He looked up, and his face changed to a new expression she couldn’t read. Their gazes held as he moved toward her. The baby began to whimper. She stretched out her arms expectantly, smiling, feeling lit up with gladness. An odd moment passed. Her smile wavered. She felt a chilly frisson of fear—just before he bent, placed the infant in her hands, and stepped away.
She forgot her anxiety immediately, forgot everything but the extraordinary feel of her baby in her arms. “Look at him, Dev. Oh, look at him.” She adored him. “He has your hair. My chin, I think. I don’t know whose nose this is, but isn’t it wonderful?” She touched the baby’s nose with a fingertip, enchanted, then pulled the furs away to uncover her breasts. “He’s already hungry again. There, baby. Yes, sweetheart. Look how he knows exactly what to do. It’s so …” Words failed her. She closed her eyes, lulled by the soft tug of Charlie’s mouth at her nipple. This tiny human being had lived inside her for nine months, and now she was feeding him with her own body. Incredible! It was all too much, too splendid; she felt overwhelmed by the miraculous perfection of everything in creation.
Charlie fell asleep with his mouth open, little fists clenched on either side of his face. “Sweet baby,” Lily crooned, kissing him. He squeezed his eyes tight, smacked his lips, and fell into a deeper sleep. She arranged him with great care in the crook of her arm, softly tucking the covers under his chin.
“The tide’s running out.”
She glanced up. Devon had stepped back from the warm circle of lamplight; she could barely see him, a tall shadow against the deeper blackness behind him. “What time is it, do you think?”
“Early.”
“Come closer, Dev, I can’t see you.”
“They must have looked for us all night; I saw lanterns just before dawn, above the cliff. I’m going up now, Lily. Will you be all right for a little while by yourself?”
She nodded, frowning into the murk.
“But I have to tell you something first,” he said.
She wanted to touch him, but he seemed so closed up, so far away. “I can’t see you,” she said again. He hesitated, then stepped into the light. She patted the side of her fur mattress invitingly. After another odd pause, he moved closer and finally sat down beside her. She felt so full of joy and relief and quiet happiness that his gravity bewildered her.
“I’ve made a decision,” he said.
A reflex made her tighten her arm around the baby. Heat rushed to her face. “About Charlie?” He frowned, and she said quickly, “I named him that months ago. It was my father’s name.”
His eyes lit up briefly; he eked out a faint smile. “It’s a good name. I wish I had known your father.”
Resolving to think about that later, Lily forced herself to ask, “What is the decision you’ve made?” Dread returned in a flash, anger too, when he didn’t answer right away. How cruel to tell her this now, when she was too weak to fight him, too—
“I’ve wronged you, Lily. From the first day we met. You were right about me—I set out to seduce you from the beginning, with no thought for the consequences or the harm it might do. You gave me—everything, and in return I offered you money. Later, I refined it to a living.”
“I made that choice,” she corrected softly. “You didn’t force me into anything I didn’t want to do.’”
“That’s not true. But we both know that’s not the worst.” He girded himself to say it. “I thought you had hurt Clay—tried to kill him for money. I believed it. It’s astonishing to me now; inconceivable. Abominable. I came so close to hurting you—physically hurting you.” His face took on a haggard look, but he went on doggedly. “I tricked you on the eve of your wedding to a decent man. I used you in the basest possible way. I made sure that you were publicly humiliated, and then I abandoned you. I walked away and left you to face whatever would come, knowing it would be hard, something—”
He stopped. Lily had begun to cry. He couldn’t look at her now, but he had to finish the harrowing list. “If Dr. Marsh hadn’t explained it to me, I would not have looked for you. I’d have left you to your fate. You’d have perished with Gabriel on the moor.” He turned away, spoke to the shadows. “Lily, I find … I find that I must make amends.”
Her eyes swam; she used her wrists to wipe them. “What do you mean, Dev?”
“I have something now that can make up for what I’ve done.” His low voice deepened. “This child. I give him to you. He’s yours. Go wherever you like, I won’t stop you. You’re safe from me. I swear it.”
