Reaching his tower, he swung up the spiral stairs.

He was fairly certain that the only way he would avoid having to kidnap and attempt to ruin another Cynster girl was to find the damn goblet his mother was holding like Damocles’ sword over his head.

Chapter Nineteen

The skies over the Vale were shading into pinks and the soft violets of encroaching dusk. Catriona stood just back from the west-facing window in her turret sitting room and, arms folded, watched Heather walk slowly away from the manor.

She walked as if she was tired, as if the day had dragged her down.

“Something’s very wrong.” Beside Catriona, Algaria watched, too, her face set in disapproving lines. “It was all going so well. What the devil did they do?”

“A moot point. Whatever it is, they’ve done it. The question is, what now?”

They’d spoken quietly, well aware of the pair of overly sharp ears attached to Lucilla and Marcus, playing knucklebones on the floor some yards behind them.

Far below, Heather walked past the stables and out along the track between the paddocks.

Algaria sighed. “It never ceases to amaze me that intelligent people can be such fools when it comes to love, at least while they’re in the throes of it.”

Catriona humphed, remembering her own throes, her own fears. She watched as Heather paused beside the high-railed paddock fence, then, still moving like an old woman, climbed up to perch on the top rail and look back at the manor. Catriona shook her head. “Regardless of whatever’s happened between them, they must come around.”

Algaria glanced at her. “You’re sure? There’s no mistake?”

“None. I wasn’t absolutely sure at first, but I am now. They’re fated for each other.” She worried her lower lip. After a moment, added, “I wish I knew what to do.”

“You don’t know?”

“I haven’t received any instructions — not yet.”

Sitting on the rug ten paces behind the women, Lucilla and Marcus were engrossed in their game.

Marcus, seated comfortably cross-legged, took his turn, then held out the bones to his sister. When she didn’t scoop them from his palm, he looked up, into her face, then softly sighed.

Laying the bones down between them, he propped his elbows on his knees and slumped his chin into his palms.

And waited.

Kneeling, sitting back on her ankles facing him, Lucilla held utterly still. She had a faraway, strangely distant look in her eyes. A look Marcus recognized.

He wasn’t surprised when, a moment later, Lucilla blinked, snapped back into her usual vital state, then started to get up.

Tipping her head toward the door, she whispered, “Come on.” With a careful glance at their mother’s back, she added, “There’s something we’re supposed to do.”

Marcus didn’t argue. It wasn’t his role to argue. After their mother, Lucilla would be the next Lady of the Vale. Even though he was slated to take up the mantle of Guardian of the Lady, he knew his place.

Without making a sound, he followed Lucilla from the room and silently shut the door.

Heather balanced on the top rail of the empty cattle pen and stared, unseeing, at the manor.

She felt wretched. Beaten down, disheartened in every sense of the word. She’d woken with such hope flooding her heart, an expectation that their joint future was assured and brilliantly bright.

Now. . she felt dead and desolate inside.

What to do next? Were there any options?

Or was this truly the end?

He would leave, and she would remain here. They would part, and possibly never see each other again.

This time, it seemed, Catriona and the Lady had been wrong. Not even the necklace-charm had helped.

The thought of Catriona had her focusing on the manor. Hands spread to either side, lightly gripping the upper rail, she studied the fanciful gray stone building, honey tinted by the waning sunshine. It was a house filled with love, with an energy that was impossible to miss, a nurturing, caring atmosphere that embraced and infused all who lived within it.

That was the creation, the outcome, the outward expression of Richard and Catriona’s love. A home filled with that sustaining glow, with laughter and a vibrant, vital sense of life. Of life continuing, past, present, and future.

Of family, and joys, and duties shared.

That — exactly that — was what she’d wanted to create with Breckenridge. They’d discussed it, yes, but she hadn’t truly allowed the reality to take shape in her mind.

