Chapter 25

Leah stood out on the terrace of Lord Haughton's fine manor, on the outskirts of London, letting the icy wind wash over her feverish face. The darkened world smelled like early snow, the thick clouds overhead promising the first flakes of the year. Usually, snow delighted Leah, but part of her did not want it to fall at all, for if it did, she knew there was one person she would want to run to and share the moment with. The one person she needed to keep her distance from.

"Darling?" Sarah stepped out onto the terrace.

Leah turned, smiling sadly. "I will not be a moment. I needed some fresh air."

"You should not be out here alone," her mother urged. "You will catch your death of cold."

Leah shook her head. "Just a moment more, Mama. Please." She breathed out a hollow sigh. "You can watch me from inside if you are worried about propriety."

"I am not worried about propriety, darling," her mother replied softly. "I am worried about you."

"Do not be. It is just this lingering headache, that is all," Leah lied, for there had never been a headache. Not unless the frustration of falling for a man who would never love her back could be counted as a headache.

Sarah frowned uncertainly. "Very well. I shall be just inside the ballroom, awaiting your return." She paused. "Take as long as you need."

"Thank you, Mama."

Sarah headed back into the warmth, leaving Leah alone with her thoughts once more. It was quiet on the terrace where only a few other guests milled about. It was quieter still, considering she did not have her friends with her. They were arriving later while Leah had insisted on arriving earlier with her mother to avoid having to journey there with Nathaniel. She had sent him a note the previous day, receiving no reply.

What if it did not reach him? What if he has gone to Marylebone and found me already departed?She shook her head violently, trying to rid herself of him. So what if he does? That is not your fault. You gave ample notice.

For days, he had plagued her mind. For days, she had written letters that had been thrown in the fire, unsent and unfinished. For days, she had almost gone to him to confess that she was falling in love with him and did not know what to do. For days, she had regretted her words in the parlor—how could she have told him that she had loved Jonathan? What had been the purpose? She still did not know, especially as it had not been true. She had thought she loved him, but now that her heart brimmed and beat for Nathaniel, and Nathaniel alone, she understood that even what she had thought was love was not even close.

But why does it hurt? she wondered, thinking of Abigail and of the Countess of Grayling and of her own mother. Pooling all of their morsels of wisdom together, Leah knew it was not meant to hurt. Did that mean it was not love at all or anything like it? Was she just tricking herself again, as she had done with Jonathan? Her mind was a tangled mess, and she could not find any loose end to help her unravel it.

"It is freezing out here. You should be wearing a pelisse at the very least," a voice said, jarring her out of her reverie. "Please, take my cloak."

Leah whirled around, staring up at the unwelcome face of Jonathan. "No, thank you."

He proceeded to remove his cloak anyway. "I do not want you to be cold, Leah," he insisted, trying to put the cloak on her shoulders.

She shrugged the offending item off, passing it back to Jonathan. "I have no need of it. I am warm enough."

"I will not take it." He moved a half step backward, folding his arms behind his back. "I mean nothing by this, Leah. Truly, I just want you to be warm, and there is snow coming. Can you not smell it?"

Exhaling her exasperation, Leah dropped the cloak onto the ground. "Leave me be, Jonathan. I do not want your cloak, and I do not want your company. Nor do I want any gossip, for my chaperone is inside. You should not be approaching me at all."

You will be pleased to hear about these developments, her heart whispered, imagining what Nathaniel would say if he was standing beside her. But, of course, Jonathan would not have approached at all if Nathaniel was there. Nathaniel was the deterrent, painfully absent because she had chosen to push him away for her own sake.

"As you wish, but I shall leave that cloak on the ground until you are finished enjoying the terrace, just in case you feel a chill." Jonathan edged further down the terrace though still close enough to conduct a civil conversation. "I did not get the opportunity to say it at the botanical gardens, but I am sorry, Leah."

Leah's head twisted, her eyes narrowing. "Sorry for what?"

If this was what Jonathan thought "not upsetting her" meant, he had sorely misunderstood. Evidently, he had not realized it meant that he was not supposed to speak to her ever again, even in a kindly fashion. However, if she simply ignored him, she knew he would gain some satisfaction from her silence, thinking she had become weak again.

"I am sorry for all of it," he said, after a moment or two.

Leah sniffed. "That hardly narrows it down, Jonathan."

"I am sorry for the way that I treated you. I am sorry for my bad behavior. I am sorry that I have made society miserable for you these past three years," he replied evenly with no hint of insincerity. "I did it to lessen my shame, believing that if I could make you into a genuine embarrassment, I would somehow feel absolved of my guilt."

Leah stared at him in disbelief. "Goodness, some truth at last. Harsh truths, too. How noble of you."

"But you never became a genuine embarrassment, Leah," he continued, undeterred. "Even that night before our wedding, you were not an embarrassment. You were young, and you were nervous, and you imbibed too much. We have all done it, yet I turned it into something it was not. I heard you, and I hear you now—I accept your declaration of love, three years late. I accept the declaration of love you made that night."

"I made no declaration of love," she spat back. "I said that I was not afraid of the future, though I was petrified. I said I would do my duty, though I dearly did not wish to. I made no mention of love. I might have been inebriated from the terror of being bound to you forever, but I remember that much!"

Jonathan smirked. "That still sounds like a declaration of love to me. I should have relished it, however foolish, instead of shunning it."