She was pressing her hand to her throat. He took her silence for agreement; but a moment later he found he had to know for certain. “Is the debt paid, Lily? Is it enough?”
She couldn’t speak; she could only nod, and finally whisper, “Yes, it’s enough.”
“Good.” He stood up. “Then it’s done,” he said with hoarse finality. His glance flickered over her breast to the baby sleeping at her side. He tried to smile. “It’ll be all right, Lily, for you,” he told her softly. “I’ve come to think we get what we deserve in this world.” Then he turned around, stiff-limbed, and disappeared into the darkness.
Quiet drifted back in the wake of his heavy footfalls. The sea was only a fitful whisper, distantly echoing the baby’s soft, shallow breathing. Lily’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow, scouring the cave walls for purchase, for stability. She moved her legs, restless; a pounding in her skull throbbed in time with her slow, erratic heartbeat. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, fighting against a feeling of lightness, a dark, older, unenlightened justice that said, Yes, this is equal, this loss Devon feels is as deep as my loss was, and it’s fair. We are even.
Be gentle, Lily. Forgive the one who hurt you so bad.
In the deep stillness, the high, quavery voice was as clear to her as if Meraud were in the cave, sitting beside her. She could almost see her old friend, puffing on her pipe, leathery cheeks billowing, blinking into a pungent peat fire.
Soften your heart, child.
But he hurt me so much, she countered in self-defense. He believed the worst of me, Meraud. All the things he said just now—
Let go o’ your pride, lamb. What good is being right if you’re alone?
Charlie drew a deep breath; for a few seconds his whole body quivered. Then he subsided peacefully and relaxed against her. She loved him completely, absolutely. She would die for him without a second’s hesitation. Did Devon feel the same? She did not doubt it.
This child’s a gift. He makes a circle, Lily.
A circle. Yes. She and Devon and Charlie were a circle. She saw that anger and the darkness of betrayal had shackled her to her sick intransigence. Once, her body had known better and defied her, in Devon’s arms. Afterward, when she’d thought he’d betrayed her again, she felt ashamed. Now her very shame humbled her. And he had given Charlie to her—given him to her. His most precious gift. Lily’s heart turned over and she forgave. He loved; she loved. The past was over. She was his, and so was this child.
She was smiling through the tears, but a yawn overtook her. She was so tired. How could she stay awake until he returned? But she had so much to tell him! She gave Charlie’s soft temple a kiss and focused her gaze on the darkest of the cave shadows, the place where Devon had disappeared, willing herself to stay alert and to wait.
But a minute later her lids drooped. Her last thought was that she hoped he would bring her something to eat, because she was starving. Then she fell asleep. Still smiling.
“She’s coming! She’ll be right down.” Alice floated out onto the terrace in a gown of powder blue muslin, silk slippers, and a beribboned straw bonnet—her bridesmaid’s regalia. “She said she had one more thing to do and then she’d come.”
Reaction to the news that the bride would be late was mixed. Clay shrugged and motioned for Alice to come and join him on the settee. Elizabeth went back to cooing nonsense to the infant in her arms. Francis Morgan squared his shoulders and made a stronger effort to engage the groom in
light conversation. Reverend Hattie said, “Hmpf.” Devon broke a recent promise to his mother and started pacing again.
Everyone said it was a fine day for a wedding. The cerulean sea matched the sky and the noonday sun shone high and bright, as warm as a kiss. Flowers draped and garlanded and crowded the terrace with tiers of heady balsam and tamarisk, purple fuchsias in hanging baskets, fragrant myrtle in great clay pots, geraniums and campions, foxgloves from Devonshire, Falmouth orchids and hydrangeas and sweet-smelling camellias. The men observed that there was hardly enough room for the people; the women nodded and smiled, feeling complimented.
“So, Dev.”
The groom stopped pacing. “So. Francis.”
“Where are you two going on your honeymoon?”
Devon brightened. “Penzance, just for a night or two. Lily’s never been there.”
“So short a time?”
