Chapter 26

“T his is sewer,” Livian’s nephew, James, explained, jabbing his broken charcoal pencil at the page he currently colored on.

Laying face down on her stomach across from the boy, Livian stopped shading her latest drawing and put all her attention on her nephew’s amorphous sketch.

“Ooh, I see that,” she said. “Tell me all about it.”

“This is Papa’s toffer stick.”

Tosher stick. Kidnapped as a child, Livian’s brother-in-law had survived not on the streets of London, but under them. He’d used a mighty staff to rummage through sewers in search of lost treasures and from them built a fortune for himself.

“And this?” Livian asked, pointing her pencil tip at the scribblings near the stick.

“That’s me,” he said, returning to his scribbling. “I get treasures with Papa and Mama.”

With Papa and Mama.

A fresh, never far, wave of grief sent her heart into a full convulsion.

Too many times, she’d dangerously allowed herself to imagine a different future for herself. In it, there’d been she and Latimer and a small babe of their own—a big, dark-haired little boy cut in his father’s image.

But there was no Latimer, and she’d learned several days ago there would be no babe. That fact should have left Livian with only profound relief, but instead, only emphasized how similar she was to her mother, for she’d been desperate for even that most special piece of him.

Tears filled her throat and she swallowed roughly.

Maybe that was just the power of love—the all-consuming, all-powerful emotion, stripped one of pride, logic, and left one desperate.

“What yours, Aunt Livvie?” her nephew’s question piped through her sorrowful musings.

Livian shook her head and attempted to clear it. “What’s that, dear heart?”

James paused and stabbed his rapidly dulling pencil at Livian’s rendering. “Is yours a stick, too.”

She followed that point to her page and stared blankly at her image.

Using his palms, her nephew pushed himself up into a seated position. “A biiiiig stick,” he said, holding his small, chubby arms far apart.

A stick.

Livian stared at the enormous oak tree with its severed limb lying on the charcoal ground she’d drawn. “Yes,” she murmured softly, as much to herself. “A stick.”

“A toffer one?” he quizzed.

“Not a tosher one like your da used in the sewers to find treasures,” she said, in whisperings suitable for a grand story. “A different kind of stick.”

As intended, James’s eyes formed huge circles.

Livian touched the little specks she’d marked on the page. “You see here?”

He nodded.

“That is rain,” Livian explained. “And here…” She pointed to a jagged strip. “This is lightning.”

“Did it boom, too ?”

“Yes, thunder and lightning. The storm was soooo big.” She stretched her arms wide, like he’d done earlier.

“Were you scared?” he whispered.

“No.” Livian quickly assured him. “It was a wonderful storm.”

James pressed his hands on either side of her picture and lowered his nose to the paper. He peered closely at Livian’s image and then lifted a concerned gaze to hers.

“It broke the stick?” He pointed to the bolt of lightning and fallen limb.

“Not at all,” she said softly. “It made the stick.”

Seeming content with Livian’s explanation, her nephew returned to his own drawing and left her with the memories of that fateful night.

A fierce rainstorm and an ancient branch which had forever changed her life; one violent tempest upended her entire existence. Had the tree not broken, had it not stormed, she would have continued on to the Duchess of Argyll’s and met Lachlan Latimer there.

But in that alternate, almost-story, they would have both known their intentions: his for the duchess’ and Livian’s for…some other man.

It wouldn’t have mattered. They’d been destined for one another, in that way, and in every way.

At least, her heart had been destined for his. The connection between them was undeniable. They were a man and woman moving amidst a world neither of them belonged to and bonded over that tie. Yes, they would have found their way together, regardless.

And the outcome would have also always been the same—Latimer choosing the duchess because ultimately, his life’s energy, efforts, and love belonged to the career he’d built from the nothing streets of London.

Tears pricked her eyes; her vision blurred.

Why have I allowed myself to be a glutton for suffering and sadness?

“Don’t cry.” James scrambled onto her lap. He slapped his small, charcoal-stained palms against her cheeks and squeezed them. “You’ll get better at drawing.”

“Thanff you,” she said through her scrunched mouth.

“Ah, my two favorite artists.”

Livian and James looked up.

Looking like two women on a mission, Verity and Billy, stood in the doorway.

Hell.

“Mama!” James squealed. Toddling to his feet, he went ambling over as quick as his chubby legs would carry him.

With a great deal less of her nephew’s enthusiasm, Livian stood.

Billy took Verity’s newborn babe just as James reached his mother. “I’ve been drawing,” he cried happily.

Verity scooped the boy up and hugged him close. “I cannot wait to see your latest masterpiece,” she crooned, touching her nose to James’s button one.

“Aunt Livvie’s sad again.”

All eyes went to Livian.

Splendid.

She resisted the urge to squirm under those inquisitive stares.

“Is she?” Verity gently asked her son.

He gave a big nod. “Her stick made her sad.”

The trio comprised of her two sisters and small nephew stared all the harder at Livian.

“Yes, well,” Livian said, striving for breeziness, “as you know, art has never been my greatest talent.”

Except, she instantly regretted that admission as her family took that as an invitation to join her.

Marching his way back over, James scooped up Livian’s page and shook it at his mother. “Her stick looks good to me.”

As Verity and Billy silently scrutinized her work, Livian bit the inside of her lower lip. They were both clever enough to gather the meaning of the picture.

It was all Livian could do to meet their knowing gazes.

While both women made a show of studying it, Livian couldn’t keep herself from shifting back and forth.

“Well, I for one, believe it is a fine branch,” Verity praised from behind the page.

