by Kim Bowman
“Because you got into trouble at school?”
He nodded.
“What could a sixteen-year-old boy have possibly done that was so bad his entire future has been tainted?” she asked, unable to hide the disbelief in her voice.
“Actually, I was fourteen when this particular incident happened,” he said without much emotion. “It was just never forgotten. In the following two years, I was sent home so often that Edward gave me the option to go to Harrow—the only other school suitable for a young man of my station—or to persuade the archbishop to allow me to start seminary early. I chose the latter. I didn't want to make new friends, or explain why I was joining in the middle of the academic term. I spent the following two years under the instruction of the archbishop and had just finished when I decided to leave for America.”
“Because he found out you'd been expelled from school?”
He shook his head. “No. I never told him. I was too ashamed to and believed Edward, when he told me not to worry, one mistake at fourteen wouldn't ruin my life.” He idly rubbed his jaw. “He meant well. He couldn't have predicted this.”
“Predicted what?” she burst out. For all his sudden interest in talking, he sure wasn't saying much.
“That I'll not be granted a vicarage because of it.”
“Because you were asked to leave school at sixteen or what happened when you were fourteen?” she asked, confused.
“The latter.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his long fingers up and down his face. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and uneven. “When I was thirteen, my father died and Edward took his place as baron. Being a baron demanded a lot more of his time than I was able to understand at thirteen. My entire life, he'd been there. Taking me on wild adventures down the creek or racing horses in the pasture. He always answered any question I could possibly think to ask.” A slim smile took his lips. “When I was ten and he sixteen, I asked why grapes tasted so good and raisins were horrid. He just smiled and said, 'God had to make some fruit so awful that when threatened to be made to eat it, you'd stay on your best behavior.'.
“But then, when Father died, it seemed that my closeness with Edward died right along with it. He made time for me, of course. But it wasn't every day of the summer like before, because he had a wealth of new responsibility to which he now had to attend. His answers to my questions went from being thought out and fun to clipped and rushed. We were both adapting to the changes that were filling our lives — his with new responsibility and mine, the awkwardness of becoming a young man — and I suddenly couldn't bring myself to ask the things I wanted to know. So when an opportunity to have my curiosity satisfied, without involving Edward, presented itself, I took it.”
Carolina had a feeling she already knew what he'd been curious about, but her curiosity demanded she ask, “What did you want to know about?”
“Ladies,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. “I know for those of your sex, interest in the opposite sex doesn't happen at such an early age, but for mine, it does; and I had no idea what to do or who to ask.”
Dread washed over her for the second time that day, sending every drop of her blood straight to her toes. She thought she knew him. She'd trusted him, not only with her body, but her heart, too. How could she have possibly been wrong?
Either oblivious to her distress or under the belief that if he confessed everything, his own conscience would be cleared, he continued. “Not long after Edward married Regina, one of my friends got a girl from a nearby tavern to agree to meet a little group of five of us out in a field south of the school one night.”
Carolina's stomach lurched, and that bile she'd swallowed earlier returned as horrible images of what she imagined he was about to tell her cycled through her mind.
“We all brought money to pay her, only things didn't go as planned.” He swallowed and took a deep breath. “She arrived as agreed, and we stared at her as if she were the most beautiful creature in existence—though to be blunt, she wasn't. But she was there and willing to give us the answers we sought but were afraid to ask our brothers.”
“And did she?” Carolina hated the way her voice wavered and her lip quivered.
“Not all of them.”
“Then… What happened?”
John gripped his knees with his palms and his jaw ticked. “We decided on an order. I was to be last.” His lips formed a thin line that made little white lines appear around his mouth. “She'd brought us each a pint of ale with her, and despite my not drinking a drop, in a matter of minutes after Matthew Finch began taking his turn, I was just as sick as Oliver Vine, who'd consumed his pint and mine as if it were water.
“I tried to hold an impassive face and convince myself nothing was wrong. She'd come willingly. Besides, it was her profession. This wasn't anything she hadn't done before. They weren't hurting her. In fact, she acted as if she enjoyed their enthusiasm. But no matter what I told myself as I tried to find anything else to look at to distract myself from what was going on, I couldn't quell my unease. Then, my turn came.”
Without thought or hesitation, Carolina reached her trembling hand to his. Though this was a story no new bride would love to hear, it seemed it was just as hard for him to tell as it was for her to hear.
He turned his hand over and wrapped his fingers around her hand, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I couldn't do it, Carolina.” His voice and her heart cracked simultaneously. “I couldn't shame her and my family that way. My brother didn't deserve to bear the shame for my actions. And, for as absurd as it might seem, considering she'd just entertained four of my friends, I didn't think that woman deserved to be shamed that way, either.”
“What of you?” She heard herself ask.
