I was married and a widow and just confused. I couldn’t down another cup of the burning hot tea. “Why talk of this now? Not with Mr. Marks.”
“Marks, bless his soul, will let you be. You can wander about his house, run his staff, and sleep in your separate bedrooms. He may want to share upon occasion, but he’ll let you alone and keep on with his mistresses.”
I felt my eyes popping wide, maybe flying from my face. “You didn’t mention this when I told you of Mr. Marks’s intentions.”
“I was very angry when you ran off with Mr. Wilky. I was furious that you were at a brothel and stayed there instead of coming home. Then you had a baby in that tummy. I was enraged, that you’d put yourself into that position.”
I jumped up and moved away. “Must we talk about this? I forgave you. You forgave me.”
“Ruth, I accused you of being a harlot. That was wrong. I didn’t listen to you about what truly happened. I couldn’t accept what had happened.”
“Please. Don’t say any more.”
“Ruth, you told me many things when your papa brought you back from the brothel. Then you healed up and said nothing. I did think you lied. I sent you away to have the baby, but I’m guilty of so much wrong.”
“Mama, please don’t repeat what I said.”
“For you to be married, then all the rest is true. All of it.”
My eyes leaked. They were wet and sticky.
“Baby, it’s one thing to give away your sugar in the throes of young love. It’s another to sell it of your own free will. It’s a horror, a terrible, terrible thing, for the sugar to be taken. That’s what happened to you.”
Mama wasn’t talking about baking or sweets but soul ties and abuse.
She remembered what I’d said had happened when Adam had died. His killers had had at me.
I’d been told to sit back and take it. Then my family told me to forget.
My mother held me in her arms. She cried. We were both hot, sticky knitters.
“Ruth. Ruth, baby. You need to tell Wycliff. He needs to know.”
“I need proof. I’ll tell him when I have proof.”
Mama held me tighter. “You need nothing, no proof when a man loves you. None, when you believe in yourself.”
“How is that? You didn’t believe me. Madame Talease can verify my truth.”
“You’ve been tried, Ruth. You’ve kept living. You’ve raised a beautiful son. You didn’t give over anything to despair, especially not your baby.”
“Chris is all mine. He’s none of them.”
“Memories have power. I had to tell your father what happened to me, what happened in my home, by my own father.”
I squinted and saw the heavy tears in Mama’s eyes. I didn’t want her to see me as weak. I didn’t want that legacy.
But then I looked at Mama, really looked at her. I saw a survivor’s face. I saw the beauty that had come through the fire. I wanted to be Mama—to have her strength, her grace.
“Ruth, I’m four years late in comforting you, of telling you it wasn’t your fault, that you are lucky you lived.”
Four years too late, but better late than never believed.
“Tell Wycliff. He wants all of you, the good and the bad. There’s heat in the air about you two.” She put my hand in hers. “Tell him, so he can be sweet to you. Then he’ll be gentle. He’ll understand. Your father understood. My attacker was my own father. At least you don’t have to recover from that.”
No, it was Adam’s cousin. He’d led them in it. Someone who Adam had once trusted.
I was an all-or-nothing person. If I faced the truth, I needed all of it. I’d written to Madame Talease yesterday. I needed her to answer soon.
She was the proof I needed for Wycliff.
Mama and I poured new cups of tea. “What if he can’t look at me? What if I can’t make myself please him? What if he can’t please me because I see the others and not him?”
“Not every man or every mother can be strong. But you are gold, pure gold. You deserve gold. We’re not soft when it comes to our worth. We’re strong. Uncage your spirit. Be wild, my wild child. Be free. Then accept Wycliff’s love, if he is for you. Or toss him away. Know your worth. You’re gold.”
I believed Mama, but my head was stuck on proving my truth. I sipped my tea, taking my time, enjoying the citrus taste of the chamomile. “I’m glad you didn’t have the knitters here today.”
“The ladies?” Mama laughed. “My friends, they are vipers. I set them on you these past two years to toughen you, for you to regain your fire. You didn’t get it back until Wycliff. I think that means something.”
