Chapter 22

A full moon made the lamp Beau held as they walked back from the Chandler farm almost unnecessary. It had been a magical evening. They had welcomed him and Madeline unconditionally. They had traded stories about the past, and Beau discovered that he and Daniel had the same sense of humour and the same self-effacing ego. And most importantly for Beau, they had made Madeline feel as if she were the most special person in the world.

And she was.

That realization hit him square in the chest. Yes, he had wanted to bed her from the first moment. He’d been struck by her presence, quiet and yet magnetic. He’d been tantalized by her fiery red hair, her lush curves, and eyes that told everyone who dared hold her stare that she was not a woman to be trifled with. For Beau, that had been an absolute dare.

But he’d chased women before, like he’d chased money—for the challenge. The thrill of not letting something he wanted get away.

In the past few days—and probably more than that, since it was coming on so slowly he’d assumed his cock had still been in control—he realized that whatever his feelings were for Madeline, they were far deeper and urgent than just bedding her. And that had been magnificent. It continued to be. But there was something more. She was becoming necessary. And her happiness had, most unexpectedly, become more important to him than anything in the world.

The fact that the Chandlers seem to understand that, made them important too—even if Hollis Chandler had only been the neighbour next door. For that reason alone, Beau would have thrown out the entire deal with George’s College to save their farm.

Sometimes he wondered the rather useless question…what if? What if Hollis and Beau’s mother had managed to stay together? What if he had been raised next door?

It was a pointless exercise, of course. His life, and that of both his parents, would have been completely different. His mother had been very happy with Frank. If she harboured any regrets, she never expressed any to Beau. And while Hollis still carried some fondness for Beau’s mother, Shirley had clearly been the love of his life.

Beau knew from the moment Daniel embraced him that selling The Grove to anyone was out of the question. Yes, he would lose the substantial offer George’s College was making. The ease with which he was now letting that go would have, not so long ago, seemed impossible. Beau da Silva didn’t lose money. He made it. Even when he’d sold his beloved fishing lodge, he’d made a good profit on it. Chasing the next dollar seemed like the only way to get Frank’s attention, if not his admiration. And that had filled the emptiness inside him.

Now, The Grove, and everything about it, filled him with joy.

“If you weren’t at Everwell,” he asked, his heart pushing forward the question before his brain had the chance to consider the better of it, “and you didn’t have to worry about anything, what would you do?”

Moonlight mixed with the lamplight, casting her pale skin in an unearthly glow. She paused, and it was obvious she was thinking.

“If money was no object, do you mean?”

“I suppose so,” he said, realizing yet again that for him, money largely hadn’t been an object, except to chase. But it had rarely been a barrier.

“I would have a wonderful garden,” she said, “and a library.”

“But you have that at Everwell,” he replied.

“I do. But I am always on guard there. Always on lookout,” she said. “If I could, I would put all that energy in to growing things. Using those plants to create beautiful things.”

“Like what?”

Even in the pale light, he could see she was blushing. “You’ll think it’s silly.”

“Madeline Murray, there is nothing you could say that I would consider silly.”

“I would like to make things that let people feel pretty—nice soap, for example,” she said. “Gemma brought me home some lovely French milled soap from Montreal when she was there. I’ve made rose oil before. And then maybe I’d put it in a shop and try to sell it. Or give it away, to women—or men for that matter—who need a little something. When women come to Everwell, sometimes they come with only the clothes on their back. They’ve been beaten down by life. They are scared. And maybe they’ve never felt as if they deserved something nice.”

Beau’s heart twisted a little when he considered her words. How many times had Madeline felt like she hadn’t deserved something beautiful?

“It seems like such a simple thing—a bath, fresh clothes, a safe place to sleep,” she continued. “I always make sure there are fresh flowers in the room, and we sometimes make soap and scent it with the rose petals from my garden. Or other things.”

“That’s not silly at all,” he said. “Providing someone a little dignity, a little bit of joy is never silly.”

