Throughout the rest of his time under that roof, that man had only proved that he earned that reputation and more.
But now, John realized he was far worse than he had ever considered. Nursing his hurt pride, his bitter complaints against the world, fed that meanness and ugliness within him. They had always thought that drink made it worse, but now John knew that drink was no more to blame than anything else. His father, for all his rages and beatings, was smarter than anyone had ever given him credit for. He had known that when he died that bitterness and anger would die with him. And like a woman in the throes of labor, he desperately wanted it to live on beyond him. It would be his legacy. After all, it had been the only thing he had nurtured and loved and fed the whole of his life. But how do you pass something like that on?
His father had figured it out. You take an ordinary man, and John considered himself this, and you hand him all your rage and bitterness. You take a man who prays and looks to God, who tries to do the right thing, and you give him an impossible decision. You hand him your secrets, the worst things you ever did, and you make him own them, like an overcoat you are passing down. And if this good, ordinary man you find also happens to be your son, well then. It is not at all hard for your son to take responsibility for the worst of your crimes.
Sleep eluded him on his comfy bed of hay as John continued to go over it and decided what his father was hoping for was that the indecision would be the thing to tear John apart. That like his mother, who had been unwilling to cry out during a beating, John would remain silent, carrying this awful infected burden with him wherever he went. His father wanted it to eat at him. He wanted it to keep him up at night as it was doing now. He wanted it to ruin his life and his relationships. He wanted to tear John into two. And his father would accomplish this goal, John knew, if he remained undecided.
He would have to decide and live with it. He would not be the same man after making it. That was clear to him already. But he would live with it. And somehow, some way, a long time from now, he would find peace.
But what was the right decision? He knew Ben wanted to know who had set the fire, since the man had been investigating the event since he married Catherine. Jane had even told John that one of the promises he had made Catherine upon their betrothal had been that he would catch the culprit. But did he really want to know? What would he do, knowing that the man was dead? If it was his wife, John would not know what to do with his anger if the there was no one to punish.
And what of Catherine? Did she want to know? Obviously, a part of her did, because she had not stopped her husband from investigating. But she also seemed more fragile. It was clear from his conversations with her that it had been unpleasant, and that was putting it lightly, to relive the nightmare of the fire. Would she sleep more peacefully knowing the man at fault was dead? Or would it be worse to know that he was never punished?
These questions circled around and around in his head until John wanted to scream. But then he realized he was no better than his father, making decisions for other people. In the end, all he could do was give them the information. To keep it from them, even with their needs as his priority, was making a decision that he was in no position to make. He was not God. So, he prayed and after a time, it became clear that all he could do was tell them. That would be his act of obedience, not to his father, but to God. And whatever happened after that, he would handle as best he could.
And what had Shep said? It was much easier to move on to a different life when you understand the reasons for leaving the other behind.
Still, he did not sleep.
* * *
“Oh!” Cat clapped her hands together when she spotted John behind Carlisle, waiting to be introduced. “Let me go and get Jane. She is upstairs.”
“Is she unwell?” John did not mean to step forward and blurt out his question, especially since he had given up the right to know how Jane felt. He had both given it up and had it taken away from him by his father. That thought only reminded him of all the reasons he could not be the one to ask such a question about her wellbeing, no matter how much he loved her. His shoulders sagged as if he was carrying the weight of the world upon them.
“She is unhappy, not unwell,” Cat admitted. But then her face lit with a smile. She was such a kind and good person. John could barely look at her realizing what his father had nearly done. “But the fact that you are here will surely lift her spirits. Let me go get her.”
John shook his head, slowly as if in a daze. This was so hard and yet he had to keep it in his head that he was not the victim here. This was not about him. A part of him felt as if he was relighting a match to their tragedy, but he had made his decision last night. If he went back on it, he would never get up his nerve again.
“No.” He shook his head again. “I am not here to see Jane. Could I speak to you?” He looked around the room. Shep and his wife, the duchess, were watching him, along with Catherine and Ben. In a split-second decision, he realized it might be best for Ben and Catherine to have some support and decided all four of them should be there. “Actually, I would like to speak with all four of you. Would it be terribly presumptuous of me to ask if we could speak in the room we did previously?” He directed his question to Ben. “It would be best if we could have some privacy.”
Leaning on his cane, Tom stood as well, his eyes steely as he looked at John. “Well, do not think you can leave me out, boy.”
As the group stood to be herded to the room with the door, John spoke to Tom lowly and between his teeth. “It is not your business.” His words were gentle but firm. As much as he would have liked the support, he had to do it on his own because it was not his tragedy, only his secret.
Tom grabbed his arm, his fingers stronger than John had ever imagined them to be. “You are my business and you look as if you have seen a ghost. You think I do not know you? They think you are here to ask for Jane’s hand. But I know you. That is not why you are here.” It was not a question.
