by Nancy Butler
Romulus made a feeble attempt to forestall her. “I need nothing.”
She waved away his protest with an impatient flick of her fingers, “You need to hear this now,” she said intently. “You need something to jolt you back into life. I’m telling you not only for your sake, but also because I cannot bear to watch that sweet creature who loves you lose bits of her soul a day at a time.” She stopped and drew a breath. “Romulus, I am your mother.”
There was a long, strained silence in the chamber.
“My mother?” Romulus echoed in a ragged whisper. He felt as though his heart had stopped beating. His breath was trapped in his lungs, like that of a man who has stayed too long underwater. Disbelief and anger at her startling admission warred immediately in his heart with hope and incoherent relief.
Lady Hamish reached out and cupped the side of his cheek. He felt it twitch beneath her palm.
“Don’t look at me so, my dearest Romulus. It breaks my heart.”
“I have no mother,” he said tersely, pulling back from her touch. Disbelief and anger had come to the fore. “She left me as a babe, in Rome, Jaunted off without so much as a backward glance.”
“Yes, I left you,” she said, regret lacing her voice, even after so many years. “But only because another sort of duty called me away.”
“I don’t want to hear this.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“But you shall. You must. Your father and I had gone to Rome, so that we could be together. For the three years we lived there, we were happier than any two mortals had a right to be, especially after you were born. Then my father’s health began to fail; he pleaded with me to come home, to help with the running of the estate. But your father, Jeremy, would not come with me. He feared there would be a scandal, and that it would kill my father if he found out.”
“What—that you had born a bastard to a commoner?” he asked, not caring how harsh his words sounded.
Lady Hamish smiled wanly. “No, that I had married the man I loved, however below my station, and had a child with him.”
“Married?”
She smoothed out the creased, yellowed sheet on her knee before she handed it to him. Rom’s eyes widened as he read the words on the faded marriage license.
“Jeremiah Perrin was my husband, Romulus. You are my son, my legal son.” She waited a moment for the meaning of her words to sink in. “And it distressed me beyond words to leave you. But it was only to be for a time, until my father recovered and I could return to Rome. But Papa’s illness grew worse—he suffered for four years. I stayed on and nursed him—as you nursed Jeremy while he was dying.”
Romulus nodded brusquely. His eyes were shuttered from the woman who sat opposite him.
“After Papa died, I wrote to your father, begging him to come to England, to bring you home to me. I had taken up the reins of Hamish House while my father was ill, and I knew I had an obligation to the people who lived here which made it impossible for me to return to Rome. But Jeremy refused to come back. He was a proud man, Romulus—perhaps too proud—and he had no use for my wealth or my title. He wanted you to be raised as he had been, to work for a living, not to become an idle society sprig. Jeremy said that he wouldn’t take his place at my side in England, that he loved me too much to see me made a byword in the ton. And he declared he wouldn’t have our child torn between two worlds, that you were content living as a river warden’s son. I saw the wisdom of that…though you might not see it.”
“I was still made to live in two worlds!” The words erupted out of him as his voice rose plaintively. “I was the son of a laborer, a man of indifferent education and few refinements. And yet I was given tutors and sent off to university. What was I to make of that? Which path was I to follow, madam?”
Her head had lowered at his words. “Your father wanted you to learn what he believed were the true values in life—industry, not idleness. Compassion, not indifference. He wrote to me a month before he died to tell me that you had become everything he desired. A worthy child, he called you. Our worthy child. He wanted you to be educated, Rom, not to place you between two worlds, but so that you would have the advantages of knowledge and wisdom to aid you in life.”
Romulus stirred restlessly. “Now I know where the money for my education came from.”
Lady Hamish sighed. “I was more than willing to support you both, but Jeremy would only accept enough money to ensure your future.”
“My future?” he echoed harshly. “What sort of future can I have now, when everything in my past has been a lie? My father lied, letting me think you had abandoned me. You lied, using false friendship to keep me close to you, just so you could ease your own conscience. And Diana lied; over and over she lied to me.”
She reached for his hand. “Sometimes loving a person makes lying unavoidable. Just as you are lying to Diana, telling her that you no longer love her so that she will go away and not see you in such pain.”
“It’s not a lie,” he hissed. “It was a foolish mistake, what I felt for her.”
“Why, because you believe she is so far above you?”
“No,” he snarled. “Because she represents everything my father taught me to mistrust.” His voice lowered and grew distant. “While I was at school, I shunned the company of the other students, because they too were of a class I had been warned to avoid.” He turned to her. “How could my father have loved you, Lady Hamish, when he disliked the gentry so intensely?”
She shook her head slowly. “I never knew the answer to that. He loved me for years before he declared himself. He was my father’s bailiff and lived on the island—he built that lodge, you know. I haunted him every day, from the time I was seventeen, pestering him about the birds and the river. I must say, your Miss Exeley is a deal more expedient than I was. She won a declaration from you in less than a week.”
“I have told you,” he stated curtly. “Miss Exeley is no longer an issue.”
“Oh, bosh!” she said, sounding exactly like the expedient Miss Exeley. “You and I both know you are in love with her. And I couldn’t be more pleased. She is a rare and wonderful girl.”