“Thank you,” Livian mumbled under her breath.

Not that she need answer. The other women were quite fine carrying on all by themselves.

“Don’t you agree?” Verity asked Billy.

“Oh, yes.” Catching her chin between thumb and forefinger, Billy gave it a longer look. “It tells a story, does it not?”

“Yes!” Verity exclaimed. “That is what I was just thinking.”

“Hmm,” Billy murmured.

Refusing to let them get a rise out of her, Livian folded her arms at her chest and stared mutinously ahead.

All the while, James, too young to pick up on sarcasm, swung his little gaze back and forth between his aunt and mother. Apparently tired at last of the discussion over his aunt’s artwork, he returned to the floor and resumed working on his sketch.

“Why…this is not just a stick,” Verity cried out like she’d just discovered fire. “It appears to be an enormous branch the storm broke loose, and it fell here, on what looks to be—”

“A road!” Billy cried out.

Livian snatched the sheet back from both of them. “I am so happy you’re having fun at my,” misery , “expense,” she gritted out instead.

As if roused by the tension sweeping the room, James stirred.

Making soft, soothing noises, Billy rocked the babe back to sleep. “Livvie, we are not—”

“He’s not worth this,” Billy said bluntly, catching Livian off-balance with unexpectedly forthright punch.

Verity gave a nervous laugh. “ Billy —”

“What? He isn’t. I met the fellow. He clearly cared about Livian, but not enough.”

A fresh spike found its way through Livian’s now always-aching heart.

Verity sighed. “So much for subtle, Billy.”

“Yes, well, we’ve all done enough tiptoeing here. We’ve allowed Livian to grieve, but we are not doing her any favors by allowing her to suffer over a bloody dolt too stupid to realize he’s found the best thing in his sorry existence.”

Seeming to suddenly remember her presence, Billy looked at Livian. “You’re better off without him.”

Such were just assurances made to make women with broken hearts feel better. Nothing, however, could. Not really.

“Love isn’t that easy,” Verity explained.

Billy snorted. “If it isn’t, then it’s not really love.”

Unable to face her pitying sisters, Livian wandered to the window overlooking Verity and Malcom’s vast rolling hills and pastures, still green, despite the winter’s hold.

“Yes, well, I’m so glad I have you both for that reminder and this very helpful discussion,” she murmured. “Now, I can freely put him from my thoughts.”

The thing of it was, not thinking of Lachlan didn’t make losing him easier; it just made Livian all the more miserable. The best moments of her life had been the scant few she’d spent with him.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she hugged herself more tightly.

When she opened them, from within the window, she caught the glance Verity and Billy shared.

“We hate seeing you this way, Livvie,” Verity implored.

This is precisely why she’d not wanted to come home. This is precisely why she, with the duchess’ assistance, concocted a plan to marry. She wanted a home of her own; one where she could live freely and freely feel her emotions and not worry about her sisters worrying after her, a grown woman.

“I am sorry I’ve made you all sad,” Livian whispered tiredly, without acrimony.

“No!” Verity and Billy insisted at the same time.

Verity said something to Billy.

A moment later, Billy placed Evangeline in the left crook of her mother’s arms.

Billy stretched a spare hand down to James. “Come along, little man. Let us find new tosher sticks outside to sketch.”

Squealing, the boy abandoned his work and raced off with Billy.

Ah, another private discussion with her eldest sister—two in the same week.

Determined to head this one off, the moment Billy and the babes were gone Livian raised her palm.

“Speaking with you alone,” about Lachlan , “doesn’t serve any purpose. It changes nothing, as such, I’d rather—”

“I didn’t expect speaking about him would help,” Verity cut her off quietly. “Nor did I believe doing so would help your heart heal. There are no magic words and no ways to erase the pain of a broken heart.”

She’d not expected that. “Oh.”

Verity joined Livian at the window and stood shoulder-to-shoulder, staring out. “I only want you to be happy, Livvie, and yet, I know I’m powerless to make you so. There’s nothing I can say to erase the pain or make you forget him.”

Sadness leant a husky quality to Verity’s voice. “I cannot give you him, but I can give you something else you deserve and crave…”

Furrowing her brow, Livian looked at her sister.

Verity reached inside the front of her white apron and from within the pocket, extracted a key.

She held it out to Livian.

When Livian didn’t immediately take the small scrap of metal, Verity pushed it against her palm.

Her confusion deepening, Livian peered at the ornate key and then her sister. “I don’t—”

“Willow House,” Verity cut off the rest of that question. “It is a small property that belonged to—still belongs to—Malcom’s family. It is a mere half-day’s ride by carriage from here. I will miss you. You are always welcome here. We are your family. Before Malcom, I wanted only independence and a secure existence. I-I cannot give you, Mr. L-Latimer,” she said, her voice catching. “But I can give you this. Malcom and I both can.”

At that depth of love and generosity, a sob slipped out.

“Verity,” she said thickly. She made to return that great gift. “I cannot—”

“You can,” her big sister said, firmly folding Livian’s palm around the key. “And you will. Your heart has been broken, but I do believe—”

Whatever hopeful insight her sister intended to give was interrupted by shouting somewhere belowstairs—Bram and Fowler’s voice; furious as Livian had never heard them.

There came a long silence, so long that Livian wondered if she’d merely imagined the always-unamiable pair’s raised voices.

Except, there it came again, a second time—this time, louder, but not Bram and Fowler this time, rather, Malcom’s shout.

“What in blazes?” Verity whispered.

And the tender exchange between them cut short, Livian and Verity took off running.