Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 1 of 2

by Sophia James

  The nickname he had used at the ball. She looked up and caught him watching her, but his eyes slid away as soon as she did so.

  Not so much distant, then, but cautious. She was glad for it. She would need to leave it to him to make the first move towards any intimacy if that was what he wanted, for her words yesterday had clearly left him tense.

  A poor way to begin a picnic, but she had never been one to simply give up and so she found good humour and tried to act as if all the world was still only wonderful.

  CHAPTER TEN

  He needed to relax and he knew it. Adelia looked as though he had sliced all her dreams of this day into pieces and was now trying in her own particular way to glue them back together again so that none of the rough edges showed. He liked that about her. He imagined she had done the same all her life for a family ruled by a destructive man and wished she did not feel the need to do so here with him.

  The blue flower in his lapel was beautiful and the sun had come out now, fully sending the land into bright swathes and darker shadows. It reminded him of a painting his uncle had had in the house he had first been brought to, a dirty, thin and afraid youth who was astonished by the number of books just lying around and by furnishings in large rooms that were not ragged or worn.

  He banished the image and sought for happier things. Flora was laughing as she dashed towards them, Adelia’s sister Charlotte behind her with another larger bunch of wildflowers.

  They arrived beside him like two rambunctious puppies, each with their own story to tell about the land and the water and the fun they were having. All of the things he had imagined once when Elijah Greene had sold him this land, all the things he had promised himself he would have.

  Why wasn’t he happier, then?

  He looked across at his wife, his own unease translated to her, and knew the answer.

  He wanted her body, but he wanted her mind, too. He wanted her love and her loyalty and all the years of a good life together. He wanted someone he could depend on and trust and talk to and be with. He didn’t want a half-promise or a weakened troth. He didn’t want a marriage of convenience either, flung together by circumstance, fused by necessity or force.

  Flora brought him over a plate, and he sat on the edge of the blanket and looked down at the food.

  ‘I swear Mrs Williams is the finest pastry cook I have had.’

  ‘Her biscuits and cake are good, too,’ Flora said, wiping the crumbs of gingerbread from her chin. ‘Mama always told me that when she was little she never had enough to eat and you didn’t either, Uncle Simeon.’

  Simeon smiled. She had stopped calling him Mr Morgan and had begun to use his given name and he liked it.

  ‘Mama told me that you used to go and steal food and that you got caught sometimes and then she didn’t see you for a few weeks at a time. She said you were her hero, is that true?’

  Both Adelia and Charlotte seemed to be waiting for an answer from him.

  ‘I could run fast, but sometimes not fast enough.’

  The girls both laughed, but Adelia didn’t, her eyes filling with worry and comprehension.

  She’d seen the scar on his hand, but she hadn’t glimpsed the ones on his back. Stealing had held stiff penalties on the dangerous streets of Rochdale Road and Gould Street in Angel Meadow. He remembered being left after one beating in the burial ground of St Michael’s Church, thousands of bones of paupers unburied all around him, like luminescent ghosts in the moonlight.

  He looked towards the river, trying to regroup. Why were these memories flooding back with so much more fervour? Why could he no longer push them down and away as he had always done, a layer of forgetfulness buffering any recollection between then and now?

  He knew the answer to that question even as he asked it. It was all because of Adelia. She had uncovered the hope in his life that he had long since lost. Possibility shimmered now as it never had before and a future he had thought unattainable had suddenly become a prospect.

  A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.

  He’d read this once in the Bible at his uncle’s house shortly after he’d been brought there and the small verse had echoed inside him down through the years.

  Was it possible to cure his spirit with a joyful heart? If bits of you were lost, could other parts replace them? Could healing come from trust and belief?

  Biting into the lamb pie, Simeon tasted mint and other flavourings. He washed the mouthful down with a bottle of cider, still cold from being on ice at his town house.

  He needed to try.

  ‘Would you take a walk with me, Adelia, to the river after this? I have something to speak to you about.’

  ‘Of course. The girls can make daisy chains while we are gone and I shall award prizes for the best endeavour.’

  Charlotte and Flora both laughed and gulped down their pie and cake and within a few moments he was walking with his wife along the river path.

  * * *

  When he failed to speak she picked up small, flat stones and hurled them into the water, counting the skips out loud. She knew he wanted to say something, so she allowed him the time and space he needed, then finally he did.

  ‘I am not quite as you imagine me, Adelia.’ He stopped and swallowed before carrying on. ‘I am…damaged.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You had one father who was a violent man and you suffered, but… I had many…fathers…who were both violent and evil. I lost any innocence I had before I was eight and continued to do so until my great-uncle came to find me when I was fourteen and took me away.’

  ‘From Manchester?’

  ‘From Angel Meadow. A place of residence for the destitute Irish and those who had no time for any sort of law and order. Stealing food was the smallest of the sins I have committed, some for a good cause and some…not. I told you once that I only bed courtesans and mistresses, but I was not entirely honest with you as to the reason why.’

  ‘The why?’ He was shaking now. She saw how he threaded his hands together and deposited them behind his back.

