It was almost two months since Michael’s funeral. Susanne and the boys had returned to Elysian Fields. One morning a letter from Johanna arrived; it must have crossed with the one Rebecca sent. Johanna had asked Davis how Michael was as she had not heard from him in months. Davis let the letter drop to the floor and sank into a sofa.
After Rebecca skimmed the letter, she put it in her pocket and sat with him. “Talk to me, Davis,” she pleaded. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how.” He just looked at her with the same haunted look he’d had since Michael’s body was brought back to Elysian Fields. It was a mix of pain, anger, grief and something else. She reached out for his hand, but he had already risen to pour himself a drink.
“Please don’t do that,” she whispered, wiping her tears of frustration. He couldn’t hear her, but it didn’t matter; he wouldn’t listen to her anyway. “I know he was like your brother, Davis, but Ava and I are your family and we are losing you,” she said sharply. There was still no response and she angrily said, “I wonder if you didn’t love Michael more than you have ever loved me!” When he still didn’t speak, she turned to him and her body went numb as she saw the look of shock and shame on Davis’ face. He did not protest; Rebecca knew that Davis was grieving over more than just the death of a friend.
“It was always Michael you loved, wasn’t it?” she asked in a shaky, frightened whisper. Davis looked away, only confirming her suspicions. “All this time, I knew there was someone else, but you denied it, told me that it was my imagination. All this time…I knew…someone. Michael?” That part of Davis’ heart that should have belonged to her had already belonged to Michael. She knew this sort of life existed, but those men were deviants, sick, not like Davis. And if he could love Michael in that way, how could he have loved her? In a calm, steady voice she asked “Were you lovers?”
“No, of course not,” he finally spoke, but he would not look at her.
“Please don’t lie to me anymore,” she said, the calm in her voice hiding the panic she felt.
He looked at her at last and she saw a tortured man that she did not recognize. This is not my Davis, she thought. He is only confused; my Davis is in there somewhere. But when he said, “Rebecca, I love you…” she recognized the unsaid words behind every declaration he had ever made to her.
She finished for him. “You love me, but…”
His breathing became labored as he tried to find the words. He was crying softly from the pain of the lies he had told and the knowledge of the misery he was about to inflict on Rebecca.
“I wanted a family, a normal family, a wife, children.” She was staring at him blankly. “But, I never felt complete unless I was with Michael.” Her heart was shattered but she refused to let him see her distress.
“So you were in love with Michael all this time, not me?” Her brain repeated the words, letting them sink in—all this time, all this time, not me.
“I love you, too, Rebecca,” he said, but her look stopped him. She was no longer calm.
“I don’t understand how that works, Davis. You love him, you love me. Which is it? Explain this to me!” she screamed.
But how could Davis explain what made no sense to him? Was it possible to love more than one person at the same time? And how could it make sense that someone as wonderful and giving as Rebecca was not enough for him?
“Did he love you as well?” she asked, “In that way?” Rebecca was grateful for the numbness she felt otherwise she would have run from the room shrieking. She needed to know the truth, finally.
Davis finished his drink before he answered. “No, he didn’t.” Even in her own state, Rebecca felt the pain in Davis’ voice. “He saw me as his friend, nothing more. He only ever loved Susanne in that way.” Rebecca involuntarily flinched, but Davis didn’t notice.
“You two never…” She didn’t know how to continue.
“Rebecca, do you really want to know?” he asked desperately.
“Yes, I do! I think I’m entitled to know who else I’ve shared my husband with!”
“It was a long time ago, after Trinity. Our tour, Venice…we were drunk, very drunk.” He paused, but Rebecca was waiting for him to continue. “One night, he kissed me and I didn’t stop him. It went on for the week we were there. When we left Venice, it was over; he already had another in his bed, a woman. I was just there for the time.” Despite her anger, Rebecca felt compassion for Davis. “Even then, Michael was…incapable of being with one person for long. He didn’t love me the way I loved him. And of course, it couldn’t continue. I had obligations, I needed to marry, I needed an heir. Then I met you, Rebecca, and I thought that I would stop loving him when I loved you.”
“But that didn’t happen, Davis,” she stated. He didn’t answer. “But he knew that you loved him. You told him.” Davis nodded. “And he said?”
“That he was sorry. He hadn’t known what I felt was deeper than what he felt.” She knew that she should resent Davis, but her heart ached instead. She knew how freely Michael had given his love and how easily he took it away. Life was one big adventure for him, damn the consequences to others. Yet she still couldn’t hate him either.
She stood and walked to the door, rubbing her head in weariness. “Rebecca,” Davis said, reaching for her.
“I just need to be alone for now,” she answered.
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She went to Ava’s room. The little girl toddled over to her with wobbly legs, giggling in pleasure at her achievement. Rebecca dismissed the nurse; she held her daughter until she would not allow herself to be held. Ava brought her mother toys to play with. Before too long, Rebecca was crying; she finally knew the truth about her husband. She felt no satisfaction, no closure, only sadness at the reality of what her marriage was. Ava saw her crying and climbed back into her mother’s lap. She reached out to touch Rebecca’s cheek where a tear lay and Rebecca saw Michael in the gesture.
