The Marriage Ring

by Cathy Maxwell

  Her response was to march down the stairs and into the small dining room without a sideways glance at him.

  Once they were on the road, Grace kept her mind busy by remembering her father the last time she’d seen him. He’d been thin and had acted defeated. Her mother had just left, he was having trouble finding work, and Grace herself had been young and very angry. Her mother’s sudden defection had been a betrayal, one she’d felt somewhat responsible for, since she was no longer the virginal daughter who could have married well and improved their lot.

  Before she’d left, Grace had done everything she could to make him pay for what she felt were her own shortcomings. And then she had run away, certain there was a better life for her elsewhere. She’d been very wrong.

  Grace tried to imagine how life had treated him while she was gone. He must have been lonely without wife or daughter. She prayed he’d found work and had earned respect. She was certain he’d been eaten alive with anger over the unfairness of his sentence. Certainly she and her mother had been. But would it have broken him completely?

  Guilt for running away and leaving him rested heavily on her, especially now that it was coupled with uncertainty. Lord Brandt and Lord Maven made a convincing argument of their innocence, but of course they would. They had everything to gain by convincing her they were blameless.

  One thing Grace had learned over her years of wandering—no one is completely pure. The twins were fooling themselves if they thought she believed their story. After all, her father was blood. He was where her loyalty lay, and by the time they reached Inverness, she could easily picture her father on his deathbed, waiting for her so he could beg forgiveness before he breathed his last.

  She heard Richard asking for directions to the home of Jonathon MacEachin. She didn’t expect anyone to know immediately, so was a bit surprised when the man he asked said MacEachin’s home was by St. Ann’s Church.

  Grace let down the window and leaned out. “Did you say St. Ann’s?” she asked.

  “Aye, missus, I did,” the man said. He was a ruddy-cheeked man of good Scottish stock and didn’t appear to be one for telling stories. St. Ann’s was where her father had been the vicar before his trial.

  “What does he do there?” she asked.

  “Why, missus, he’s the sexton.”

  Grace sat back in the coach, a bit stunned that the church had taken her father in. Her once proud father who had run the parish was now reduced to being its caretaker.

  The coach went forward. The sights along the street were all familiar to Grace. She’d avoided returning to Inverness, avoided any of the memories.

  They turned a corner and there was St. Ann’s.

  The coach came to a halt. Grace didn’t wait for someone to open the door but opened it herself. She hopped down from the coach and followed the stone path through the cemetery that led to the sexton’s cottage in the back.

  She knew it well. There had been a time when her mother had lamented not being able to move into the modest cottage.

  Grace knocked on the door. She sensed Richard and the others followed but she wanted to be the first to see her father. Tears threatened. It had been a long time.

  The door opened, but a young woman no older than Grace stood there. She was blond, rosy cheeked, well fed, and very obviously pregnant. Two dark-headed children, the oldest around the age of four, came running into the cottage’s main room to see who was visiting. They came to a halt and hung back shyly at the sight of Grace.

  She smiled at them and then turned to their mother. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m looking for Jonathon MacEachin. I thought this was his residence.”

  “It is,” said the woman. “I’m his wife.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The woman’s news stunned Richard. He feared their impact on Grace. She stiffened and appeared ready to collapse. He stepped to her side, reaching for her arm, but she shook her head and moved away from him.

  Mrs. MacEachin noticed the current of tension between them, and then her gaze narrowed on Grace. Did she know who she was?

  His uncle had a huge grin on his face. He obviously enjoyed the surprise. “Is Mr. MacEachin in?” he asked the wife.

  “May I tell him who is calling?” she asked.

  “Old friends,” his uncle answered.

  Mrs. MacEachin frowned. She was not a fool nor easily pleased by his uncle’s smile. Grace hadn’t moved, so Richard said, “Please, we’d like a moment of his time.”

  His request, or his tone of voice, reassured her. “Thomas,” she said to her oldest son, a wide-eyed lad of four. “Go fetch your father. He’s working on that drain ditch.”

