Stars are Brightly Shining

by Quinn, Paula

His godfather, in particular, was delighted to see him, and later that afternoon, when the other guests were napping, herded Aldous into his study.

  “There’s something I’d like you to do for me before I die, Aldous,” he said. “Sit, please.”

  Frowning, Aldous did as bidden. “I hope you’re not going to die anytime soon, Uncle. What is it you want?”

  Percival settled into his chair and cleared his throat. “The truth.”

  “About what?”

  “About Highfield.”

  Aldous’ mouth went dry. “What about Highfield?”

  “You were there, Aldous. The summer of 1798.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I saw Frederick Thackeray at his wife’s funeral the week after you left, and he mentioned it. I had to pretend I knew, because you never spoke of it. Why? What happened back then? I know something did. Your lies might have worked with your parents, but not with me.”

  Aldous stood and went to the window. “It’s not important.”

  “Then tell me about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because whatever it was, it changed you. You never came back here, for one thing. What were you afraid of?”

  Aldous turned to face his uncle. “It’ll sound foolish.”

  “I once told you I’d never judge you. That still holds true.”

  Aldous chuckled. “The odd thing is, I made a discovery two days ago that has changed everything.”

  “Tell me, Aldous.”

  He sat down again. “How long do you have?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  For the first time since it all happened, Aldous shared every detail of those two days, and the subsequent effects they’d had on his life. He even shared the truth about his injury and topped it all off with his recent remarkable discovery at Highfield.

  “That’s it,” he said, feeling lighter somehow but cursing the lump in his throat. “That’s everything.”

  Percival regarded him for a moment and then rose to his feet. “You have to stop this, Aldous.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Keeping things to yourself. It’s harmful.” He grimaced. “And you have to marry Grace Thackeray.”

  Aldous laughed. “I told you, I’m not marrying anyone. And I told you why.”

  “Yes, you did,” he said, heading for the door. “But I still say marry the girl. She’s meant for you. Oh, and by the way, when I do eventually die, this house is yours.”

  Chapter Six

  26 February, 1820 AD

  A decidedly miserable day, Aldous thought, staring out of the window at the London landscape. Or what little he could see of it, given the mix of drizzle and fog. His hand trembled slightly as he lifted the glass of port to his lips—the aftermath of being somewhat soused for the past few days. The proverbial hair of the dog seemed to be working, though. The throb behind his eyes had eased a little, and his tongue no longer felt as though it had sprouted feathers.

  Behind him, the door opened with a muted squeak, followed by the soft footfall of a slipper on carpet.

  “Good afternoon, Mother,” he said, without turning.

  “Aldous.” The Dowager Countess came and stood beside him. “What are you looking at?”

  He breathed in her familiar scent. “Nothing.”

  Silence hung between them for a moment.

  “It’s been four days,” she said at last. “I was worried.”

  “No need,” he replied. “I was staying with a friend.”

  “Is she nice?” She sniffed. “I’m not terribly keen on her choice of perfume.”

  “She’s nice to me.” Aldous took another sip of port. “But I don’t think you’d like her.”

  “No, probably not.” A paper appeared beneath his nose. “A letter came for you while you were gone. From Yorkshire. Smells like summer flowers.”

  Aldous’s heart skipped a beat as he set down his glass. “Thank you,” he said, taking the letter from his mother with a shaky hand.

  She tilted her head. “Would I like this one, do you think?”

  His mouth twitched. “Yes, Mother,” he replied. “You probably would.”

  “Then I look forward to meeting her.”

  “That will never happen.”

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Thanks to a certain godfather of yours, I understand more than you realize.”

  Aldous gasped. “Good lord. What has he told you? Never mind, don’t answer that.”

  “He means no harm, Aldous. Quite the opposite, in fact. You’ve always been his favorite.” She touched his face. “Don’t wait, son. If you love this girl—”

  “I don’t love her.” Why did that feel like a lie? He grimaced. “I hardly know her.”