Now she had, now she had the manor as a solid example planted in front of her eyes, the resonance was too strong to be denied, as was the recognition, the realization that that future had always been her ultimate dream, a dream that had lived in her heart and her soul, that had always been so much a part of her she’d never bothered to examine it before, had never had reason to study it. Or acknowledge it.

She couldn’t shut her eyes to it now.

If she let Breckenridge leave alone, if she let him go, let him walk out of her life, she would never have even another chance at realizing her dream.

Because her dream could only come true, could only be made real, with the man she loved.

Without him in it, her future would be unrelentingly bleak, devoid of love, lacking that vital, living spark.

It was tempting to simply wallow in despair, to let go and sink into the mire of emotional gloom, yet somewhere deep in her mind she could hear — literally hear — a chiding chorus.

She could almost distinguish the voices: her aunt Helena, Lady Osbaldestone, her aunt Horatia, her mother, and at lower volume, all the rest.

Are you simply going to give up? Do you truly want your dream? If so, how much are you willing to risk to secure it? To sacrifice to secure it — your pride, for instance? Are you truly going to just let him go and so let the prospect of a golden future exactly as you’ve dreamed simply slip through your fingers?

Or are you going to fight for what you want?

In her mind’s eye, she could see the shocked expressions, the ready-to-be-astonished-and-disappointed-if-she-answered-the-wrong-way looks that would accompany the questions. The firming of the chins that would go with the last.

For long moments, she sat on the rail, stared at the manor, and let her brain absorb that inner succor.

Gradually, her mind cleared.

All the distracting issues faded, slid away, until she felt bedrock beneath her mental feet.

Until she saw clearly, and saw her true path. The only path she could follow and remain true to herself, true to her dream, to the ambition that had sent her to Lady Herford’s salon so many evenings ago.

That had been the start of it, and she hadn’t yet reached the end of her road.

She couldn’t—could not—give up at this point just because the way forward had become unbearably hard. She had to fight if she wanted to succeed.

The rose quartz pendant hanging between her breasts impinged on her senses.

Catriona had told her she’d have to risk her heart if she wanted to secure his. In her innocence, she’d thought that had meant she’d have to show her love for him before he would reciprocate. But that had been too easy, no real test.

She faced her real test now — to take her courage in both hands, return with him to London, accept his proposal, accept him and the possibility of his love, and then keep working, keep fighting, to lead him to love her as she loved him, to secure her envisaged golden future for them both.

That was her ultimate risk — the ultimate throw of the dice.

The ultimate committing of herself into the hands of fate.

Or, as the case might well be, of the Lady.

She blew out a breath. She felt far from sure of the hows and wheres, yet. . inside, a steady resolve, a certainty that had risen from her depths, both buoyed and anchored her.

So, what next?

She was deep in cogitation, mentally evaluating several ways in which to couch her change of mind, when the sound of piping voices drew her gaze to the side of the manor.

To Lucilla and Marcus.

Emerging from the shadows of the manor’s walls, both looked up, spotted her, and pointed.

And tugged forward the man whose hands they’d captured.

Breckenridge.

High-pitched voices chattering, the twins towed him toward her.

She stared, horrified by the thought that the twins had decided to play matchmaker and intended to haul Breckenridge to stand before her, then lecture them both. . “Oh, no.”

Yes, they needed to talk — she needed to tell him she’d changed her mind, needed to somehow find a way to bridge the yawning chasm that had opened between them, but to have a confrontation forced on them, along with an avid audience. . oh, no, no, no.

But she could hardly leap down and run away.

The trio came on, Breckenridge clearly reluctant, but with little experience of children, let alone a pair like the twins, he clearly had no notion of how to escape.

Besides, Lucilla was prattling nonstop, giving her captive no chance to protest.

Lucilla and Marcus reached the opening to the track, about twenty yards away from where Heather sat. Abruptly dropping Breckenridge’s hands, eyes shining, faces alight, the pair came running, laughing and waving, toward her.

Heather’s gaze remained on Breckenridge — and his gaze was on her.