by Liz Tyner
‘And Willa can be my first child.’
‘No. If you want what is right for the child, you can see the family she will have. She will be here where she can grow up surrounded by those fripperies women like so well. Not on an island that is used as a harbour for ships full of men who’ve left their morals behind. Willa can have two parents who will have the same love for her they have for their other child. I will see that she has no financial needs. The man does well in his business and he would do well by her should I not send a coin their way, but I will make sure they have no concerns. I will convey a message to them in the morning asking them to let me know when they are ready for Willa.’
Melina wanted to tell him to go to the devil. Wanted to hit him. But it would do no good. She walked from the room. Cassandra. Melina hated a woman she’d never met.
*
Hours after the Sinclairs left, Melina crept to Willa’s bed, watching her sleep. The child should have two parents.
Melina pulled a chair near. She’d worried herself about the little girl, but now she felt calm. More at peace. She’d approached Broomer secretly, asking for all he knew of the couple, and he’d told her what decent people they were. He’d told her of his life and how he’d only had one parent, and how he’d wished for a father. She understood why Warrington relied on him so. The man, with all his loudness and size and capability for violence, still had the heart of a boy who longed for the love of a family. She trusted him, as well.
She knew the hour past midnight when Warrington walked in without knocking.
‘Have you been hiding from me to punish me?’ he asked.
She shook her head, then realised he might not see the movement in the darkness. ‘I just had to think. To understand.’ She felt spears of anger, but she tamped them down. The hurt ran deeper.
Fingertips touched her shoulders, rubbing gently, sending calming shivers into her body.
‘You’ve been through a lot, Melina. You’ve slept in a room where the mermaids were.’ His fingertips closed over her shoulder. ‘I’ve actually had a fire lit this time. Come with me and we can watch flames instead of unlit coal.’
She rose from the chair and he followed her out of the room.
‘It’s not easy for me, either, Melina,’ he said, sitting.
She sat at one end of the sofa, he sat on the other—his shirt open at the neck, no waistcoat and his hair ruffled a bit, as if he’d run his fingers through it. He looked to have been in bed, then left it and dressed again. His elbow propped on the back of the sofa and his legs sprawled in front. ‘I want to go forward.’
She didn’t answer.
‘Jacob is my child. And he looks…’ He smiled. ‘Poor child, I suspect he looks exactly as I did at the same age. And I have seen him plan mischief and seen Ben in his face, as well. I will never let him near the sea.’
He leaned forward, moving so his elbows rested at his thighs and his fingers were loosely clasped in front of him. ‘I know there is a chance you might have my child in you. I could not let you go if you had a babe that was mine. I could not leave it for another man.’
‘I could lie to you.’
‘Will you?’ His face turned to hers and the firelight flashed one side bright.
She knew she shouldn’t have said those words. He’d had enough lies with his wife, but if she’d not said them, he would have wondered anyway.
‘I don’t know. With a dowry, I could marry before the baby would be old enough to know otherwise, but I would be like you, I think. I would always be seeing your face in the child.’
‘I would hope you would not feel quite the same way as I do concerning that.’
‘No.’ She moved sideways, so she could put a palm flat on his back, feeling through the clothing to the skin, and through the skin to the beating heart beneath. She’d had to touch him. Had to feel him.
‘A little higher and you’ll be touching the scar.’
She ran her hand over his back and could feel the thin ridge running a slice across his shoulders.
‘It doesn’t mar you enough on the outside to matter.’ She let her fingers linger. ‘It’s the betrayal you feel.’
‘I suppose.’ He lowered his face, letting his head rest against his hands. ‘I’m thankful that I will no longer have to worry about the past, yet the knowledge I have doesn’t rest easy with me.’
He breathed and the movement calmed her worries.
Melina ran her finger to the side of his face, feeling the cheekbones and trailing down the roughened jaw. ‘I wish you could have been sculpted. I would like a likeness of you to have with the one I found. To keep for ever.’
‘You have an imagination.’
‘I don’t need one when I look at you.’
