The words caught in his throat, as if stopping him from revealing just how detrimental her giving spirit had been to her.
Bronwyn seemed to sense his distress. She kissed his chest, then said, “I saw her childhood portrait when Mrs. Wheeler gave me a tour of the house. She grew up here?”
At once the panic in him eased. His chest expanded, a kind of relief washing over him that their talk had turned to safer waters. “Yes. Her name was Mary Caulnedy then, an only child. She used to tell me the most fantastic stories when I was young, of the folklore of Synne, and the adventures she had, and how happy she had been here. It was why—”
Once more his throat closed as grief took control again. But he was suddenly tired of keeping her hidden, like some dirty secret, when in fact she had been such an incredible blessing.
“It was why I brought her here when she was about to die,” he finished, his voice hoarse with effort. “I wanted her last memories to be in the place that had made her so happy.”
His voice hitched on the last word. Bronwyn immediately rose up, leaning over him. She gazed down into his face, her brilliant eyes glittering with surprising moisture in the faint firelight. Was she crying? But he did not realize he had been crying as well until she ran a finger along his cheek, wiping away a tear.
“I wish I had known her,” she said.
He cupped her cheek, overwhelmed by emotion. “I wish you had as well,” he replied. He dragged her head down and took her lips in a kiss, his soul lighter than it had ever been.
How was it that his life could so totally turn on its head in such a short time? Lying here with Bronwyn, thinking over the past days of happiness, he could not now remember why he had been so determined to keep her at arm’s length, or any of them, for that matter. When he recalled the smiles on the girls’ faces, at how he had shared laughter with them—something they had never done in five long years since they had come into his care—he found himself wishing it could always be thus. And when he was in Bronwyn’s arms…
Ah, when he was in Bronwyn’s arms he forgot everything evil and ugly in his life. Here was light, and joy, and hope. She gave that to him. She gave that to all of them.
Dear God, if only life could always be this way. He had never known such contentment as he had these last days with Bronwyn and the girls. Had never known such love—
Love? The word swirled through him, but it did not make him recoil as he expected. No, it made him want to sink into it, into the realization that he loved the girls, and always had. And, more surprisingly, he loved Bronwyn.
He pulled back, and scoured Bronwyn’s face, watching as her eyelids fluttered up, revealing eyes brimming with what appeared to be the same emotions coursing through him. Dear God, he loved her. He loved Bronwyn.
But she could not love him. If he did not think he was deserving of the love of his three wards, what made him think he deserved the love of someone as incredible and brilliant and giving as Bronwyn? And besides, soon he would leave her and the girls behind, and return to London. Just as he wanted.
As her lips curved in a smile that was full of promise, however, and she lowered her head once again to take his lips in a kiss, his last thought before passion overtook him was that perhaps that wasn’t what he wanted at all. No, what he truly wanted was to stay in Bronwyn’s arms, forever.
Chapter 17
She was done.
Bronwyn leaned back in her chair and gazed down at the small packet on the library desk with equal parts relief and anxiety. She had not thought to ever complete her paper. Stolen moments could only get her so far, after all, and with the busyness of the past days with Ash and the girls, she had not managed to carve out the time she needed to finish her work.
But to her shock Ash had pulled her aside that morning and decreed that there was to be no outing that day, at least not for Bronwyn.
“I’ll take the girls to the Elven Pools,” he’d said as he’d gathered his wards together, a chattering, chaotic group, in the front hall, “so you might have the day to do as you like. You have not been to the meadow since the girls returned to Caulnedy, after all. Nor have you taken the time to work on your paper.”
Then he had leaned in close, giving her a brief, tender kiss. “The world needs to see your work, Bronwyn,” he’d murmured before herding the girls out the door.
She had been too stunned to speak. But once they had closed the door, and the quiet of the house had settled around her, she had been filled with an excitement about returning to her work that she had not experienced in too long. She had locked herself away in the library at once, barely taking the time to eat as she worked feverishly throughout the day to revise her paper.
But now it was done, and ready to send off to the Royal Society. She had poured her heart and soul into the piece, and it was her best work to date; surely they could not refuse to accept her findings.
But as she went to seal the packet up, she paused, suddenly fearful. She chewed her lip, gazing down at the neat pile of papers, all wrapped in brown paper, ready to be delivered. Her work was done; it was ridiculous to waste a moment more in uncertainty. After all, she had spent years readying herself for just such a moment. Every bit of research, every word written, every specimen mounted, every sketch perfected, had been leading to this very occasion. Why, then, was she faltering?
It was not her typical fear of failure, that she knew. No, that particular emotion was familiar, a dull ache in her gut. This was new, and sharp, a fear that seized her limbs and dug into her shoulders with fierce claws of doubt. As her thoughts turned over the past days, trying to understand where this new uncertainty was coming from, it became clear just what had prompted this new anxiety: whereas before she’d had to worry only about herself and her pride if she failed, now she might fail Ash and the girls as well.
Which was too paralyzing a thought to contemplate. She needed air. She planted her hands on the desk and pushed herself to standing, ignoring her shaking legs. She would take a quick walk and clear her head, and by the time she returned she would be right as rain and able to send off the packet with no qualms.
Not giving the parcel another glance, she strode from the room, making her way to the front hall. The house was still quiet, Ash not yet returned with the girls. She wondered what they were doing, how they were enjoying their outing. And, not for the first time, she marveled at the change in her husband, that he would willingly spend time with his wards. That was not the only change, for he was different with her as well, the night before proof of that.
A small smile curved her lips, her step slowing and body warming as she crossed the marble tile of the foyer. Something had shifted between them last night, a line redrawn in the sand when he had opened up to her about his mother. For a beautiful moment she had even forgotten this was all temporary.
But itwastemporary, she tried to remind herself. In a mere four days he would be leaving. She had best remember that. Theirs was not a romantic interlude. There was no affection between them.
Yet she knew, even as she tried to remind herself of their original agreement, that it was a lie. She cared for Ash, truly cared for him. In fact, after seeing him open up to the girls, after his unflinching support of her work, after the tenderness he had showered her with, it was quite possible she might even love him.