“We can’t leave Charlie with the wet-nurse for longer than a few days.” He smiled. “We’d miss him too much.” Francis smiled back. Devon studied him casually. Two weeks ago Clay had remembered why he couldn’t stand Francis. He cheated at cards. Or he had, one night at Poltrane’s back in ‘92. Clay had a long memory.
“Will you take a real honeymoon later, then?” Francis wanted to know.
“Yes, when Charlie’s older. Greece or Italy, we think.” Lily was all for Italy, Devon for Greece. He regretted telling her that he’d heard the Peloponnesus looked like Cornwall; now she mocked him, claiming that was his only reason for wanting to go there. Of course it wasn’t; it was just his main one.
Reverend Hattie, a tall, lantern-jawed gentleman in a black bagwig, said, “Hmpf,” again. Devon sent his mother a look; she caught it, approached the minister, and set out to divert him. Reverend Hattie was a kind soul, but he was from the old school: he didn’t appreciate the charm in the attendance of the happy couple’s month-old son at the marriage ceremony. In good conscience, he couldn’t condone it; and yet his presence seemed to bless it. The reverend was in a quandary.
Devon unknowingly deserted Francis in the middle of a sentence and set out on a new round of pacing. What could Lily be doing? He glanced at the house. Two round-eyed faces stared back at him from the library window. Seeing him watching, they disappeared at once behind the draperies.
He took the wide terrace steps two at a time and strode into the house. “Galen!” he called to his stableman, who was rushing out of the room, pulling Lowdy behind him.
They stopped and turned around, guilty-faced. “We was watchin’, like,” MacLeaf confessed. His gap-toothed grin was charming.
“Well, hell, man, come outside and watch.”
“Oh! Well now, edn that—”
“Lowdy, where’s Lily?”
“She’m gone to the stables, sir.”
“The stables? What on earth for?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“Well, go and get her. Hurry!”
Lowdy dropped a hasty curtsey and ran out.
Devon went back outside.
“Sit down, why don’t you? Relax. Have some punch.” Clay toasted him with his glass, grinning at him. “Think she’s run off? Got cold feet at the last second?”
Devon ignored him and checked his watch. Twelve-forty.
“Maybe she got a look at that waistcoat,” Clay theorized. Alice giggled, which only egged him on. “It’s hit her that she can’t possibly go through life with a man who would wear such a thing to his own wedding.”
Devon looked down at his vest. “What’s wrong with it?” But he had to smile, too. Crimson brocade wasn’t quite his style; he’d chosen it to brighten up the somber black of his dress coat and breeches. Lily hadn’t seen it yet; he had an idea it would make her laugh. He hoped it would. Where was she?
“I don’t know why you’re nervous,” Clay continued, enjoying himself. Today was his first day out of bed and he was full of high spirits. “It’s not as if you two don’t kn-know each other pretty well already.” He wriggled his eyebrows in a suggestive leer; Alice tsked a reprimand, but then spoiled the stern effect by giggling again.
“I’m going to remember this,” Devon promised grimly, “next September when you two get married. Just wait.”
Clay and Alice laughed delightedly, Clay holding his side; they were at that stage of infatuation when anything remotely amusing seems, in each other’s company, hilarious.
Devon shook his head at them, suppressing a laugh of his own. But where was Lily? This had gone on too long—perhaps something was truly amiss.
Elizabeth sat down, abandoning the reverend, the better to make clown faces at her grandson. Her little dog, Midge, looked put out. Devon walked over to Elizabeth and asked, “How’s Charlie?”
“Lovely. But he might be wet.”
“Here, I’ll take him.” She handed the baby over reluctantly. Devon smiled down at his son, feeling the usual swell of pride and joy. Charlie’s mother had made him a wedding gown of lemon-yellow flannel, with blue embroidery at the collar as delicate as fine penciling.
Where was she?
“I’m going after her,” he decided suddenly.
“But, Dev—”
“I’m going.” He turned and went around house, arms full of Charlie, and headed for the stables.
He found her with Lowdy in the middle of the hard-packed yard, standing still. The two women had their full-skirted backs to him; he couldn’t imagine what they were doing. They heard him and turned, and he saw Gabriel between them, sitting back on his haunches, tongue lolling.