He leaned back, letting his arm lie along the back of the sofa, and his other hand touched her. Swirls of warmth swirled inside her caused by the circling of his fingertips along her shoulder. ‘I am the same with you, Melina. I would have liked to have been a pirate, hunting treasure, and when I found you on Melos, I would have taken you and kept you. I would have left any jewels, or rocks, or carvings behind. Because I wouldn’t have needed them, if I had you.’
She moved into the hollow of his shoulder, hoping that she could always hold his memory alive enough to feel his touch.
Chapter Twenty-Three
At first light, Warrington sat at his desk, penning the letter to Sinclair. The sooner Willa started her new life, the better she would be. She was young. She’d forget soon.
He wondered if his memories would fade, as well. He only hoped they moved to a part of him that didn’t feel rage.
He dashed the words across paper, wishing he’d not been blinded by Cassandra’s appearance. She hadn’t minded if she’d destroyed him, or his entire family.
He touched his fingertips to his forehead. He’d been so ill. And when he heard she’d taken Jacob, he’d been grateful for his son to be safely away. Never knowing Jacob would have been in the most precarious hands of all. His mother’s.
He held his own hands out, looking at them. They were as guilty of his father’s death as if he’d brought a viper into the house and it bit his father. He didn’t deserve someone such as Melina.
Warrington put his pen in the holder and left the room, feeling a gnawing sense in his stomach. His whole world had changed—thanks to Cassandra. She’d taken his father from him and put a child in his house who didn’t belong. He went to the nursery to see his sleeping son.
‘Jacob,’ he called out when he opened the door. He saw Jacob’s face, thankful Cassandra had never considered Jacob a chore. ‘Put on some trousers and a rough shirt. Chesapeake is missing us. I’ll send Broomer for him.’
Jacob rolled out of bed, moving with a slippery speed.
The boy stopped, bare legs showing from his nightshirt, and his eyes alight. ‘I bet I ride fast now.’
‘No. We’ll not race.’
‘Fast walk?’
‘Perhaps.’
Jacob gave a confident nod of his head, fully agreeing with the statement. He turned, running to get his trousers.
Warrington strode to the library and waited, only to have Melina walk in. Her hair in a glossy knot, a rushed glow to her cheeks, and he felt desire—even when she wore the hideous tea-coloured gown.
She carried Willa on her hip, looking overloaded by the weight. Melina didn’t look at his eyes. Guilt plunged into him. She blamed him for not keeping the girl. The child still wore her night rail and dropped her head to Melina’s shoulder.
‘Jacob rushed in wanting me to help find his cap,’ Melina said. ‘He thinks you are taking him riding. Don’t you want to wait until after he eats?’
‘He will not shrivel into nothing if he is late eating and he’ll make up for it when we return.’
‘Me go,’ Willa said.
‘No, Little Doll.’ Melina turned to leave the room. ‘We’re going to find some ribbons for your hair.’
‘Make sure the nursemaid
has the child’s clothing packed,’ Warrington said as she walked away.
Melina’s back stiffened. She didn’t move. ‘I will gather the things Willa needs.’ Her voice could have had razors attached.
Willa’s arms flailed and she pushed against Melina. Her voice rose. ‘Go.’
‘Not now,’ Melina answered, voice still edged, and then it softened. ‘Later, though.’
Melina let Willa slide to the floor and stand, clasping her hand.
‘Papa.’ Jacob ran in, rushing past Melina and Willa. ‘I found my cap and I washed my face. I’m ready.’
‘We’ll see if cook can find us a biscuit, or something, before we leave.’ Warrington turned back, getting the message on his desk for Broomer to take—the one he’d penned saying Willa could go to the Sinclairs. He’d give it to the servant now, before any more time passed. The sooner this was finished, the better for everyone.
Melina looked at the paper, leaning forward, and he knew she saw the name on it. She grasped Willa’s hand and hurried her away, as if the child could read and understand the words in his hand.
Jacob chattered along beside him, having no more cares than how fast he could ride a horse.
