“I made that promise to you when we werechildren,” he said softly. “You must understand that we can never be anything more than friends.”
“You’re wrong. That is what I’m trying to tell you. You don’t have to court Miss Digby. You will inherit the grange. We will be happy there. If you are worried about living in reduced circumstances, you needn’t. I don’t care about being wealthy or possessing a title. I only care aboutyou.”
“And I, you,” Ollie said. “Indeed, every happy memory of my childhood includes you. Your letters helped me survive Eton. But when I entered Cambridge, and I finally understood what our exchanging letters might mean, I stopped writing to you. I thought you understood. I’m so sorry, Hanny, but I have never thought of you in that way.” His eyes pinched at the corners with pity.
My hands began to tremble as the truth of his feelings sunk into my soul. He did not love me. He hadneverloved me, at least not in the way I loved him. Eight years I had loved him. Eight years I had waited for him to send for me. Eight years I’d written to him. And although I’d never declared my love, the truth had been there, between every word, sentence, and paragraph. How could he not have known? Unless . . . hehadknown. It suddenly seemed so obvious. He had known of my affection for him, but he did not feel the same for me. That was why he stopped writing to me. My eyes stung with embarrassment. “Do you love her?”
Ollie was quiet for a long moment. “We are a good match,” he finally said. “I have a good name, which she needs, and she has a—”
“A sizable dowry, which you want. Yes, I know.”
He winced. “Please do not think poorly of me. I am only doing what—”
I held up a hand, stopping him. “But do youloveher?” I asked again.
“With time, I hope to.”
My heart broke with those words. He did not love her, but he also did not love me. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to be done. He’d made his choice, and it was not me. “Then I wish you every happiness.” I stood to leave.
“Wait,” Ollie said.
But I fled to the entry hall. Servants were milling about, and I tried to avoid their gazes, but it was impossible. I needed to leave. Now. But to where?
“Miss Kent, up early two mornings in a row.”
My gaze snapped up to where Damon descended the stairs. As soon as our eyes met, he took the steps two at a time and didn’t stop until he stood before me. “What is wrong?”
My breaths came in short bursts now, and tears threatened to fall from my eyes, so I merely shook my head.
Footfalls sounded behind me. “Hanny,” Ollie called after me.
Damon glanced over my shoulder and then back at me with a furrowed brow.
“Take me away from here,” I whispered.
Without a word, Damon tucked me under his arm and led me toward the door. But Ollie met us in the middle of the room and blocked our way.
“Hanny,please,” Ollie said, bending his knees to look into my eyes.
I leaned into Damon’s shoulder.
“I could be wrong,” Damon said, “but I don’t believe she wishes to speak with you.”
“You.” Ollie glared viciously at Damon.
But Damon did not seem to care. He carefully ushered me around Ollie and out the front door.
The cool air bit my cheeks as we walked down the outside steps to a curricle already waiting in the drive. Damon handed me up and then climbed up himself. He gathered the reins in his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the pair of horses jolted down the lane for the gates.
Chapter Eighteen
I made the mistake oflooking back.
Ollie stood on the front steps, watching Damon and me go, his shoulders drooped, his hat fisted in his hands.
I trained my gaze on the barren road before me again. What would become of me? Without Ollie, I didn’t know. I’d placed all my hopes for the future in marrying him, but those hopes had been in vain. I had nothing now. No dowry, no name, no prospects.
The curricle bumped along the road, and I gripped the edge of my seat to steady myself. I breathed in the crisp country air, inhaling in short staccato bursts.