Lily beamed, then her face turned apologetic. “I’m sorry—I’m holding up everything, aren’t I?”
“It’s all right.” He gave the baby to Lowdy, then reached for Lily’s hand and kissed it. “You look beautiful.” He’d never seen her rose-colored gown of silk damask, elegantly simple, with silver lace tumbling at the sleeves and the low bodice. She was wearing her heavy hair swept up in a pretty French twist. Her tall, graceful figure wasn’t a bit less desirable for being temporarily more matronly.
“You look beautiful too,” she returned, gray-green eyes twinkling, and he stood up taller in his bright red waistcoat “Is everyone waiting? I’m sorry—I wanted Gabriel to come.” She blushed a little. “To the wedding.”
Devon said stoutly, “Of course he should come.”
“But I didn’t realize how long it would take him to get there. He’s resting.” They looked down at the panting dog. He thunked his tail and grinned at them.
“Did you tell him Midge is waiting for him? That should get him moving.”
Lily clucked her tongue, indignant. “I’ve told you, Dev, Gabriel is not in love with that—animal your mother calls a dog.”
“Love is blind, my sweet. Which is a very good thing for some of us.”
She stepped closer and slid her arms around his neck. “Not for you,” she murmured, smiling. “My eyes are wide open.”
Devon kissed them closed, whispering something Lowdy couldn’t hear, try though she might. Lowdy’s own eyes grew wide as the embracing couple began to kiss in earnest. Right there in the stableyard, front to front, arms all wrapped, mouths mashed. It got even better when the master started moving his hands around on the new mistress’s waist and what-not—and then that long-nose preacher went and spoiled it.
“Here now, enough of that,” boomed Reverend Hattie, striding toward them. Lily and Devon broke apart without much haste and not an ounce of shame. “Turn right around, both of you, and march yourselves into the house.” Without ceremony, he took the baby from Lowdy and made shooing motions with his free hand. “March! By heaven, this cub’s going to have honest parents within the next ten minutes, or I’ll know why not.”
Devon shrugged, resigned. “Right you are, Reverend. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, however heavy the task.” Laughing, he pulled Lily close and kissed her again when she opened her mouth to object.
“No more of that till you’re wed,” exhorted the parson, then gla
nced down at the infant in his arms. “Not that it makes much difference now.” Charlie stared back at him, mesmerized.
Gabriel got up carefully and began to walk toward the house, leading the way at a slow, dignified pace. Lily and Devon followed, holding hands.
“Who might you be?” Reverend Hattie inquired, craning his neck behind him.
“Loveday Rostarn, your honor,” Lowdy piped. She decided to expand. “Her as who you’re marryin’ next week wi’ Galen MacLeaf.”
“You haven’t got a baby too, have you?”
“Phaw,” scoffed Lowdy, blushing prettily. “Tes them two what can’t keep their ‘ands off each other,” she declared, nodding toward the meandering pair ahead. “Me an’ Galen …” she trailed off, leery of lying to a man of the cloth.
“Have been lucky so far,” Reverend Hattie guessed cannily.
Lowdy grinned. “Well, that’s as may be, your reverence, but ee did ought t’ be makin’ haste after them two.”
“Why is that, Miss Rostarn?”
“Bain’t it clear as day? Ee’ve a babe in your arms as tes, an’ ee can see what they’re like.” And in fact, the pair in question were already kissing and snuggling again. “Was I in your line o’ work, I’d be quickenin’ along, your grace, t’ make sartin there ain’t another early-born thistle shootin’ up afore next spring!”
A Biography of Patricia Gaffney
Patricia Gaffney is a New York Times bestselling and award-winning author of twelve historical romances and five contemporary women’s fiction titles. She has won the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart award and has been nominated six times for the RWA’s RITA award for excellence in romance writing.
Born on December 17, 1944, in Tampa, Florida, to an Irish Catholic family, Gaffney grew up in Bethesda, Maryland. After graduating from college, she worked as a high school teacher for one year before beginning a fifteen-year career as a freelance court reporter. It was during this time that she met her husband, Jon Pearson.
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