  She tapped the envelope in his hand. “Yet there’s a light in your eyes that was not there a moment ago. If this girl is the one, you must tell her, Aldous. If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Mark my words.”

  Regret. I’m an expert at it. “Did Uncle Percival have anything to do with this letter being sent?”

  “Oh, no.” Frowning, she shook her head. “No, my dear, I’m sure he’d never be that presumptuous.”

  Aldous took himself off to a private corner to read Grace’s letter.

  Wednesday, February 18th, 1820

  My dear Captain Northcott,

  I met your uncle at church last week, and he encouraged me to write to you personally.

  Aldous lifted his eyes to the ceiling and muttered a curse before continuing.

  I trust this letter will find you in good health and good spirits.

  It is with a sad heart, however, that I must inform you of my father’s recent passing. He died peacefully in his sleep on the night of the 29th January. I miss him terribly of course, and pray he has found the peace that eluded him for so long.

  For now, till my future becomes more apparent, I have taken my solicitor’s advice and moved in with the Reverend and Mrs. Stone at the vicarage in Morthwaite. They have been most kind, and I’m very comfortable with them.

  For the first time in over three hundred years, however, Highfield does not have a Thackeray under its roof, though I hope it will only be a temporary lapse.

  Please, Captain, don’t feel obliged to reply to this letter. It has been written simply as a gesture of courtesy. My father and I enjoyed having you as a guest for those few days before Christmas. He spoke of you often.

  I do hope, when next you are in Yorkshire, that you might set aside some time to seek me out. It would give me great pleasure to see you again.

  Yours most sincerely,

  Grace Thackeray.

  Aldous folded the letter and put it in his pocket.

  *

  Wednesday, 8 March, 1820 AD

  The village of Morthwaite, nestled in a dale at the western side of the moor, boasted a church, two farms, a public house, and a small village shop. On this bright morning in March, daffodils, sprouting from the roadside verges, bobbed their golden heads as Aldous rode by. He barely noticed. His stomach was in knots. Yet again, he had to meet a storm head on if he hoped to find peace on the other side. This would be his day of reckoning, after all that had happened.

  He asked directions to the vicarage.

  “Yonder,” the old woman said, pointing with her chin. “Go down to the end of the lane and turn left at the church. Ye can’t miss it.”

  He couldn’t begin to guess at the day’s outcome. He could but hope. He knew, however, he’d have no one else but Grace. If she refused him—as well she might, once she heard the truth—then he’d simply…

  “What, Aldous?” he muttered, riding past the graveyard. “What will you do? You don’t have a clue, do you?”

  The vicarage, a fine sandstone house with arched windows and a central black door, faced the laneway. Aldous dismounted, tethered his horse at the gate, and walked up the path. Drawing breath, he landed a
couple of solid raps on the door.

  It was opened almost immediately by a housemaid. “Yes, sir?”

  He removed his hat. “My name is Aldous Northcott, and I’m here to see Miss Thackeray. Is she home?”

  The maid blinked. “Is she expecting you, sir?”

  “No.” He gave an apologetic smile. “No, I’m afraid she isn’t.”

  “That’s all right, Milly,” a familiar voice said. The maid stepped aside and Grace appeared at the door, a soft flush of pink on her cheeks. “Captain Northcott, what a nice surprise!” She opened the door wide. “Please, come in.”

  “Thank you, Miss Thackeray.” Fiddling with the brim of his hat, he stepped into a cozy vestibule. “Perhaps I should have sent word. If it’s inconvenient—”

  “It isn’t inconvenient at all. I’m delighted to see you.” The color on her cheeks deepened. “Milly will take your coat and hat. Would you care for some tea?”

  “Yes, thank you. That would be nice.”

  She nodded a request to the maid. “This way, please, Captain. You’re staying with your uncle, I presume?”

  “Yes.” He followed her into a parlor where a fire burned lazily in the hearth. “I received your letter. My condolences on the loss of your father. Though I knew him only briefly, he impressed me as being an honorable man.”

