by Hahn, Jan
“Surely he was not serious about your becoming the proprietor of saloons! Henry, you are far too young to even think of such a thing.”
“I know. Do not distress yourself. Naturally, I refused, but I must admit the idea appealed to me.”
When I rolled my eyes, he took my hand and entreated me to sit beside him. “Morgan told me he asked you to come with him when he sailed for America.”
I was astounded! How could the man reveal such a thing to my son? Neither Fitzwilliam nor I had ever told our children of the highwaymen or the kidnapping that had transpired so long ago. I do not know why — it just never seemed appropriate in light of the life we had made together.
“Mum,” Henry said, “do you ever have second thoughts? Have you ever longed, in the deepest part of your soul, for a more exciting life than Father has given you buried away here in Derbyshire?”
“Henry, listen to me. I have never considered myself buried away by any means. Your father and I have travelled to Paris, Vienna, Frankfurt, and to Florence several times. If I asked him today, he would take me anywhere I wish to go. I have no desire to leave this place. How can I make you understand? This is the life I chose, and it fills me with a joy that cannot be replaced by travel to faraway lands.”
He smiled and raised my hand to his lips. “Have it your way. I will not trouble you further. Will you admit, however, that you did have a choice? You could have picked Morgan instead of Father?”
I shook my head. “No, my son, there was never any choice.”
I looked up and watched Fitzwilliam lead our daughter around on the new chestnut mare, his curls still falling over his forehead in that same enchanting manner they had all those years before.
“Your father won my heart a long time ago. No other man ever had a chance.”
Epilogue
And now, my children, with these final strokes of my pen, I conclude my story. I have written it down for each of you: Will, Edward, Henry and Beth.
I shall hide it away at the bottom of this deep, old chest that contains memories I hold dear — letters from your father, brief though they may be, your baptismal certificates, the garnet cross my own father gave me when I was a girl, the first red rose I cut from Pemberley’s garden, now faded and pressed, along with various mementos of your childhood and the years of my marriage.
Someday long after I am gone, it is my hope that one or more of you, or your children, or perchance even your grandchildren may happen upon this old trunk stored in the attic at Pemberley. I trust that someone will possess enough curiosity to dig deep enough to find this little book.
It tells of a journey that took place when I was young, a journey that changed my life and that of your father, a journey I began as a girl and ended as a woman.
Table of Contents
The Journey epub
The Journey epub-1
The Journey epub-2
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