  “I know, Mother,” the lad said, and took off out the door at a run, as if sensing the urgency of the situation.

  Richard, his father, uncle, and Grace took up most of the space in the tiny cottage. The ceiling was so low, Richard had to stoop.

  In contrast to his twin’s gleeful enjoyment of the situation, Richard’s father seemed subdued. He surveyed their surroundings and then said to Grace with a surprising empathy, “Here, we’ll wait outside. Come, Stephen.”

  Stephen appeared reluctant to leave, but at his twin’s silent insistence, sighed heavily and went out the door. Looking to Richard, his father asked, “Coming with us?”

  Grace seemed oblivious to Richard. Instead, her gaze was on the child Mrs. MacEachin had picked up, a girl of about two who had Grace’s same wild, black, curls.

  Richard wasn’t about to leave Grace alone. The color had returned to her face and she seemed to be breathing easier again—but who knew what other surprises awaited her? “I’ll stay here.”

  “Please sit,” Mrs. MacEachin offered, indicating the rocking chair and an upholstered chair before the hearth. “May I fix you something to drink? A lovely cup of tea? I had the kettle boiling before you knocked.”

  Grace didn’t answer so he spoke for her. “Thank you, that would be nice.” Neither he nor Grace sat.

  Mrs. MacEachin acted happy to have something to do. She sat her daughter down, handed her a rag doll that had seen much love, and set to work at brewing their tea. The child gathered her doll under one arm and placed her thumb in her mouth. She watched the visitors as she sucked, the small frown line between her eyes reminding Richard of Grace.

  The cottage was neat as a pin and very obviously a happy home. The leaded-glass windows shone as a testimony to Mrs. MacEachin’s housekeeping and the stone floor was covered with colorful hand-braided rugs. All of the furniture was sturdy and serviceable but marked with good use. Family meals had been served around the supper table, where the children had been free to be themselves and the scuffs on the bench showed it. There were two rooms off to the side, bedrooms. Richard could see the corner of a crib through the door.

  Mrs. MacEachin handed them their tea in pottery mugs. She didn’t pour a mug for herself. Instead, she moved back beside her child.

  Richard took a sip. “It’s good. Thank you.”

  Grace stood studying her father’s wife. She didn’t lift the mug in her hand.

  A few moments later Richard heard a man’s voice outside the door. MacEachin. He’d recognized his father and uncle. There wasn’t much said, and then he entered the cottage.

  Grace’s father was a thin man with deep lines in his face. His sparkling blue eyes were much like Grace’s…except his held a sense of peace.

  For a long moment he and Grace stared at each other, two strangers. Finally, he looked to his wife. “Eileen, would you take the children outside for a walk?”

  “Yes, Jon, I will.” She still did not know who Grace was, and her husband did not seem to feel a need to introduce her. That action alone said louder than words her father’s attitude toward her.

  And that is when Richard understood. Grace had longed for family. She’d returned to prove her love to her father. Richard knew all too well that need. Hadn’t he undertaken this trip to demonstrate his love to his father? Hadn’t he longed for the
moment when, just once, his father placed Richard’s opinion over that of his twin’s?

  It would never happen. The bonds between the twins were stronger than the ties of father and son—and a man’s responsibility to a woman bearing his child would always take precedence over his care for his daughter.

  Grace sank down on the bench at the table. A graceful movement of capitulation. She already knew she’d lost. She set the mug down. Her father’s wife left the cottage with the children. Through the opening and closing of the door, Richard could see the twins, their heads together as they stood by the coach, waiting.

  Jonathon MacEachin pulled the upholstered chair toward the table so he could sit facing his daughter. “You are looking well, Grace.”

  She didn’t answer.

  He continued, “Eileen has been a godsend to me. She helped me reclaim a part of my old life. I’ve also been blessed with more children. They’ve made my life good.”

  “But you had a wife,” she said simply.

  “A wife who went on with her own life as if I wasn’t there,” he answered.

