by Claudy Conn
His lordship had already been sent out of the room and paced with a frenzy he had never known before, but before he left his wife he asked the midwife, “It is scarcely seven months…scarcely…will our child survive?”
“There is no telling until the child is born. Out with you now,” the midwife took command.
Hours went by and finally he could stand it no more. He burst into the room and demanded, “My wife…how is she?”
“Fine, fine, her water broke and as this is her first, it will be a hard birth…and there is naught we can do but keep her comfortable ‘til the little one decides to join us. Now whist with you, m’lord.”
When he had left, the midwife said quietly, “From your size, m’lady…I think this babe is as close to full term as ever I have seen.”
“Yes, yes, it is obvious his lordship had me before our marriage then,” Sara improvised.
“Aye, but,” the midwife shrugged as though she had her doubts. “Well then…we’ll manage if keeping this quiet is what you be wishful of.”
Six more hours passed and a healthy son finally made his debut. He was a large, albeit wrinkled, boy child. The midwife roundly spanked him on his rump and he wailed with his objection. Godwin and all the household turned to one another with joy as they watched their lordship race up the stairs.
Commotion at Ravensbury turned into the sounds of a festival. The male child had given them what they needed, another Ravensbury to carry on.
* * * * *
Godwin’s son was brought to him and as he held the boy in his arms, all his dreams were shattered. Godwin was not only a good man, but a knowing one.
“But…he is so large…larger than most newborns at seven months. How can he be seven months?” he said out loud.
Dawning took hold. He was too worldly not to realize.
He had been used as a fool. He had believed himself Sara’s only love. He had believed no other had her…she was so young, how could anyone else have bedded her already?
He had waited all these months for his child, and this child was not his!
A lie…it had all been a lie!
He went to his wife’s room and looked at the midwife. “Leave us,” he said.
He waited for her to close the door at her back and turned to Sara, unable to go near her, he clasped his hands at his back and asked, his voice scarcely audible, “Whose babe did you birth today, Sara?”
“Godwin, he is gone…you are here. ‘Tis yours. You felt its first kick, you cared, you care still. He is your son.”
Her words ripped him apart. His eyes met hers and he knew in that moment she had never loved him. How had this happened? What had he done wrong? Why was he being punished so wickedly?
“Whose son is he?” he asked still, and felt his teeth grind.
“What does it matter?”
“Because he should know he has a son!” Godwin growled.
She lowered her eyes. “He was a gypsy and I was so young. I fancied myself in love with him…but he didn’t love me and he left. I was a fool,” she answered.
“As you have made me.” He shook his head. “This is probably the first truth you have ever spoken to me.” He paced a moment and when he returned to look at her, the words were wrenched from him. “I was there, wasn’t I? Ready to play your game…ready to believe every word you uttered.” He had not yet even raised his voice, but it cracked, as did his heart, as did his spirit.
“Try to understand. I needed you…a name for my child. I could not bear to wear the scarlet cloak before all society. You drove all thoughts of him away. You have been my husband, strong and wonderful, and I was pleased to be your wife.”
“But you do not love me. How could you love me and not have confided in me? You didn’t trust me to understand…and I can no longer trust you,” he said, turning on her as the words burst out of him.
“Godwin, no one need ever know,” she said. “Your pride need not come into play.”
“You are beneath contempt! Is that what you are thinking…that I am worried about…my pride?” It hadn’t even occurred to him what his circle would think.
“But, Godwin, we can manage this whole thing…let them know we made love before our wedding night…a forgivable offense, you see,” Sara hurried to explain.
He eyed her, absolutely stunned, and said, “Did I ever know you? What did I see? How could I have been so blind to who you really are? Did you laugh inside yourself and think how clever you had been? Did you laugh as I declared my love for you? Did you laugh when I was so hesitant, so gentle on our wedding night? Did you?”
“No. I was worried that you would discover I wasn’t a virgin…there, there is your truth you treasure so much. Does that make it better?” she snapped. “Oh…leave me be…I am weary and hurting.”
His pain had festered into anger and he slammed his fist into his other hand as he shouted, “You have hurt me, Sara, but you shall never do so again!”
“Godwin…please, understand…I was young, seduced…and then desperate,” she pleaded.
He had turned to leave her, but this stopped him in his tracks. “And what act is this? Sara, you knew me, or I thought you did. Don’t you know that had you come to me and told of your predicament I would have loved you still and protected you? I would have loved your baby as though it was my own.”
“You can still do that,” she cried.
“No, I cannot,” he whispered as he left her room and made his way to his library and locked himself within. He took down a bottle of his finest brandy and poured himself a stiff drink, swallowing it in one shot. He then poured himself another and another.
He was in his cups—his brain was fuzzed with drink, but not so much that he did not hear when Sara screamed.
He was followed by the midwife, who had been in the kitchen having some tea while her ladyship slept.
They found Sara on the floor in a pool of her own blood. It had soaked through her gown, down over her thighs.
Sara tried to raise her head as Godwin came hurrying over and he cried as she slipped into unconsciousness, “Sara, oh, my god, what have I done?”