"I beg your pardon?" For a moment, she wondered if she had succumbed to a terrible fever after all and was in the midst of delirium. That was the only explanation she could think of to rationalize what she was hearing.

"What I am saying is, I made a grave mistake," he said, his shoulders sagging. "If I could turn back the clock, I would have been there at the church. That is why I have been so unkind to you since that day. I regretted it almost immediately, and I knew I could not win you back, so I punished you twice over for my mistake."

Leah rolled her eyes, so angry that she once again wished Nathaniel was there, so he could punch Jonathan again for her. "What are you saying? Do you think I believe a word of that? You are trying to be nice because Nathaniel gave you a warning, and that warning must have scared you."

"No, that warning gave me clarity," Jonathan insisted, glancing shyly in her direction. "It forced me to think on all the awful things I have done, and I realized that, if nothing else, I owe you honesty at last."

Bracing her hands against the low stone wall, she frowned at her former betrothed, seeking some semblance of mockery or jest in his expression. She found none, just a somber sorrow that poured more confusion into her already swirling brain.

"Very well. I accept your apology," she said curtly. "It is all in the past, so let us keep it there where it belongs. Consider our bygones, bygones. And with that said, please leave me be and take your cloak with you."

She picked his cloak up off the ground and stretched her arm out, waiting for him to take it.

He walked toward her, approaching as if he meant to take the cloak and do as she had asked. But as his hand clasped the thick, black wool, his other hand snaked up and curled around hers, gripping it tightly. Even through her silk gloves, she could feel how clammy and unpleasant his palm was, imagining she could feel the sheen of cold sweat seeping through the fabric. It was nothing like the tender, welcome touch of Nathaniel.

She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held on. "Release me," she hissed quietly, aware of the other guests on the terrace. No one seemed to be paying attention to them, but she could not risk being wrong. "See, you have not changed at all. Even now, you are trying to play silly games."

"No, I swear it," Jonathan urged, shaking his head in earnest. "I just wanted to hold your hand and thank you for your forgiveness."

Leah glared at him. "I did not say you were forgiven. I said I accepted your apology; it is not quite the same thing." She chinned toward the ballroom. "Go to your wife and be nice to her instead of playing the jester out here where you are not wanted. Indeed, she is the one who made the grave mistake, and she is also the one who deserves an apology."

"I am sorry." Jonathan let go of her hand, pulling his cloak to his chest. "I honestly meant no harm, but I am only just beginning to learn how to be a better man. I suppose I am still making mistakes."

Leah did not believe a word, and did not trust his intentions, as she turned her back on him. After all, the Jonathan she knew would never have apologized so quickly, if ever. "Leave me be. I will not ask a third time."

"Of course," Jonathan murmured. "Apologies."

Leah expelled a breath, only to realize that Jonathan had not left. He was watching her from the doorway. "Are you truly going to make me ask a third time?" she said, gripping the low wall.

"Are you really marrying him?" Jonathan replied.

"That is none of your concern."

Jonathan returned, standing a few paces away. "He did this to my face, you know. He is exactly like his father." When Leah did not respond, he continued at a clip. "His father was a swindler and a cretin, preying upon the weak and desperate. When I was eight-and-ten, needing money for my poor mother's health, he gave me a loan. I thought he was being kind, but the interest crippled me. The only reason I survived is because he died, and my debts were… forgotten or lost, I do not know which."

A great fist clenched around Leah's stomach, remembering the story Abigail had told her. And though Nathaniel had hurt her without meaning to, though she was trying to distance herself from him, she knew what she believed and what she did not—Nathaniel was nothing like his father.

"He will turn on you," Jonathan urged. "Even his mother is terrified of him."

Leah whirled around, her patience gossamer thin. "Lies come so easily to you, do they not? They just drip from your tongue like honey." She glowered up at him. "His mother adores him. His brother adores him. I adore him. His father was as cruel to him as he was to everyone else, so take your untruths elsewhere; they are not wanted here. Whatever mistakes you have made in your life, Jonathan, they are your own responsibility to bear. Blaming others will not drag you out of the messes you have created. Now, for the very last time, return to your wife and do your very best to cherish her because I imagine she thinks she has made a very grave mistake at present."

Jonathan rushed forward, seizing her hand again. "Heed me, Leah, before it is too late."

"Unhand me, Jonathan, before it is too late," she shot back, wrenching her hand from his as discreetly as she could. People were beginning to stare. "I have a powerful scream."

Jonathan immediately released her, bowing his head as he moved away but not before whispering, "Do not say I did not warn you."

Catching her breath, her chest ablaze with fury and upset, she turned back toward the shadowed gardens as the very first snowflake began to fall. It landed upon her cheek like an icy tear, melted by the heat of her anger, and ran down her face undisturbed.

I should have waited for you, she knew, closing her eyes and wishing desperately that things were not what they were. Wishing her feelings for Nathaniel could melt and vanish just as quickly as a snowflake.

"Leah?" a soft, worried voice danced on the wind, snapping her eyes open.

For a moment, she thought she had imagined it. But ahead of her, emerging from the darkness, walking through the quietly falling blossoms of snow, was Nathaniel. And she realized, all too late, that Jonathan had not just left her with parting words; he had left his cloak upon the wall, too.

In a flustered panic, she abandoned the cloak, pretended she had not seen Nathaniel, and raced away as fast as her feet could carry her.