“A man did it, Mama. Is that your answer? Is it an extra benefit that he’s a peer?”
“A respected barrister or baron, both are worthy of you. But I like Wycliff. He made my child remember to live. Whatever you choose, your place is here, if you want it.”
I watched Mama sit in her chair. “I need my own. I’ll send for Wycliff. I’ll tell him everything.”
I went to the closet and pulled out stationery, a blotter, and ink. Flopping on the sofa, I curled my feet under me and began writing a short note.
My hands shook, I smeared things terribly, but the words, ‘Come. Please come.,’ made it on the page.
I thought about going to him, getting in a carriage. Did I have enough courage for that and to spill my secret? I did. “I’m going to get Jonesy to take me.”
“You can do it, Ruth. Do you need me or Ester to come with you?”
I wanted to go by myself, but I couldn’t afford to fail. “I’ll send this to him. He said he’d come. Thank you, Mama.”
I opened the door to the parlor, but Ester was there with her hand poised to knock. “Ruth. This came for you.”
It wasn’t a ribbon-wrapped note.
I took this one and savored the jasmine scent of the paper. It was from Madame Talease. It was an answer, the proof I needed.
I had to read this, to see if it said what I remembered.
I took my note to Wycliff and handed it to Ester. “Help me get this to a groom. I need this to go to Lord Wycliff as soon as possible.”
She took the folded note. “The more I try to stop you, the more it’s driving you to Wycliff. I give up. I’ll get this to him right away.”
“This is a new tactic? The loving little sister indulging her older, daft one?”
“No, this is the loving little sister trying to love you right. Ruth, if you want him, I’m with you.”
“And if I am a fool, and this is nothing but something reckless, will you gloat?”
“No. I don’t stick my tongue out anymore. I wish you happiness. You deserve that, but I’ll be here to wipe your tears. Then we’ll plot how to bludgeon the whip-ferrying goat with a poker.”
I reached out and hugged Ester, truly hugged her. “I love you, Sis.”
“Let me get this to Jonesy. He is the fastest in getting notes delivered to Bex.”
Ester dashed away.
A little spent, I decided to go upstairs with my letter. I needed my wits for when Wycliff came.
Halfway up the stairs, I heard Clancy open the door.
Mrs. Johnson slid inside. She wore mourning black, head to toe, with a veil.
She ran and clasped the newel post of the stairs. “Ruth, I need to see you. I haven’t been a good friend.”
I glared at this woman. “No friend at all. You need to go.”
“I have to see you now. It is of the upmost urgency.”
“There’s nothing to hear.”
I came back downstairs, went to the door, and opened it. “Please leave.”
“It’s Madame Talease. She’s ill. She’s dying.”
I stopped and grasped the thick paper in my pocket. My heart hurt. Madame Talease was my friend. “To the study. We can talk in private.”
Madame Talease had been good to me. I hoped Mrs. Johnson was wrong, dead wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Proposin
g to My Wife
Wycliff’s carriage couldn’t arrive at Nineteen Fournier fast enough. Ruth had sent for him. He had the ring in his pocket and a marriage license freshly signed by the archbishop.
Ruth’s note looked rushed. Had she just come to realize that they were meant to be? To marry her again couldn’t undo what she’d suffered, but it was a start. He’d make her happy. He would.
His carriage stopped outside Nineteen Fournier, but his excitement dimmed. Another carriage sat out front.
He had a bad feeling.
Lawden saluted. “Good luck, my lord.”
Wycliff nodded and wished luck upon himself. “Be alert. Uncle hasn’t been jailed. And Nickie is wounded. That’s a lethal combination.”
He charged up the steps, anticipating Ruth in his arms…his bed…his life, forever.
Clancy opened the door. “Afternoon, my lord.”
Like normal, he took Wycliff’s hat and cape.
The fellow had his hands out as if to take his sjambok, but Wycliff waved him off. “I’ll keep it.”
