Yuletide Treasure (10 page)

“I most certainly do.” Brigitte stood her ground. “My fever is gone, my head perfectly clear. As for my assessment of Liza, I know a great deal more than you think I do, possibly more than anyone else does. You see, my lord, I had the unique opportunity to see the cruelty your sister
kept so carefully concealed behind her engaging veneer. I knew her priorities, her coldness, even the extent to which she'd go to ensure her goals were realized.”

A vein throbbed at Eric's temple. “How?” was all he managed.

“For reasons of her own, Liza decided I was a potential threat to her future. So she relinquished her facade in order to keep me in my place.” Brigitte's smile was sad. “I must admit, she did a fine job.”

“You knew each other?”

“Only from a distance. We spoke but once—when she sought me out to warn me away. I'll never forget that day.”

“Warn you away? From what?”

“From you.” Seeing Eric's stunned expression, Brigitte gave a bemused shake of her head. “Oh, Eric, I've been in love with you since I was a child. First, it was infatuation. I had to force myself not to dash outside and watch when you'd ride into the village, not to stare when you and Liza attended church. You were a knight in a fairy tale, sheltering Liza as if she were the most precious of treasures. I would have given anything to trade places with her, to be your adored little sister. Until I got older. Then my feelings changed from worship to something stronger, something even I didn't fully understand. All I knew was that I no longer wanted to be your sister. I wanted … more. I wanted to be one of the lucky women—no, the
only
lucky woman—on whom you bestowed that dazzling smile. I tried so hard to conceal it; never meeting your eyes, never allowing myself to so much as brush against you as you passed. But Liza was a very shrewd young lady. She perceived my feelings. And if there was one thing she didn't intend to share, it was you. Therefore, she cast aside her angelic mask and allowed me to see the ugliness of her character.”

“When?” Eric asked hoarsely. “When did this happen?”

“The year before Noelle was born, just after Grandfather's Christmas service. I was thirteen—nearly fourteen, actually—and Liza was past fifteen. I'd gone around back of the church, to check and see if there were any children who
hadn't received their Christmas treats. Liza followed me.” Brigitte paused, feeling the pain as keenly as she had the day Liza shattered her adolescent dream to bits. “She said she had come to put an end to my flagrant infatuation, to—in her words—relegate me to my proper place, once and for all. I can still picture her eyes; those frigid sapphire chips appraising me as if I were a pitiful, unwanted bit of rubbish. She minced no words, telling me how pathetically obvious I was, and how laughable. She reminded me that you were a fabulously wealthy earl, while I was not only a child, but a wretched waif—the poor granddaughter of the local vicar. She then pointed out that my tattered gown wasn't fit to polish your silver, nor my social graces refined enough to grant me entry to Farrington as your scullery maid, much less your paramour. She suggested that I wait until I matured, then cast my eye on your coachman, or any one of your hundred other male servants—excluding, of course, your valet and butler, who would shudder at my lack of breeding.” Even after all these years, memories of Liza's cold tirade brought tears of humiliation to Brigitte's eyes. “I remember my stunned disenchantment—where was that fairy-tale princess I'd envied for so long? Then, Liza's words sank in, and I realized that, cruel as her intentions might be, her assertions were correct. We're all equal in the eyes of the Lord, but not in the eyes of others. Therefore, regardless of how good and honorable I was, I had no place in your life.

“Keeping that in mind, I heard your sister out, then gathered up the skirts of my less-than-acceptable gown and marched off. I held my chin high, not because I felt defiant, but because I refused to cry in Liza's presence. Nor did I—until I reached my home and my bed. There, I wept and wept until my tears and my dream had washed away.”

“Brigitte …” It wasn't until Eric said her name that Brigitte realized he was holding her face, his thumbs capturing her tears.

“That confrontation didn't change anything, you know,” she whispered. “Not really. Liza destroyed my hope, but not my love. I never stopped loving you, Eric. I never will.
Especially since that afternoon in your chambers.” Brigitte smiled softly. “Regardless of how little our physical joining meant to you—to me, it meant everything.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Eric groaned, stark emotion slashing his features. Then, he enfolded Brigitte against him, pressing her cheek to his heart. For long moments he said nothing, just held her, stroking her hair with a shaking hand.