  “You were a man of God,” Grace said.

  “That was a long time ago,” he replied. “A man doesn’t stop living because his wife leaves him.”

  “But you are married to my mother,” she insisted.

  He shrugged. “Not in my mind. A man doesn’t need a court to tell him his marriage is over. After all, your mother took a husband, too. No harm, I say.”

  “I’ve been singing in London,” she said, her voice faint. She dropped her gaze to her hands, lying useless in her lap.

  “So I’ve heard,” her father said.

  Grace raised her eyes to meet his. “You’ve heard? And you have done nothing to contact me?”

  There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation or remorse. “You are the one who left, Grace.”

  “I was confused.”

  Her father shrugged. “I know. Your mother taking off the way she did in a cloud of accusations and complaints was difficult. Georgina blamed me for so much. Funny how she waited until I returned to leave.”

  Richard thought of the rape, wondered if the man knew. Grace’s hand as she reached up and pushed the handle of her mug shook slightly. He suspected she wondered the same thing. He sat on the bench beside her and covered her hand with his own. Her eyes followed up his arm, and then to his face as if just realizing he was in the room.

  “He knew I was singing in London,” Grace whispered to Richard as if she could not believe he’d not wanted to make contact.

  Before Richard could answer, she looked back to her father, her composure returning. “I brought this gentleman to you, Father. His name is Richard Lynsted.”

  Mr. MacEachin appeared startled. “Brandt’s son.”

  “Aye,” Richard said. He didn’t like MacEachin or the way the man was handling this reunion. Grace was better off without him.

  “I want you to tell him your story, Father,” Grace said. “I want him to hear the truth about what happened to Dame Mary’s money.”

  A great sadness settled over MacEachin. “Grace, no good will come from going there.”

  “The truth, Father.” She paused and Richard realized she was no longer certain of the story. “I want them to hear the truth,” she reiterated.

  Her father sat back in his chair. “I’ve paid for this, Grace, with my hard work and days, months, years of my life. It is over and done.”

  “Not for me.”

  He let his gaze drift around the room. The clock on the mantel measured the moments passing.

  Then, with a heavy sigh, MacEachin said, “I told you a lie, lass. I didn’t want you to think the worst of me. I was scared back then. Your mother had left, doors were closed to both of us. I saw how it was then for the two of you when I was gone. I knew the story your mother wanted to believe, and I thought we needed a scapegoat to bolster our spirits a wee bit. I didn’t think you’d leave.”

  “I couldn’t stay. I was ruined. You were so good and had been so strong, and then mother left and I—” Her voice broke off, but she didn’t cry. Instead, her jaw tightened with that resolve Richard admired. “There was nothing for me here.”

  Jonathon MacEachin’s shoulders slumped and then he said, “I know. Georgina told me. I should have done something. A man wants to protect his daughter but I wasn’t here. I was afraid if I took up the matter after I returned…” He stopped, letting the words hang in the air.

  Grace finished them. “They’d transport you again,” she said.

  “I knew you understood, lass,” he said with obvious relief. “You were always a good, clever child.”

  “How would you know, Father? You weren’t around me as a child.”

  The accusation hit its mark and Richard was glad it had. He’d silently measured her father as a man and found him lacking.

  MacEachin looked away. “I’m a good father to my new bairn.”

  And Grace no longer mattered.

  “Does this wife know you are still married to another woman?” she asked, her voice tight.

  Her father frowned. “No. Neither does anyone else. I put out that your mother died. I said she left me but had an accident and it was a blessing she never recovered.”

  “I see,” Grace said. “So you rejected your wife and defied the church, even though you live in its shadow. And what of me? How did you explain my leaving?”

  “You were a willful child, Grace. No one doubted you didn’t have the mettle to strike out on your own. Of course, you were well known in Inverness. Pretty girls always are. Robbie Carlin went down to London and came back to tell us all how you are the rage. The Scottish Songbird. You always had a good voice, Grace. Even when you were a wee thing.” He held his hand up to show a child no taller than a toddler. “And I’m glad you are doing well. As you can see, we are bursting at the seams here. It’s good you are on your own. Eileen likes having babies.”