  “Thank you. Yes, he is greatly missed.” She gestured to an armchair. “Please make yourself at home.”

  He glanced about as he sat. “Are you alone here?”

  She nodded. “For now. The reverend and his wife are visiting a family in a nearby village and won’t be back till later this afternoon. How long can you stay? I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

  Aldous grimaced inwardly. He really wasn’t here to have tea and exchange pleasantries. He was here to tell truths long hidden, some of them harsh. And he was here for answers. Grace regarded him with a slight frown on her face, expecting a response. She looked beautiful. And fragile. Too fragile. He needed to fix that. He needed to provoke her a little. Shore up her defenses and stiffen her backbone. For his sake as much as hers.

  She tilted her head. “Captain?”

  “Who did your hair this morning, Grace?”

  Her eyes widened and her fingers flew to the stray ringlets that softened the outline of her face. “My hair?”

  “Yes. Did you do it?”

  “No, Milly does it for me. Why? I’m afraid I don’t—”

  “I like it. It suits you. Looks far better than that dreadful governess coiffure you had before.”

  She flinched. “Governess coiffure?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid the previous style did nothing for you at all.”

  “A rather blunt observation, Captain.” Her lips thinned a little. “Have you been drinking?”

  “My name is Aldous. And no, I have not been drinking, nor do I know how long I’ll be staying. That depends entirely on you.”

  The door opened, and the maid came in with a tea tray. “Shall I serve, Mistr—?”

  “No, just set it on the table, Milly. Thank you.” Grace waited for the maid to leave before speaking to Aldous again. “I’m not sure what you’re about, sir, but it seems clear you are not yourself.”

  “Or maybe I am,” Aldous replied. “I’m afraid I’m not here for polite conversation, Miss Thackeray.”

  She blinked. “Then why are you here?”

  “For two reasons.” He met her gaze and held it. “The first is to ask you to be my wife.”

  Her hands flew to her face. “Your wife? Captain Northcott, I—”

  “I know. Not the most romantic of proposals, is it?” He gave her a grim smile. “And after my blunt observation, you’d probably refuse me anyway. But I said I was here for two reasons. You have yet to learn of the second.”

  The frown returned. “Which is?”

  “To tell you the truth, which is also far from romantic.”

  “The truth about what?”

  “About what really happened on the day I met Julian. About a baby’s helpless cry. About the day you died. About a friendship abandoned through shame.” He swallowed bile. “And about me, Grace. The truth about me. Once you’ve heard it all, you can give me your answer. If you refuse me, I swear I’ll leave without a fuss and never bother you again.”

  “About the day I died?” Tears sparkled in her eyes as she rose to her feet. “I’m sorry, Captain. I don’t know what has got into you, but I think it best you leave.”

  He groaned. “I only thought you’d died, Grace. Please, sit down and let me explain. You have nothing to fear, I swear it.”

  Her chest rose and fell as she regarded him. “Very well,” she said, retaking her chair. “But this explanation of yours had better make sense.”

  Sense? When has any of it ever made sense?

  Aldous gathered his thoughts. How many times had he replayed those two days in his head? A thousand times? Ten thousand times? But this would be only the second time he’d recounted his experiences out loud. It would be the last time, too. After this, no matter Grace’s reaction, he’d set the memories on some obscure shelf in his brain and leave them to gather dust.

  “Please don’t interrupt me, Grace. Let me finish what I have to say. After that…” He blew out a breath. “Well, I’m not sure what to expect after that.”

  Grace nodded her assent, and Aldous told his tale, watching a variety of expressions flit across her face as he did so. She already knew some of what had occurred, but this time he added detail. A floor that creaked. Rain on the window. The poignant cries of a newborn baby girl. A foolish vow he’d made. A winning domino that was never placed. The guilt and shame. The things not said.

  And the lies. So many lies.

  He recounted it all, right up to the moment when Julian had stuck his tear-stained face around the door and uttered the words that wrapped an ice-cold hand around Aldous’s young heart.

