“A bout of scarlet fever swept through town just before your birth. Esther contracted it,” she said in hushed tones. “It was not safe for me to stay at home, so I was sent away for my confinement.”
Mother paused, her shoulders going slack as she stared at her feet. “When my daughter needed me most, I could not be there for her. I was trapped, away from my family—not knowing what was happening to them. Then I got word that Esther had passed, and it broke my heart.”
Patting at his jacket, Conrad dug in the pocket for his handkerchief and handed it to her, unable to say a word as she unfolded the story to him.
“You were born, but all I felt was Esther’s absence and that great twist of grief pulling me apart. I hadn’t been there when she slipped from this world, and though it was not fair of me to do so, I blamed you for it.”
Dropping her hands to her side, Mother looked at him, her eyes wet and pleading. “I am sorry, darling. It was so wrong of me. It was not your fault. Or anyone else’s. But it is often hard to see reason in the grip of melancholia.”
Conrad waited for her to continue, the dizzying confession holding him silently in place.
“I was not the mother you deserved. I did not love you as I ought to. But you reminded me of her. The same dark hair that curled at your temples when you were a babe. And you both were such fussy things.” Mother gave a huff and leveled an exasperated look. “All of the others were so sweet-tempered, but you and Esther could shake the rafters with your shrieks. They speak of motherhood as though there is an instant and unshakeable bond between mother and child, but I can tell you that at times I hated you.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “I am so very sorry.”
“That was years ago, Mother.” Though he couldn’t say with any honesty that he enjoyed hearing her confession, Conrad felt no malice towards her, for he had no doubt that she loved him fiercely and had for many years.
“There was one particular afternoon when the nursemaid was busy with the other children, and I was left alone with you,” she continued. “You’d spent the whole of the morning fussing and shrieking, and I felt as though my wits were addled beyond salvation. You finally fell asleep, all wrapped in a blanket and nestled in my arms. My fingers brushed your cheek, and you turned into my touch, your lips pulling into this little grin, as though it were the best thing you’d ever felt.”
Mother wrung the handkerchief in her hands. “It was a profound moment for me. This one, beautiful moment with my child. For the first time since Esther passed, I felt peace, and I knew I needed to be a better mother to you. And though that moment did not last, I held onto it, nurturing it in my heart. The change was not speedy, but my feelings shifted and changed, developing as I continued to focus on those joyful moments with you.”
Reaching forward, she brushed a thumb across his cheek. “And you have become as dear to me. You fill my heart with such joy. I chose to love you, and that grew until I was no longer loving you despite the hard times, but through them. A love that was as unshakeable and strong as any mother can feel.”
Dropping her hand, Mother gave a sigh and murmured, “I have never told anyone about that struggle—save your father—but I tell you it now because I know love is not always an easy thing. It has to be nurtured. You have to choose to love and to continue loving even when things are at their worst. You have made the choice to give Ruby and her child your name, your home, your protection, but will you choose to give them your love, which they need most of all?”
Stepping back to his side once more, Mother took his arm and nodded at Ruby. “You are married. That will not change. So, will you allow that to make you miserable? Or will you open your eyes and see that though there are adjustments to be made on both your parts, Ruby is a kind and dear lady who is doing her best to be a good wife to you, even at the sacrifice of her own happiness?”
Chapter 16
Giving his arm a final squeeze, Mother slipped away, leaving Conrad to his thoughts. A confession like that ought to elicit some emotion, but he didn’t know what to feel.
Esther had never been a secret in their family; she’d been remembered during holidays and family festivities, but Conrad had never known this personal connection he shared with the sister he’d never met. Perhaps he ought to feel maligned by his mother’s feelings, but it was impossible to fault her for her heartbreak; plenty of mothers never healed from the loss of a child.
No, he took it as the gift he knew it was intended to be. Mother had given him a bit of truth she would never share lightly, and thus it held all the more power.
