by Karen Ranney
She grabbed one of Jennifer’s hands, disturbed at how cold it felt.
“And then he went away. For two years, I didn’t know anything. Harrison kept telling me that Gordon had left because he was tired of me, that he was bored. That I had misinterpreted everything, that I’d been played for a fool. I never believed Harrison, but I still wondered, simply because there was no word from Gordon. Then, when his mother died, I got his address from the bank and wrote him.”
Two tears fell down her face. Ellen wondered at the power of those tears. They had the ability to etch a path through her heart.
“I wrote him every Christmas and on his birthday, but he never wrote me back.” Jennifer looked over at her. “He said he didn’t get those letters.”
Ellen kept silent.
“I wanted him to come back. I was desperate for him to come back, but he didn’t.”
“Is that why you never wanted to meet any young men when you came to visit?”
Jennifer nodded. “I was waiting for Gordon.”
“But he never returned to the Hall.”
She shook her head. “Not until recently. I wrote him again and told him about Sean, who was dying.” She glanced at Ellen again. “He wanted to be a success when he returned to Adaire Hall. He wanted to prove that he could make something of himself to Sean and maybe Harrison.”
“But never to you?”
She shook her head again. “He never had to prove anything to me. He never had to be anyone other than who he was, Ellen. He was Gordon. That was enough.”
Ellen’s attention was on their joined hands. “That’s a very romantic notion, but it isn’t real, Jennifer. Gordon knew that. In order to offer you something, he had to have something to offer. I admire him for knowing that and putting actions to ideas.”
“I know that,” Jennifer said. “I knew that Gordon always had plans for his life—for our life—but I never thought that he would stay away so long. Or that it would be so painful.”
“But he came back. He returned to you. So what is wrong?”
Jennifer squeezed her hand, released it, then stood and walked to the other side of the room. The drapes had already been closed, but she pushed one side open and stood there, looking out at the night.
“I love him.” A few minutes later she spoke again. “But I can’t love him. It’s wrong. It’s a sin.”
Ellen kept silent only because she had a feeling that if she spoke, Jennifer would burst into tears.
“I don’t think I can tell you,” Jennifer said, her voice faint. “The words won’t come.”
That didn’t sound like her goddaughter at all. She’d always faced every situation directly and with determination, from Mary’s illness and subsequent death to managing Adaire Hall and handling Harrison.
“You can always tell me anything, Jennifer.”
Slowly, Jennifer closed the drapes again and turned, facing Ellen.
“I love him. I love him with all my heart, but it’s wrong to feel that way.”
“When is love ever wrong?” Ellen asked. “Because he doesn’t have a title? That seems unlike you.”
“No, because he’s my brother.”
Ellen blinked a few times, but the words were still there, almost floating in the air between them.
“Your brother?”
Jennifer nodded.
“Gordon is your brother?”
“Yes.”
For the next several minutes, Ellen heard the most outrageous story about a woman named Betty McDonnell, who’d done something hideous. Perhaps she’d even label it evil. She’d taken Mary’s child and replaced him with her own.
When Jennifer was done speaking, Ellen stared at her wordlessly. Not one comment came to mind. In a world of words, she had nothing reassuring or comforting to say. Now, at this one particular point in time, she should have been able to murmur something, but nothing penetrated the maelstrom of her thoughts.
“If Betty hadn’t done what she did,” Jennifer added, “then Gordon and I would’ve been raised as brother and sister. I wouldn’t have come to feel for him what I do. Somehow, I’m supposed to only feel a certain way for him now and no more. How am I to do that, Ellen? How do you kill love?”
This young woman she loved so dearly was suffering.
“I don’t know,” Ellen said helplessly.
No wonder she was predisposed to like Gordon. He was Mary’s child. She’d known Mary’s husband well, but she’d only been in Gordon’s company once, for a short time. He’d startled her at the time by remarking on how her eyes were like Jennifer’s.
Poor Mary, to have never known who Gordon was. Harrison had proved to be a poor replacement.
“There, I’ve told you the truth, but it doesn’t make the situation easier to bear. Misery shared isn’t necessarily misery eased, Ellen.”
“Certainly not in this situation,” Ellen said.
“There’s something else you need to know. I’ve made a decision. I’m not going back to Adaire Hall. I can’t go back there. I can’t see the places where Gordon and I spent so much time. I can’t pretend that my life is the same. It isn’t.”
She didn’t have anything to say to that, either.
Jennifer bent and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Before she straightened, Ellen pressed her hand against Jennifer’s cheek, smoothing away the tears. “Oh, my dear girl, I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are, Ellen. I wish it made a difference.”
Jennifer closed the sitting room door behind her, leaving Ellen alone.
She turned her head and stared into the bedroom, at the large bed that she and Colin had shared. An enormous creation, it sat on the dais, dominating the room. Colin had been a big man and had wanted his comfort. The bed had been specially made for him, to his specifications. Each time she climbed the steps, she thought of him.
She missed him desperately right now. He possessed a core of common sense. In some ways he was like a child, feeling excitement and enthusiasm for travel, new discoveries, and inventions. In others, he was an old soul, wise beyond his years.