The moonlight hinted at the smile on her face as they continued on in companionable silence. Soon they were through the path, where the house stood waiting for them, its slate roof glistening in the silvery glow from the heavens.

“What if you had the ability to pursue that,” he said, an idea gripping hold of him so tightly he stopped in his tracks. “To have your garden and your books and make your soap. Would you want it?”

“I can’t,” she protested, stepping away from him as if he were offering her something dangerous. “I’m so busy at Everwell, it would be hard to?— “

“But what if you weren’t at Everwell?”

The question seemed to hang in mid-air, the only sound the odd hoot from an owl in the nearby woods. Her brow crinkled in confusion, as if the question didn’t make sense.

“Just pretend,” he pressed, as gently as he could, trying to stem his own excitement. “You like to read. If you were to read—or perhaps write a story, and your main character wanted to have their gardens and their books?— “

“—and cats…”

“And a cat.”

“I said cats.”

Christ, Beau hated cats.

“Right—gardens and books and cats, what would they do?”

“I suppose they might try making some nice soap and find someone who might be willing to sell it for them.”

“Yes—in all the finest shops maybe?”

“Maybe,” she said. “But she wouldn’t do that, because she wants all sorts of people to have her soap, and she wouldn’t want it to be out of reach of the people who would appreciate it most.”

“I see,” he said. “And maybe she could use some of the proceeds of the soap and give some to a girl’s school.”

Her eyes went wide then.

“She would,” she said. “And maybe she would find a patron, to help defray the costs. And maybe she could even invite some of the women to stay, and work with her. They would get job experience, a small stipend, and their confidence back.”

“And what do you think she would call this business?”

“I don’t know..I’d have to think about it,” she said, and Beau couldn’t help but note the excitement in her voice. It made him so incandescently happy to see her this way.

Hearts aside, it was a good idea. A damn good idea. A business venture with a conscience. Small but affordable luxury—he’d known more than a few men to get rich on the idea. Her vision for it was so clear, it made Beau excited not only for her, but for the idea itself. His thoughts instantly went to his grandparent’s green book, full of notes and the recipes for soap, tonics, and ointments that she might want to try, using ingredients that could very well only be found on this property. He could talk to Aunt Vee and Jessica about how they might convince their connections carry the soap in some of the stores. New ideas always sparked a thrill of possibility—novelty always excited him of course, but this was something else.

But he could also imagine himself here with her, helping her choose the recipes, find the customers, and doing all the things he was good at—working with people—while she handled the things she clearly excelled at. He could be her number two. And together, maybe, they’d have something special.

Of course, he couldn’t offer for her until his name was cleared. It would hardly be worth tying herself to a wanted man. And unless Dominic Ashe found something—anything—to help him clear his name, his name wouldn’t be worth offering her.

That is, if she wanted it.

Somehow, the fact that he was wanted for murder seemed like an afterthought—an odd inconvenience. And the idea of going back to take on the helm of Silver Lumber, which had never been a particularly desired future, was more unpalatable than ever. But Neil was there, and his brother-in-law knew more about that company than anyone. Even Jessica showed a keen interest in the business, and if Neil and the directors of the company would get the hell out of her way, she’d do an admirable job with it, too. Hell, she had a better head for numbers than any of them.

They walked up the stone steps, and soon were at the red door. Madeline held up the lantern while Beau opened the latch.

“What if, in your story, there was a fairy godmother—or perhaps a shockingly handsome prince—who would agree to be your main character’s patron for this venture?”

Maddy stood speechless at Beau’s question. The door had swung open, but she remained rooted to the spot, stunned by his suggestion. Was he joking?

She had to give him a great deal of credit for framing her daydreaming in such a way that it felt safe for her to talk about.

But there was a something else there, lurking just below that joy. It was an old companion, one that had been with her since nearly as long as she could remember—the nagging sense that joy like that was for other people.