  ‘I killed a man. It was after my stepbrother had died. I had no money to pay for Geordie’s funeral, you see, and I thought I could earn it with my body in the street where prostitution occurred, but when it came down to a willing act, I found I could not. As I ran to get away the man attacked me and I got hold of a piece of wood on the side of the road and whacked him back…’

  He stopped.

  ‘I will not lie to you, I would do it again in self-defence, but the person I have become is not the one that I was once and I thought you should understand that because…because I want us to know each other better.’

  ‘I would like that, too.’ Her own voice wavered, not in doubt, but in sorrow for the boy he had had to be to survive, for the child inside him that had never had a chance.

  Those in society spoke of his childhood as if it was a romantic one, as if it had been the making of him, as if in all the adventures and excitement a man had been formed in the shape of one who could take on the world and had done so, when the very opposite was true.

  Simeon Morgan’s childhood had destroyed him, utterly, in spirit and in flesh. It had taken away hope and trust and belief and here he was trying to rebuild again, rebuild a dream, just like the house he’d described on the land on which they stood. Solid and safe and constant.

  He was the bravest man she had ever met.

  He stepped forward and took her hand, one finger brushing across the gold of her wedding ring.

  ‘This was my uncle’s mother’s ring. Her name was Eleanor Morgan and she was from a good family. James Morgan gave it to me on the morning of the day that he died.’

  Tears formed in her eyes and fell down her cheeks, the ring taking on an importance that it had not had before. She found it hard to speak.

  ‘
Thank you for telling me that.’

  Without replying, he kissed her hand, like a knight of old, a warrior who had won the war, but not his own battles, but, at this moment in the sun by the river in Richmond it was enough. Enough to begin with and build on, enough to risk everything.

  ‘We started this marriage with conflict and discord, but perhaps if we are honest with each other we could find something finer between us. I hope that can be the case, Adelia. A new beginning. From now. I promise that I won’t rush you.’

  She wanted to say he should, that rushing was exactly what she did want, but sense stopped her for the truths he had just told her were hard ones. Now she needed to earn his trust again so that the deceit she had used in forcing this marriage was softened and forgotten.

  ‘A new beginning sounds like a good plan, Simeon.’ She put her hand out, and he shook it. ‘Let there be only honesty in our marriage from now.’

  He smiled. ‘Only that.’

  * * *

  Simeon sat beside her on the carriage ride back to London with the girls opposite and she could feel his thigh against her own.

  Flora and Charlotte were thrilled with their day and had decided this was what they would like to do each week, come to Richmond with a picnic and find flowers.

  ‘Every season will be different,’ Charlotte said. ‘We can find snowdrops in winter and daffodils in the spring. Would those flowers grow there, Adelia?’

  ‘I am certain they would, Charlotte.’ But her attention was not really on flowers. It was on her husband at her side, his hand on his lap, his wide gold wedding ring encircling his fourth finger. She wanted to place her own hand on top of his, for she had never known this tingle of excitement before, as if every second was special and wanton.

  Flora had taken up the conversation now. ‘You asked me once to think about what I wanted to do, Uncle Simeon, and now I know. I want to have a garden, like Adelia does at Athelridge. Charlotte told me of it.’

  ‘Well, there’s certainly enough room out at Richmond for a substantial plot.’

  ‘See, Charlotte, I said to you that he would be happy with that. We can choose seeds together and plant them, anything we like and anything that grows. We can sell them when they flower to the houses around here, for they certainly look rich.’

  As she laughed at the children’s plans Adelia caught her husband’s eyes and saw how he watched her. Everyone all her life had told her how beautiful she was and until now she had never truly believed it, but here in this conveyance she finally did. Beauty was not attached so much to the outside but to the inside and her insides were full of joy and delight and anticipation.

  * * *

  This trip was endless, Simeon thought. He couldn’t believe he had told her of his past in such a raw and brutal way, for he’d never before said a word of it to anyone save to his uncle in those first few months of being saved. The confession had both exhausted and freed him, which was a strange thing to think, exhausted him with the memory and freed him because Adelia had understood his pain and had responded to it.

  Today had been astounding, his land beneath their feet and the girls frolicking with laughter and flowers.

  But it was Adelia who had restored his hope with her acceptance of who he was and who he had been. She had not closed up, she had struggled with what he had told her, he knew that, but it was because she was sad for him and not disgusted for herself. Then when he had said he wanted more in this marriage, she had stood there and stated that she did, too. No games played, no coquetry, no pretence in it, but an honesty and generosity of spirit.

  He’d wanted to kiss her and hold her close, but he’d also promised that he would not rush her. Turning to watch the countryside through the window, he frowned.

  He’d told Adelia some things from his past, but by no means had he said it all. Still, she had not run for all she was worth, she was still sitting here next to him, the warmth of the line of one shapely thigh running down the length of his own. He concentrated on the connection and relaxed. There was plenty of time.