At last he spoke.

“Everything you've said about Liza is true. With one exception. Who she was, what she became—
was
my fault. I was the one who molded her character. I catered to her every whim, purchased the world for her in order to compensate for our parents' deaths, devoted my entire life to her happiness.”

“What about
your
life?” Brigitte asked the question that had plagued her for years. “Friends? Acquaintances?” A pause. “Women?”

“I was thirteen when my mother and father died. In truth, I never missed them; most likely because I scarcely knew them. I was raised by a governess and sent off to school the instant I could read. Even during holidays, my parents weren't home. They were far too restless to remain at Farrington; they were always dashing off on one adventure or another. I thought Liza's birth would encourage them to settle down. It didn't. When she was four months old, they sailed on an expedition to India. There was a horrible storm. Their ship sank. Suddenly, I was the Earl of Farrington—overseer of a neglected estate, faltering businesses, and a newborn babe. My childhood—whatever there was of it—came to an abrupt end. Thus, to answer your question, I had no time for diversions, no time for anything but work and Liza. Acquaintances? I had scores of them through my business dealings. Friends? I had none. Women?” Roughly, Eric cleared his throat. “When I needed one, I sought one out.”

If Brigitte loved her husband before, she loved him all the more now—now that she understood the magnitude of his sacrifice. “So Liza was unused to sharing you with anyone.”

“Indeed. She was also unused to sharing my money.” Eric
inhaled sharply. “Shall I tell you why she ran off?” He didn't wait for a reply. “Because I lost my fortune. It was that simple. When Liza was sixteen, I made one immense, unwise investment, and suddenly my wealth vanished. I waited until I had no choice but to tell her—although, fool that I was, I assumed her sisterly allegiance would prevail. I explained that we were far from destitute, but that luxuries would have to be forfeited, at least for a time. Instead of compassion, she looked at me with an expression that proclaimed me the Devil himself. She accused me of intentionally squandering her inheritance, and of being a brutal and unfeeling brother. Then, she locked herself in her room. The next morning she was gone. No note, no message, nothing. I didn't hear from her for months. Until, one day, she reappeared on my doorstep, begging for my help.”

“She was with child,” Brigitte inserted quietly.

A bitter nod. “She'd met a superbly wealthy Italian aristocrat who'd promised her the world. Instead, he filled her with his seed, then discarded her to return to his home … and his wife. Throughout her confession, Liza wept and wept, swearing to me that she'd learned her lesson, that she'd changed. God help me, I allowed myself to believe her.” Eric swallowed, his arms tightening reflexively about Brigitte. “Evidently, Liza inherited my parents' restlessness. Three weeks after Noelle's birth, she announced she had no patience for motherhood and no tolerance for my unexciting, frugal existence. In short, she was bored and, thus, had decided to leave England and travel abroad. When I brought up the subject of Noelle, she shrugged, repeating that she hadn't the patience for an infant, nor had she a clue about child-rearing or an inclination to learn. She suggested I raise Noelle myself or, if my poverty precluded that choice, I farm Noelle out to some barren woman who would rejoice in the chance to nurture a child of her own. Quite frankly, Liza didn't really care who reared Noelle, so long as she herself didn't have to do it. I was jolted into a heinous reality I'd tried desperately to deny: that the sister I'd raised from infancy was a shallow woman with an empty heart and a hollow soul. I went insane. I bellowed until the walls shook, smashed Liza's room to bits, threatened to lock
her in whatever remained of its confines until she came to her senses. I did everything short of striking her—and, God help me, sometimes I thought myself capable even of that. Nothing worked. When Noelle was six weeks old, I was summoned to London on urgent business. I was gone one night. When I returned, Liza had vanished, leaving behind a newborn babe and a staff that cringed the instant I walked through the door.”

“Lord only knows what lies Liza told them,” Brigitte inserted furiously.

