“As did I,” Maura said in heartfelt agreement.
“And my daughters are flourishing, now that the Wildes have taken such a particular interest in them. I know you are the sole reason.” Pris hesitated, her expression growing solemn as she took Maura’s hands in her own. “I must apologize for how I treated you all these years. As I told you last week, I very much hope we can start anew, if that is even possible.”
Maura felt her usual guard crumble at her stepmother’s genuine contrition. “I hope so too, Priscilla,” she replied quite honestly.
“Then why don’t we share a nice cup of tea and I can tell you everything that has happened in London during your recent absence?” She took Maura’s arm and turned her toward the front of the manor. “You and I never have had a real coze, like mother and daughter, but I should like to try.”
Amazingly enough, Maura realized she would like that also. After detouring to the kitchens to ask the housekeeper to bring them tea, Maura went up to her bedchamber to quickly wash and change, then settled in the rose parlor with Priscilla, where they eyed each other hesitantly.
Their conversation began tentatively, even stiffly, but Priscilla appeared determined to persevere and move beyond establishing a mere truce in favor of a comfortable relationship. And after a while Maura found herself relaxing and even smiling. It was her first time being the target of the beautiful widow’s charm and a pointed reminder of how her father had been seduced so easily.
When the subject turned to Maura’s betrothal to Lord Beaufort, however, she balked at discussing any of the details, merely saying there would be no wedding.
“What do you mean, there will be no wedding?” Priscilla’s tone quickly changed from persuasion to exasperation, and even held a shrill note. “What happened, Maura? Did you offend his lordship in some fashion? You never could behave suitably toward an eligible gentleman, with decorum and charm and sweetness … honey not vinegar. No doubt you gave Beaufort a disgust of you with your tart tongue and indelicate manners.”
Maura’s lips twisted in an ironic smile. “For once you misjudge me, Priscilla. The truth is, our betrothal never was real. It was only a pretense so Beaufort could challenge Viscount Deering on my behalf.”
Her stepmother’s mouth dropped open. “Not real? Well then, you simply must make it real, Maura. You must marry the marquis!”
“I’m afraid I cannot oblige you, Priscilla.”
“But this is a golden opportunity for you,” she chided. “And your family as well. How can you pass it up, marrying a nobleman of his fortune and rank? Surely you want your stepsisters to have such a splendid connection—”
Suddenly Priscilla bit off her last words and stopped the harangue herself. For a moment, she looked as if she had swallowed a sour lemon, but then amazingly, she managed a rueful smile. “Please forgive me, my dear. I promised I would turn over a new leaf. You don’t need me to scold you. Truly, Maura, I did not mean to imply that my only thought was for my daughters or that you were deficient in some manner. I sincerely want for you to be happy. Beaufort seemed quite taken with you and you with him. Is there no hope for a marriage?”
“No, I am sorry, there is not.” The thought brought a sharp pain to Maura’s breast, but she was determined to conceal it.
Priscilla sighed. “Very well, then, I will cease reproaching you. My lips are sealed, I swear. So why do you not tell me about this year’s foals? How many of them are Emperor’s?”
Since Priscilla had never once been interested in the workings of the stud, Maura was convinced her stepmother was making an enormous effort to reconcile. When she extended an invitation to stay for the night, however, Priscilla claimed the need to return directly to London in order to chaperone Hannah and Lucy at an important engagement the following morning. But she had considered it necessary to come in person and express her thanks to Maura for vanquishing Lord Deering.
They parted on remarkably good terms and actually embraced for the first time in years. Maura saw her stepmother’s barouche off, but in the quiet that followed the departing carriage, she had to face her own problems once more. Her heart was so heavy, it felt like a lump of lead had lodged in her chest.
Rather than return to the house, Maura crossed the stableyard and passed the barns, then walked out to the stud paddocks to check on Emperor—something she had done frequently since his return to S
uffolk.
A swell of affection filled her when she saw the stallion cavorting in the meadow like a young colt. The enclosed pasture was surrounded by high rail fencing and tall yew hedges and separated from the broodmares and foals by the width of the farm, but he didn’t appear to mind the segregation since he had Frip for companionship. The elderly chestnut gelding was contentedly grazing while Emperor raced freely across the grass.
He was very happy to be home, Maura knew. Moreover, the bond they shared had only been strengthened by his ordeal. When she let herself in by way of a sturdy gate, Emperor suddenly plunged to a halt and whipped his head around, as if sensing her. Upon spying her, he let out a piercing whinny and galloped over to Maura, only slowing at the last instant.
For a time he pranced in a circle around her, snorting and tossing his head, hooves dancing, tail raised high as he showed off his regal carriage and noble bloodlines. Sweat shone on his glossy black coat in the sunlight, accentuating the power in his rippling muscles.
However, the stallion finally halted quietly before her, tame as any lamb. Eager for the attention, he offered his face to be fondled. Maura obliged, stroking his ears and the poll between.
“I am glad that one of us is happy, Emp,” she murmured. “You at least have good reason to be cheerful since your amorous affairs are far more successful than mine. You are back with your harem, while I am alone once more.”
It was a measure of how lonely she was that she was talking to her horse, Maura knew. But even her beloved Emp couldn’t cure her heartbreak. The hurt inside her was like an aching wound.
She had brought her misery on herself, though. By letting herself love Ash, she had made her pain and loss infinitely greater. If only she had heeded her own self-warnings and kept her heart closed to Ash.… Except that would have been impossible. She couldn’t help loving him, any more than she could will herself to stop breathing.
Adding disappointment to her crushing despondency was the fact that her monthly courses had come and gone. She had wanted Ash’s child to love, even though becoming enceinte out of wedlock would have resulted in a monstrous scandal.
“I believe the poets are wrong,” she told Emperor sadly. “It is not better to have loved and lost. Losing at love is far too excruciating.”
The stallion shook his head at her musings, which drew a faint smile from Maura. “What, you disagree? Priscilla shares your opinion. She thinks I should pursue Ash for his fortune and connections.” Maura hesitated, then dared to voice the subversive thought that had been intensifying for days.
“Perhaps I made a mistake returning home, Emp. At least if I had remained in London, I could have been with him.”