Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

W ords for her new poem had not come easily to Cora since returning to Norton Hall. She wrote haltingly in what little time she had, worried always that each word would offer readers nothing but disappointment. She felt disappointed, too. She'd never written something she did not like before, but this… It was fine. But it was not hers.

And now, sitting at the desk Liam had ordered placed just so in the art gallery that no longer held art, the words had dried up entirely. Perhaps the problem was that she could not sit . Every time she tried to, she'd pop back up and look out the window. If she stood at the very edge of it and craned her neck toward the front of the house, she could just see Liam. Sitting on the gravel drive, legs stretched out long before him, weight resting on his palms behind him, staring at the house.

What was he thinking? Why wouldn't he talk to her? Why didn't he want her? Oh, she knew what he'd meant. He did not want her right now to attempt to soothe wounds that had so recently been ripped open wide. But her heart felt them entirely differently. Her heart ached. For him mostly. And in fear for herself a little bit.

Because if he did not want her in a time of need, only in times of lust… She forced herself to pick up the quill and scrawl words across the paper. They came haltingly, and she shook her head, blinked to refocus, read the words out loud.

"Nothing sits as dark as night but for the worries of a man in flight. If Liam Fletcher could not see—"

She snapped her quill down. "Curses." She'd written his name on the page. No. Not his name? Was he Liam Murray? The law said one thing, but blood said another. Which mattered more? A question that did not really need an answer except in Liam's own mind. And heart.

Why wouldn't he let her help him? Be by him?

Cora growled and stood. He could not simply want her in good times and throw her away in bad. He could not sulk in silence. His silence had ripped them apart the first time; she would not allow that to happen again.

She marched down the stairs and out the door and down the drive. He must have seen her coming, but he moved not a muscle, made not a sound or gesture of greeting.

Cora curled her body downward to sit beside him, then pulled her knees up against her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. She settled her chin atop her knees, and after a moment of silence, she said, "The gravel is quite uncomfortable, Liam. How long have you been letting the rocks dig into your arse?"

"I can't feel my arse anymore." Still, he did not look at her.

Infuriating. But also… sad. And… her rage flamed to new heights not aimed at him, but at those who had done this to him. Oh, she'd like to pluck out their eyes.

"You look like you want to pluck out someone's eyeballs." He studied her now, not a hint of a smile about his kissable lips.

"And you do not. What is wrong with you?"

He plucked at a blade of grass daring to peep up between the pebbles of the drive. "You did not marry the man you thought you married."

Her laughter sounded like a mere huff in the whipping wind. "Neither did you know what man I was marrying."

"It is not funny."

That squashed her mirth. "I know. I should not have—"

"When you married me, I promised you certain things, and now, beyond my control, I cannot provide those things anymore."

"And what are those things?" When he did not answer, she said, "See? I have lost nothing. But you, Liam"—she linked her arm into his and leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder—"I feel like you have lost so much in such a short span of time." His name. His identity. His family.

"I'm not a Fletcher in any way. This family that I am the head representative of—I share not a drop of blood with them."

"And yet you are a good representative of them. They have raised you and—"

"Hated me."

"Then they have been blind. Believe me. As someone who has hated you in the past, I feel as if I can speak from a place of authority."

"You hated me for good reason. My grandmother hates me because I exist."

"Which, you must admit, is not a condemnation of you. Again, I speak with authority as someone who has been despised for merely existing. I was not a boy, and you are not a Fletcher. Who knew we had that little unfortunate commonality?" She wrapped her hand around his arm and tilted her face to him. "You were not even in this world yet, Liam, and your mother made decisions for you which impacted the rest of your life."

"It is no wonder I've always felt so out of place."

"And yet you have tried to belong. You dutifully trod the path they set for you."

"Disappointingly."

"That is because it was not your path. They forced you on it, and you did the best you could. Better than I would have done. I think I would have jerked about like those big balloons in a strong wind. You tried only to please."

"My entire life spent trying to please people I never had a chance of pleasing." He gave a bitter laugh. "No matter what I did I was destined to fail because I did not carry their blood. Because my mother had loved another man. A wasted life. Perhaps you were right, Cora."