  “She’s dead, Aldous.”

  “She died?”

  “Last night. I have to go. Sorry.”

  And Grace wept again as he spoke, more soundless tears that brought tears of his own to the surface. But he didn’t respond to hers or shed any of his own. He carried on with his tale, driven by a need to purge his soul to this woman. To explain how those two days changed his life. Changed him. He imparted everything that mattered—well, almost everything—up to the night he’d arrived, half-dead with cold, at Highfield’s gates.

  “And I saw the solitary candle shining in the window. A sign of life, I thought, as indeed it was. For that was the night I discovered you had not died. That I’d misunderstood Julian’s words. He’d been speaking about your mother. Not you.” Aldous placed his hand atop his heart. “You’ve held my heart captive for most of my life, Grace. You were a secret childhood ghost that I could not exorcise. Finding out you were alive should have set my heart free, but it didn’t.” He drew breath. “It appears, you see, that you’ve gone and captured it again. Only this time, it’s a willing captive.”

  “Oh, Aldous—”

  He held up a hand. “I’m not quite finished. There’s something else I must tell you.”

  “What?”

  “First, I’ll have your assurance that there’ll be no show of pity for what I’m about to say. I couldn’t bear that, Grace. You must simply refuse my proposal if that is what you want to do. Swear it.”

  She nodded. “I swear.”

  “Good.” He cleared his throat. “It has to do with the injury I sustained at Waterloo. The piece of shrapnel did some internal damage, the extent of which is not certain. I can still function as a man, but there’s a possibility I won’t be able to father any children, so asking you to marry me is asking… well, it’s asking a great deal.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Perhaps I cursed myself when I made that foolish vow all those years ago.”

  Grace stared at him for a moment. “I see,” she said at last and looked down into her lap. “I appreciate your honesty, Captain, and given what you’ve told m
e, I’d very much like some time to think about my response.”

  Aldous felt something tear in his heart, but kept his expression quiet as he rose to his feet. “Of course. I’ll take my leave of you, then. I’ll be at Northcott Manor for the rest of the week, so you can send word there.”

  She lifted her head and regarded him, her expression grave. “I doubt it will take long for me to give you my answer.”

  “I understand.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’ll make it easier on you. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll simply take it as a refusal.”

  She lowered her eyes again. “That is very considerate of you, sir.”

  “Right. Well, um, good day to you then, Gra—um, Miss Thackeray. Please don’t trouble yourself. I can see myself out.”

  She didn’t answer. Aldous swallowed over the lump in his throat and headed for the door. So much for a reckoning. It seemed he was to be haunted by the ghost of Grace Thackeray for the rest of his life. He placed his hand on the door handle.

  “Captain Northcott?”

  He turned to see Grace on her feet. “Yes?”

  “I’ve made my decision.” She shrugged. “It was an easy one to make, actually. I just needed a little time to compile my response, but I believe I have it now. Will you hear it?”

  He swallowed again. “I will, of course.”

  “Good.” She approached and took his hand, much as he had taken hers not so long ago. Only she brought it to her lips and held it there. Aldous held his breath. Did he dare hope?

  “I don’t believe in curses, Aldous,” she said at last, gazing up at him. “And even if I did, I’d rather live with that possibility you mentioned than live without you. So, my answer to your proposal is yes. There is nothing I want more than to be in your life for the rest of mine.”

  Chapter Seven

  Highfield, Yorkshire

  Christmas Eve, 1821 AD

  Aldous walked up to the mantel clock and peered at its face. “Twenty past eight,” he said, scratching his jaw. “That can’t be right. Has the bloody thing stopped?”

  “No, Aldous, it hasn’t.” The Dowager Countess of Hutton, seated amid a pile of silk cushions on the settee, released a soft sigh. “It struck eight times twenty minutes ago, if you recall. While you’re up, stoke the fire a little, will you? It’s drafty in here with that door open. Then please settle yourself. You’re making me quite dizzy with this up and down nonsense.”