She remembered what it was like to grow up rejected by the first man who was supposed to love her unconditionally. Ava would never know that pain. She was the light in Davis. Rebecca would not take that from him.
She saw Davis in the doorway and reached out for him. He held her as she held Ava. “We will get through this,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rebecca would never know what had been said between Davis and Michael his last night alive; she observed in Davis an enormous level of guilt that wasn’t about her. She inquired no further; she saw no point to trouble herself with the details anymore than she had when she found herself pregnant with Michael’s child. It was what it was and there was no purpose in dwelling on facts that could not be changed.
Just before Laurence’s fourth birthday, Susanne and her sons came for a visit to St. Clare’s; she would never live again at Elysian Fields, instead gladly accepting Davis’ offer for the three to remain with the Edderles indefinitely. The boys and Ava got along well and Davis happily became the pater familias.
Rebecca enjoyed having Susanne closer. It was months before she warmed again to Davis’ touch. The first time that he had merely brushed her shoulder after revealing his true feelings for Michael, she recoiled involuntarily and he pulled his hand away with a wounded look. She apologized, but they both knew that the healing process for their marriage would take a long time. Having Susanne around was a buffer though neither would ever use her as a confidante.
That Davis was a superb father, there was no doubt. He was patient and familiar with the children. It was her acknowledgement of this that melted whatever iciness may have remained in Rebecca’s heart. Loving Ava meant loving Davis. They might never share the passion again of their first year of marriage, but she believed that they could at least evolve into better friends.
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Shortly after the New Year, Rebecca was finishing a letter to Tristan in the library. She could hear the children noisily playing Blind Man’s Bluff with Davis in the drawing room. Susanne ca
me into the library as she was sealing the letter and sat on the sofa, laughing, disheveled and a little out of breath.
She had lost a lot of weight since Michael’s death, too much in Rebecca’s opinion. She had arrived at St. Clare’s pale with deep, dark circles under her eyes. Rebecca did what she did best and took care of her sister. A month later, some pink was back in her face and she finally looked rested.
“It looks like they got to you, too,” Rebecca remarked.
“Yes; apparently one blind man wasn’t enough for Francis!” she answered.
Rebecca nodded; Francis had taken longer to warm up to Davis and Rebecca. The suddenness of losing his father, then watching his mother slowly disappear into her own grief had made Francis a clingy and shy child. Laurence had always been close to his aunt and uncle, but Francis insisted Susanne not leave him alone until recently. He still preferred that Susanne remain nearby until he became distracted by whatever activity he was engaged in.
“The children sound content now,” Rebecca said.
“Yes,” Susanne replied. “You would almost believe that he was really their father.” She tossed the remark out in such casual manner that no one else would have given it a second thought, thinking it a mere slip of the tongue. But Rebecca knew Susanne; moreover, she knew their father and her guilty conscience reminded her of the verbal traps her father would lay when he was playing his mind games.
It was the look in Susanne’s eyes, though, that chilled Rebecca. She calmly said, “Davis has always enjoyed your sons.”
“Yes, he has. I remember how good he was with Laurence when he was first born. Poor Michael. He was so overwhelmed with fatherhood.” Her voice became soft and wistful, but her eyes maintained their hardness. “I always knew that there were other women after we were married. But he only loved me. They were like playthings. He always came back to me. Only me.” She suddenly looked at Rebecca and her voice changed. “Are you well, dear?” There was such genuine concern in her voice that Rebecca wondered if she was only imagining that there was something more behind Susanne’s words. Susanne came to her and touched her gently. “You work yourself too hard. Don’t worry; I’ll help more.” She hugged Rebecca and just like that, she was sweet Susanne and Rebecca was left to wonder what had really just occurred between them.
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Upon her return to London, Rebecca sought the letters that Michael had left for her after Ava’s birth. For almost two years they had sat in her desk haunting her; she could never be sure if she wanted to know how Michael had really felt. It was easier to push him out of her mind. She wondered if she should include herself in Susanne’s declaration of Michael’s playthings. She wondered if she really cared anymore for complete honesty.
But Michael was gone now and their lives, hers, Davis’ and Susanne’s, were settled. She hoped that she could read his letters with curiosity and nothing more.
The top letter was dated September 29, 1776, the day after Francis’ birth, their last day together.
“My Dearest Rebecca,
I have been awake all night listening to you pace the floor. I wish that I could have come to you, to hold you and tell you that we could still be together, that nothing had changed. But I will not lie to you, my love, who knows me so well. When I saw Susanne so frail, I knew that to leave her would be the same as killing her with my own hands. You are so strong without me and it is only one of the many things I love about you. For I do love you as I have never loved another woman, my soul, my partner, my equal. You give me the confidence to believe that I can be the man I ought to be, someone who deserves your love and respect. But that man already has obligations. And so I am torn between being the man worthy of you, but who cannot be with you and the man that I am who is and will always be unworthy of your love.