"About what?"

"Some people are born for happy ever afters, and some are not. Perhaps, had I been allowed to be plain Liam Murray, I could have found a happy end."

Her own words took the shape of a blade, a dagger, tiny and deadly, and split her open ear to navel. What he now saw as truth, she hoped with every fiber of her being was only… her fear. Her doubt.

He sat cold beside her, alone despite her nearness. Too much cold. She shivered. Her bones clattered together, and she had to shift away from him and rub her palms up and down her arms to save a bit of her own heat.

She folded her hands atop her knees, swallowed, and spoke as steadily as she could, her gaze now trained on the house rising tall before them. "You do not think Liam Fletcher can have a happy end?"

"I'm a fraud. I should not be living in that house. I should not be carrying a title meant for another man, meant f-for"—his voice broke, and he closed his eyes—"for my brother, Henry."

"You are not a fraud," she snapped. Because what could she say about Henry? Liam had the right of it about that. And… She could not see her belly with her skirts covering her knees. The material billowed out and stretched from just beneath her bust to her knees. A dip only between thighs and belly, a dip only where she'd once imagined her flat stomach growing round with Liam's child.

The dowager had asked her not to conceive. Had demanded it. And if Liam wished the title to pass to the rightful heir…

"What am I going to do?" he demanded. "How can I stand in Parliament and lie? How can I take what belongs to my brother?"

"You did not make the rules that allow you to wield a lord's power, even though you are not one by birth. But"—she shook her head—"you are one by birth because according to the laws—"

"Enough. My head hurts."

Hers, too. She pressed her fingertips into her temples, then stood, and held a hand out to him. "Come inside with me. Lottie often gets megrims, and I know how to—"

"No. No nursing can help." He brushed her hand aside as he stood and walked away from Norton Hall. "I need to move." And he did, each step taking him farther away from her.

"Liam…" she called, her voice soft and beckoning.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. His face pale, his usually strong frame bent and bowed. "Thank you, Cora, for trying to make me feel better. This is an absurd situation, and the people who knew the truth should not have allowed me to bring an innocent woman into it, should not have allowed me to force you to live a lie along with me."

"Liam, I don't care."

"I do."

She took a step toward him but only one, a halting one. "We shall figure it all out together. I'm quite good at keeping secrets about who I am. I can keep your secret, too."

"I don't know if I can." He left, down the drive and past the gate and who knew where into the world.

Without her.

Damn him.

They broke him. They broke her optimistic, grinning, golden husband, and she wanted the man she'd married back!

She stormed into the house, yelling, "Angus! Isla! Angus!"

Instead, she got the dowager, who popped her head out of a room, wearing a disapproving glare. "What is all this undignified ruckus?"

Cora hissed at her, then ran up the stairs. "Angus! Isla!" When she found the wing housing their rooms, she cried their names again, and before the echoes of her voice stopped ringing, a door inched open, and Isla peeked out.

"We were just packing," she said.

"We'll be gone shortly," Angus said, pushing the door open wider and standing behind his wife.

Cora shook her head. "I need your help. I need Liam and a coach."

Isla blinked. "Liam? Isn't he… sitting on the drive?"

"He's left." Cora looked to Angus. "Do you think you can hunt him down and drag him back no matter how much he might argue?"

Angus cracked his knuckles. "Aye, my lady."

"Isla, will you pack his trunk?"

"Yes." She stepped hesitantly into the hallway. "Cora… I did not mean to cause any hurt. I was young and lost. And I had no way of finding Angus. My father… Marrying Henry was the best option at the time. My only option."

Of course it had been. How many books had Cora read about a lost and ruined woman? How many poems had she written herself. Love-wrecked woman in the real world as well as the imaginary one, and Cora could not blame any woman, for long, for doing what she must to survive.

She nodded. "I know."

Tears welling in her eyes, Isla stepped back into her bedchamber and shut the door, turning either to her tasks or to her husband's chest to weep.

Cora rushed to her study, the old art gallery Liam had rearranged. She had no husband's chest to weep on, so she must get to work instead. And now she knew the words she must write to teach Liam Fletcher that no matter who you were, you could write a happy ending for yourself.