Wilkinson cursed and pointed. “You? You have my son.”
“Yes. Miss Smith, this boy’s mother, is my guest in my husband’s parlor.”
Wycliff jerked Nicholas backward. “Yes, my wife is such a good hostess. Smart girl, too. She figured out the initials. She knows guilt when she sees it.”
Ruth stared at Nicholas, tweaked her lenses. “I needed to see you pay for your embezzlement. It’s a pity you can’t pay for all that you’ve done.”
She stood, resplendent and courageous, facing her attacker.
Sweat broke upon Nicholas’s brow.
Wycliff twisted Nickie’s arm a little more. For what he’d done to Ruth, his cousin needed to fear what Wycliff would do to him.
Mr. Marks pulled a ribbon-wrapped document from his pocket. “So, are you taking back your confession, Mr. Wilkinson, and staying here with your cousin, or are you going to sign this confession and take your risk in court?”
Wycliff handed him the paper. “In my travels, I learned a great deal about torture and the ways other civilizations dealt with infidels.”
Nickie took the paper. “Yes, just as I told Marks. I did it.” He bent at the desk and signed the confession.
Marks took it and the ledgers and handed them to the Lord Mayor.
The Lord Mayor headed to the door. “Go with Marks, Wilkinson. It will look better for you. Or I’ll send the runners for you. Marks, let me know.”
Ruth followed behind the man, and Wycliff took pride in how well she withstood.
“Cousin, have mercy on my son. You don’t need the runners. I’ll go with Marks.”
Marks pulled out a knife much bigger than Ruth had. “My grooms outside have guns. I can deliver him to the magistrate.”
He led Nicholas from the room.
It was over.
Wycliff needed to get to Ruth.
He went to the parlor, borrowed her from Miss Smith and her son, and led Ruth back to his study.
Wycliff spun her around then embraced her. “It’s over. You were—”
The door burst open.
Nicholas charged at Wycliff with a knife in his hand. “You can’t win, not like this.”
Wycliff’s sjambok was on the desk.
He and Nicholas fought hand-to-hand. He elbowed him, and the knife flew to the floor.
They wrestled for control. Both stretched and claimed the knife’s handle at the same time.
Nickie elbowed him in the throat.
Wycliff couldn’t breathe.
Ruth tossed books. Each hit Nicholas on the head.
The distraction wasn’t enough. Nicholas was wild. He was crazed.
He made the blade slash Wycliff’s cravat. “I need to finish off that gloating voice.”
Wham.
Ruth broke the bride sculpture over Nicholas’s head. It split in two.
Nicholas fell back. “You witch.”
That was enough for Wycliff to catch a full breath. He overpowered his cousin and drove the knife deep into Nicholas’s gut.
He twisted it for good measure. “That’s for Ruth.”
Lawden came running. “My lord, is all well? Wilkinson stabbed Marks.”
“A little late, Lawden, but my wife, my dear wife, was on time.
Lawden helped him up. “I have Marks. The bleeding is under control.”
Ruth was silent and pale, but her spectacles were on her face. She’d seen it all.
Wycliff took off his tailcoat and dropped it onto Nickie. “Ruth, it is truly over.”
She clasped Wycliff’s hand. “I’m going to check on my guests for tea. I’ll keep them occupied until Blaren House is clean.”
Mr. Marks came back inside. “Ruth. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for so much.”
She nodded, glanced down one more time, then left.
The barrister dropped into a chair. “Lord Wycliff, I’m sorry, too. He grabbed my knife.”
“Lawden’s good at patching things up, but we’ll send for a physician.”
“And I’ll stay for the coroner’s inquest. It’s the least I can do for you, clearing up these crimes. Consider it a wedding present for Mrs. Wilky.”
Wycliff nodded and sat on top of his desk. He put his boot on the broken statue. “Thank you. You need a brandy, Marks?”
“No, but I wish you and Ruth every happiness. She’s a special woman.”
The barrister kicked out his feet while holding the bandage on his arm. “Go to her. Your man and I will finish up here.”