  He wondered what the night would bring after the children were put to bed. He wanted to sit and talk with Adelia and kiss her again. Just the vision of it had him worked up and he shook such rumination away. This was neither the time nor the place for those thoughts and he was glad when finally his town house came into view.

  Flora’s governess greeted them at the front door, shepherding the two children off and leaving him and Adelia alone.

  ‘I need a drink. Would you like to join me?’ The confines of the ride had made him jittery.

  He used the small sitting room this time as his place of choice. It had always been one of his favourite rooms in the house as the garden seemed closest here and, even in September, it was still in full show. He saw his wife take in the riot of autumn colour and smile.

  ‘It was one of the reasons I bought this place,’ he said as he poured them each a white wine.

  ‘The decorating is more simple in here than the other downstairs rooms, isn’t it?’

  ‘That is because I chose what I liked.

  ‘Who did the rest, then?’

  ‘Mr Mullins, one of the most sought-after decorators in London at the moment. He came highly recommended, though I thought his taste too busy in all honesty and wanted it more restful in here.’

  ‘I see.’ He liked the way she smiled for it lit up the green in her eyes. Her glance went then to the shelf of books sitting at one end of the room, clearly a selection of old favourites, and she wandered over to take a look.

  ‘You enjoy the history of Ancient Rome?’

  ‘I do. Any civilisation that can shift from a monarchy to a republic and maintain an immense empire for twelve centuries is to be applauded.’

  ‘I have heard it said that if you cannot understand history you may not understand yourself.’

  He liked the way she stood after giving him this statement as if waiting for an answer.

  ‘An acknowledgement of the past, you mean?’

  ‘Embracing and accepting it, I suppose, all the pieces making sense of who you are now.’

  ‘And just who are we now, Adelia?’ He’d had enough of the oblique talk and wanted some direct answers. He could see the shock in her eyes, but carried on anyway. ‘Who are we exactly to each other?’

  She took a while to answer, but he waited.

  ‘Friends, perhaps?’ she offered hesitantly.

  ‘I want more.’

  He put his cards straight down on the table, like a business proposition, though the fright in her eyes was noticeable.

  * * *

  What exactly was he saying? Adelia wondered as the moments stretched out in silence. She was unsure of what it was he sought. She could hear the voice of a businessman in all the words, the options, the contingencies, the conditions. He did not even look particularly happy when he said it and this confused her further.

  A knock on the door had them both turning and Harris gave the message that a constable, Mr McInnes, was outside waiting to see Simeon.

  ‘Send him in.’

  Her husband looked over at her with something akin to frustration. ‘He won’t be staying long,’ he promised her.

  Then the man was there, hat in hand.

  ‘There has been an accident, Mr Morgan. Tom Brady is in hospital after being set upon by ruffians and he is calling for you.’

  ‘Is it…?’ Simeon didn’t finish the words, but both she and Mr McInnes knew exactly what he meant.

  ‘He has lost a lot of blood.’

  Already Simeon was following him out.

  ‘I am sorry, Adelia, we will have to talk again tomorrow. This is important.’

  ‘Of course.’ She remembered the tall man who had smiled at her during her wedding even as her husband had left without a backward glance.

  To keep herse
lf busy when he had gone, Adelia decided to look through the bookshelf, for he’d said she was most welcome to borrow anything she wanted to.

  Apart from the many books on Ancient Rome there were other novels and short stories, some of which she had read and others she hadn’t. A thin volume in red velvet caught her attention on the bottom shelf and she pulled it out, seeing immediately on opening it that it was a book of handwritten poems.

  Not just any poems, either, but bawdy ones speaking of things that a man might do to a woman in bed.

  Turning to the front of the book, she almost dropped it. The small journal was dedicated to Simeon and it was from Theodora Wainwright, the red-headed woman at their wedding and his mistress.

  The poems were extremely lewd and not very well written, but after a few moments she realised there were other things at play here and she should not be prying into something so private. Theodora Wainwright had clearly loved Simeon with all her heart, but many words echoed her thoughts of his continued distance and his reserve.

  Snapping the book shut, Adelia replaced it, making sure that it lined up exactly with the other books around it. Then she took a novel she had not read from the very top shelf and let herself out of the sitting room. She knew Simeon would not have wanted her to find that journal and wondered at his own reaction to the book. Had Theodora Wainwright given it to him in the early days of their relationship or was it a more recent gift?

  There were so many pieces of her husband that she had no knowledge of, disparate facts and unfamiliar people, like a jigsaw puzzle where, because of the gaps and missing fragments, the whole was hard to understand.

  * * *

  That night she waited up for Simeon and when she heard footsteps in the corridor she gave him some time before she ventured out of her room.

  His room was quiet, but she knew he was there because in the crack of light under the door she saw a shadow. She did not knock, but turned the handle carefully and simply walked in.

  He was faced away from her and shirtless, but instead of smooth brown skin on his back there was a criss-crossing of old scarring, a shocking travesty that left her breathless and still. She hardly dared to move, but he had seen her already, turning and dragging the shirt off the bed next to him across his shoulders and on in one smooth motion.