Things could have been so different, but he was tired of looking at the past. Tired of breathing in the memories every moment. Of wearing the past like a cloak around him.
He’d been so besotted with his wife. Besotted. He didn’t know how the word had started. But he’d been sotted for sure. And now he was the same for Melina. Getting her from England would surely cure him. He could feel the burning need inside himself for her, but he could not give in. If he did, he risked her returning to Melos with his child inside her.
And he had to keep moving, moving away from her while she was in England. If he touched her again, he would ache all the more when she left.
She wanted to return to her world. Take the dowry. Care for her sisters. Find her precious rock. And as soon as the little one left the town house, he would go to Whitegate with Jacob. Broomer and Ben could take care of Melina and see that she returned safely to her island.
Now he would keep moving and not think again until miles separated them. He trudged from the house, calling Jacob to hurry.
*
When they returned from the ride, Jacob slid from Nero’s back before Warrington could dismount from Chesapeake. The boy dropped to a crouch when he landed, before sitting on his bottom. Then he tumbled forward to his knees before he pushed himself up, laughing, oblivious to the dirt he’d gathered.
During the outing, Jacob had sung, talked about his preferences in horses and the biggest spider he’d ever killed. He’d boasted about seeing rabbits in the flower garden and how upset Dane had been when the deer visited and ate some of the plants all the way down to stems. Now he begged to feed Nero.
‘Let the others care for them. It’s their job.’
‘What is my job?’ Jacob asked, looking up.
‘To be my son. To learn from your tutor when you are back at Whitegate.’
Warrington reached out, wrapped an arm around Jacob’s waist and picked him up sideways, then shook him. ‘I must shake the dirt off you before you get inside.’
Jacob squealed and struggled to get free. ‘Let me down.’
Warrington released him. ‘Didn’t help much.’
Jacob brushed down the front of his shirt. ‘Cook says I’m handsome and she calls me “your lordship”. She keeps tarts hid just for me because I’m a lordship. And she says I’m getting bigger every day because of her tarts.’
‘Perhaps you are, your lordship.’ Pride flowered in Warrington’s body when he looked at Jacob. He could not have asked for anything more in a son.
War reached out, putting his palm at the back of Jacob’s head and giving him a nudge forward to the door.
When they reached the children’s room, he took Jacob inside, where Melina and the nursemaid sat with the little girl.
Melina was sewing a dress so small it could only fit Willa’s doll while the child played with Jacob’s soldiers.
Melina raised her eyes—the eyes he’d miss—and he saw her own sadness pool in them. She put down the dress and rushed from the room.
The nursemaid watched Jacob and frowned. ‘Have you been rolling in a hayfield? I think your hair is turning into straw.’ She stood, reaching out for him. ‘I am scrubbing that dirt from your knees. I expect the horse came back a lot cleaner than you.’
‘Papa and I rode a long way,’ he told the nursemaid as she turned to get the pitcher. ‘Papa even let me get off Nero by myself and I didn’t get hurt.’
‘But you did manage to get dirty.’ The older woman sighed.
‘I stumbled when I landed.’
Warrington heard them talking and he left the room.
He moved to the room with the harpoon, planning to write instructions on how he wanted his will changed. Jacob would be cared for because of the entailed properties, but the girl could easily be forgotten about. He didn’t want that to happen.
Hearing a rustling noise, he looked up. Willa had followed him, hair tousled, and dressed in a blue that mirrored her eyes. Drool glistened on her chin and she had one of her half-boots in her hand. She should not be toddling about on her own with the stairway so close.
Half rising, he planned to summon a servant, but the little girl sat, trying to put her boot on. It wouldn’t hurt to watch her for a moment.
As he wrote, he heard her chatter again and looked up long enough to see her struggling to climb into the overstuffed chair. In moments, something rustled at his feet and he knew she’d given up on the chair and was exploring under his desk. A sharp, clamping pain hit his leg.
He jumped back. Standing, he pushed down his stocking and saw perfect indentations of teeth on his leg.