Could it truly be as simple as choosing to love Ruby? The poets would disagree.
Conrad watched her, pondering the things his mother had said—and there were a great many things she’d heaped on him in those few minutes. But as Conrad watched his wife, he found himself returning again and again to how his mother had described Ruby.
What did he know of his wife? The passing weeks had taught him a few of her likes and dislikes, but who was Ruby? Conrad tried to align his experience with the quaking lady he knew to the stalwart creature his mother described but could not reconcile the opposites.
Slowly, surely, memories inched forward, giving him a clearer picture.
For the life of him, Conrad could not recall if he’d ever heard her speak before their engagement, but the first words Ruby had spoken were admirable. Soft and timid, certainly, but Ruby had pleaded on Conrad’s behalf despite knowing it would displease her father.
Even some two months later, an anxious shiver ran down his spine at the memory of Mr. Jeffries’ expression when he’d dragged Ruby from the room after voicing her protests. Why hadn’t he followed after them? Or stopped Mr. Jeffries from handling her so roughly? The fellow may not have left a bruise, but there was no mistaking the effect he’d had on Ruby when she’d returned with her head bowed like a beaten puppy.
Ruby was well familiar with her father’s temper and had spoken up despite knowing how he’d react.
And for that matter, Ruby had risked her parents’ displeasure to elope with Lucas in the first place. Though it had been a foolish thing to do, it displayed bravery. And if one ignored the fact that Lucas was involved, it signaled a romantic heart beating in her chest.
Even now, watching her unflinching attention on those around her, Conrad saw little signs of Ruby’s discomfort. A slight brittleness to her smile. The way her shoulders rounded when she thought no one would see. Conrad had suspected as much before, but now, he felt certain she was not comfortable among strangers. Yet Ruby had insisted on organizing a dinner party to further his prospects.
Courage with a heaping portion of self-sacrifice.
Narrowing his eyes on her, Conrad wondered if he understood her at all. Had he truly been blinding himself to all these little signs of strength and warmth simply because she did not wave them about for all to see?
Ruby turned her head and found him staring at her. Her brows pinched together for a moment, her head cocking to the side as though studying him in turn, and then she gave him a small smile. Her hands were clasped before her in a tight bundle, but she relaxed them enough to raise her fingers in the barest of greetings.
The whole movement struck him as a clear demonstration of who Ruby was. Timid but hopeful.
Stepping away from his corner, Conrad moved through the drawing room, her eyes never leaving him as he drew closer. He stopped at her side, giving the others a nod in greeting, and there were a few pleasantries exchanged before the conversation returned to its previous course.
Conrad reached forward, resting his hand on her back as though it was a familiar habit of theirs. As they had grown accustomed to sleeping curled together, Conrad supposed it was, but there was no mistaking her surprise at his touch; there was a brief moment of tension before she relaxed into it, stepping into him so that her side brushed his.
Leaning closer, he whispered, “I find that gatherings such as these are far easier to bear with an ally by y
our side.”
That tentative smile grew, filling Ruby’s face, and Conrad’s own grew with it.
“Then shall we face the horde together?” she asked.
Conrad didn’t know if his mother’s words were true for all people and if there was any hope for him and his wife, but he knew he’d be a fool not to try.
*
Ambrose’s fingers brushed over a patch of Mary’s arm that was free of sleeve and elbow glove, and that one whisper of a touch wrapped her heart in a blanket of peace. He spoke of some moderately humorous story, spinning it into a playful epic, though Mary’s thoughts were not on the conversation. She smiled when Mr. Goodland laughed at some particularly ridiculous moment, but her attention never wavered from her son and daughter-in-law.
A twist of her stomach had her fretting that she’d shared too much with Conrad. While Mary supported the concept of honesty, it had the potential to do harm if handled poorly. But even as she thought through what she’d said, Mary felt the rightness of her words. Perhaps sharing the lessons she’d learned in such a painful manner might aid her son in avoiding her mistakes.
