by Ava Devlin
"We planned to marry in secret," she said, "years ago. We knew that people would not approve, and so Callum took the opportunity to head to the Continent in search of valor and fortune, in the hopes that he would return of a status suitable for courting me."
"I did not know she was with child," he added, his back straight and his jaw set. "I would never have left if I had known."
Sheldon Bywater grumbled something unintelligible at that, glaring at the couple through narrowed eyes.
"We intend to marry now," Heloise continued, wishing to have this done as quickly as possible. "We are not here to ask permission nor to debate the matter. We will be married. The only obstacle to our future will come in the matter of Caroline's legitimacy, which does not currently exist."
"Ah," the reverend said with a nod, suddenly understanding his part in this. He turned to Ruthie with a tilt of his head. "I imagine that the child has no birth records whatsoever, then? If she was not born in the Americas, as I believed."
"She does not," Rose confirmed in a businesslike tone. "Only the notes we kept internally here at Somerton to record her time and date of birth and weight and so on."
"Well, then it seems to me that such documents must be drawn up immediately," the reverend mused, scratching his chin. "If Lady Heloise and the lieutenant had, say, eloped to Scotland prior to his military service in secret, the child’s legitimacy would be valid."
Heloise released a shaky breath, uncertain if she should allow relief to crash over her just yet. "Yes, though we would need to say true vows as well, lest the marriage be a lie."
"Naturally!" the reverend agreed, as though he were affronted by the suggestion that he had meant anything else. "We will record it as a renewal of vows, after the original records were destroyed in the fire."
"I suppose neither of you are interested in our blessing before trotting off down the aisle?" Alex said.
"Callum would probably appreciate it," Heloise told him, "but it is not necessary."
"Humph," mumbled Alex.
"It will be quite a scandal," Rose put in with a frown and a glance at her husband, "but a romantic one, at the very least. A secret marriage is preferable to a child born out of wedlock, after all."
Gideon was silent, but his color was high. Heloise imagined he was containing an explosion within his stony visage.
Mrs. Laughlin was still covering her mouth, apparently frozen in shock at these revelations, one right after the other.
Heloise met her eye, guilt keen in her chest at this deception in particular. "I am so sorry," she said. "I wanted to tell you many times, but was not brave enough to do so."
"Oh, child," Mrs. Laughlin cried, dropping her hands away and marching across the room to fold Heloise into her embrace.
Hel was not certain she'd ever been hugged like this by anyone, nor how to respond to it. She tentatively returned the embrace, patting the other woman on the back and attempting not to appear too relieved when the hug was broken so that Mrs. Laughlin could gaze into her face. "I have a granddaughter!" she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head.
To Callum, she said, "I ought to box your ears!"
He nodded, giving her a weak smile as she wrapped him into one of her hugs as well, which seemed a fair sight nicer than ear boxing to Heloise. She patted them both on the arms as she drew back, her face shiny with emotion.
Gideon sighed loudly, casting his eyes heavenward. "So, then, what are our next steps? Laughlin, do you have a plan for housing your wife and child or was all that military service for naught?"
"I've a mind to buy a property on the outskirts of the township," Callum replied, "and breed horses."
"We will not go far," Heloise assured her brother, setting a hand on Callum's arm to emphasize that her decision was made. "Somerton is still our home. If you are grousing over the dispersal of my dowry, I will simply need to begin charging for my midwifery services."
"Oh, darling, Gideon doesn't control your dowry," Ruthie said with a wave of her hand. "I do."
Rose cleared her throat, interrupting whatever sniping was sure to follow a statement like that. "Reverend Halliwell, how do you suggest we go about this? Should we send the pair up to Scotland tonight to cement new vows or apply for a proper license through the traditional channels?"
"I favor Scotland," Ruthie put in. "George and I can accompany the couple as witnesses and have our own vows done at the same time."
