As soon as he gave it a name it poured through him. He tried to stop it, to fight it, but it was like trying to hold back the ocean with nothing but his bare hands. All he could do was close his eyes and let it take him, let it gush into his chest and drown his heart. Grief for a child who’d never had a chance at life, and for Colin, who’d been cheated of his before he could live it. Julian covered his eyes with a shaking hand and let the grief flood through him until his heart was ready to burst and he was gasping, suffocating.
It would overflow, and he’d drown in it—
But he didn’t. It began to recede, draining away gradually, never disappearing entirely, but enough so a space opened inside him for something else, something tender and green that rose in place of the grief over all he and Charlotte had lost.
Gratitude, for all they hadn’t.
And then at last came the sweetest thing of all, the one thing that made everything else possible. His love for Charlotte.
It’s the only thing that matters, Jules.
Damned if Cam hadn’t been right.
Every muscle in Julian’s body tensed with the need to fly at once back to Bellwood, to take Charlotte in his arms, but this time when he held her, he’d never let her go. When he came to her, it would be without any barriers between them.
Julian gritted his teeth, set his horse’s head in the direction of London, and headed west, away from the woman who held his heart, toward London, and Jane Hibbert.
* * * *
“Captain who?” The elderly lady who answered his knock glared at Julian through the narrow crack in the door.
“Captain Julian West, madam. I beg your pardon for calling so late, but it’s urgent that I see Miss Hibbert at once—”
“My niece doesn’t know any Captain West, and neither do I.” She began to close the door in his face. “I’ll thank you to leave my doorstep at once.”
“Wait. Madam, please. I assure you she does know me, though we’ve not yet been formally introduced. If you’ll only ask her—”
“I certainly will not ask her!” The old lady looked scandalized. “No respectable gentleman calls at this time of night—”
“Aunt?” Light footsteps approached the door and a low, musical voice asked, “What is it?”
“He says his name is Captain West. He claims to know you, dear, but I don’t recall—”
He heard a gasp. “Captain Julian West? Please do let him in, Aunt. He and Colin were in the same regiment. He was Colin’s friend.”
“Colin’s friend?” The door flew open. “Why didn’t he say so at once?”
Julian stepped through the door into the tiny entryway. “Thank you, madam. I know it’s not a proper time to call, and I do beg your pardon.…”
Julian’s voice trailed off into silence when Jane Hibbert came forward and took his hands in hers. “Captain West. How happy I am to meet you at last. This lady is my aunt, Mrs. Wilton.”
Julian managed an awkward bow for Mrs. Wilton, but his chest had gone so tight with emotion he couldn’t say a word. Jane Hibbert had Colin’s light brown hair, his kind blue eyes and the same sweet, guileless smile. Looking at her was like looking through a window into the past, to a time when Colin was still alive. He tried to clear the lump from his throat, but his voice remained hoarse. “Miss Hibbert. Forgive me—”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Captain.” She gave his hand a friendly squeeze. “You look fatigued. Won’t you come sit by the fire? Aunt, you’ll excuse us?”
Mrs. Wilton bustled off and Julian followed Jane down the hall into a small parlor with a warm fire burning merrily in the grate. She smiled, took a seat on a chair near the fire, and gestured for him to take the one across from her. “Well, Captain West. This is an unexpected visit. I think you must have something quite important to say to me.”
Julian looked at her for a moment, sitting there with her hands folded calmly in her lap. She was pretty, her eyes gentle and intelligent, just as her brother’s had been. He knew instinctively a life with Jane Hibbert would be peaceful, that she’d make a perfect wife for any man. She’d make a perfect wife forhim, except for one thing.
She wasn’t Charlotte.
“I do wish to speak with you on an urgent matter, yes, but I hardly know where to begin.” In truth, there was no delicate way to say what he must say to Jane Hibbert, so he simply plunged blindly ahead. “After Colin’s death we exchanged letters in which we formed an understanding of sorts between us—”
“Our betrothal, you mean.”
Julian stared at her, amazed. Miss Hibbert, it seemed,didknow where to begin. “Our betrothal, yes. I feel …that is, I think…I wish to discuss…”
“You wish to be released from your promise to marry me.”