We lived a dream for too short a time, but it is more than others will ever have. I can only love you from a distance and remember the softness of your hair as you lay in my arms, the fragrance of your skin that lingered on mine and the sweetness of your kisses. I can suffer the torture of knowing that I will never have you again, that your tender heart belongs to someone else, if only I can gaze on your beautiful face. I will never tempt you, as I did before, but you will remain in my heart until my dying day and if God is compassionate, maybe he will let us be together in the next life.
My love forever, Michael”
Rebecca wiped away the tears and refolded the letter. She unfolded and glanced at the rest of the stack. Each was dated and in chronological order, the last written the day after Ava’s birth. There were poems mixed in, but it was mostly letters, all beginning and ending the same way: “My Dearest Rebecca” and “My love forever, Michael”.
In the last letter, he declared his love again, but it was more sad than passionate and she could read in it that he had finally given in to his sorrow. She had believed that the distance between them began the day Francis was born; but she now knew that it had been one-sided, that while she buried her feelings, he had never stopped loving her. The knowledge hurt so much that she locked the letters in her desk without reading the rest.
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The war in the colonies continued, but it was becoming more and more unpopular. Millions of pounds were spent, thousands of lives lost and the colonies were more determined for their right to self-rule. The general public saw little value to continue the conflict and the government seemed ready to concede. It was not only the Whigs. Some Tories, including Davis, started questioning the opinions they had long held about the common man’s rights.
For Davis, the birth of Ava, his heir, who could not vote nor hold office regardless of how much property she owned weighed heavily on him. She would need an advantageous marriage to someone who would protect her and not squander her fortune. But he had only to look at his peers to know how difficult a match would be.
Then too, he still had some notion of romance; he wanted his daughter to be at least fond of her husband. After all, he still loved Rebecca and believed that she loved him as well. Sometimes still, when she didn’t know he was watching, he could see the melancholy in her face. It hurt him to know that he was the cause of her sadness and hoped in time that she would forgive him. He didn’t want to believe that it was only duty or Ava holding them together.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When Tristan married Cathleen Garvey, he was forced to sell the house in Tundle. To convert to Catholicism in order to marry her, he found that he would have to give his property to the Crown. With Davis’ help the house was disposed of before the banns were announced. Davis had never questioned the validity of the Penal Laws until they affected a member of his family. Davis was Anglican because that was all he knew; he didn’t perceive Catholicism as a real threat and saw no need to punish those who worshipped as such. But the Penal Laws were so entrenched that he knew he might never see their full repeal.
Then there were the agitators like Lord Gordon. He had successfully prevented the laws’ repeal in Scotland and was determined to do the same in England. But since the King, Commons and most of the Lords felt otherwise, no one believed that he was a real threat.
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“April 8, 1780
Dear Tristan,
I am happy to hear of the news of your son’s birth. I would so love to see you and your family that I would jump on a ship to Ireland tomorrow if I could. But, alas, the politics keeps us here in London. Davis is working closely with the Marquess of Roxbury to further the repeal of those silly laws. He sees no value in penalizing hardworking, intelligent men for how they choose to worship. I am surprised at how deeply he believes this and wonder if he won’t be turning Whig on me!
He has developed an acquaintanceship with Mr. Edmund Burke whose words have been so influential in both the American and Irish causes. Davis isn’t always in agreement, but I believe that Mr. Burke makes sense and have personally enjoyed their lively debates at dinner. Maybe if the plight of th
e Irish improves, the MP’s will see the benefit of giving women the right to an adequate education and, I daresay, someday the vote!”
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The rumblings from Lord George Gordon continued. Of more concern was the agitation he was producing in the streets. When it became know of his intention to present his petition against the appeal of the Penal Laws to the House of Commons, Davis became a little concerned, but more so for the delay of real business the petition might cause.
It was the servants who passed on the news of the swell of petitioners to Montague. He downplayed the servants’ concern, but mentioned the news to Davis.
“We’ve expected this, Montague,” Davis said. “Nevertheless, it might be wise for the ladies and children to remain indoors for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, my lord.”
After lunch, Davis suggested this to Rebecca. “Is it that serious?” she asked.
Davis shook his head reassuringly. “There was some contention in Scotland with Lord Gordon and his picketers, but the government is not going to allow him to bully us into anything. Still it may be safer for all of you to remain at home.”
“If you think so.”
“There is no need to alarm anyone else,” he added.
“Of course not.”
Davis stood to leave and absent-mindedly kissed her on the forehead. “I will be late this evening.”
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The street from Mayfair to Parliament was more crowded than normal and Davis wished that he had left earlier. Past Whitehall, he saw a fellow Lord, Peter Dalgliesh, picking his way through the crowd.
“Dalgliesh,” Davis called. “Come aboard, man!” When Peter was in Davis’ carriage, he asked why he was walking.
“They turned over my carriage two blocks over! I sent my groom home with the horses before they were taken.” He was out of breath, disheveled and very shaken. Davis furrowed his brow in concern, but tapped the window to tell his groom to keep moving.
Laura Carroll Butler Page 23
