by Liz Tyner
‘If you’d been born there, you might feel differently.’
‘I doubt that. The day in the shop, I thought him frightful. I couldn’t see that I was anything like him when I discovered what others said.’ Her eyes stayed on the cloth in her hands, but she didn’t see it. ‘I didn’t understand why she betrayed her vows with him.’
‘I think that question is one I could have answered. The attraction two people feel for each other can be so strong.’ He touched her chin and pulled her view to him. ‘Strong.’
‘Vows are vows.’ She needed to hear what he thought.
‘I agree. But to make errors is to be human.’
The carriage swerved as he spoke, jostling her, and helping fuel the anger inside her. He defended her mother. She wondered if he excused his future self from stepping outside his marriage vows. ‘Did you feel that way about your father?’
‘He was ill. He wasn’t himself. He was weakened.’
She challenged him with her eyes.
‘He was.’ He didn’t explain.
‘Everyone could say that. People have weaknesses of some sort.’ She closed her lips for a moment. ‘Except perhaps a certain duke. Who is so near perfect he has to step outside himself to see what others are like.’
‘You know I’m not perfect, Lily.’ He spoke from his heart, but then he gauged her reaction. ‘I learned French, Italian and the Greek you heard, but cannot carry a tune in any language.’
‘Well, an inability to sing is frightful,’ she said, using her hand to fan her face. ‘That certainly is a blot against you. It will probably cause you to be tossed from White’s instantly if the men find out.’
He shrugged. ‘I let everyone think I consider myself above it.’ He leaned sideways, his mouth close to her ear. ‘That is my true secret. When others talk of something I am totally lost about, or wish to do something that I don’t know how to do, I claim ducal responsibilities or take in a long breath, look bored and tell them to enjoy themselves.’
‘You fraud.’ She forced her smile away and completely forgot about the blacksmith for a moment.
‘No. Most others do the same.’ His whisper caused the tendrils of her hair to tickle her cheeks.
She reached out, palm flat against his coat and resting above his heart. She pushed, and he moved an inch.
‘So you are terribly imperfect.’
‘Shh... I can’t hear such talk. I cannot imagine myself not on a lofty perch. What if I might doubt my decisions in Parliament, or somehow misconstrue the needs for our future? That might become weighty. Besides, I’m certain I had all the answers only a few years ago.’
‘Before your father died?’
‘Yes. I thought he was perfection itself. But my father was ill. His mind. He would be confused. The coachman told us later that Father had stepped out of the club and, instead of going to the carriage, walked away from the club. The servant enquired when he realised Father was gone and someone recalled Father leaving on foot. The coachman went searching and found Father, confused, but so happy to see a familiar face.’
Thoughts blasted through her head so quickly she couldn’t sort them. No one had said his father was ill. No one. And he’d not acted ill when she’d seen him with his mistress. He’d not been himself, perhaps, but he’d been overwhelmed with the prospect of seeing the woman.
She remembered the last times she’d seen his father and knew she’d been unable to detect any change in him outwardly.
* * *
The carriage had travelled about half an hour when Edgeworth thumped the roof, alerting the driver to stop the vehicle.
Helping her alight, they walked to a small structure in the distance.
The blacksmith’s shop looked exactly as Lily remembered. A wooden building of no special shape, except the two doors in the front opened like a carriage house in order to keep the temperature from building beyond bearableness.
The ring of a hammer pounding steel reverberated, the rhythm steadier than most clocks.
When Lily and Edgeworth reached the clearing to his shop, she stopped. Edge caught her arm, guiding her forward.
She took in the whiffs of burning coals and clanging metals, not wanting to continue. Edgeworth touched her back, but his hand moved almost to the side of her waist, pulling her along with him.
Walking closer, she could see the blacksmith working in the forge, a sweat-soaked linen shirt draping his back.
The blacksmith stood tall, with permanently stooped shoulders. His forearms hadn’t withered with age, looking a match for any task. Using the tongs, he turned the short bar he held in the forge. The bar glowed red. He removed the bar from the heat. Placing it on the round part of the anvil, he beat the bar into a U shape with the hammer.
Then he left the metal, and the hammer, and pulled a cloth to his face, wiping it dry before tucking the rag back into the ties of his apron. Wet strands of spiked white hair stuck out and he didn’t fingercomb them back into place.
‘Mr Hart.’ Edge walked from the sun into the darkness around the forge.
The blacksmith looked their way. He took in Edge first and then Lily.
‘Miss Lily?’ he asked, his voice gentle.
She examined him, searching for familiarity. She found none. He was a stranger. The blood didn’t bind them at all. She favoured her mother. She’d always known that. But she’d expected some instant moment of—something. But she felt nothing for him.
He turned to the planks making the wall. ‘What I did was wrong.’ The back of his shirt moved with his efforts and he hung the tongs near the others of various lengths.
The blacksmith returned to his anvil. ‘I’ve always thought you a fine lady,’ he said. ‘I want you to know that above all. I felt bad for my part in what happened to you.’
‘I understand.’