Romulus finished off his drink and then set the glass down with a dull clink. “You think this revelation will somehow change things? That I will fall weeping into your arms and have my soul cleansed?”
Lady Hamish surprised him by laughing outright. “Dear Lord, you are so like your father sometimes. He could be the most lugubrious old thing. And no, I don’t expect you to fall weeping into my arms. I expect we will go on as we have done, which is to say, we will be good friends to each other. But I think it is time I acknowledged you. I have longed to name you my son before the whole world. It is you, Romulus, who shall have the running of Hamish House and not my lamentable nephew.”
Rom’s eyes grew even darker. “I would never ask you for such a thing.”
“I would give it to you, though. Your proud, stubborn father made me swear that I would not leave the property to you—so that you would never be corrupted by wealth. And I thought myself still bound by that promise. But I see now that he was wrong. You needn’t dwell between two worlds any longer, Romulus. This house is your birthright, as much as the honor and integrity your father bequeathed to you.”
“And what of Beveril?” he asked, turning his gaze to her. “He loves me little enough as it is.”
She fisted her hands in her lap. “Beveril has forfeited any claims on me. Were he a better man, I might forgive him his actions against you. But he has proven himself unworthy of any consideration.”
“He saw me as a threat, Lady Hamish—rightly so, it now appears. You might temper your harsh judgment a bit, when you reflect on that.”
“Still turning the other cheek? Lud, there’s more charity in you than I’d have been able to muster. But if you feel pity for Beveril, then it will be in your power to aid him—if you accept your birthright.”
Rom’s face was unmoving except for a tic that fluttered under
one eye. “The birthright my father disdained? What use is it to me now? It will not change the past, my past.” His voice grew ragged as his eyes bored into hers. “Why did you let my father prevail, madam? Why didn’t you insist on keeping me with you?”
She took a moment to answer. It was a question she had asked herself countless times over the past twenty-five years. “I was very indulged as a child, Romulus. Raised to be prideful and arrogant. My younger sister was much the same, and you can see how her nature has been reflected in her son. Until I met your father, I doubt I gave a thought to anyone’s comfort but my own. I tried to change for him, to become more…selfless. I tried even harder once you were born. But then I was called home to England. I was torn, Romulus. So torn that you cannot comprehend how I suffered. But your father assured me we would be together soon. And so I left Rome believing I would be separated from those I loved for only a short time.
“But by the time Papa died, I alone was overseeing Hamish House. And I wanted to continue on in that role. It was my duty—a noble duty, I reasoned. But Jeremy said he wouldn’t be my consort, lording it over other mortals, and that if I wanted to see you, I had to give up my life here. I almost hated him then, for being so unbending. But I knew his nature was strong, where mine was weak, and so I did not fight to get you back. He was the parent you needed, the one who would invest you with his strength and his compassion.”
“Was it compassionate to keep a child from his mother? I think it was bloody pride. He gave me a rare dose of that, as well as his other qualities.”
Tears glittered on her lashes. “Then I must ask your forgiveness. For letting logic set my course, rather than listening to my own heart. But heed me, Romulus—every day of my life since I received Jeremy’s letter telling me he would not be returning to England, I have strived to become the sort of woman who would deserve her son’s love. I have practiced charity and philanthropy wherever I found people in need. I did change my nature, but by then you were both only distant memories.”
Romulus whispered gruffly, “Perhaps it was best left as a memory, Lady Hamish.”
She rose slowly and set her drink down. “I don’t expect a miracle, Romulus. I know there are dark things inside you that no one else can grapple with. I only wanted you to know that I am here for you, that I love you and always have. And that you have a home at Hamish House, for all time. Your father had his own demons, you can be sure. But when he was with me, when we were together, there was a light in that dark place. Even when we were no longer together, I knew from his letters that the light remained.”
He gazed up at her thoughtfully. “I always thought it odd that he never seemed angry, as I did, at the loss of my mother…. But perhaps he never did lose you.”
“No,” she said, letting her hand drift to his marked face. “And I never lost him. Not as long as you were in the world.” Her hand clasped his shoulder then, her fingers firm and compelling. “Don’t turn your back on the world now, my dearest boy. Don’t flee away from love and from light.”
Romulus rose and started to move away. He needed time to sort things out. His universe had shifted and he felt himself teetering above some uncharted abyss. No, not an abyss, he realized suddenly, but a shimmering valley that offered peace and reconciliation. His soul twisted about inside him, trying desperately to flee the coils of guilt and pain that held him captive.
He turned back with a wrenching cry, reaching for her, for this woman whose benevolence he had never understood…until now. He wrapped his arms around her, needing the comfort, needing the healing contact. And as she welcomed him gladly into her arms, he knew that she needed it as well.
For twenty-five years they had dwelled apart, all because of one man’s stubborn pride.
Something broke inside him, shattered into a million tiny pieces, His own false pride, his needless guilt, all his wretched fears. All he could feel at that moment was a blinding joy.
“M-mother,” he stuttered. “I still cannot believe it.”
