CHAPTER 18
Jane and Ripley had been driving at a fast clip in his phaeton for hours, heading ever closer to the estate where she prayed she’d find her sister. But as much as she thought of Nora as they made their way, she also couldn’t help but watch Ripley. He was so quiet, so withdrawn, that it had begun to frighten her.
His encounter with his father had been devastating. She’d heard that in every small waver of his voice, felt it in the shifts of him, seen it in the flickers of heartbreak in his eyes. She’d been powerless to do anything about it.
“He…he said he loved my mother,” Ripley said, out of nowhere. “Pottinger.”
She blinked and turned toward him, resting a hand on his thigh. The thick muscle there was tense. “He did.”
“I know you read people, just as I do. It’s in the nature of those in our position in life. But I can’t see right now. I’m blinded by…by…”
“By what you went through,” she supplied gently. “You can’t look at this situation with detachment. No one would expect you could.”
He swallowed and glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the road. She recognized that not having to show all his vulnerability was likely the easier way for him to have this painful conversation. Even with her.
“Do you think that it’s true? Did he love her?”
There was the tremble in his voice again, the edge of pain that broke her heart, made her picture this strong, powerful man as a small, helpless boy who wanted a father. Who wanted someone to come and save him and his beloved mother.
Jane considered the question, both through the lens of her own past and from what she’d observed. She thought of the way Pottinger had watched Ripley, how anxious he had been to connect with him, even if he’d done so entirely poorly. She thought of how the earl’s voice had trembled when he said he loved Regina Ripley. How his eyes had changed.
“I think he did,” she said at last. “Does it help to know it?”
Ripley sighed. “I don’t know anymore. I want it to help. I want it to take some of the sting away. But is it better that he loved her and left? That he threw her away, threw us away, without a care even if she held his heart? Or is it better if he never loved her, if he used her up and discarded her like so many others did both before and after him? Those are my only two options and I’m not sure which is better and which is worse.”
They were quiet a little longer. She stared off into the distance, toward the sun beginning to dip below the horizon. Ripley had called his father a coward, Pottinger had admitted that was true. And now Jane had to admit the same about herself. Ripley had offered her the exceptional gift of his heart. She was too afraid to take it, more willing to hurt them both by walking away than by staying and fighting at his side for whatever future they could build together.
If that wasn’t a coward, she didn’t know what was.
“Here is the estate,” Ripley said.
She blinked and looked off into the distance. They’d just crested a hill and now there was an estate manor just coming into view, no more than a quarter mile away. It was a stone house with gabled windows and a porticoed entryway. Beautiful vines twisted up the stone and bright flowers bloomed along the green.
“If that is run down…” Ripley said with a low whistle.
She almost laughed, but before she could she realized three people were standing out on the circular drive, pointing up at the house as they spoke. Two were men she didn’t recognize, but the third was a woman. Was it Nora? She hated that she didn’t know because she hadn’t seen her for so long.
But then the three turned as Ripley’s phaeton reached them and Jane could see it was her sister. She recognized the dark blonde hair, the way she shifted her weight was just the same as she’d done when she was a little girl and nervous about something. And the fact that the young woman’s hand slapped up to cover her mouth as if she were shocked when she saw them was reason enough.
Ripley had hardly stopped the high vehicle when Jane threw herself down, staggering a little as she rushed toward her sister. “Nora!” she called out. “Oh, Nora!”
She threw her arms around the young woman, unable to stop her tears as she held her, smoothed her hands across her shoulders, prove to herself that Nora was whole and unharmed. Nora patted her gently, but then withdrew, stepping back and out of her embrace.
Ripley had gotten down from the phaeton by then and came around. She felt him watching, felt him judging the situation and then his arm came around her to…to comfort her. She stared at Nora then, truly saw her, and realized her sister didn’t look pleased to see her. She looked…irritated. Angry, even.
“Jane,” Nora said, her voice unsteady. “What are you doing here?”
One of the men who had been examining the house had stepped away, but the other now joined Nora. Put his arm around her just as Ripley was doing with Jane. She realized this had to be Hugo. Of course it was. Just as Pottinger had, this young man had pieces that reminded her of Ripley. The hair, the way he held himself, his broad shoulders. A younger, easier version, like she could see what Ripley might have been if he hadn’t been battered by a difficult life.
She preferred her version, even if she still wished she could take his pain away.
“Jane?” Hugo repeated, surprise in his tone. “Your sister?”
“Yes,” Nora said.
He glanced at her and then over to Ripley. He caught his breath. “And you’re…you’re…”
“It seems none of us need introduction and yet that’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Ripley said firmly. “I’m Campbell Ripley, this is Jane Kendall. And you are Nora Winchester—I see your sister in you.”