The sjambok was an extension of his power, and he was too on edge to lower his guard. Nothing was settled. “Where’s Mrs. Wilky?”
“The parlor, my lord. Shall I announce you?”
“No. I’ll go to her. Thank you, Clancy.” Wycliff straightened the daisy he’d put in his buttonhole. Seizing a big breath, he pushed open the door. “Mrs. Wilky.”
She didn’t look up. Her arm was about Mrs. Johnson. Both women wept.
The sound of it, throaty, whimpering, reminded him of Cicely the night Mama had died. She’d been so young, but Wycliff had had to comfort her while his father had made arrangements. It had been many hours, too many before he’d been alone to grieve. He’d met Ruth on the docks that night. It was a sign.
“Ladies…”
There was no acknowledgment, but Mrs. Johnson’s sobs turned more violent and angry, if tears could be anything but sorrowful.
He closed the door again hard. “Ladies.” He went in front of them and stooped to eye level with the seated women. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson, for your loss.”
“Are you?” The widow came at him, arms swinging.
He caught her hands and pulled them to her sides. “I’m sorry. Johnson could’ve reinvented himself with your strength.”
She tore away. “I wouldn’t have to be in this position if you had helped, if you had eased the credit.”
“Johnson had friends, the men who helped him build his stolen empire. He shouldn’t have needed an enemy’s mercy to survive. Sometimes judgement has to happen.”
“Those friends will all be bankrupted. That’s my only consolation. For Ruth’s sake, I hope you are as clever as you appear. I heard the Wilkinsons. They came to kiss hands and say sorry. I know fakes.” She went to the table and picked up a ledger. “They came for this. I brought it to Ruth instead.”
“Yes, and she brought a message from Madame Talease, too.”
His poor Ruth looked distant and shaken.
Mrs. Johnson handed him the ledger. “If you can use this to bury Soulden Wilkinson like you did my husband, do it.”
The widow moved to the door.
“Mrs. Johnson, here is something to help with expenses.” He went to his purse and pulled out five guineas. “Again, I am sorry.”
Her hand fisted about the coins. “Milly done come up before. Me and this baby, we’re going to figure things out.”
She walked out with her head high, clutching the coins and her baby bump.
Wycliff had the feeling she would be fine.
He closed the door and went back to Ruth.
Her spectacles were on the table. Was she trying not to see him?
He put the ledger next to them and waited. “You sent for me?”
Cold, isolating quiet. Nothing.
He rubbed at his face. Counted to ten, then twenty, then listened to the clock’s ticktocks.
“Mrs. Wilky, I take it you haven’t forgiven me.”
“Where were you?” Her voice was calm as she brushed at her eyes. “Four years is a long time.”
“I told you. At sea. Made to work on a frigate, the HMS Liverpool. Hard, hard work. Four years of constant labor.”
“I wanted to see if the story changed. That’s what people do when they don’t believe you. They ask you over and over what happened. They pick apart tiny details, looking for something you may have forgotten or blanked from your mind, to be discredited.”
“I deserve that. It was cowardly of me not to tell you. But how do you tell someone I’m your live husband when she wanted him dead?”
“I never said I wanted you dead. Never.”
“But you never wanted Adam back. I, however, clung to a memory of our perfect love.”
“It wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t perfect.”
“Well, Ruth, you’ve told me over and over again how I wasn’t, either.”
“Could you have sent a note, something while at port? Ships come into port.”
“I thought you dead. Graves accept no love letters. I made one missive to my father. That was all.”
“How did you live on this frigate?”
“I didn’t live. I survived, Ruth. I punished myself with thoughts of you, how I’d allowed you to suffer. Being a sailor, a good one, made the days pass. My nights, those were another matter.”
She folded her arms about her, like she was caught in a chilling wind. “You’ve stayed in love with me all these years? You never thought that we were too young, too stupid?”
“I’ve never fallen out of love with you. How could I? I was happy when we were together.”
“No doubts?”