His cloudy blue eyes met hers. “For a boy of fourteen, it would seem that it was more shameful not to take my turn. My friends openly questioned my ability and taunted me as I helped her to her feet and gave her my shirt and breeches to replace the now filthy and torn garments she'd worn to meet us,” he said thickly. “I don't know what happened to her after that. I made sure she had all the money I'd carried with me and rode my horse back to Eton clad in only my smalls. That's when I was caught.”
“I see,” she said, commanding her numb fingers to squeeze his for reassurance. “You were sent home the next day?”
He nodded.
“Why didn't you explain your part?”
He shook his head. “It wouldn't have mattered. It wasn't that I was in trouble for hiring a prostitute, but for sneaking out.”
“Oh. And the other boys?”
“I didn't turn them in, if that's what you're wondering. But a few days after I'd been sent home, the story spread, and we were all called back to discuss the matter again,” he said almost off-handedly. “There wasn't an actual rule that said anything about what boys did in their personal time; however, the schoolmaster was a prig and took every excuse to send me home that he could.” He twisted his lips. “Not that I didn't sometimes deserve it. This particular incident wasn't the first time I'd gotten in trouble, but it was by far the worst and was never forgotten.
“And it seems six years later, it still hasn't been. That's why I can't go back, Carolina. The archbishop has somehow been informed of what happened that night, and he no longer believes I am fit to lead the lost souls of England to redemption.”
She gave a wobbly smile at his attempt at a jest. “Can you not explain to him the extent of your involvement and that you did the right thing?”
“It won't matter. According to Edward the story has circulated around London already. If I had a title like Edward or pursuing a profession in the military, this wouldn't matter, but likely the rumors and exaggerations will make it impossible to weather as a vicar.”
“But isn't that what the Bible is all about? Love, redemption and forgiveness?”
“Yes. And even if those who fill the pews each Sunday don't believe it, the Bible is also full of immoral sinners in need of those things. But so
metimes it's hard to see your own mistakes, when someone else's are so blatantly obvious. I think that's the archbishop's real motive. I might have been innocent that night, but nobody except those who were there knows that.” He gave his head a shake. “But it matters naught, because until some machine is invented that can wipe clean the mind of anyone who's ever heard the story, one version or another will always be remembered. This isn't one that goes away.”
“So what does all of this mean?”
“Besides that I cannot return to England and live the life of a respectable vicar?” he asked with a hint of his usual crooked smile.
She nodded.
“That depends on you, Carolina,” he said, the humor once again gone from his voice and face. “Since we are not legally married, you have a decision to make.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
John could barely hear his own words over the sound of his blood roaring in his ears. What would she say? Would she agree to marry him now that she knew the truth of his past, or would she not want to tether herself to a man who truly would live out the rest of his life in exile?
“May I ask you something?”
“I would have told you,” he blurted. “Perhaps when you were giving birth to our first child and were already angry with me. But I would have. There just wasn't a good time to tell you before we married.” He snorted. “I didn't even think I'd marry you until just hours before I did, and for some reason, our ride to the city didn't seem the most appropriate time. But I swear I would have told you.”
She pressed the tips of her delicate fingers to his lips to stop his sudden flow of immaterial explanations. “As charming as it is that you thought to tell me of this while I'm delivering our first child and not wanting to ruin our elopement with this, I hadn't planned to ask if or when you planned to tell me. I might be a bit... er... lively at times, but I'm not completely silly. This isn't one of those things you just blurt out. Even I understand that. But that wasn't my question, anyway. I already know you would have told me.”
He knit his brow. What else could she think to ask? Surely, she had to know by listening that he hadn't found enjoyment in what he’d seen. She should also understand now why he was so coarse with her the first time. A lump formed in his throat. He hadn't meant to hurt her; he just didn't know that he would.
“John?”
He started. “Sorry. I was...”
“Thinking of the same thing I was, I suppose,” she said with a telling blush. “It's all right, John. I couldn't possibly hold that against you. Besides, you certainly made up for it soon after.”
“Then what was it you wanted to ask me?”
“Why would you think I'd have changed my mind?”
His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. “I—I don't know,” he said at last. “I thought you might think less of me and decide I wasn't the man you wanted to spend your life with.”
“How could I possibly feel that way? You did the right thing.”
“But I didn't go out there intending to do the right thing. I went out there just as set on bedding her as my friends.”
She waved her hand through the air. “That may be. But I don't think you'd be the same man that you are today if you hadn't gone. And he's the one I love...”
John's heart soared, and elation at her admission of love cut off whatever else she was saying. She loved him. Of course, he already thought she might, but to her hear say it— “Wait. What did you just say?” he asked, as the words she'd said following her confession of love started filtering into his mind.
“I said that I don't understand why you'd think so little of me as to think I'd throw you over now that I know the truth.” That usual light in her eyes was gone now, replaced with a stony hardness he hadn't seen before. “Do you think so little of me that you believe I'd leave you now that your future is uncertain?”