‘Willa.’ He raised his voice, then reached underneath the desk and snatched her out. ‘I’ve horse hair on me, I’m sure. And last I heard, it tastes the same as dog fur. You shouldn’t like it.’
Her bottom lip trembled and a sniffle looked to turn into a crying bout.
‘Pardon,’ he muttered, pulling her to his chest, and patting her back. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
Her eyes were wide and she stared at him as if she watched an ogre. She’d not yet made up her mind about tears. He jiggled her as he paced the floor, the same as he’d done with Jacob. ‘You nearly drew blood. You must not like me and I understand.’
Her lip stopped wavering and she nestled against him. ‘I don’t mind that you don’t like me. I wouldn’t if I were you.’ Bending forward, he leaned to put her back on the floor, but she clung to him, her fist tight on his waistcoat.
‘No,’ she said.
Willa had had no choice in the matter of her parents. Maybe neither of them should suffer any more for Cassandra’s sins.
‘Poppet, I wish you a pleasant journey and the best of life.’
‘Horse,’ she said.
‘Not today.’
‘Horse.’
‘No.’
‘Horse.’ She looked at him, eyes hopeful.
‘Some day, when you are older, I’ll see that you have a horse of your very own.’ He held her back from himself and put her on to the floor.
The wail shocked him. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her cry.
He scooped her up, his arm tucked under her bottom, and her face was near his. He patted her back and took a few steps, hoping to silence the wails. Her tears dwindled quickly.
‘Willa, you’re going to get something special. A mama and a papa both—all in one day. Very soon. I have already sent the letter.’
She reached for his neck.
‘No.’ He paused, moving his head aside. She grabbed the cravat at his neck to hold herself firm. She tugged his neckcloth and the softness of fine hair tickled his chin. She smelled like Jacob had when he’d held him—a bit like soap and porridge and life.
She’d be all right. He knew she’d do well. The Sinclairs would b
e best for her.
‘You’ll like your new family. They’re pleasant people,’ he said to her. ‘You’ll have a new brother, and a new place to live, and a new papa and mama both.’
‘Papa?’ He heard the wavering voice at the door and turned. Jacob stood there, his eyes unsure. ‘We’re getting a new papa and mama?’
‘No.’ He rushed out the word. Shocked his son could think such a thing. ‘Just Willa.’
‘Here?’
‘No. Of course not.’
His son stared, eyes searching Warrington’s face, unsure. ‘Why?’
‘Willa’s moving to live with her new family. You’ll understand when you get older.’
This time, the eyes he saw staring back at him were his son’s and he could see his own likeness in Jacob’s face. His own eyes. Accusing.
‘You’re giving Willa away?’ Jacob asked, his lip jutting out.
‘We’ll talk about it later.’
‘If she did something bad, she didn’t mean to.’
She burrowed against him and he felt trapped between the two children.
He knelt down, never taking his eyes from his son, and stood the little girl on her own feet. ‘She needs a mother.’
‘Why does she need a mama?’ Jacob asked. ‘I don’t have one.’
‘Boys only need fathers. Girls need mothers.’
‘We can put trousers on her and cut her hair, and she can be my brother and we’ll keep her.’
He saw Melina move into the doorway.
‘Explain to Jacob,’ he told her, knowing she’d heard the conversation.
Her eyes didn’t accuse. They looked troubled and saddened.
She took a step towards Jacob. She dipped her chin and her words were gentle. ‘I had a mana when I was growing up. It’s something little girls need.’
‘Why?’
‘We do. Like you need your papa. Think how lost you’d be without him.’
‘He went to sea with Uncle Ben and I had the tutor and I was all right. He showed me how seeds grow and everything. The stable master took me for horse rides. Uncle Dane told me stories about Romans and knights. We even saw a shooting star. I asked Uncle Dane, if Papa didn’t come back like Mama didn’t, would he keep me and Willa? He said he would.’ He sniffed in a large swallow of air and stood as straight as his soldiers. ‘Uncle Dane would keep us.’ His jaw jutted out. ‘I want to live with Uncle Dane or sail with Uncle Ben.’ He ran from the room.