Mr. Goodland nodded at her, and Mary smiled in return before the gentleman wandered over to another group of revelers.
“What is bothering you, love?” whispered Ambrose, and Mary felt like sighing at the feel of him so close. She longed to curl into his arms and rest her head against his shoulder.
“I just had a rather difficult discussion with our son. I am worried about him and Ruby. They’ve had such a rough go of it,” she said, glancing at her husband. Her heart warmed at the manner in which he gazed at her, all concern and tenderness, admiration and curiosity. He had the most expressive eyes of anyone she’d ever known, and having them fully fixed on her filled Mary with such joy.
Taking her hand, he threaded her arm through his and rested his hand atop hers. “It is not easy to see Conrad thrust into such a difficult situation, but he is a fine man and will find a way through. And Ruby is an equally fine lady. They only need time.”
Mary nodded, turning her face away from Ambrose as a new set of tears pricked at her eyes. Cursing such ridiculous behavior at a dinner party, she batted her eyes to clear them, but her emotions were still too tightly wound and out of her control to be reined in so easily. With a deft turn, Ambrose moved them away from the crowd and towards a painting on the wall as though they found it worth examining. He murmured her name, his fingers stroking the top of her hand.
“My dear Miss Pert, it is not like you to be so undone,” he said with the roguish smile that had infuriated her when they first met.
“I spoke to Conrad about Esther and his birth,” she said, not needing to expound further as Ambrose would know precisely what she was referring to. “My heart is raw at present.”
But that was not the only source of her distress. There were times when the pain of Esther’s loss struck her with such ferocity that Mary had no other recourse than to allow it to overtake her, but it had been many years since her daughter’s passing, and those times had grown infrequent. And admitting those early struggles with young Conrad was unpleasant though entirely necessary.
No, the aching pit in her stomach and tightening of her chest were not caused entirely by either of those children.
“Ruby and Conrad are such good people, and Lucas has hurt them both so much,” said Mary. She took a breath, allowing it to fill her lungs and loosen the pressure building inside her. “The more I come to know Ruby, the more I realize just how cruel he was.”
Blinking, Mary cast a glance around her, and Ambrose pasted on his jovial smile for the rest of the room to see as he took her by the arm and walked her to a more secluded corner of the room, keeping himself between her and the others.
“I have heard others say that someone is ‘without guile,’ and I never truly understood what it meant until I met her, for Ruby is without guile,” said Mary, her words coming rough and hurried. “And Lucas took that trusting heart and used it to his benefit. I keep searching for some detail that might explain his behavior as something other than cruelty, but the more she opens her heart to me, the blacker Lucas’s becomes in comparison.”
Pulling him to a stop, Mary met her husband’s eyes. “How did I raise such a man? What more could I have done?”
Ambrose took her hand in his, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles. “It was not so long ago that an incredibly wise and excessively lovely lady told me that we cannot control our children. We taught them good morals and now it is up to them to live them. We did our best, and now all we can do is love them with all our hearts.”
Mary shook her head and gave a self-deprecating huff. “That lady sounds like a fool to me.”
“Do not speak of my wife in such a manner, madam, or I shall have to demand satisfaction,” said Ambrose with a narrowed gaze.
Tilting her chin up and giving him an arched brow, she replied, “Pistols at dawn?”
“I’m not an early riser.”
“Then I win by default.”
Ambrose lightly chuckled and turned her hand over, pressing a kiss to her palm. Mary had never cared for gloves and hated them all the more at that moment, but it was not the touch of skin that made her heart swell until it filled her chest to bursting; it was the adoration in his gaze as he did so. Ambrose Ashbrook was known for that silver tongue of his, but no words contained the power of such a look.