“No. I will wait until everything is done. Mr. Marks, I hope you find what you are chasing, so you can settle down with a woman who makes you dream.”
“If there is such a woman, my lord.”
There was such a woman for Chatsworth Adoniram Wilkinson, the Baron of Wycliff, and he was blessed every day for having found her—both times.
…
I sat in the front parlor of Blaren House. I’d never been in here. The walls were freshly painted white. Every outer wall had large, wide windows. The furnishings were almost identical to Nineteen Fournier. My husband’s joke, but it would make it possible for me to have my own Knitting Tuesdays.
Miss Smith, Nicholas’s mistress, sat quietly drinking the tea I’d served her. The brunette was stoic, but the boy, his father’s death hurt him deeply. He sobbed a long time.
I closed the parlor curtains when I knew my attacker’s body would be carted away.
It was over.
The ones I knew that had touched me were dead. The ones I didn’t, they were dead to me. I had survived their worst, and I was whole. I was gold, the best kind, the kind that held diamonds.
“Lady Wycliff, thank you for your hospitality,” Miss Smith said as she held her son. “Mr. Wilkinson, we hadn’t seen him in months. He stopped sending money. It’s been desperate. Now we know he wasn’t himself. He was ill.”
I didn’t know what to say, and with Nicholas dead, I didn’t feel I needed to tell my truth. For a moment, I thought I saw something in her eyes that told me Miss Smith would believe me. But she needed hope, especially with her son listening. “My husband will help. He’ll make sure you two are provided for.”
The poor boy was four or five, not much different from my Chris and definitely not old enough to understand all the evil his father had done.
I was sad for boys with no papa.
I had a good papa. I hoped that somehow Miss Smith would raise her son to be good. I’d make sure the boy wasn’t forgotten.
I walked them to the door. Mr. Marks and the coroner passed us.
“Lady Wycliff.” The barrister tipped his hat.
I didn’t know if he had ever read my letter, but he seemed unbothered. I waved at him and wished him happiness. I knew his career would give him all that he needed.
Blurs that looked like my Wycliff and Lawden were at the cart.
I assumed they were talking with the coroner.
My blur turned and headed to me. I watched him walk. I loved his swagger.
Wycliff swept me into the grand hall.
“My heart, are you facing charges for Nicholas’s death?”
“No. My cousin’s admission in front of Thorpe and his attack of Mr. Marks, one of the Crown’s top barristers, made the inquest quite simple. This is over.”
Lawden disappeared down the hall.
It was just us.
This was over, truly over.
And my husband lived. And I lived.
“You don’t look happy, Wycliff.”
“I promised my father that I’d not use my hand directly.”
I put my palms about his waist, snuggled in his Bay Rum, and tried not to notice the ferrous scent on his sleeve. “It was you or him. You did what you had to do. Your father never begrudged you anything. He definitely wanted you to live.”
“I did want Nickie dead for what he’d done to you, but everyone who hurt you—”
I kissed him. I didn’t want Wycliff to say more. No more power to the nightmares. “It’s do
ne. No one is going to hurt us anymore. That’s my revenge—to live with love, your love and mine.”
He led me to the grand stairs. We flopped down, shoulder to shoulder, on the bottom step. “We need furniture, my dear.”
I leaned into him more, and we sat there perfectly in tune, he with me, me with him. “I like it simple. Less things to bump into. More places for Chris to run.”
Taking both my hands in his, he wove our fingers together. “I’m grateful, Ruth. I’m so grateful you’re strong.”
He tried to kiss my cheek, but I didn’t want a furry dimple. I kissed him on the lips.
Our love made us strong. For this, I was forever grateful.
He tugged me into a tighter embrace. “We need to go retrieve my son from Fournier, Lady Wycliff.”
“Not before a proper wedding. Everyone thinks I’m married to a dead man. You must make me a proper wife again.”
“Well, I have a proper license. I will find a proper minister. How soon do you think your mother will have a proper cake made?”
“Since I didn’t come home last night, I’m sure it’s baking right now. Tomorrow morning for sure. I’ll send a note.”
“You do that, Ruth.”