A ring of silence followed this declaration, broken only by another beleaguered sigh from Gideon, and his wife saying over it, "Oh, Ruthie, congratulations!" and Alex demanding, "So whose house will you be living in?!"
It was a relief, the explosion of chaos and noise and the pelting of questions, even those directed at Heloise herself. Somehow, the worst part was over.
Gideon looked uncomfortable, but not enraged. He watched her with a silent contemplation that she knew would result in quite a talking-to later, in private. Alex seemed to be overtly enjoying the upheaval, grinning and leaning back to watch the hubbub unfold. Ruthie had crossed the room to kiss her fiancé smack on the mouth in front of everyone while Sheldon Bywater watched in affectionate awe.
Rose and Gloriana both rose from their seats, approaching Heloise with talk of bridal planning, even for a haphazard elopement, though their voices were difficult to discern over all the shouting.
Heloise thought it was rather beautiful, truth be told.
House Somers had always thrived in the midst of chaos.
22
It was, all things considered, the strangest elopement ever to grace the scandal sheets. Or at least that was what Callum was told for years to come.
"I wish to control the narrative before it can be distorted," Gideon Somers had said at the first inn on the way to Moorvale. "It is the only way to avoid surprises."
"Mm, so Mr. d'Aubrey is coming out of retirement?" the viscountess teased, giggling at the way her husband's color rose at the cryptic jibe.
Apparently, one did not often elope in tandem with one's mother, who also intended to elope, much less with the entire family in tow. Further, Callum was informed by a very confident Gloriana Somers that elopements generally happened right at the border between England and Scotland, usually in the city of Gretna Green. It would create interest and whispers that they were riding another entire day north, to be wed in a traditional fashion, in the rustic, far-flung Moorvale.
It had taken a little less than a week to organize everything. After that tense meeting in the Somerton sitting room, Callum had thought they'd simply ride for the border that night, but the women of House Somers would hear nothing of it. He included his mother in that group. She was, he supposed, one of them now.
George Halliwell had been his most ardent supporter in the wake of the full revelation of his indiscretion, some four years prior. Gideon Somers had barely said a word directly to him, and Alex had only shaken his hand, given him a wry smile, and wished him good luck with his hellcat of a sister.
It was GIdeon that inspired the most guilt, and so, at that first inn, after the ladies retired for the evening, he resolved to make his amends in any way that he could. He ordered two pints of ale and made his way over to the table, shoved in the far corner of the inn, where the viscount was frowning over a piece of parchment as he wrote his scandal letter to the Evening Standard.
He did not appear to react when Callum slid into the seat across from him and placed one of the pints next to his candle and paper. Instead, he remained fixed on the sentence he was crafting until he could put a satisfied period at the end of it. Then he looked up, his brows raising in surprise.
"I thought you were Sheldon," he said. "No one else buys me drinks."
"Consider it the first of many," Callum had replied. "I wished to speak with you in private, Lord Somers."
"All right," Gideon replied, taking a sip of the ale and leaning back in his chair. "You have me."
"I have gone back and forth over what to say, My Lor
d. I wish to apologize for violating your trust and the opportunities you were willing to give me to advance my station, but at the same time, I have no regrets whatsoever regarding that summer with Heloise. As I said before, I only wish I had known she was with child. I love your sister, but I also feel ashamed of how I misused my position with you."
Gideon considered this, taking another sip of the ale and watching Callum with a steady gaze. He sighed and set his cup down with a little shake of his head.
"Lieutenant ... Callum," he started. "I have been similarly conflicted. My immediate reaction was to defend my sister's honor in the most primitive way possible, but my wife, ever the steady hand, reminded me of something important. The only reason I am married at all, much less to the woman I have always loved, is because of what happened to Heloise."
"I don't follow," Callum confessed, his heart hammering in his chest.