“I often wonder if there was something else I might’ve done to protect Lucas from the lure of London,” said Ambrose, his gaze falling from her though he did not release his hold on her hand. “My own youth was spent in the same company, but I never succumbed to their temptations. Perhaps I failed to say or do something my father said or did that kept me from going down those unsavory paths. Why did I navigate such treacherous waters and remain unscathed?”
Shifting her skirts, Mary stepped closer to her husband, commanding his attention. “You did not fail him as a father.”
“Then you, alone, bear the guilt for Lucas’s faults?” he asked with a challenging brow. “We were both his parents and shared all the duties that entails. Either we both failed our son or neither of us did. You cannot claim it all for yourself.”
Mary opened her mouth, though there was no reply to that.
“You are a good mother, Mary Ashbrook.” Though he spoke in low tones, his voice rang with conviction. Ambrose repeated her name once more in that tender, melodious manner of his that felt like a caress. “Mary, look at our sons.”
Ambrose turned her just enough to see, though he remained between her and any onlookers, and Mary’s eyes found Vincent standing in the middle of the gathering, his future bride at his side. Of all her sons, Vincent looked the most like her, which might’ve been seen as a misfortune for him as Mary’s features had never been deemed lovely to anyone other than the dear gentleman at her side, but having taken after her own father, the sharp features and lanky frame did well for Vincent.
In another circle, Conrad stood with his hand at his wife’s back. His face was alight as he spoke animatedly with the Goodland family. In Mary’s eyes, she saw little resemblance to either of his parents, but there were times when she saw glimpses of Ambrose’s mannerisms. And the young man had inherited his father’s coloring, which suited him.
“Vincent has built himself a fine reputation as a skillful solicitor, but more than that, he is known to be honest and industrious,” said Ambrose. “He adores Miss Goodland, yet he would have thrown her over and done right by Ruby because he considered it his duty as the next son in line.”
Mary sniffled, fighting against the emotions stirring in her chest as her husband spoke.
“And our dear Conrad,” he continued. “The type of man who took his brother’s place to save not only Ruby but Vincent and Miss Goodland as well. He has worked hard for this family, struggling beside me to keep us afloat during our darkest times while protecting the workers who depend on us. To say nothing of Nathaniel, who is excelling at his s
tudies—a fact that is due entirely to your influence, as I had no hand in that boy’s intellect,” he said with a hint of a smile. “He’s intelligent and has a bright future ahead of him.”
Turning Mary to face him once more, he added, “And our sweet Dottie has a life that would not have been afforded her had we not taken her in as one of our own children. She and Phillip are blissfully happy with a family of their own, and she is teaching her own children the lessons she learned under our roof.”
Ambrose paused, his deep brown eyes gleaming with tears that mirrored Mary’s, and gave a tremulous smile. “If you are going to attribute all the faults of our children onto your head, then you have to accept all the good as well. So, I ask you, how did you raise such good, hard-working, and loving children?”
Mary drew in a shaky breath and brushed a thumb across his cheek. “A better question is, what did I do to deserve such a husband?”
Ambrose’s brows rose, and he gave a solemn shake of his head. “That is merely the spell I cast with my immeasurable charm, madam. I count myself lucky that you are so susceptible to it, or you would realize that you outshine your poor husband in every aspect.”
Giving him a wry smile, Mary shook her head. “What utter tripe.”
Taking in a few breaths to erase the remnant tears, Mary took her husband’s arm and the pair strolled along the edge of the room. The others were so preoccupied with the happy news that the couple went unnoticed, and Mary was quite content with that, for she didn’t know if she had any remaining energy for socializing.
With a few turns of the room, Mary felt her spirits rising. There was much to celebrate, and Lucas’s pall cleared from her heart until it lingered only in the recesses; there was no ridding herself of it entirely, for she loved Lucas still, but her muscles relaxed as peace swept over her just as it had when she’d held her infant son, wondering if she could ever love him after all she’d lost. The pain was still there but muted enough to give her hope.
The Honorable Choice (Victorian Love Book 2) Page 15
