Page 68 of Bluebell’s Fate

His grandmother waved her hand as if she were shooing a fly. “Bell has a right to know what we suspect. It will help her guard herself in the future.”

He squeezed his wife to his side. Was it really protection when she was likely to feel so hurt and betrayed. Of all her fears, inconstancy had seemed to be the one that brought her the most anxiety. She turned and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Nathaniel, I ought to have told you long ago…but I found a letter in the blue room. I don’t think it was ever sent, but it was from a woman named Linda, and it was addressed to William.”

Nathaniel felt like there was a swarm of bees about his head. Bell had found a letter, and she’d not told him? Why would she keep something like this to herself?

Grandmother bit her bottom lip. “Oh, Linda,” she mourned. “What have you done?”

But what Aunt Linda had done was obvious, wasn’t it? “Why didn’t you tell me?” Nathaniel asked Bell.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” Bell said as she wrung her hands in her lap. “The paper was so old, and I didn’t know who Linda was until after the picnic. I’m having the feeling that there is more to the story than what I read in the letter.”

“Do you still have it, Bell?” Grandmother asked her.

“I…I do. I thought about burning it. But instead, I put it in a book in my room. Do you want me to get it?”

Nathaniel tipped his head onto the back of the settee. He didn’t blame Bell for not telling him about the letter. She was thrown into so many changes as of late. But if Nathaniel had the letter, he could show it to his father, or mother, or Ian. He would have evidence that their poor treatment of him all his life was to cover up his father’s poor choices. He groaned. That wouldn’t change the past or make him feel any better. “No, Bell. I think you should burn it before anyone else can see it.”

She pushed herself to stand, and he missed her warmth. “I’m sorry. I’ve made a mess of things.” She strode purposefully from the room.

“You should go with her,” Grandmother prodded.

“No, I shouldn’t. I might be too curious to read it. Besides, I know now. I know the reason my father liked Ian more than me.” He balled his fists until his fingernails bit firmly into his palms. “It’s because he fathered him…” he gritted his teeth and tried to release his pent-up emotion in a long breath. “Ian was the son my father wanted. I was the son he was publicly responsible for. I always knew he and my mother were more partners than lovers. Still, how did it happen?”

His grandmother sighed, looking older than he’d ever seen her. “My husband and your father’s father were always good friends. Our families would spend holidays at each other’s homes. Linda and Amelia were always dreaming about marrying your father. Amelia was always so sensible; she knew she and your father shared similar interests. Linda was young, and often acted without thinking. She was immature when we arranged the marriage between Amelia and your father.

“But we didn’t know that your father loved Linda. It became obvious to me only after there was nothing to be done about it. He was married to Ameilia, and Linda eloped with Stanley to Gretna Green a year later. Stanley was just as rash as Linda was. Then he died attempting a ridiculous horse jump shortly after their marriage, and Amelia invited her sister to come stay at the cottage. She’d just given birth to Edwin, and she wanted to be able to comfort her sister.”

“Instead, it seems like my father did most of the comforting.” Nathaniel bit his tongue to keep from saying everything he wanted to say.

“Yes, I believe that was the case. You see, Linda found out she was expecting Ian a short time later. She always claimed that Ian was the last gift Stanley had given to her. Ian was her tie to her estate, and her claim to polite society.”

Nathaniel didn’t want to hear anymore. He stood. “Excuse me, Grandmother. I need to go for a walk.” He left before he could hear her response. His head was ringing. He didn’t have a destination: he simply felt the need to run away. He wouldn’t go far in case Bell needed him.

Nathaniel walked out to the plot he’d picked for the conservatory, with the line of trees hiding his view of the cottage, he felt he was alone enough to think. He sat down on a rock and pulled out his notebook. Only a few minutes passed before he heard footsteps behind him.

Chapter Forty-three

Bell’s shaking hands held the corner of the awful letter, and she stretched it toward the flame of the candle on her bedside table. One edge began to burn, but she pulled it from the flame and blew on the smoking paper.

She couldn’t do it.

She didn’t understand why, but she felt like she needed this letter. There was a pull that felt magical in force for her to keep the paper safe—at least until she could talk to Nathaniel about it again. He may not believe he needed closure, but how could he be so sure? She’d seen the torment in his eyes when he’d come into the cottage, and it tore at her heart. She wanted so badly for him to be happy.

It was as if the fairies called to her. Her godmother had always said that magic was a part of her, and she wanted to believe it. What if this irrational pull was that magic helping her find her way to her happily ever after? Or maybe that feeling, the buzzing excitement in her veins, wasn’t magic at all. It could be hope, or trust, or any other number of feelings that brought her light. Whatever a person called this feeling didn’t matter much if it led them to happiness.

Bell blinked and the realization of what she was feeling came to her in a single word. Love. What else could it possibly be? For far too long, love had been sneaking up on her. It was the most natural progression that wove through friendship, trust, admiration, and sacrifice. She’d experienced it all with Nathaniel at her side.

She’d fought it, and craved it, and now she was bound and determined to help Nathaniel recognize it as well. She was tired, so tired of waiting. For too long, she’d been carefully patient for magic, or luck, or for someone to come sweep her off her feet. Bell would be the heroine of her own story. She didn’t need to wait for Nathaniel to open up to her, his every action and thought came out as gently as a caress. She realized now that he’d been showing her he loved her from nearly the beginning of their marriage. It was time she took control over her own happiness.

She had to talk to him.

Bell refolded the incriminating letter, and carefully slipped it into the bosom of her dress. Women’s clothing ought to have pockets, but since they didn’t, she felt it was the safest place to put it to avoid discovery. Bell walked to the window and looked out. Ian was crossing the field that separated Cairnsby Hall from the cottage. That was odd. He’d always come by way of the road before. She watched him lean up against the ash tree, and sneak a suspicious, furtive glance at the main floor cottage windows. Ian opened his waist coat to reveal a pistol. He fidgeted with the gun for a moment before stashing it back beneath his coat.

Bell’s heart raced. There was nothing good Ian could be planning with a pistol. She watched Ian stride toward the back of the house, then she tore out of her room and down the steps to the dining room. She pulled one of her father’s dueling pistols from the hiding spot her father had told her about.

“Bell, what is this?” Her godmother’s voice jolted Bell’s nerves. Her heart took off at a gallop. She tried to hide the gun as she turned to face her beloved godmother. The older lady shook her head and gestured toward the gun, looking at Bell with a small degree of terror in her eyes.

Bell felt herself shaking a little as she showed her godmother the pistol. “I saw Ian outside the window, and he has a pistol on him. He was walking toward the back of the house.”