"I thought that if I wed immediately and spirited a bride up to Somerton, I might be able to pass the child off as our own. It was not a well thought-out plan," Gideon Somers said, and, to Callum's deep shock, smiled. "I was in such a panic that I attempted to call in a poorly made marriage contract negotiated by my father, to a bride who was not at all interested in the role. Rose stepped in and offered to marry me, not knowing what a mess was waiting for me back home, and if she had not, I cannot say how things might have gone. I scarcely remember what our family was like before she was part of it."
"I see," Callum replied, though of course, he did not truly.
"I will tell you what I told Richard Garber," Gideon decided, draining the last of his pint. "If you are a bad husband, I will hear of it and you will lose your wife, but not your obligations as a husband. I daresay I have far more faith in your performance as a spouse than I do in his. Treat my sister as she deserves to be treated, love my niece as she deserves to be loved, and I will welcome you as a brother and a friend."
This thought had stuck with Callum for the remainder of the journey north, playing in his head even as they alighted from their carriages at the doors of Hawk Hill, Sheldon Bywater's historic estate.
"I rather envy you, Heloise," Gloriana had said to her once-nemesis as they walked into the massive reception hall. "I always imagined I'd get married in a castle."
"It was my castle, dear," Reverend Halliwell had responded with a chuckle. "Just as grand in God's eyes."
"You'll want to keep a close eye on the weans," Sheldon had said to the nursemaids. "Lots of places to run amok here, and that Reginald will do so if given the opportunity."
"We really should have left them at Somerton with my parents," Gloriana commented with a frown. "It's not a matter of if Reggie wanders into trouble, it's a matter of when."
Reggie had beamed his half-toothed smile at his aunt, as though she had bestowed upon him the most gratuitous praise, but remained at his nanny's side, her hand firmly gripped in his own.
"Let us all rest," Rose Somers had suggested. "Tomorrow will be a busy day."
Heloise Somers had never put much thought into what she would wear when she wed. She had derided the girls who dreamed of wedding gowns and sugared cakes and titled, well-bred husbands as silly and beneath her. It wasn't until the morning of her own wedding that she realized how silly she'd been, and how much she wished she knew what to wear for her own wedding day.
Gloriana and Rose had parsed her wardrobe before they'd left Yorkshire, looking for something worthy of a wedding dress. They had ignored her objections and insistence that it did not matter, but seemed dissatisfied with her practical wardrobe, built for function rather than style.
"You shall wear one of mine," Gloriana had decided, spinning away from the wardrobe in exasperation. "We are of a size."
"Oh, shall I?" Heloise had responded, perhaps with more heat than she actually felt.
The dress Gloriana had chosen was a pale blue, embroidered with Queen Anne's lace at the hem and a pair of red-breasted robins in flight along the line of the skirt. Heloise had never seen her wear it, and apparently never would, for Gloriana made it clear that the dress was a gift on the morning of the wedding, when she arrived without invitation, flanked by two lady's maids, to prepare Heloise for her marriage.
"I wish to wear my hair down," Heloise had said, but otherwise made no demands.
"Something old, something new," Gloriana had mused, "the dress is new, but not borrowed, as it is a gift. The necklace is old, is it not?"
"It was my grandmother's," Heloise affirmed, brushing the pearls at her throat. "The dress has blue in it."
"Yes." The other woman nodded. "Rose suggested you wear the earrings she wore for her own wedding, so those will count as borrowed. I will go and retrieve them, and a sixpence to tuck into your shoes."
She had gone before Heloise had occasion to argue, so she simply sat in place and allowed the two maids to fuss over her, combing her long red hair and coaxing the curls into uniform ringlets with the assist of a heated wand. They dabbed rose oil on her lips and eyelids, and braided the sides of her hair into an ornate crown from which the rest of her waist-length hair spilled elegantly down her back.
When Gloriana returned with the earrings and the coin, she gasped in earnest at the presentation of Heloise in her bridal finery. Her ice-blue eyes seemed to melt a little, tears escaping down her porcelain cheeks as she came forward to secure Rose's earrings onto Heloise's ears.
"Why are you crying?" Heloise had asked with friendly amusement.