“No,” John admitted solemnly, his eyes sad. “That is not why I am here.”
“Well, whatever it is, you do not have to do it alone,” Tom offered, his voice gruff and unused to speaking of anything remotely emotional.
John felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. His whole life, he had been trying to protect others, his mother, his brothers. No one had ever stood next to him in support. A wave of emotion took him by the throat. “You are a good man, Tom. The very best. I am glad to have known you.”
“Why do you make it sound as if you are dying?” Tom grumbled as he hobbled into the room.
John did not answer the question. He did not think Tom would desert him after hearing the story, but he did not want the man to feel as if he had to keep John in his life. He would very much understand if Tom could not get past it. John could not get past it. If Tom wanted nothing to do with him then John would have to make his own way in the world. Although he could accept returning to the farm and the life of a farmer, he would never want Jane’s family to have a reminder of what he was about to reveal living so close to them.
Once everyone was settled in the room, Cat smiled again, and it warmed John, as it was supposed to. But instantly he remembered what he was about to do.
“I really think we ought to have Jane come down,” Cat said pleasantly. “After all…”
Ben laid his hand on his wife’s and squeezed. “Unless you are asking permission to ask for her hand in marriage, which would make sense as to why she is not here.” Ben smiled at his wife and her very giddy expression.
“Oh,” Julia let out a breath. “Thank you so much for letting Shep and I be here for that. We love Jane so much. This means the world.”
John had not thought that this could get worse. He was about to change the very foundation they had built their lives on and yet somehow it had gotten worse because they were expecting him to ask to marry Jane. They were happy and excited. John breathed in the mood of the room. He wanted them to have a moment l
onger in this sunny space where fairy tales were possible and their beloved Jane was getting a happily ever after. Little did they know that the monster in the fairy tale had been John’s own father and everyone knew that Prince Charming and the monster were never related.
“I am so sorry to disappoint you all,” John began as he blew out a breath. “I am sorry to tell you that what I have come here to say has nothing to do with what you are thinking.”
“You do not look well,” Shep noted, remembering his own reflection when his past had been haunting him, when he had been living in the past instead of the present, with ghosts all around him.
“I do not know where to begin,” John stated as he gestured helplessly with his hands. He wished he had a plan. He would have to feel his way through it and be aware of all the feelings in the room. “As you know, my father died recently.”
“And we are so sorry,” Cat told him as she leaned forward, her face compassionate. “It must be awful for you.”
John swallowed. “Not for me.” He paused. “The night he died, he asked to speak to me.”
John could feel it, the buzz of confusion that began to slowly invade the room. Why was he talking about the last sacred moments with his father? What did it have to do with them? They were looking at one another instead of him. Only Tom who continued to look at him, his eyes serious.
John could only continue. “I was surprised, because I was not exactly his favorite. Early in the conversation it became clear that he had no interest in making amends, but he did have some secret to impart to me.”
“I do not see what this has to do with us,” Ben offered. He remembered his own father dying; the memory was sacred. He could see that Cat was confused as well. They did want to infringe on John’s relationship with his father. How was this relevant? But then he felt Julia’s hand digging into his shoulder. Julia was many things and that included her intelligence and intuition. She could solve riddles much faster than Ben ever could. He felt the first lick of fear and his hand squeezed reflexively against Cat’s.
“I am so sorry,” John whispered.
Cat leaned forward to touch his shoulder, but he reared back. “We are the ones sorry for your loss.”
John closed his eyes and shook his head. “Please wait. Please listen. What I am about to say will not be easy to hear. The secret my father imparted to me was one he kept to himself for years.”
Shep took a step forward as if he had guessed it, just as Julia had. But Ben and Cat, the ones closest to it, the ones this would matter to, remained uncertain about the entire conversation. What was John driving at?
“Finish it,” Shep demanded, his voice rough and quick. “Get it out for them.”
John looked helplessly at Catherine. “He told me that he had been the one to start the fire on your family’s home. He told me… It was him.”
There was a great heavy silence in the room. John could hear everyone’s collective catching of their breaths.
“But why?” Catherine asked raggedly. “Why would he say that? It could not have been him, so why would he say that he did it?”
She was so good to think it could not have been his father. “It was him,” John emphasized. “He told me there was an altercation with your father. Apparently, your father saw him disciplining me. Your father acted honorably and spoke up. So later that night…”
There was another heavy silence, a great hush.
“You lied to me!” Ben yelled. “I came to you. Shep and I came to you and asked you what you saw that night. You lied to me. I thought it was only that you did not want to disclose your part in Cat’s rescue, but the reason you rescued her was because you saw your father light that fire.”
