh, Tom, you see things in such simple terms when so much more complicated issues are at hand.”

“Those buttons on your dress look pretty plain and simple to me. I don’t think unbuttoning them would be that complicated or any great hardship.”

“Ah, but it could turn out to be both. What if you looked but couldn’t resist the temptation to touch?”

He lowered his head slightly, his voice a low rumble. “I think you’re afraid that you might decide you didn’t
want
me to resist the temptation.”

Oh, she could very well decide that, and perhaps that was her fear, that loosening her buttons might be enough for him, but certainly not enough for her. If his stroking her arm, stroking her hand warmed her so much, what in the world would happen if he stroked more?

She needed to distract him, distract herself from
this potentially dangerous direction. She swallowed hard, determined that their behavior to night would remain above reproach. “I wrote other letters.”

“Did you now?”

She heard amusement in his voice, as though he knew exactly why she’d turned the topic back to letters, that he was fully aware that he did tempt her in ways that he shouldn’t.

“Dear Tom. All the boys I meet are lord something or other. I don’t like them very much. Yours, Lauren.”

He chuckled low. “Glad you didn’t fancy any of the fellas you met over here.”