  “But what if I needed you, Father?”

  His studied the toes of his scuffed boots. “I’m happy, Grace. I assume your mother is happy. You must see to yourself, lass. You must find your own happiness. I can’t do it for you.”

  With those words, he cut his daughter loose. Beneath the protection of his hand resting over hers, Richard felt her fingers curl into a fist. However, her face betrayed no emotion. She pulled her hand from his and came to her feet. “You are right. I knew that. One thing, Father. You haven’t said the words yet. Did you take Dame Mary’s money?”

  Her father’s glance slid to the window, where they could see Richard’s father and uncle waiting beside the coach. “I did,” he admitted, without looking at her. “Your mother was expensive. She wanted and wanted. I wanted her happy. I want all my women happy. And then there was Dame Mary at the end of her life with more money than she could ever spend. The temptation was too great.”

  Thoughtfully, Grace ran her hand along the grain of the table. And then she said softly, “Good luck to you, Father.”

  “And to you, Daughter.”

  She had not turned to Richard, barely looked at him. He waited, willing her to do so. Instead, she walked out of the cottage.

  There was a moment of silence. MacEachin gave him a thin smile. “Why are you here?”

  “Your daughter thought you were innocent,” Richard said, barely able to contain his contempt for the man. “She thought my uncle and father were the guilty ones.”

  “They are guilty. As guilty as I was,” her father said. “Dame Mary had a large estate. We all did well.”

  “But at what cost?” Richard wondered.

  “Ask your father and uncle. They have done well. Better than I…although I’m happy now. I am what I am. I’ve paid the price for my actions. Whereas your father and uncle—well, they are satisfied with themselves, but then they always have been.” MacEachin’s face hardened. “I have a second chance now for happiness. I don’t wish Grace ill, but there is no room in my life for her. A songbird. Thank God, Georgina isn’t here to k
now what her daughter has become.”

  “Or her husband,” Richard answered, his dislike of the man complete. He walked out of the cottage.

  His uncle and father stood by the horses.

  “Well that is that,” his uncle said, sounding chipper as Richard approached. “Apparently, Miss MacEachin no longer favors your suit, nephew. She’s taken off down the road. Just as well. We need to return to London for that meeting with Hockingdale. Let’s not forget how much is at stake.”

  His father turned to mount with Dawson’s help. After he was saddled up and saw Richard hadn’t moved, he said, “Son, we need to leave. We are pragmatic men. We take advantage of opportunity. That’s what business is.”

  Richard could have raged out at him. Informed him he was wrong—but why?

  Nothing would change.

  Except he had. There had been a time when all he would have thought of was the business. It was all he’d had.

  “I don’t believe I’m returning to London,” Richard informed them. “You go on without me.”

  For the first time in his life, Richard saw his uncle appear shocked. “You can’t say that.”

  “I just did,” Richard answered.

  “What of Hockingdale?” his father asked. “The ledgers, the businesses? You put them together. No one knows them better than you.”

  “You’ll manage,” Richard said cheerfully. “As for myself, I believe from here on out, I’m going to live my life as I wish.”

  “And what would that be?” his uncle asked.

  “Practice law.”

  “That’s senseless,” his father answered.

  Richard smiled. “Have a safe trip to London. I’ll send a letter to Mother with my good-byes.”

  His father kicked his horse around to block Richard’s path. “She won’t have a thing to do with you,” he predicted.

  Richard thought of his mother the last time he’d actually had a conversation with her, before she’d started numbing herself senseless on laudanum. He couldn’t judge her harshly. Had he not been in danger of shutting himself off completely from the world? Only his method had been the family business and his loyalty to his father…a father who currently was staring at him as if he’d lost his senses. Richard laughed. “Actually, Father, I believe she will understand far more than you could imagine.”