John shook his head. It was not about defending himself. He had no right to that. But he did want them to have the proper facts. “I never saw him that night. I told you about the figure I saw. I never even considered that it could be my father. When I came home that night, he beat me within an inch of my life and made it clear I was never to bring that night up again. I was so young, I never thought… Now, I think he must have been afraid that I did see him. But I did not. When he told me, I was sick.”
He did not realize he was rambling until he lifted his head and met Tom’s eyes. They told him very clearly to be silent.
“I am telling you now because I believe you deserve to know,” John finished.
Ben stood and took two steps to him, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him. “And you did not want Jane here because you still want a chance with her. You think we would allow that now?” The anger was all encompassing. Ben could not see straight. He tried to shake John but the man was taller than him. “Where is your father?” Ben demanded to know, without thinking. “Where is he, damn you!”
Cat’s hand was on his shoulder. He could feel her tremors. “Ben, stop. His father is dead. He is dead. We were at the funeral. Remember?”
Ben let go of John’s collar. He was so angry he could barely see and there was no one to hurt. There was no one to punish. Except John. John was here. John was telling him that the person responsible for the Watson family’s pain had gotten away with it and would never face any consequences. He heard Shep tell him to step back.
“I did not want Jane here because I had no idea how I would explain it to any of you, and I thought I would leave it up to you to decide if she should know.” His eyes were wide and full of guilt that did not belong to him. “I told you and Shep that I could not marry her at the funeral. This was why. I know I have no right to be with her.”
“Damn right you do not have the right to be with her,” Ben snarled. He could feel Shep’s hands holding him back. Logic and reason escaped him. “You will not even get near her! Do you understand me? Never! Get out of my house.”
John bowed his head. “I will. I am sorry. I… I am sorry.”
He fled the room as he had been asked to do, hurtling down the hall. He never expected to run into Jane.
* * *
17
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* * *
HE HAD BROKEN HER HEART COMPLETELY. …
* * *
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Goodbye Kiss
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J ane had overslept, because she had spent the previous night completely sleepless, only falling into slumber as the sun rose. She had been unable to sleep after hearing the news, as gently as delivered as possible from Ben and Shep about what John had said at the funeral. He could not marry her, he had said. It was not because he did not love her. And it was not because he feared Cat and Ben would not approve of the match. It had nothing to do with his position. But he could not explain.
It had been Ben and Shep’s shared silence to her questions that hurt the most. How did he seem? Did he seem certain? Resigned? Did they think he would change his mind? But there had only been silence. In the end, they had assured her that they had tried to convince him to explain himself to her and they hoped he still would.
Jane had sat in front of them, still as a statue. She had not cried. She had not begged for more answers. He loved her, she knew. But he would not marry her. He would not even ask her. And so, it was over. It had to be. There could be no certainty whether he would ever tell her his real reasons for being unable to marry her, but as far as Jane was concerned, it was rather simple. It was so simple it was stupid. He did not love her enough. Whatever his reasons were, he did not love her more than that. Her job now was to put the pieces of her life back together.
For a brief moment, those pieces had reshaped into the life she would have with John, but that new vision was destroyed. She trusted herself, and her family, to put the pieces back into something resembling a life. She could do it. Her heart was breaking, but she could do it.
So, she never expected to physically run into John in the hallway of Pritchford Place the very next morning. Their bodies collided before he reached out to ste
ady her.
“John,” she murmured, stunned as his gray eyes looked down at her. He looked as if in he was a great deal of pain. He bore the same expression he wore after a beating from his father. Her heart betrayed her as a wellspring of compassion and love bubbled up.
Seeing Jane, her blue eyes and her blond hair, the few freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose if only he was close enough to see them, was a shock to John’s system. It was as if two worlds were colliding. He had no words left. He had said them all in the other room. Still, her name fell from his mouth automatically. “Jane.”
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
He shook his head, his hands still on her elbows. He had reached forward to steady her and his hands remained there. “I… I cannot…”
“John.”
The compassion in her eyes nearly broke him. In the end, it moved him into motion. He let go of her and moved forward, rushing for the door.
“Wait!” she called.
“I cannot,” he tossed out over his shoulder. “I must go.”
He barely heard her stomp out the door behind him. “Now you wait just one minute, John Christopherson.”
“I cannot wait. I was asked to leave,” he replied, continuing to move away from the house, but she grabbed his arm in a strong grip and stopped him.
“Asked to leave? What are you talking about?” She was so confused. She did not know why he was here and why he could not stay. And that was only the beginning. She did not know why he loved her but would not marry her and she wanted answers.
Regency Romance: The Viscount's Blazing Love (Fire and Smoke: CLEAN Historical Romance) Page 11