“Believe it,” she said, reaching up to kiss his brow.
He leaned into the warmth of her cheek. “Yes…yes, I must believe it. God, it feels so utterly right.”
She pulled back from him, her hands sliding to his wrists. “There is still doubt in your eyes, Romulus.”
He nodded slowly. “I am still afraid, Mother. I have found you, it is true, and it is a blessing I never expected in my lifetime. But what of Allegra? I have nothing to offer but this broken, empty husk.”
“Foolish boy,” she said tenderly. “There is a great deal you have to offer her. Your strength and your kindness. And your courage—you are so very brave, Romulus, if you only knew it. But that is the way with honorable men. They, more than any, think themselves lacking.” She smiled. “I once told your father that if he’d lived two thousand years ago, they’d have made him a blasted prophet. He was well named Jeremiah.”
Romulus almost grinned. In truth, his father had had the air of a Biblical holy man—pious, outspoken, unyielding in his convictions—and yet brimming with goodness and full of concern for everything in his care. Including his son. He had loved this woman, enough to marry her and give her a child, but not enough to forego his own bitter prejudice and remain at her side.
He regarded his mother now with open affection. He saw in her face a distinct echo of his own features. The shape of the eyes, the wide mouth, the jutting cut of nose and chin.
“Speaking of names,” he said, “I’ve always wondered how I came to be called Romulus? It’s an odd name, surely, for two English people to choose.”
Her eyes danced. “Your father would have agreed with you. He wanted to call you Tom. But I wanted you to have a grand name, a bold name. The name of someone who would do great things with his life. And you have, my son. Very great things. And if you can manage to hold on to that remarkable young woman, I don’t doubt you will continue on that path. She has never stopped believing in you.”
“I know,” he said ruefully. “And I’ve cursed her for it. Not that it ever does any good, where Allegra’s concerned.” He drew his hands wearily over his face. “I have a great deal to answer for.”
Lady Hamish cocked her head. “Ah, now, don’t start adding her to your list of guilty woes. She knows what she’s about, that one. I let your father’s stubborn convictions draw us apart, fool that I was. But your Allegra would brave anything, I think, to stay with you. Even your not inconsiderable temper.”
Romulus nodded as his eyes brightened. Once his head stopped spinning, he could decide what course to follow, but whatever his future held, he knew it would include Allegra.
“I’d rather you didn’t reveal any of this to her, just yet,” he said. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be lord of the manor. Keeper of the swans was hard enough work.”
“Oh, but people are so much easier to manage than swans,” Lady Hamish remarked sagely. “Your father should have taught you that.”
She left him then, after seeing him tucked into his bed.
“Like a damned sprat,” he observed to the cygnet.
Remus, who had slept through all of Lady Hamish’s startling revelations, heard his voice and came lurching over to the bed looking for attention. Romulus lifted him onto the comforter. “You shouldn’t be able to walk,” he said, flicking the leather boot with one finger. “And you certainly shouldn’t be able to swim.”
But apparently, some things that looked to be beyond all mending managed to heal. And if they didn’t he reckoned, then you just damn well had to make the best of them.
Romulus fell asleep with the baby swan tucked under his chin.
Chapter 14
In a storybook, the next day would have dawned bright and fair. But this was England, after all. A fierce wind had come up and, though the wind had not brought rain with it, the sky had turned a sour gray-green and a tattered cloud mass hung low over the whole district.
Diana came into Rom’s room as usual, carrying his breakfast tray. He sat, as
usual, in his chair near the window and did not look at her. She set the tray upon his lap, turned away, and was almost to the door, when he called out, “Allegra.”
Her eyes lit up. So, she was no longer Miss Exeley. She turned slowly. “Yes?”
“Would you keep me company while I have my breakfast?”
She moved cautiously back to his chair. He was gazing at her with open adoration.
She frowned. “I think you must be feverish,” she pronounced dubiously. “Your eyes are smiling at me.”
He grinned crookedly. “And my mouth, as well.”
Then a spasm twisted his cheek upward. His eyes hardened in dismay as he raised one hand to cover his face. “No,” he said, as if to himself, “it’s nothing.”
“Indeed, it is nothing,” Diana exclaimed softly, as she sank to her knees at his feet and drew his hand down. “It is the merest nothing. Less and less each day.”
His face relaxed then, and the anxious expression in the golden eyes softened.
“But what of here?” she asked, venturing all, as she placed one hand over his heart. “What of the emptiness here?”
“My heart is full, Allegra. More and more each day. Ah, don’t cry, my witch. Haven’t you cried enough over me? No more now, I say.”
She was in his arms then, his breakfast tray pushed hastily to the floor, where Remus was delighted to cannibalize three poached eggs.
“Why?” she entreated him, holding him away, her hands at his shoulders. “Why have you suddenly stopped snarling at me? And more to the point, how can I be sure you won’t start up again? Too much starch in your pillowcase…too much pepper in your soup. Anything could set you off.”
“Only one thing will set me off,” he murmured, his lips against her hair. “If you ever leave me. I would bind you to me, Allegra, for all time, if that were possible.”