It was not until the next day that the doctor could be found and brought to Ravensbury. He was able to stop the hemorrhaging, but there was infection.
The doctor kept Sara alive over those next few days, but at the end of the week when he pronounced her no longer in danger, he took Godwin aside and said, “I am sorry, my lord, but she’ll bear you no more children.”
Godwin stared at him. No children? Her sin against him, he had nearly forgiven, or was dealing with it, but this?
The doctor tried to assuage his lordship’s apparent grief. “Look here, my lord, you have a fine strapping child in the nursery. Count yourself fortunate.”
Godwin closed his eyes and said nothing.
A fine lusty bairn to carry his name, but it was a lie…all a lie.
His house would never be filled with Ravensbury children.
The child was an innocent and so he went into the nursery and stared at another man’s son. He stroked the babe’s cheek and felt a wave of pleasure. That surprised him.
He picked up the babe and cradled him in his large arms. “Aye then,” Godwin said. “You are a fine lad.” He named him Roderick of Ravensbury that day, and the one woman who could have told the countryside a tale, the midwife, had been sent up north to family.
Roderick was accepted as a true Ravensbury and Godwin, because of who he was, found he loved the boy.
~ Three ~
1793
MORE THAN TEN YEARS HAD passed since Godwin’s first disillusionment with his wife. Many other disappointments followed.
His decision, however, to take Sara’s love-child as his own was one he never regretted. In spite of the fact that his youth’s dreams and hopes of a loving marriage and a household of children had been dashed, he had found a place of acceptance. He found a place in his heart where he could give his love to Roderick, who he thought of as his son.
>
Because of who Godwin was, he was able to bring a certain measure of contentment to his orderly and quite dull life. He had learned to exist with what he had and forget about what he would never have.
He had come to adore Roderick in every conceivable way. He was proud of his son, and life at Ravensbury went on in this fashion. He watched Sara as she dove into her social teas, routs, and gossiped outrageously with the ladies of society. He watched Sara as she indulged herself and took lovers. She tried to be discreet, but he knew and did not care.
He had taken another bedroom as his own and no longer visited her bedroom. He allowed himself an occasional and passionate night with a pretty barmaid or two when he traveled on estate business. Now and then, when he thought of the life he had envisioned for himself, he was struck with the terrible loneliness of oneness. He and Sara couldn’t even find a common ground for friendship.
He thought her an awful mother to Roderick. She scarcely bothered with the boy who seemed to adore her.
Godwin knew he was trapped, if for no other reason than his love for Roderick. He was resigned to the fact that he and his wife would never really be friends. They were too different in too many ways and he could not shake his dislike of her.
Friendship, he knew, he believed was one of the most important ingredients to a healthy marriage. He also knew much of his loneliness was his own fault. He knew he had never really loved Sara. He had loved a creature of fiction.
He realized he often treated her with disdain and coldness and often regretted some of the remarks he shot at her. Now, he had a wife who often did not feel comfortable with him in the same room and lowered her eyes when he spoke to her. At times, he felt the cad and then he would discover another lie…all small ones, but lies nonetheless.
He stood looking over the rocky cliff, gazing in earnest contemplation of his life and wondering how he could make it better.
He loved Cornwall, with the ragged harshness of the jutting boulders being splashed by the crashing waves. Cornwall’s beauty made him feel alive. He loved how the salt air smelled, how the spray from the ocean whispered to him of another time.
As he stood there on the cliff, something, he wasn’t sure what, made him turn to his right, and then he couldn’t look away.
She was walking towards him, her red hair glinting in the sun’s rays, its silken tresses swaying over her dark cloaked shoulders as she bent among the crags to gather her herbs. She had not seen him yet.
Undetected, he watched her, mesmerized by her beauty. Her cloak blew about her graceful body, and she smiled to herself as she inspected her basket nearly full with her pickings.
She stumbled over an unseen rock in the ground and he heard the instinctive cry of one who knows a fall is inevitable, and she vanished from view.
He hurried in her direction, going as fast as he could over the razed slope and steep terrain, and came to find her rising to her feet. She was intent on brushing the pebbles and sand from her clothes and did not notice him as he approached.
He was at her elbow and asking hurriedly, as he was genuinely concerned, “Are you all right, miss?”
She looked up and it was obvious to him she was startled by his presence. Her eyes, he thought, as he stared, were the color of wild violets!
She gave him a hesitant smile. “Oh, quite, thank you, though my clumsiness has given my pride quite a hit.” She looked herself over and added, “Ah, I have injured my gown, haven’t I? Now, if only I haven’t dropped a morning’s work into the sea…?” With which she spied her basket, dove towards it, and nearly landed herself on the ground once again.
Godwin reached out and held her, preventing her fall. “Careful,” he said on a chuckle, “or we’ll have you toppling into the sea, and I have no desire to take a swim this morning.”
“Oh, what an awful idea…an April swim?” She laughed and the sound prodded a smile from him. Her laughter was musical. Her violet eyes twinkled, and he thought her the most stunning woman he had ever encountered.