What would he say to her dilemma?
He’d always wanted to know her thoughts and had valued her opinion. They had laughed together, and at night they had loved each other. She respected him more than anyone she had ever known, but she’d never told him the truth.
Only four people knew the entirety of it, and two of them had died. She didn’t know what had ever happened to the midwife. She wasn’t even sure she could remember the woman’s name.
She’d promised Mary that she would never tell the story. It had been a vow that she had been willing to give at the time. How was she to know that a woman named Betty would cause that vow to be upended?
Oh dear God, what did she do?
Jennifer was in pain, and it was a pain that only she could ease. The question was, did she have the courage to do so.
How could she not?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ellen managed to get through the night with the help of some brandy from the cut glass decanter on the sideboard in her sitting room. Colin occasionally liked to have a drink after they’d retired, and she’d kept up with the practice.
No doubt the brandy would shock Jennifer. The truth was that she had a great many bad habits. After all, she was a mature woman who’d had an eventful life. What was she supposed to be, pure, virginal, and perfect? No, she was definitely not an angel. Even though her parents had sincerely wanted a saint for a daughter, they hadn’t gotten one.
She even had some regrets, but not many since learning that regrets were a waste of time. Every single person who’d made it to her age had moments in which they were blithering idiots. She was not exempt.
Life had visited sorrow on her, too, just like it did everyone. It had occurred to her, more than once, that sorrow was perhaps a payment for the joy you experienced in life. If that was the case, then she would reluctantly accept the sorrow, becau
se she’d also experienced great joy.
This time it wasn’t Jennifer who retreated to her rooms. She stayed in her suite, even banishing Abigail. Ellen wasn’t in the mood for complaints or general grousing.
It wasn’t that she had a decision to make. She’d already made it. That was the easy part. Yet speaking the words would change everything, and that’s why she needed to muster her courage. She understood Jennifer’s silence now more than ever, yet at the same time she thanked God that Jennifer had found the strength to tell Gordon’s story.
Finally, she was ready. She’d sent the dinner tray back uneaten and poured herself a brandy in preparation for this meeting.
When Jennifer entered the room, Ellen smiled, then indicated the end of the sofa.
“You wanted to talk to me, Ellen? If it’s about not returning to Adaire Hall, I can’t be talked out of my decision.”
“Nor would I try to do so, my dear girl. We need to discuss something much more serious.”
Jennifer looked at her inquisitively, but didn’t speak as she sat.
Ellen raised the brandy snifter. “Can I interest you in one of these?”
Jennifer shook her head. Ellen wondered if she would change her mind after a while. A little brandy did wonders in difficult situations.
Once Jennifer was settled, Ellen sat back and said another prayer. She’d been praying most of the day.
“Mary Adaire was one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever known,” she began.
Jennifer nodded.
“She was kind. She was understanding. Even if she didn’t condone a certain behavior, she tried to see beyond it to the human being who’d performed it. She was gracious. She was the perfect countess. When she married Alex, I thought it was a wonderful union. It was evident, to everyone, how much they loved each other. I never knew anyone like her. She even charmed my parents, who’d become very strict Church of Scotland. They liked her. Even better, they respected her. I think they secretly admired her as well. You didn’t know her the way I did, Jennifer, but she was a beautiful woman. She had this glorious auburn hair and these beautiful blue eyes.”
Ellen stared down at the brandy, remembering how jealous she’d been when first meeting Mary and how quickly that feeling had dissipated in view of the woman’s charm and grace.
“My parents allowed me a season. They hadn’t found religion yet, you see. I was an only child, expected to be the apple of my parents’ eye. I was to be perfect, but I fell far short of that.”
She was going too far afield. Jennifer was too polite to ask why she was suddenly talking about people she had never met.
“You know about the fire, of course.”
Jennifer nodded again. She leaned forward, clasping her hands, intent on Ellen’s words. Did she have some kind of precognitive ability? Did she realize that what Ellen was going to say next would change her entire life?
“What you don’t know is that the fire altered their marriage. Not the fire, exactly, but what happened when Mary fell from the second floor. They couldn’t be together any longer. It was too painful for her.”
She knew how much that had mattered to both of them. Yet she doubted if Alex would have ever been unfaithful to his wife. He loved her too much. In addition, the man was a paragon of virtue himself. He was a good man, and it was evident that Gordon took after him.
“As I said, Mary was very understanding. Perhaps the word isn’t understanding. Perhaps it’s compassionate. Generous. Kind.”
She took another sip of the brandy and realized that it wasn’t going to help. She was simply going to have to tell this story, as difficult as it was.
“All around me, my friends were getting married, but I did not have any affection whatsoever for any of the young men who seemed interested in me. It was all too evident that I was going to remain a spinster, caring for my parents until their elderly days. Maybe that’s why I did what I did.” She shook her head, determined to be honest. “No, that’s not why. I was entranced and flattered and pleased. A handsome young man began to pay me attention, and it went to my head, I think. That was before I learned my own value. I didn’t respect myself enough. So I fell for his blandishments, ardent as they were, and found myself in a precarious position. Especially since he decided to marry an heiress and leave me without a backward glance.”
