Family Secrets

Her glistening eyes found his and he saw the conflict in them. She blinked to send back the threatening errant tears, sniffling. Quietly, he waited for her to decide. "Please, you mustn't tell another." It was almost a whisper. He knew not what she intended to reveal, but with a single nod, he promised. She hugged herself and exhaled deeply. "We are not sisters by blood." She revealed.

Thoroughly surprised, his eyebrows hitched. "You are not?"

Lady Beth nodded. Charles shifted. "Gwen is my family by heart." She searched out his eyes desperately. What was she hoping to find? "She was the daughter of a Duke of Devonfort."

"The Duke of Devonfort?" That had been totally unexpected. She nodded. Devonfort was a great Duchy, though not as powerful and vast as his, still it had strength and held quite enough authority. This unexpected tale had him more intrigued than finding out Brand had been kidnapped.

Lady Beth ran her hands over her arms, leaving Charles to wonder if she was cold. "Her birth Father was the Duke of Devonfort, before Lord Edwardley. Mother never told us about it, but apparently he was a traitor to the late King and was put to death, together with his Duchess, Gwen's birth Mother."

Charles was momentarily astonished. Then he recalled his Mother's insistence to visit Carlisle Crest for a week when he was ten, and upon his return to the Castle, Alexander had told of an execution; the execution of a Duke and his Duchess, and the awarding of the Duchy to another. The King's father killed her birth parents and he fancied her? Quite the irony! He wondered how Lady Beth was able to stand the sight of the King. How could the younger Lady stay on at the Castle when she knew of her birth's parent's death? "Do you not hate him?"

Her neck moved. "The King?" He nodded slightly. She shook her head, a faint smile tugging on her lips. "He had no hand in the matter, or so Mother swells. I refuse to blame one for the deeds of the other." When she looked down at her hands again, his eyes followed. She was subtly rubbing her wrist. "It will serve no good. And upon your request, he was kind enough to open the Castle, his home, to us, I couldn't hate him."

Realizing that it was the same wrist Cossington had held on to, Charles reached out to hold it, she flinched. Her wrist was bruised from the Viscount's hold. "Did Cossington do this?"

She covered it. "He never meant to."

Was she defending him? "I would demand he renders an apology."

Alarmed, she cried out, grabbing him. "My Lord, please don't! I wish no more to behold his face. Dinner was as much as I could bear. I want him far from me and mine." Realizing herself, she let go. With a heavy exhaled, she continued. "I also refuse to be the reason you quarrel with your brother-in-law."

Charles recoiled, strangely missing her short contact. "Lady Cossington and I are not married." He seemed to be saying that a lot.

"Yet." She looked at him, inclining her head. "Still, I would not let a quarrel fester between you, least of all because of me."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "It would not."

She amazed him by saying. "You don't seem to like the Viscount." He looked away, but still held her in his line of sight. She leaned forward, sticking her face into his perfect gaze, searching out his eyes. When he turned again, her perfect lips came closer, pink and luscious. Charles balled his hands and clenched his teeth, it was all he could do not to lean in and kiss her. He greatly wanted to kiss her. "Am I wrong?"

Lady Beth remained in his face, waiting for an answer while he struggled to recall the topic of their discussion. The Viscount of Sorway? What about him? What was she not wrong about? Charles thought hard, working to remember. Did he not like the Viscount?

"I am not wrong." She solely concluded owing to his silence.

She wasn't. But that was not the reason behind his silence. He was distracted. Her lips were before him, soft and kissable, eager to be tasted. And with every word she said, their movement tempted him. His gaze darkened. Mentally reprimanding, Charles reminded himself that Lady Beth was to remain a friend. Quickly, he said. "He is a rude entitled man, who detest that I can command him." He successfully tore his eyes from her lips to her eyes. His lips twitched as he replied. "He hates me as much as I despise him."

Lady Beth laughed. "What wonderful brothers-in-law you pair are." She muttered with a jest. His lips twitched again. Blinking, Charles realized that his lips twitched more with her. He was not sure how to feel, how to respond.

Long ago, he had lost the ability to smile, or laugh. What it sounded like – his laughter – he no more knew. What did it feel like to be joyful? He wondered. A joke was funny, never hilarious, love was good and beautiful, but not worth dying for. Ladies of the gentry were beautiful and graceful, but none could hold his attention long enough to spare a second glance. No lady, until Lady Bethany Fitzgerald.

He couldn't smile – and he had lost the will to – still, to satisfy his Mother's pained heart, he attempted a number of times to gain that which had been lost, but failed. A spasm sat now instead on his cheeks, and she had learned to be satisfied with it. On the night of the ball, he realized that Lady Beth could enact the will from him; the will for his lips to not twitch, but pull into a smile, even if he couldn't. He needed to find out why; why the spasms were much more frequent when she was near; why the will to smile which he had for long given up, had returned. Therefore, her friendship he sought, and her friendship he must acquire.

When her laughter subsided, Charles hated himself that he could not laugh with her. She brushed down on her skirt and he wondered if it was a nervous gesture. She did not seem like someone to care about excessive personal grooming.

He wished he had walked the Stonehenge with her during the day. He wanted to see her perfectly. How unfortunate that he couldn't. "Does your sister know?" She brushed her mass of hair off her shoulders, pushing them to her back, his eyes followed, his throat tightened. Then she nodded, running her thumb once more over her wrist. He absorbed that. "Has she known for long?" He managed to keep a hold on the conversation.

"Four years. She had just turned thirteen when it all happened." Her continuous rubbing on the bruised wrist was tugging at Charles. He concluded that Cossington would offer an apology, even if the Lady refused it. "Father had sent out a note to remind the then Lord Cossington of the contracts drawn by her birth Father." She continued. "He refused to continue the alliance and offered instead a contract for her to be his son's mistress." She chuckled. It was sad.

Charles wanted to pat her back, but that would be inappropriate. It was already greatly inappropriate that she sat alone with him.

"When she becomes of age, that is." She scratched her left eye, concluding her story. "After the reply, Mother had no choice but to tell her of her true heritage. It was painful. Eric felt the most miserable."

That damned name again, appearing at every turn. Studying her, he realized she did not regret anything. Lady Beth was no good in hiding her emotions; they rode proudly on her freckled face even in the almost night. She caught his gaze and somehow, he knew she flushed.

Shaking her head, she defended. "I love my sister. And I hate that she had to suffer because of Lord Cossington. But I don't hate that she is my sister, even with the terrible events that brought her to us." She bit her lips again, catching the lower one firmly with her teeth.

And they captured Charles's eyes again. They were thin, soft and kissable.

He continued to look, bewitched by them, wanting to explore them and not with his hands. Unbeknownst to him, his lips folded, and his hands held unto his shirt, determined to stay away from the temptation. When she ran her tongue over it, Charles's gaze reduced and locked onto her lips.

"She was a baby when her parents were executed." Lady Beth's voice saved him. "It was probably the only kindness the heavens showed her, saving the heartbreak that came with the knowledge and loss." She lifted her eyes to his and quickly looked away, the silhouette of the large stones suddenly becoming safer. "I shouldn't be grateful, but I am. At the least, she has no recollections of the sad event and every that came after." She stood up and walked back to the stones. "Nothing, but her life was bequeathed her, not wealth, land nor title."

He exhaled deeply, before joining her by the stones, standing inches away from her. "How did she come to your family?"