She frowned and said, “I must collect my basket and return to my uncle or he will say I am a lazy wench not worth my keep.”
“Then stay put and I’ll retrieve the basket for you,” he said, escorting her to a nearby somewhat flat rock and seeing her seated there. He found the basket with most of its contents still in tact and brought it to her. “There, and I don’t mind telling you that you have an odd sort of uncle sending you off on such a dangerous mission,” he teased.
“In truth, the herbs can be had closer to home.” She sighed. “‘Tis just that I do so love Windmera, and thought I might be able to enjoy the morning here and still get my errand accomplished.”
“Windmera?” he repeated, frowning, having no idea what she meant.
She laughed and said, “‘Tis what I call it. Look…they all meet here, don’t they? I mean the sea, its marvelous winds…the rocks. It creates a peace. Papa and I gave it that name. We used to come here together before he died.”
He smiled warmly at her. “Yes, Windmera suits this place. But tell me, what is your name?” he asked, and felt the heat rush to his cheeks. He was surprised at his boldness. He was not a womanizer. He had never thought of his occasional wayward nights as more than the needs of the body. He was married to Sara. He had never tried to romance a woman who might expect more. How could he? He was tied up in marriage and so when he looked at this young beauty, he felt a wave of conscience sweep over him. What are you doing? He felt guilt, but not because of Sara…he felt a shade of guilt because all at once and completely he was aware that he wanted this beauty so much more than he should.
He knew why he lingered with this young woman. The animal in him wanted to take her in his arms and ravage her…the man in him wanted to save her from himself.
She smiled and studied her fingers. “Yes, it is only fair that you should know my name, as I know yours, my lord.”
“You know my name? How?” he asked, surprise filling him.
“You are Godwin, Lord of Ravensbury. Everyone in this part of Cornwall knows that.” She looked up and smiled warmly at him. “Indeed, I have seen Lady Ravensbury in town now and then.”
Ah, so she knew he was married, was his immediate thought, and shame once again traveled through his mind. What must she think of him, married to such as Sara?
“Very well, then,” he said softly. “As you said, it is only fair I know your name.”
“I am Heather Martin.” She looked away towards the white foam spilling on the rocks.
“Oh, so you are the vicar’s niece?” he said, surprised.
“Yes, the same,” she answered, still not looking at him.
“But that is impossible!” he exclaimed.
“Is it? What an odd thing to conclude,” she said, turning a bemused eye to him.
“What I mean is…” he started.
“What you mean is that you have heard the vicar’s niece is a spinster of sorts and that I am far too attractive to fit the fiddle?” she teasingly interrupted him and arched a brow.
He laughed out loud, inclined his head and said, “Indeed, far too beautiful to be a spinster, and too young.”
“I am one and twenty, nearly in my dotage, you see. Up until last month I chose to teach in the school my father founded in Hampshire. However, when I lost him…well, the school was closed, lack of funding, you see—so here I am at Uncle Martin’s, driving them to distraction because I am not interested in the young men they throw at me.” She stopped and shook her head. “Gracious…whatever made me go on and on to you in such a manner?”
“Please don’t stop. I want to know…everything about you,” he whispered, and his dark eyes found her eyes as he drank deep.
* * * * *
Heather and Godwin found themselves meeting often after that first encounter. Their reasons…all too obvious, although Heather told herself she was rushing to meet him only because he was her beloved friend, someone who understood her, someone she felt whole with—no more than tha
t.
How he made her laugh and how often she told herself that she was dipping into dangerous waters. He was another woman’s husband, but oh, the thought of not being with him, not listening to his dear voice was far more terrifying.
At some point, Heather looked inward and honesty roared its hoary truths. Her motives, she told herself, needed questioning. Clearly she saw what Godwin made her feel, and she felt so very much when with him.
Truths are frightening revelations of heart and mind, and she couldn’t deny that she needed Godwin, wanted him, and dreamed of kissing him, of holding hands, of being with him. All these things told her that her heart was lost to a married man who would never be hers.
Somehow he had worked himself into her mind and soul and now she was forever lost to her love of him. It was wrong. He was married, she drummed into her head. He belonged to Sara.
He had confided a great deal to her over their weeks of friendship. He had told her that his marriage was a sterile thing, lifeless and hateful. He had told her he had felt dead inside for so long…until he had met her.
He told her how Sara had tricked him into marriage and how he now suspected that she had tricked him with intent from the first moment she smiled at him. He told her how he felt she had somehow thwarted his courtship of Lisa, tricking them all. He never held back as he spoke from the heart. Heather listened to him as all his angst and heartache flowed out and saw the relief he felt at confiding in her.
He was Godwin of Ravensbury. How could she live with him so near, knowing he would never be hers? What kind of life had she to look forward to if she allowed her heart to rule her head?
Godwin stared at himself in the looking glass. Once again, he felt alive. The vivacity of youth had infected him. He only knew that his life had taken on new sparkle, his heart felt light, his nerves tingled, and his blood bubbled with passion. He only knew that Heather was the source of his delight, of his newfound purpose.
