The Ruby in the Storm

Chapter 11: Not a Drop to Drink

"I came here tonight to gather my things," Ross continued. "I will go with Lucy to London to be with her during the course of her mother's illness. When it is all over, I will come back, mother. You must trust that I will. Lucy and I will return to Belmoran, we will marry here, and we will have a family here."

His mother sighed and stood back, a hard look on her face that must have mirrored his own. "Swear it to me, Ross."

"Mother..."

"On your life, honor, and love for me, you will swear it," she said. "Swear to me that both you and Lucy will return. Swear it now."

Ross wished that was a promise he could keep, and he hoped he could. But he wanted to give his mother a peace of mind.

Ross sank to both his knees in front of his mother and took her hands in his, looking up right into her eyes.

"I swear," he whispered, "on my life, my honor, and my love and devotion for you, mother, that I will return with Lucy. Both of us."

That seemed enough for his mother, and he took it in stride. It was enough to bring her some ease for the moment. But now, he had to finish what he started. He and Lucy would not be leaving eh island together, and chances were he would never see the love of his life again. But if there was a God and some courage left in him, he would fight and not stop fighting until he was reunited with her.

Because if ever there was a love worth fighting for, theirs was it.

XXX

Voyage to Portsmouth, 1843

Ross took a few gulps of whisky from his flask while glancing out towards the open ocean. He figured it was desperation, but he could have sworn that he saw land on the horizon. Of course, it could also have been the whisky. Either way, he needed to be in Hertfordshire, and soon. Although there was no telling if Lucy was really there. She could be anywhere, and Ross didn't know if he had the lifetime it would probably take to find her, but he would do that if he had to.

Glancing down at his flask, he sighed. The last time he had turned to drink in order to calm his nerves was when he left home the first time, after his falling out with Charlotte. Only then he had imbibed a little more, turning to it for reasons beyond his unsteady nerves. Charlotte had been his first real and true heartbreak, but their union was never built on the sort of love he had for Lucy. Still, her leaving had driven him to such actions, and now he feared what his distance from Lucy would do to him. The events of that night played again and again in his mind. Should he have killed James? He could have pulled him off of her and avoided murder entirely. Then he would not be parted from Lucy, and his heart wouldn't be trapped behind the wall of self-pity that constricted and suffocated it.

No... Ross did not care if the murder haunted him for the rest of his years. James deserved to die. Ross was furious at the thought of ever considering him to be a friend. But it was his friendship with James that had brought him to Lucy, so he could not say that nothing came of it.

He brought me to her, and then he took me away from her. That is a very divine and cruel paradox...

"Put that down, Ross."

Ross frowned and turned to see Charlotte standing there, arms crossed over her breasts, and a very disapproving look on her face. "Excuse me?"

"The flask," she said. "Put it down. You're not that sort of man."

Ross noticed then that he was holding the flask to his lips and he quickly lowered it. "Bloody hell..."

"When it becomes reflex, it is time to put it away," Charlotte strode forward and gently pried it from his hand. "If you want to succeed in this endeavor, you need to keep a clear head."