‘Not completely,’ he said. ‘You’re not my daughter. You couldn’t be.’
The heat from the forge beat into her lungs. He watched her and she repeated his words in her mind, making sure she heard them.
‘But my mother—the stories.’
‘I spoke with her. Others saw her about. We laughed together. We jested. But we were never more than that. It could have been, but it wasn’t. We played at being unfaithful, but we never were.’ He made a fist and rested it on the anvil. ‘I may have thought to love her, but then when she told me a babe was on the way, I didn’t wish for that any more. She was married. Someone else’s wife. The child she carried wasn’t mine. The game wasn’t a game, but because we’d thought it a lark we’d hidden none of our laughter. None of our meetings.’
‘You were just...pretending?’ Her mouth opened. This pretending that affected her life.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he said. ‘I enjoyed her company. She enjoyed mine. I wasn’t married. Figured she could handle her side of things and I could handle mine. I was young then and didn’t see the harm—because I knew I would take it no further. She was married.’ He shrugged the words away, picking up his hammer and tapping the anvil to bring a reverberating ring.
‘The men around thought it and I didn’t argue. I boasted about how manly I was. But then a child was on the way and I realised too late—I realised it could hurt you and I had no more to do with it. None. So, I told my friends you weren’t my child. They laughed. Didn’t believe me. I looked like I was trying to deny my blood and I didn’t like that either.’
‘You’re not? You’re certain.’
His lips pressed into a line and his chin rose. ‘Your mother should have told you. She knows I can’t be.’
Lily had feared the despair or anger or remorse or joy her mother would have expressed if she’d asked about the newspaper story or the book.
‘We never spoke of it,’ Lily said. ‘When it was in the newspaper, I didn’t want to dwell on it. But when it
was printed in the book—people keep copies of books. How do I know if you’re telling the truth?’
‘No reason not to. But you cannot be my child. You cannot.’ He used a blackened fingernail to scrape at the anvil. ‘At this point, it wouldn’t matter to me much one way or the other. I have more reason to say you’re my daughter than not. I get a laugh on the rich man and a daughter who might feel obligation to me.’ He met her eyes. ‘But it’s not true. It cannot be. Plain as that.’
‘If my mother told you she was going to have me, then you spoke of such things. Who is my true father?’
‘The man who raised you. Hightower.’
‘Did he—? Does he know?’
‘Can’t speak for him.’ He again smoothed his hand across the anvil, a wistful smile flickering on his face. ‘Before you were born, your mother told me that your father was the only man she’d had in her life. She wasn’t happy in her vows, but she told me she’d kept them. I don’t know if she always did after that, but she did when visiting me.’ He rang the hammer down upon the anvil again, so close to his fingers she didn’t see how he missed.
‘Your mother.’ He took in a breath. ‘We were friendly and she caught my eye. She had a spirit that kept me laughing. She laughed so much. The happiest person I ever saw and full of spirit.’ His eyes turned wistful. ‘I didn’t love her—in the way people thought. But I loved her in my own way. I wanted her near for who she was and that was all. I wanted nothing more from her. When she told me about you, I distanced myself quickly.’
‘When she brought me here, you told us to get out and never come back.’
He nodded. ‘I’d married by then. My wife was dying. A little girl was standing in my shop and supposed to be mine. I couldn’t hurt my wife. I didn’t want you dragged into something you didn’t belong in. Time had passed on and bringing you to me was like putting a lie on top of the truth.’ He grasped the head of the hammer. ‘I couldn’t believe she did that.’
‘Thank you for letting me know.’
He nodded towards his house. ‘I told the woman I’m wed to now that you might be visiting. Told her the truth of it. She laughed. Says I deserved it.’
Chapter Nine
The silence that began the return trip was a different kind and his knee rested so near that the bumps in the road jostled her against him. She wondered if this was what it felt like to take every ride as a duchess. If she belonged in society... If she really had a place in it...
After a large move of the carriage springs, she noticed he watched her, an openness in his face she’d never caught before.
‘Can he be lying? He must be,’ she answered herself. ‘Making me think I’m legitimate, when I’m not.’
‘No gain for him in that now.’
‘He’s married and might want his wife to think better of him than he is.’
‘I doubt that. He talked with me about his wife.’ Edge reached out, touching her chin and guiding her face closer. He studied her. ‘You have no resemblance to him that I can see, other than you both have brown eyes.’
‘But some people hate to admit errors and lie when the truth is—’ She put her hand briefly on her cheek. ‘I always supposed I looked like him.’
He ran a finger over the top of her lips, touching the hairline scar she’d received from falling out of the tree after getting her kite caught.
‘I’m certain you look nothing like him.’ Humour tinged his words and he kissed her, the warmth cascading into her and evaporating her thoughts.
He pulled away. ‘To me, you look like no one else in the world. Just yourself.’ His fingertips ran over the planes of her face, exploring, even touching the tips of her lashes, making all her skin feel new.
Only she didn’t feel like herself. With Edge looking at her, and touching her, she was a duchess.
He kissed her, his arms cradling her so gently that she could sense his muscles more than feel them.