Wycliff knelt before me and took from his pocket a ring. It was entwined in gold, not silver like our first. This had a shiny diamond, the strongest gem. “Ruth Croome Wilky, marry me again. Love me as I have always loved you. You make my heart warm with comfort, red with desire. I’m made perfect in your love.”
“I love you, too, Adoniram, my Lord Wycliff. I like your name.”
“Someone should. Might as well be you.”
I kissed him before he kissed me, warming to the silk of his face. My arms wrapped about him, and we sank against the steps.
“Ruth, I need a nap. I didn’t get much sleep last night. A real nap with my best pillow.” His grin was wicked, my wicked Wycliff.
Before I could blink, I was up in his arms. I caught my spectacles before they fell. I laughed hard and yawned and then placed my hands gently about his neck.
The front entry doors flew open.
My heart stopped.
But the blur was small and had a trail of portmanteaus.
“Brother…I’m home.”
“Cicely?” With a groan, Wycliff lowered me to my feet.
He ran and embraced the young woman. “You scamp.”
As I came to his side, Wycliff spun the lithe young woman.
He set her down. “Sister, where have you been? How could you make me so crazed?”
“France, silly. I was with a large party of friends. We traveled for a wedding. It was so exciting. Brother, why are you looking at me like this? You are angry? Did I forget to leave you a note?”
She put her hands to her golden rosy cheeks. “I hope I haven’t made you fret?”
Wycliff rubbed his brow. “Just a little, Cicely.”
“I needed to be away. I was grieving Papa hard, and I needed some adventure like Mama’s poems or your Odyssey.”
“Go settle into a room upstairs. Don’t come down until my wedding tomorrow. This is Ruth. She’s my wife, and I’m marrying her again.”
His sister pointed at me. “Wait. You look like.”
“I am.” I was proud to be the woman Wycliff had first loved and would love forever.
She hugged me. “Ruth, Adam, there have been miracles while I’ve been gone. It’s good to know love doesn’t die.”
Cicely tossed her head and danced up the grand stairs. “Well, now you know, Brother, what it feels like keeping secrets. Being dead for four years should equal my two months away.”
She hummed all the way to the top landing.
Lawden came from the long hall, shaking his redheaded bob. He gathered up her trunks and followed behind Cicely. “You will be hiring more staff, Lord Wycliff, posthaste.”
Wycliff put his hands to his head. “Headache. I have a headache. She needs to be chastised, Ruth, for making this trouble.”
I put my arms about him to comfort him. I had more expertise in dealing with little sisters. “No. You need to be grateful that she has returned unharmed.”
He led me up the stairs. “Come, my dear. Help me find something.”
“What are you missing now?”
“Another moment alone with you. I’m spent.”
I leaped into his embrace, and he carried me up the stairs to heaven.
Epilogue
My morning wedding was beautiful, bright and early with all the windows of Blaren House open for the sun to come inside.
Ester, Mama, Clancy, and Mrs. Fitterwall made everything perfect.
White tablecloths on tables of treats.
Beeswax candles edging the grand staircase.
Mama’s three-tiered fruited cake with white bliss icing on the pedestal in the center of the hall.
Lady Hartwell and Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil and their husbands brought silver and white bows to hang everywhere.
Cicely stood near Mama, and even with my poor vision, I saw how their faces radiated joy.
My sister was lovely in pink, and she was smiling at me and Wycliff. Then she turned to her tall husband, Bexeley.
Papa sat with baby Josiah. Chris was at his feet, playing with his toy frogs. Sweet Jonesy stood like Lawden, hovering in the rear, ready to help my father.
Wycliff, my Wycliff, trimmed his beard to just a shadow. He looked young, so handsome in formal dress—black pantaloons, a high ivory collar and swirly ebony-and-purple waistcoat.
I wore the brightest, boldest color gown that my closet held, deep violet with short sleeves and a lilac ribbon about the bosom. There were daisies in the lace collar about my neck. I felt like a queen, Wycliff’s queen.
He took my hand and kissed me when he I descended the stairs.
We said our vows again.
But this time it truly was forever.
