Morwenna shrugged. “You said when you told him that, he wanted you anyway.”
“I clearly said far too much.”
Disgust weighted Morwenna’s sigh. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Sally Cowan. Right now I’m ashamed to own you as my friend.”
Sally stepped back, startled at this sudden severity. “What?”
Morwenna made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “You’re acting like a craven coward—when something I always admired about you is your indomitable spirit. You want that man, and he wants you. Yet you’re too lily-livered to reach out your hand and seize your happiness. Instead you’re wallowing in endless excuses. You’ll end up drowning in them before you’re done. And meanwhile, poor Meg goes home under a cloud, and Sir Charles packs up his broken heart and trudges around Florence and Venice, trying like the devil to forget you.”
Sally’s hands clenched at her sides. “What right have you to criticize me?”
Morwenna’s face went pale, and the gloss of happiness melted away. Sally realized with a sick feeling that was all her friend’s gaiety had ever been—a gloss hiding a wound that would never heal.
“Because real love is a gift beyond price and it’s worth every risk. Because you’ve got a chance at finding happiness, and you’re turning your back on it, without recognizing how inordinately lucky you are.” Morwenna’s voice trembled with overpowering emotion. “Because I had real love and I lost it, not because of anything I did, but just because that’s the way the world turns. Honestly, Sally, I could give you a good slap.”
Sally, jolted out of her self-centered dejection, stared aghast at Morwenna. “I’m so sorry. I hoped…”
“That I’d recovered from Robert’s loss?” Morwenna’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I know that would make life more comfortable for everyone. Probably for me, too. But you don’t forget a man like Robert Nash, and real love doesn’t easily let you go. If at all. Think about that, Sally, as you turn your back on Sir Charles.”
Sally curled her hand over Morwenna’s. Her friend was shaking with the force of her feelings. “But you and Lord Garson—”
“Get along well.” She mustered a smile. Not a very convincing one. “He’s a kind and good man, and I like him.”
“I’d hoped you might find happiness again. These last weeks…”
Morwenna drew away and squared her shoulders. To her mortification, Sally acknowledged that the only truly courageous person in this room was Morwenna Nash.
“If Lord Garson asks me to marry him, I’ll say yes. Kerenza needs a father, and I’m lonely and seeking a purpose beyond bringing up my daughter alone. I’d like more children. I’d like companionship and a man in my life. Nobody will ever replace Robert. But he’s been gone more than four years, and I’m still young. I need to keep living. For Kerenza’s sake, if nothing else.”
Tears rose to Sally’s eyes, and she pressed Morwenna’s hand. “Your bravery puts me to shame.”
Morwenna’s eyes sharpened. “I hope so. Because having had love ripped away from me, I can’t abide seeing you blithely tossing your chance to the side.”
“I’m not…I’m not doing anything blithely.”
Morwenna’s expression softened with compassion. “I know, Sally.”
The butler appeared at the door. “Lord Garson has called for Mrs Nash, my lady.”
Morwenna’s lips tightened, and she spoke in a low tone so the butler wouldn’t hear. “Stop letting past miseries rule you, Sally. You’re
scared, I know, but fear makes for a cold bedfellow.”
She tugged on her long satin gloves and mustered a smile when Garson came in and bowed to both of them. But as Sally watched her friend flirting with her openly bedazzled admirer, she couldn’t help but play Morwenna’s words over and over in her head.
Real love was worth every risk.
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
* * *
“A lady to see you, Sir Charles,” his butler said from the library doorway.
Charles glanced up, an exquisite octavo edition of Petrarch’s sonnets in his hand. He was sorting through the books he was sending on to Venice where he planned to rent a palazzo.
It was late, past midnight, but he wasn’t sleeping much these days. The week had been hell. Giving up on his heart’s desire made a man poor company.