“I don’t know,” she said, standing at the threshold of a house she’d fallen so deeply in love with from the moment she saw it, looking up at the man standing on the other side, waiting for her. “I think she might be afraid to say yes.”

“Why is that, do you think?” he asked. “Because it doesn’t seem like your heroine is particularly afraid. Indeed, she seems very brave to me.”

“But maybe she isn’t,” Maddy said, swallowing back years of loneliness, of feeling unworthy, that she’d buried underneath a thick plate of anger. “Maybe she just pretends.”

“I understand that,” he said. “Because I think the hero—if there is indeed a hero and which I hope there is—is also just pretending. He’s pretending to be confident and happy and devil-may-care because for so long, he didn’t know what it was like to have someone really care about him.”

Maddy’s eyes widened, fixing on Beau, the lamplight flickering on his perfect face. An evening breeze rose, teasing his hair. The faintest hint of shadow fell across his face, highlighting the lines around his eyes and mouth. He seemed so boyish most of the time, even though they were the same age. But now, she saw the age settling on him. The weariness. The trepidation.

“I also wonder,” he continued, his voice low and warm, “if your heroine wasn’t stolen by the faeries, and you somehow were mixed up, placed with the wrong family. And that family, those people, didn’t know what to do with someone as magical as the heroine. So they did what small people do when they are afraid—they diminish those around them, to feel bigger, stronger, and smarter. And for a while they succeeded.”

“Until she escaped.”

“Until she escaped,” he said. “And found people who were not afraid of her. Who loved her. And let her be the faerie queen she was meant to be.”

Maddy pressed her lips together. She felt like she was on a precipice. She loved her fellow spinsters with all her heart, for exactly the reason Beau said. They had taken her in, accepted her when no one else would. Would leaving them be a betrayal? They needed her. How on earth could she do that to them?

“I don’t know if I could leave Everwell,” she said, voicing her fear out loud to the one person she felt safe doing so.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have to,” he said. “Not permanently. If you were having people stay, you would be going back and forth all the time, when the roads were good, anyway. Just because you are opening a new chapter of your life doesn’t always mean closing off another completely. I believe there is at least one of the ladies in the Society who has a husband.”

Maddy nodded, wrestling with her own complicated feelings and regret. She’d been happy, and yet hurt by both Gemma and Elouise’s changing status. Not because they’d found love, but because she hadn’t and deep down assumed she never would. That the happy bond that had kept her feeling safe and secure would somehow tear, leaving her afraid.

It hadn’t happened.

But. But.

“It’s not chocolate cake,” he said. “But I would like to give your heroine a way to live her dream.”

Maddy leaned in, because she was certain she misheard him.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“It was your idea, don’t you remember?” he said. “Gift it to someone who would treasure it. And I know no one who would treasure it more than you.”

Maddy shook her head. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why?”

He stepped toward her, cupping her cheek in his hand.

“Because I believe in Happily Ever Afters, Madeline Murray. Especially yours.”

Maddy’s heart roared so loudly in her chest she could barely hear herself think. Beau stood, just inside the door, the lamplight at his side, bathing him in warmth. His hand was extended in invitation. It hinted at a promise—a promise of something so exquisite she felt herself giving in to its power.

She’d walked in and out of this door countless times in the past few weeks, not giving it much thought.

But tonight, when Beau held out his hand, she somehow knew in her bones she was crossing a threshold. Something was happening, and it felt good. Impossibly good. Every contrary voice—the one telling her to run, or stay and fight, was slipping away from her, drowned out by something tantalizing. A promise for something else. Her own joy.

It was terrifying.

“What is it?”

He stood there, expectant, and somewhere in the haze between fear and longing, it dawned on Maddy that Beau was able to read her expressions. To know her. And not just her body, but something far more vulnerable—her heart.

“Beau,” she began as she took a step back, “this evening was lovely. More lovely than I could have imagined. But it’s just not possible.”