“None.” His horrible voice was loud and strained, but it was his truth. “Ruth, I’ve only wanted revenge. I’ve thought of nothing else.”
“That’s a lot of years to be steeped in hate. Sounds like you were nearly successful with Mr. Johnson’s death.”
“I didn’t kill him, but he deserved death. I know he plotted with my uncle for my ambush. You remembered his voice at Blaren House.”
“I remember your cousin’s and your uncle’s voices. They were at the ambush. They deserve death.” She wiped at her eyes. “When do you achieve revenge? When does it all stop?”
“All Uncle’s notes have been called. If Soulden does not pay tomorrow, he will be collected by runners and then sent to debtors’ prison.”
“That leaves your cousin untouched. Will that be enough for you, Adam?”
She said his nickname, the one he’d given her. It didn’t sound as well with her voice laced in anger.
“Adoniram is the name my mother gave me. A bit of a mixed bag, an overseer to the king…who was stoned in a revolution.” He scooted a little closer. “I now oversee all of my father’s wealth, but I did survive my execution. If you are asking if I am the same fellow you knew, the one so full of rage… No. I’ve learned to be deliberate and methodical.”
“If you die before tomorrow, will they inherit the means to pay their debts? Will they win again?”
“I don’t intend to die, but my son, my heir, Christopher Wilky will inherit.”
“Then you’ve set the evil on my baby.”
He wrapped his hand around her closed fist. “I’m alive. All will be done in a day. I win, unless you make me a loser. Are you going to pretend that what we had, what we have, what we rediscovered, isn’t enough?”
He took the ring box and presented it to her.
The hinge whined when she opened it, but then she snapped the case closed before the diamond could sparkle in the candlelight.
“Do you trust me, Adori…Wycliff? You’ve asked me to trust you so often. I need to hear you trust me.”
He knelt and took her hand. “Yes, I trust you implicitly. I love you, Ruth. Marry me. Look past your anger at a name and see that I’ve changed.”
“Do you still twist up all the bedclothes and leave the mattress looking crazed?”
He wanted to laugh
that she remembered, but Ruth wasn’t smiling.
“I’m no longer quick tempered. I’d like to think I’m thoughtful and deliberate. I’m a man who will keep you safe, who will love and cherish you. Be mine again, now and forever.”
“Can’t we just go one step at a time? Adam…Wycliff?”
“I am Adam, I am Wycliff. I know how precious life is, how things can change in an hour. Let’s not wait. Trust that I can make everything right this time.”
She held his face close, smoothed her fingers in his beard, then closed her eyes. “I miss your smooth face.” She sighed. “If we’d taken things more slowly. We would’ve had a chance.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s not rushing when we are married, unless…”
It hit him like a cannonball across the bow.
She didn’t love him or Adam.
She’d been through too much.
With this last secret, there was nothing left of her for him.
…
I felt frozen and empty.
I’d spent the last hour consoling a woman whose husband was truly dead.
Wycliff’s face grew darker, more distant.
“I see,” he said and stood. “Then tell me how this is to go.”
“Well, as you say, we are married.”
“Are we, Ruth? Where’s your half of the registry? Go get it.”
I left him for a moment, went to my room and returned with the trunk. I put it in his hands. “Here.”
“Your old trunk.” He took it and pulled the registry from the lining. “This is the only thing that proves our marriage exists. Maybe there is a misspelling or something to get you out of this conundrum.”
“Now you are being ridiculous. I’m not falling into your arms, so you think I am hysterical. That’s not fair.”
Wycliff moved closer to the hearth. “It is ridiculous to be in a marriage you don’t want.”
He turned from me, tugged on his jacket, and bent close to the flames.
“Are you cold? What are you doing?”
“Freeing you.”
He lit the edge of the paper. It caught fully, glowing and spitting flames before I reached him. I tried to get it, but it was too late.
Bits of the paper danced as embers on the log. Then it was ash.
The Bewildered Bride (Advertisements for Love) Page 27