"Because you are beautiful," Gloriana had responded, averting her eyes and turning her back. "And because I made you feel ugly, once. I didn't see you as I see you now, and I am so sorry."
"Glory, it is all in the past," Heloise had responded, pushing herself to her feet and walking around to face Gloriana. "Remember what I said. I was awful to you too. I was jealous and childish and I would take it back if I could. You are my sister. Now and forever. And sisters always clash when they are young."
Gloriana had burst into tears, wrapping her arms around Heloise and pulling her tight against her body.
Heloise, to her genuine surprise, found herself tearing up as well, and returning the embrace with a ferocity she did not know she possessed.
"Oh, no, no," Gloriana had tutted. "Red eyes will not do."
But both had cried all the same.
The Moorvale parish vicar awaited them in the dining hall, a massive medieval behemoth of a room, which had been arranged into tables for the wedding breakfast on one side, and a makeshift chapel on the other.
Ruthie and George married first, with Heloise watching from the doorway. Gideon gave their mother away, and though she was too far to hear the vows spoken, Heloise felt confident that her mother spoke them with feeling. When she kissed the good reverend, she seemed an entirely different woman than the starched matriarch she had always been. Instead, she was the lady who had served porridge to the villagers, clad in simple white and framed by the beauty of stained glass.
Her breath caught when Callum approached the makeshift pulpit, the Moorvale vicar stepping aside for Reverend Halliwell to oversee the second wedding.
George knelt and whispered to Callie, who turned and ran to Heloise's position, her little yellow gown fluttering around her tiny legs.
It would add to the scandal, she knew, to have her own daughter accompany her down the aisle, rather than a father or brother or guardian. She was satisfied with the stir it would cause. It was worth it.
"It's time, Aun... I mean, Mama," Callie whispered, holding out her hand.
The two walked from the doors to the pulpit, and Heloise thought perhaps that she did feel beautiful in that moment, especially with the way the room seemed to hold its breath as it beheld her. Callum was grinning like a fool, watching the two of them approach, and when they reached him, he greeted his daughter first, sweeping her up into his arms and kissing her cheek before sending her giggling over to the pew to sit with her aunts and uncles.
Heloise noted with satisfaction that Sheldo
n Bywater was dabbing at his eyes. It would not have done for him to cry at Alex's wedding and not her own, after all. He was flanked on either side by supportive women: Echo on one side and Brenda Laughlin on the other. The older lady was patting him on his broad shoulders as she wiped at her own tears with a handkerchief.
"Dearly beloved," Reverend Halliwell began, raising his white eyebrows and smiling at them both. "We are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony."
It seemed to Heloise that she had heard these vows many times in her life, but never truly listened to them until she was saying them herself. She wondered if every bride felt a surreal sense of the world on her wedding day, or if perhaps she had so firmly believed she would never marry that it was taking time for her mind to catch up with her body.
Later, she would only remember saying "I do," and the kiss that followed, soft and chaste and unbearably sweet. She would remember those dark eyes, lit with so much joy that they sparkled, and the way her daughter ran into her arms as the applause exploded from their tiny audience.
From that day to her last, she would remember the moment she became Heloise Laughlin.
Epilogue
Five Years Later
Callie Laughlin loved the full moon.
On a night like this one, when it was fat and bright and only just risen, it sent a wash of ethereal light over the moors, turning the earth into something from a fairy story, something magical and romantic.
Her parents always said you could find your true love more easily under the full moon. She wondered if she had a true love, and if so, if he loved the full moon as well. Her mother always said to be patient about love, for it can take some time. Her father always said to be exacting, and never settle for anything other than the perfect mate.
She clung to the window of the carriage as the night-lit scenery rolled past, wide-eyed and enchanted by every silver blade of grass. She was keenly aware that she was awake later than she was supposed to be because Mama had gotten waylaid in the township with her work. It was almost a disappointment when the carriage reached their house, the horses slowing as they approached the drive.