“Why not?” he asked, giving his head the smallest shake, as if he didn’t understand her answer. And he wouldn’t, she supposed. He just didn’t understand what it was like to risk everything the way she had. To lose everything.

“It’s a marvellous idea. A sound idea. And it would make you happy.”

“I am happy,” she replied. “At Everwell. I have everything I need there.”

She’d been safe there. The only place she’d felt safe. Accepted. Loved.

He stilled, and she felt strangely compelled to offer an explanation.

“Beau, The Grove would make someone a wonderful home,” she said. “And it should go to someone special.”

“Don’t you think you’re someone special?” he said. Frustration edged the normally smooth edges of his voice. He sighed and smiled again. “Perhaps you need some time to consider it. It is a big decision.”

“I don’t need more time,” she replied. “Maybe you need to rethink this. After all, you have a family next door now.”

“They have a home they are already in love with,” he said. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Madeline, a few moments ago when you were talking about your dreams you were so happy. Why wouldn’t you want that?”

How on earth could she give him the answer to a question she didn’t know the answer to herself? Her hands clenched at her sides.

“Why do you care so much if I am happy?” she asked. “I’m nothing to you.”

Was it Maddy’s imagination, or did he flinch at her question?

“I can’t tell if you just insulted me, or yourself,” he said, his stare suddenly hard as ice. “But neither of us deserve that censure.”

“I was happy at Everwell, Beau.” she said. “It was enough. And if you hadn’t come and?—”

“—taken you away from your books and flowers? Yes. You said as much. And when they catch the bastard who murdered my stepfather, I will ensure that your inconveniences are added to the charges,” he said, naked sarcasm in his voice. “In the meantime, I apologize for any presumptions I had about trying to make you happy.”

He turned, about to enter the house, leaving Maddy alone in the moonlight.

“I never asked it of you,” she said, calling after him. “I never asked anything of you. And I certainly never needed you to make me happy.”

Her words flew through the air, as if she’d thrown a blade that grazed his cheek before it hit the wall behind him. He turned back to her, his jaw tight, and when he spoke next, his voice was brittle, as if he was holding back his own fragile emotions.

“No, you did not. But here is the most remarkable thing of all. I shouldn’t care for you, Madeline Murray. I shouldn’t care one wit if you are happy or miserable, as you seem so damned intent on being. But I do. I care for you very, very much.”

Maddy blinked. Not because of his admission, but because the very idea that he might not want her was somehow more than she could bear. She wanted to push past him and get herself out from under his steel gaze. And she could have done it, if she chose, move him out of the way without so much of a thought. Push past him and every terrifying thing those words stood for. Instead of reaching out with her hands, she used her words.

“What would you have me do?” she whispered, her throat so tight she feared the tears stuck in her throat might erupt in a sob. “Leave all my friends, every bit of safety I have ever known, for some fantasy? You go through the world with your beautiful face, charming smiles, and perfectly cut suits and the world is happy to open whatever door you chose to walk through. It doesn’t work that way for me. You cannot be so unfeeling as to disregard why this is so much of a risk. Not everyone gets a happily ever after.”

He stood, unmoving and if Maddy didn’t know better, she would have thought for a moment he was waiting for her to continue.

“Unfeeling,” he said at last, but it was more of a murmur, as if he was talking to himself than to her. He nodded in agreement with a conversation he was having with himself. “I am unfeeling.”

“Beau, that is not?—”

“I am not a young upstart that needs to prove himself by marrying a rich man’s daughter to make his fortune. I am not so small I need to make someone else small to feel strong.” There was something in his voice—a hardness perhaps—she’d heard before, but only once before—directed at Nelson after he’d insulted her. “And I will not turn myself into a rude, obstinate version of myself just because that is what you seem to take comfort in. I grew up with that man, Madeline, but I will not become him. Not even for you.”

He turned away and disappeared into the darkness of the house, leaving her alone on the step, the moon at her back. The sound of peepers and crickets were overcome by the pounding of her heart in her chest. And it was breaking.