She could still remember the humiliation of learning of Ronald McCormick’s betrothal. First had come the hurt, then the panic.
“I confided in Mary. I was, in fact, about to shame my parents by causing a massive scandal. I was about to have a child out of wedlock. Perhaps such things would be acceptable in some families, but not Church of Scotland members.” She smiled without any trace of humor. “My parents would have thrown me out on the streets.”
She’d been worried about her child. Even then, her baby had acquired a supreme importance. She would have done anything to protect him.
She could remember every moment of that visit to Adaire Hall. Mary had just acquired her wheeled chair and she was no longer imprisoned in her room. They had been sitting on the terrace, and Ellen had tearfully confessed her sin to her friend.
“Mary had an idea. She could no longer have children, and here I was, about to have a baby.”
She forced herself to look at Jennifer. There was a dawning awareness in the younger woman’s eyes. Her cheeks were becoming pink, and Jennifer’s hands were clasped together in what looked like a death grip.
“Mary asked my parents if I could accompany her to England. That’s the story we gave out. Because of her fragile condition, I was going to be a nurse/companion. Alex accompanied us, of course.”
Even if she stopped right now, Jennifer would know the truth, but that would be sheer cowardice on her part. Instead, she continued.
“We stayed at a small house that belonged to a friend of Alex’s. Only one other person called on us—the midwife. When my child was born, Mary and Alex claimed her as their own. We named her Jennifer.”
Where had the tears come from? She hadn’t thought to weep, but suddenly she was.
Jennifer didn’t say anything for a long moment. Neither did she look away. The color rose on her cheeks, but when she still didn’t speak a moment later, Ellen almost begged her to say something, anything. She had tried to anticipate Jennifer’s reaction to the news, but she hadn’t thought that the younger woman would break the silence with a question.
“Did everyone accept that I was their child?”
Ellen nodded. “We were gone long enough. I had been able to hide my condition. No one knew us in the English town where we stayed. Alex even sent word back to the Hall that the reason they were staying away so long was Mary’s pregnancy and how difficult the journey home might prove to be.”
“Did he go along with the story?”
Ellen smiled. “You have to understand how much Alex loved Mary. Whatever she wanted, he was willing to do. Plus, I think he wanted another child as well. He never saw you as different. He always loved you as the child of his heart.”
She had to make Jennifer understand. “Mary did this for me, not for herself. She knew what would happen if anyone found out. It would be a scandal that I wouldn’t be able to live down.” She cleared her throat. “Everyone loved Mary. Even before the fire she was beloved by not only the staff of the Hall, but by Alex’s friends and their acquaintances in Edinburgh. I’ve never heard a bad word spoken of her. So, if there were any suspicions, no one voiced them.”
She blinked back her tears and cleared her throat again.
“The three of us vowed that it would remain a secret, that no one would ever know that you weren’t Mary’s child. She wanted me to have a place in your life, so I became your godmother. In a sense, we shared you. You spent time with me and lived at Adaire Hall.”
Jennifer nodded. “I never knew. I never suspected.”
“Oh, my darling girl, you were never to suspect. Mary was a wonderful mother. I couldn’t have found anyone better. If I couldn’
t be with you, then she was the perfect substitute.”
She watched as the full ramifications of her confession occurred to Jennifer.
A moment later, Jennifer came and knelt at Ellen’s feet. She grabbed Ellen’s hands and said, “Are you saying that Gordon isn’t my brother? He’s not my brother? We’re not related?”
Ellen nodded. “I couldn’t have you suffer for my sin, Jennifer.”
“Oh, Ellen, Ellen.”
Whatever else she might’ve said was buried in the hug Jennifer gave her. A few minutes later, Jennifer pulled back and looked at Ellen, her face awash with tears of joy. Her next words didn’t surprise Ellen in the least. In fact, she’d already given orders for the carriage to be brought around early the next morning.
“I have to go to him, Ellen.”
“And we shall, my darling girl. As fast as the train can carry us.”
“Who is my father?” Jennifer asked as she stood.
“His name is Ronald McCormick. I lost track of him years ago. I don’t even know if he’s still in Scotland. Does it matter to you?”
“No,” Jennifer said. “Did he ever know about me?”
Ellen shook her head. “Only the three of us did. It was the only way our plan would work.”
“You must’ve been terrified. Unmarried, uncertain of the future.”
“Petrified and overjoyed,” Ellen said with a rueful smile. “My parents were very strict, so I had no doubt about their reaction. At the same time, I felt that I’d been blessed with you.”
“I know that your parents died a few years ago, but do I have any other relatives?”
“Cousins.”
“I don’t suppose I could go to them and introduce myself, could I?”
“Honestly, I thought your Gordon guessed my secret. He kept looking at us the night Harrison and I arrived at Adaire Hall, almost as if he saw a resemblance.”
Jennifer startled her by kneeling again. She took Ellen’s hands in hers. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me. It can’t have been easy.”
“It was infinitely easier than seeing you in pain, my darling girl.”