When the ceremony ended, everyone went into the smallish back garden of Blaren House, but I watched them enjoy Mama’s hearty fare of beefsteaks and fowl from the threshold.
Chris ran around the small enclosed yard with Cicely chasing him.
The girl had had an adventure. There was something she wasn’t saying to her brother. Perhaps she’d tell me in time.
Nothing mattered. She’d returned to be with her family. This mesh of Wilkinsons and Croomes was strong.
Wycliff came to me and held my hand. He didn’t ask me to go beyond the threshold. He looked down at me with all the love in his heart. “My old trunks have arrived from my father’s country house. If my half of the registry is to be found, it would be in one of those.”
“Have them set in the attic, my lord. I must finish getting Blaren House in order before I dig into the past. Besides, our special license is in one piece.”
“As you command, Lady Wycliff.”
He started to head in, but I held him in place.
Wycliff understood. He stepped closer and hung an arm about my waist.
My chest felt full, full of love for him and me.
My heart beat strong and wild.
Though I had been scared, I wasn’t afraid.
Though my vision was bad, I wasn’t without sight.
Though I once had been a victim, I wasn’t one anymore.
I was a wife and a mother, a woman who was believed and loved beyond measure.
The proof was visible to all, my fingers entwined with Wycliff’s.
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Author’s Notes
I hope you enjoyed Wycliff’s and Ruth’s story. This was intense for me to write, and I felt Ruth’s hurt and fire throughout the crafting of it. It is my hope not to shock or glorify the bad but to show hope in dire situations. I’ve taken great care with the themes of passing and a woman’s need to be heard and believed.
Every woman may not be afforded legal justice, but she needs to be empowered to tell her truth and to be valued for her journey. I hope
Ruth’s brings comfort and encouragement. No matter the testing in your life, know that you are gold, too. (Job 23:10)
…
Mulattoes and Blackamoors During the Regency
Mulattoes and Blackamoors numbered between 10,000-20,000 in London and throughout England during the time of Jane Austen. Wealthy British with children born to native West Indies women brought them to London for schooling. Jane Austen, in her novel Sanditon, writes of Miss Lambe, a mulatto, the wealthiest woman. Her wealth made her desirable to the ton.
Mulatto and Blackamoor children were often told to pass to achieve elevated positions within Society. Letters of Dorothea Thomas, one of the wealthiest mulatto women from the island of Demerara, guided me, offering in detail her desire for her children to pass to further their education and careers.
…
Regency Attitudes on Ravishment
Ravishment (rape) was a punishable crime if a person was convicted. However, convictions were rare. Evidence, such as respectable eyewitnesses, was needed as proof of the crime. Women, because of the shame they endured by the violation, the shame they believed was brought to their families, and the expense of paying for prosecution, often did not seek justice. The conviction of William Hodgson in 1811 was one of the first of its kind because the judge did not allow the defense to ask about the victim’s previous acts of sexuality or her work history. Harriet Halliday’s clear evidence came from multiple witnesses who’d heard her scream. A local surgeon who rescued Halliday financed the prosecution.
…
Debtors’ Prison
Debtors’ prison was a form of punishment for men and women who could not pay their debts. Owing as little as £100 could have one thrown into one of the London prisons: Fleet (closed 1842), Faringdon (closed 1846), King’s Bench (closed 1880), Whitecross Street (closed 1870), and Marshalsea (closed 1842). Insolvent debtors could be imprisoned indefinitely until all debts were paid.
Debtors’ families were expected to pay to get them released, but Wycliff being the only solvent relation was not going to pay. Marshalsea was the worst of the debtors’ prisons with the foulest conditions.
…
Fournier Street
Fournier Street is part of Spitalfields, London, developed by the French Huguenot immigrants dating from around 1720. The townhouses here were large but fell into disrepair and out of favor. I imagine by the 1800s, they could have been accessible to lease or purchase by parts of the Blackamoor and mulatto communities of London, which had grown in wealth but could not purchase in areas like Cheapside or Mayfair.
The Bewildered Bride (Advertisements for Love) Page 31