Eric shrugged. “At that point it didn't matter. I didn't blame them for their fear. All they'd heard for weeks was Liza's sobbing and my savagery. I'm sure she had little trouble convincing them I was a madman. And, as I had no desire to amend their misconceptions, I dismissed them. They were weak with relief and lost no time in fleeing. Within hours, Farrington was deserted—except for Noelle. I packed her things into my phaeton and drove her to the home of the closest decent family I knew: the Gonerhams. I scarcely recall what I said when I thrust her into their arms; something about Liza being frightened and running away. They were too stunned, and too terrorized by my precarious state of mind, to turn Noelle away. I retreated to Farrington, intending never to emerge.” A shudder ran through him. “I did precisely what I'd denounced Liza for doing: abandoned Noelle. But, Lord help me, I had nothing left to give her—no love, no tenderness. Nothing but bitterness and resentment. And, how could I risk creating another Liza? Making all those irreparable mistakes again?” He shook his head. “I couldn't.

“Some three months later, I received word that Liza had contracted influenza and died. I felt nothing. It was as if she'd died already—and taken me with her.” Eric gave a hollow laugh. “The irony was that the urgent business that summoned me away and gave Liza the opportunity to escape turned out to be an announcement from my solicitor. One of my ventures had reaped an enormous profit. I'd recouped my fortune, plus some. Had Liza waited one day longer, she'd have been a rich woman again, and Noelle would have had a mother.”

“Yes, but what kind of mother?” Brigitte demanded. “One who would forsake her own child? Eric, consider what you're saying. Your reasons for relinquishing Noelle were entirely different from Liza's. Yours were selfless; you were recoiling in pain and thought yourself incapable of giving Noelle what she needed. Liza's were not merely selfish but downright cold-blooded; she chose to sever all ties with her newborn babe in pursuit of an unencumbered and exciting life. How can you compare the two?” Saying a silent prayer, Brigitte fought to recapture all her husband had lost. “Eric, you said I was wrong, that if I truly knew who you were I'd feel differently than I do. Well, I wasn't and I don't. You didn't create Liza's character; she was born with it. Your only sin was to love her—which is no sin at all. You've condemned yourself to an undeserved hell and, in the process, deprived yourself of the one true treasure Liza did create.”

“Noelle,” Eric supplied, the lines of tension about his mouth easing ever so slightly. “She
is
quite a character, isn't she?”

“She's rare and special. I know it—and so do you. What's more, other than their physical resemblance, she's as unlike Liza as day and night. Noelle is sensitive and exuberant, bursting with life and laughter. And love. Love she's aching to give—and to receive. She needs a real parent, Eric, one? whose heart is worthy enough to embrace her. She needs you. What's more, you need her.” Brigitte reached up, her fingertips gently stroking his lips. “It's time, Eric,” she stated softly. “The past is gone. And the future could be filled with such wonder.”

“Brigitte.” Eric's breath warmed her skin. “You almost make me believe miracles are possible.”

“They are—if you allow them to be.”

He captured her palm, pressed it to his lips. “Have you any idea how precious you are?”

Gazing up at her husband, Brigitte abruptly realized that, in the end, Liza
had
lost. For there in Eric's eyes was a rekindling of the very blessing Brigitte believed had been wrested away five years ago.

Hope.

“I love you,” she breathed, somehow needing to say the words again.

Eric exhaled sharply, his hand trembling over Brigitte's. “You said earlier that our physical joining meant everything to you,” he said, his voice hoarse with feeling. “It meant everything to me as well.”

Brigitte gave him a small, tremulous smile. “Not merely lust then?”

“Not lust at all. Love. I love you, Brigitte—more than I can say. More than I ever believed possible.” Profound emotion slashed across his face, echoing in Brigitte's heart. “When you fell sick—Christ, I was terrified. Then I couldn't seem to bring down the fever. Not until tonight. It's been three days, and you've done nothing but fade in and out of sleep, rambling on about being in heaven.”

“I was. Because you were beside me.”

A muscle worked in Eric's jaw. “I was frantic. I paced. I swore. I even prayed.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I'd only just found you. I couldn't—
can't—
lose you.”