“Because if I did, I’d have found it.” She shrugged helplessly. “Then I never would have been able to leave.” When she heard her own words, the blood drained from her countenance. “Lachlan, I’m sorry.”
But he only nodded, as if her admission came as no great revelation to him even though it had shocked her to her core. “And there was a part of ye that always planned on leaving,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m afraid there was.”
In the silence that followed, she stared at the carpet, unable to meet his gaze for fear of the censure she was certain she would see there. But when he spoke, he wasn’t angry. And when he took her hand and placed a small, rectangular object in her palm, then wrapped her fingers around it, his touch was gentle.
“I brought this for ye. A token of a time when things were less complicated between us. I love ye, Bry.” So soft that she barely felt it, he kissed her forehead, his nose pressing into her hair before he moved away and gave a crooked smile. “Enjoy the rest of the ball.”
She waited until he was gone to open her hand and look at what he’d given her. When she saw what it was, what it meant, her breath caught and her eyes stung. Tucking it safely into the beaded reticule dangling from her wrist, she rushed after him in a flurry of taffeta and silk.
But when she reached the hallway, it was empty…and he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Ihave toshow you something.” The next morning Brynne brought Lachlan’s gift with her into the front parlor where Evie was drinking coffee and poring over the latest edition ofThe Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine.
“I’m glad you’re here,” said Evie without glancing up. “I am trying to decide between these three necklines for the wedding gown I’m having designed. Joanna says they all look the same to her, but her opinion canhardlybe trusted given that she wore her traveling habit–her traveling habit!–to marry Kincaid. Claimed it was more practical, if you can believe it.”
“I can, actually.” Forgoing the coffee for a cup of tea–her nerves were already strained enough–Brynne sat down beside Evie and consulted the different dresses that her brother’s fiancée had circled with such vigor that dots of ink had splattered across the rest of the page. “You’ll be a beautiful bride no matter what you wear–”
“Wellthat’snot helpful.”
“–but a square cut neckline would complement your décolletage and collarbones the best, I should think. It’s a simpler design, but won’t distract from your face, which should be the main focus once you lower your veil.”
“Westondoeslike gazing at my décolletage.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Brynne said dryly.
Evie tapped her pen on the edge of the table, then drew a star beside the dress with the square bodice. “You’re right. This is the one. Now I only have to pick the variation of ivory I want, along with the size of the bustle, pearl buttons or gold, and the length of the train. Not to mention–”
“Could we discuss another topic for a moment?” It was either cut in then, or not at all. When fashion was the subject at hand, Evie was capable of going on at great length. Ordinarily, that was something the two women would have in common. But today, Brynne had a much more pressing subject matter on her mind. “Then I promise to give your wedding gown my full, undivided attention.”
“That’s right. You did say you had something to show me.” Evie laid down her pen and linked her fingers together expectantly.
“I also have something to tell you.” When she felt her chest beginning to constrict, Brynne inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. “But before I do, I have to ask that you not share it with my brother. At least not right away. I understand it’s a large favor–”
“Is not knowing whatever it is hurting him in some way?” Evie interrupted.
“No. If it were, I never would have kept it from him.” She blew out another stream of air, then pursed her lips. “Although he may hurtmeonce he finds out.”
“Now Imustknow. And I won’t tell him. Weston is going to be my husband, but you’re going to be my sister, and both of those relationships are special in their own way. We may not be blood, but you’re as important to me as Joanna and Claire.” Evie put her hand on top of Brynne’s and squeezed. “I want you to know that.”
“Thank you. I…thank you.” What else was there to say? She was humbled by Evie’s willingness to place her upon the same pedestal as her real sisters, even though they’d had an entire lifetime together while Brynne and Evie had just met. But then love wasn’t guided by time, or rules, or expectations. It was a river running down the side of a mountain. Diverging into streams and pools, drying up in places and flooding others, all while consistently trickling towards the ocean. And the ocean was–
Me, she realized in a stunning moment of clarity.
The ocean is me.
Not her father. Not Weston. Not Evie.
Not even Lachlan.
The ocean comprised all of the love she should have had forherself.
Should have, but didn’t.
Because along the way, she’d allowed the tide to go out.
