Unforgettable (Mockingbird Square 1)

Had he treated her as unthinkingly as he had his brother? On the surface it seemed that he had, and yet . . . A memory was stirring, forcing its way into his head . . .

Heat, a burning sun, and the sound of men and horses. A sense of inevitability, of letting himself go, because she could no longer be his.

These were times he preferred not to remember, the days when his life had seemed unbearable.

Ash knew he needed to see Juliet as soon as possible. He needed to talk to her, and perhaps make reparation. He had to redeem himself in her eyes. And, he thought wryly, if she simply ripped into him then that was all right too. Indeed, it would be a relief from the cool stranger who had said goodbye to him last night.

“I’m glad Simon will be coming down to Crevitch,” he said to his mother. “And I was thinking only the other day . . . We should hold a Midsummer celebration this year. It has been too long since we had one. Will you arrange that, mother?”

She blinked at him and this time her smile was wide and genuine. “What a wonderful idea, Ash! Yes, I shall begin sending out invitations immediately.”

He nodded, pleased that she was pleased.

“Now,” he said, “there is something I really must do.”

Puzzled, she watched him walk away. Ash was behaving very unlike himself but perhaps that was a good thing. He had begun to remind her of his father, riding roughshod over people, uncaring, and yet he had been such a dear little boy. Something in him had changed after that Juliet Montgomery business, and then that awful time in Spain.

It was his Uncle George who had insisted he go into the army. She had still not forgiven her brother-in-law for that, but Ash and his uncle seemed so close. If Ash had made peace with him, Felicity decided it was not her place to stir things up again.

Your son is a hero! She could still hear George’s angry cry when she demanded to know what had happened to her son, why he was being shipped home, injured. He rode at the enemy, he led the way, and victory was his! And yet there had been an expression on George’s face that told another story.

It was the only time she had ever seen her brother-in-law weep.

Chapter Nine

Summer, 1816, Montgomery House, Crevitch, Somerset

Juliet didn’t know if she was going to meet Ash in the summerhouse. She told herself she hadn’t made up her mind. And that was what she kept telling herself until it was almost noon, and even when she finally set out she thought she might walk in the opposite direction. Because to agree to such a thing seemed ridiculously impulsive after all she’d gone through.

But weren’t you thinking only the other day how much you would like to tell Ash how you really felt? Release some of your anger and disappointment over the past? Who knows when you will get another chance? And once the words are spoken then Ash will leave you be, and you can finally return him to the past. Where he belongs.

It was this thought, in the end, that sent her across the lawn to the small building with its shuttered windows and forlorn air.

The door was closed. She opened it with the key she had found in her father’s old desk drawer, wondering if he had ever come here, afterwards. She doubted it. Her father was so full of his own unhappiness and disappointments that he had no time to consider whether or not Juliet was happy with what he had done to her.

Had she turned into her father, wasting her life on regrets? Holding on to grudges until they became like poison, spreading through her mind and heart, and taking away everything that was good? If this meeting with Ash helped clear the air, then surely it was worth any discomfort it might cause her?

Dust drifted out of the interior, shafts of light shone down through the gaps in the roof and there was evidence of damp leaking in. Her mother’s furnishings were still there, with an easel upon which the Italian count had been purporting to paint her portrait. A half-finished canvas was still resting upon it, covered by a dusty cloth. A relic from the past she had never had the heart to remove.

She asked herself why she hadn’t come here before; she had been home now for a year, but in her heart she knew why.

Because she hadn’t wanted to remember those heady days. She hadn’t wanted to remember how much she had loved Ash. She hadn’t wanted to think about how her life might have been if only things had been different. He had broken her heart when he left her. Would she tell Ash that? Did she dare?

To distract herself, Juliet went over to the easel and lifted the cloth.

Her mother’s face stared back at her, half formed and yet perfectly recognizable. The count had been rather good at his hobby after all, she thought. She hoped the absent Claudia was happy, she really did. Juliet used to wish for the opposite, that her mother was miserable, because she had left so much misery in her wake. Gradually she was learning to forgive her, and perhaps she could do the same for Ash.

If he had asked her to run off with him eight years ago, would she have done so? Her head said no, but her heart told a different story. And if she had run off, what then? In hindsight he had been a young man with his own wants and desires, a boy under the influence of his uncle, and not the prince she had imagined. Would he have cared for her in the way she deserved? Things might have ended badly for them both.

Juliet hadn’t looked at it like that before. Yesterday evening, seeing him again, reliving those times, seemed to have clarified her thoughts. They had been in love, caught up in a mad passion, but perhaps they had been too young after all.

Awful as it seemed, perhaps Ash’s uncle and her father had been right when they separated them.

There was a footstep behind her, and she turned. Ash was silhouetted in the doorway and despite everything she’d been telling herself, despite her determination not to allow this poignant place to affect her, Juliet felt her heartbeat begin to quicken.

On his walk through the woods, Ash had wondered if she would be here. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she wasn’t. The more he thought about that time eight years ago, the worse it all seemed. He’d failed her, and by the time he realized it was too late. Even his mother thought he was selfish. Was it possible to make amends after all these years?

He looked about him, seeing the dust and dishevelment. As he stepped out of the light and into the room itself he saw her beautiful face, and just for a moment she looked stricken. And then she was calm again, her emotions hidden from him, and he wondered if he had imagined that first impression.