When he stopped, her mind slowly returned and stillness surrounded her. The carriage had parked. No more sounds of hooves.
‘Now you can put all the whispers behind you.’ Soft words spoken in a deep voice. ‘You have no reason not to go forward with your life.’
His words chilled away the peacefulness. She shook her head, answering even more quietly than he spoke. ‘I heard my mother and my father fighting. He said I was the blacksmith’s—child.’
The driver opened the door for them. Edge gave him a coin and waved him away. She couldn’t see the response of the other man, but the door closed, making a small snap.
She’d overheard the conversation between her mother and father and knew of the tales. She didn’t remember a single moment of discovery, but had always known the stories. Perhaps it was her father’s mother who’d mentioned it in her presence when she was small. Certainly the woman had despised her son’s wife.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ His voice lacked emotion.
‘It matters the world to me,’ she said. She tapped the tip of her finger at her chest. ‘All my life I’ve believed that the man who raised me did so out of compassion, or pity or something. I was the little bird that didn’t belong in the nest, but he kept me anyway. The whole town believes that. Everyone. What if the lie I lived wasn’t that I didn’t warrant the Hightower name, but that I did? Another moment when my mother had a laugh on us. Everyone thought my father good, or foolish for having me about. Only Mother knowing I was his daughter and letting everyone believe the lie.’
‘A child born within a marriage is the responsibility of the husband.’
‘Correct. I was the responsibility. Not the daughter.’
But she didn’t know for certain. Even if Mr Hart had never touched her mother, it didn’t exactly prove her as being her father’s.
She put a hand to her face, feeling the need to hide her thoughts from Edge.
He could never understand. She didn’t. Every day she’d reminded herself that it didn’t make a difference. She was her own person and nothing else signified. Her life was no different than if she’d been born legitimate—that was what she’d told herself while growing up. Over and over she’d told herself it didn’t matter.
He leaned forward. ‘Lily, let it drop now. Mr Hart knew your mother at the time of your birth and he believes you to be born completely within marriage. You should be pleased.’
She shook her head. ‘No. I can’t let it drop. Granted, it’s best to be a child of marriage. But why should I believe him? He can say that easily enough. Pretend innocence. Or he could be doing it out of a kind thought, trying to protect my mother.’
‘Then forget it all. Leave it a question in your life, but not one you ask yourself.’
‘That’s like telling me to forget I have arms and legs. First the newspaper mentioned it as if it were no consequence and then years later the story appeared in the Swift book that my mother was unfaithful to my father and I resulted from her infidelity. Those words can never be erased.’
‘You only need to remove them from your mind.’
She reached across, putting her hand over his. ‘Whenever I visited someone after the publication, I wondered if somewhere in the house a copy of the book rested. I accepted it. After all, I was different. I was Abigail’s half-sister, not whole. She was the true child and I wasn’t. My parents should not have caused such a thing.’ She thought of the blacksmith. ‘Mr Hart knows he wronged me, too. He understands. Because all along he knew that a child wasn’t his, yet the world said it and he let them.’
‘Perhaps you should be angry at the world, then.’
‘Perhaps I am. But, I don’t feel angry. Particularly.’
‘Lily.’ He took her by the shoulders. ‘You can’t go back and change the past. I can’t remove the scars on my legs. You can’t remove the scars in your life.’
So easy fo
r him. No one saw his scars. They were hidden. And the ones that were caused by the newspaper article concerning his father, no one would dare approach him about it.
‘What others did has no bearing on who you are.’ His voice barely carried to her ears.
‘It’s what I believed that had meaning. Has meaning.’ She looked at the carriage top, shaking her head.
‘Don’t care about it. Accept whatever you wish. Mark it as a day on the calendar and move on.’
‘You have spent every day of your life on the pedestal of society’s eyes. Every day.’
‘Not the moments in the tavern.’
‘You could enter the life in the tavern and exit back into a carriage with a crest on the side. You’ve always been able to ride in a carriage with a gilded symbol showing the world you’re one of the few. For every second of your life you’ve known you are important.’
‘I’ve known I was important because of my birth. Not because of anything I did. And now I am ready to change that. I can. I can work to improve the lives of others. But I only have a short span in which to work. My injuries this year showed me that. Third time I might not be so fortunate.’
‘My role has been to be Abigail’s sister and I was determined to protect her from the things I overheard from Mother’s friends. I watched over her as close as the governess and the governess could do as she wished most of the time, because I couldn’t risk anything happening to the one person who looked up to me.’ She’d never realised it before. Abigail took Lily exactly as she was.
‘You can think of yourself now. And your future.’
‘Yes, I can.’ She examined her fingers. ‘Abigail will be marrying soon and starting a new life. Father prefers solitude. Mother is away. I’ll be comfortable at home.’ She raised her head. ‘Mother said it was my fault. My fault my parents argued. She said her life would have been so much better if I’d not been born.’
She could have slapped him many times over and not seen the steel return to his eyes so quickly.
‘You have very solid reasons not to marry.’ He picked up her handkerchief that had somehow settled on the floor of the carriage.