He pressed his lips together. “No. But I wanted you to know that you have a choice. That you do not have to be condemned to be the wife of a depraved warehouse laborer, if you don't want it.”
She lowered her lashes and shook her head. “I know better than to think you're trying to talk me out of the commitment I made to you.”
John reached forward and tipped her chin up, so she couldn't look away unless she really tried. “It won't be easy, Carolina. There's a man I met in Boston who said he was looking for someone to start a church somewhere in New York. I refused him at the time, and I don't know if it's still available. But I'll go to Charleston tomorrow and send him a letter explaining the situation. If he doesn't see fit to hire me or doesn't need me, then all that's left is a mill, or warehouse, or some other equally laborious job. You do understand what that will mean, don't you?”
She nodded and threw her arms around him. “I don't need money, John. I just need you.”
John wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “You do know we won't be able to hire someone to help around the house or help you with the children?”
“I don't care about that. I don't want anyone raising my children, but me. And you, of course,” she added, almost as an afterthought.
“Well, I should hope so,” he added with a chuckle. He scattered kisses along her cheek on his way to her mouth. “We should probably get to sleep,” he murmured against her lips.
“Of course,” she murmured back, not taking her lips from his.
He pressed a chaste kiss on her lips. “I should go. Now that my chances of ministering to the lost souls of England have evaporated, I need to be more mindful of what I do while here in America, or we might have to leave this country as well to escape my tarnished reputation.”
She grinned at him. “You don't actually have to leave.”
“I think I do,” he said, desire thick in his voice. “A few more minutes in this room with a bed and your sultry smile, and I might be tempted to knowingly dishonor you.”
That brazen minx had the nerve to peer down at his lap. “Oh, I see.”
“Yes, and now you know why I must bid you a good night,” he said, brushing another kiss across her soft lips.
“You can stay if you want,” she said.
Honor and desire began a battle that would have no victor in his mind. He wanted to stay. They wouldn't do anything they hadn't already done. But still, he shouldn't. “Carolina, you know that I want to stay more than anything. But I can't. I can't share your bed again until we're properly married.”
“Sure you can,” she argued, reaching for something on her nightstand. She straightened, showing him a needle she held between her fingers.
Instinctively, he closed his legs together. “What exactly do you plan to do with that?”
She laughed in that carefree way she always did that made his innards flip. “Not what you're thinking.” She took to her feet and pulled back the coverlet. “Take off your boots and shirt and lie down.”
He stared at her. Was she cracked? “Carolina, I don't think this is a good idea.”
“If you'd prefer not to share my bed, I'm sure my mother's is comfortable.”
He scowled. “There's nothing wrong with the barn.”
“Are you saying you'd rather sleep with the animals than me?” she asked lifting her dark brows.
“No,” he said slowly, still eying the needle in her hand.
“Take 'em off,” she encouraged with a gesture to his feet.
He obliged, then removed his shirt and climbed into her bed. “Nothing will happen, Carolina.”
“Oh, something's about to happen,” she muttered, covering him with a sheet.
He shut his eyes and willed the vivid memories of the last time they were in a bed together to leave his mind. “What are you doing?” he demanded as her soft breasts pressed against his chest.
“Making a bundling bag,” she said as if that meant anything. She moved farther down his body, her soft body pressing against his and making him hard. “Hold still or I might prick you.”
He groaned at her unintended remi
nder of what he'd like to be doing with her tonight. “You must stop this madness.”
“Not until I'm done.”
“And what, pray tell, is it that you're doing?”
“Sewing the sheets together.”
He caught her eye. “And you think that will stop me?”
A slow smile spread her lips. “Yes. And if you get tempted, just remember, I'll be sleeping with the needle by my side.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Carolina wasn't sure who got less sleep: her or John. Between the two of them fidgeting or trying to get closer to the other and being stopped by the barrier she'd sewn between them, it was pure torture.
“This is ridiculous,” John said, attempting to tear the row of seams between them just as the first ray of sunshine filtered in through the window next to her bed.
Carolina laughed at his attempt to free himself from the bag she'd sewn him into, starting at the top of his left collarbone then going all the way around his body to stop at the right, sealing all of him except his neck in a pocket of sheets, just the way Marjorie had described.
“Carolina, please, have mercy on a man and come help me,” he said, scowling.
Carolina smiled and climbed on top of him. “I rather like you this way.”
“You mean, at your mercy,” he said, craning his neck just enough to give her a quick peck on her cheek. He looked so helpless trapped in his bag; it was adorable.
“Just so.” She bent to give him another quick kiss and was taken by surprise when two bare hands came up and took hold of her.
“Got you,” John growled, rolling her onto her back and showering her with kisses.
“You tricked me.”
“Just a preview of what life will be like as my wife,” he said between kisses.
“The kisses or the trick?” she asked, pretending to push him away.
He gently nipped her jaw. “Both.”
Good, because there was no way she'd want one without the other.
He nipped her again and she squealed.
“Shh.”
