White Lace and Promises

by Natasha Blackthorne

  He pressed her hand. “And I love you, too—so much, Beth. I don’t want to be without you. But you will not understand me and I don’t know how to live with a woman who refuses to understand me.”

  “Yes, correct—I love you but I do not understand you. But not because of wilfulness. I cannot understand you because there are things you will not share with me.”

  He took a long, deep breath. “I thought my first marriage failed because of my lack of understanding. My lack of ability to love.”

  “Did you love each other, in the beginning?”

  “I thought we did but I married when I was only nineteen. I did not understand that the depth of devotion between Juliana and her father was unnatural.”

  “Devotion? Isn’t every girl devoted to her father?”

  “Juliana was twenty-six but she acted as if she were sixteen and her father treated her accordingly. He didn’t want her to grow up and to detach from him. She was spoilt and vain. I was too young to see it.” Then he laughed with his old, cynical edge. “All I saw was her beauty.”

  “Her father had no sons and needed a grandchild of her body. Whether she married me only to have a child or she simply didn’t understand what it would be like to live separate from her father, I do not know. But after our son’s birth, she had no further use for me. It wasn’t enough for her to simply bar her bedchamber door. No, she had to return to de Lange’s house. She had to make sure everyone knew of our broken home.

  “She liked to flirt with other men. She craved their admiration. She didn’t care much for lovemaking, however. When these would-be lovers turned on her, I was forced to deal with them. To protect her. She was my son’s mother, after all. She got herself alone with one of them and allowed him to ply her with too much wine. He took rather forceful advantage of her. I resented her for that, but I took care of him—I challenged him.”

  Beth’s eyes, bright with fever, rested on him with quiet compassion. Of course she wouldn’t judge him. He’d been a fool not to tell her all of this before. But he’d been afraid. Yes, why not admit it now? Now, when there was nothing left to lose.

  “We did not love each other. She wanted to be wife to the Sexton heir and I lusted for her. I always thought that, if we had loved each other, things would have somehow worked out. I thought when I did, sincerely, fall in love with you, that a marriage between you and I could work. Now I see that love is not enough to make a marriage.” His fingertip described small circles on her hand. “My parents were a sad example. My father was consumed by business and my mother withdrew into herself. I never wanted a marriage like that but it appears a companionate marriage and business are not compatible.”

  Beth put her hand over his. “You were correct—I could have tried harder to understand your pressures, your burdens. But I was too self-absorbed. Oh, everything is such a frightful disaster now.” Her voice grew weaker, more breathless. She paused to cough. “We’ve torn our love to shreds.”

  His heart caught and he pulled the covers up to her chin. “You mustn’t speak any more. Just listen. I shoulder all the blame. I knew from the situation with Juliana that I was unsuited for marriage. I made her miserable, and I have made you miserable…”

  “Grey, don’t—”

  “Shh,” he said, caressing the hair off her brow. “Just close your eyes and rest.”

  Her eyes closed. He took her hand and pressed it to his chest with both hands. He didn’t know what to say. Words couldn’t fix what lay between them.

  In time it came to him that there was only one thing he could say. “I am so very sorry, my love.”

  She hadn’t heard him. She was sleeping again. He sat beside her and held her hand for a long time.

  He awoke with a start. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. Soft, squeaky sounds issued from her mouth. He frowned and leaned close, listening carefully. The sound came again.

  She was wheezing.

  His mouth went dry and, spurred by sudden nervous energy, he jumped up and went to call for the doctor to return.

  * * * *

  “They went riding together every day in the country. Jan’s housekeeper told me,” Watson said in the tones of one who cannot wait to impart a particularly delectable bit of gossip. But why? Surely he realised that Grey trusted his own son with his young wife.

  “She has been lonely. It was a hard adjustment for her to move away from her family. Jan wanted merely to cheer her,” Grey replied tersely. Watson’s interruption wasn’t a welcome one. Grey had been sitting here in his office, gazing unseeing at the ledger books strewn over his desk. The sore throat had spread to Beth’s lungs. The doctor had done what he could, which had turned out to be damned little.

  Grey hadn’t been able to bear sitting around her bedchamber, watching her wan face while she wheezed in her sleep. He’d felt so powerless, useless. So he’d come here to his Washington Street offices, out of sheer habit. Yet now, after only an hour, he wanted only to return. He’d been slipping into his greatcoat when Watson had come bursting in. Now he rolled his eyes at his long-time friend. “I am eager to be gone, so out with it. Say what you feel you must.”

  “Grey, I saw them on the balcony, last night. They were whispering and embracing.”

  Good God, this was almost farcical. Grey knew his son, knew he was still terrified of women. Jan lacked the swagger a young man took on once he’d bedded a woman. If Grey hadn’t already been so heartsore over Beth being ill, he might have laughed aloud at Watson running here and bearing tales like an old fishwife. But Watson’s eyes were perfectly sincere and Grey wasn’t in the mood for levity.

  He fixed Watson with a wry look. “Whatever you saw, it was innocent. They have grown fond of each other. Beth is an affectionate woman.”

  Watson smiled, as if he was being patient with a slow child. “Yes, that’s the point—quite too affectionate in the wrong ways.”

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled and stained paper. “Jan dropped this, before they went inside. Read this and then tell me it’s all innocent between them.”

  Grey took the paper and let his eyes scan over his son’s unmistakable neat script. For a moment, the words didn’t seem to make sense. Then he recognised the lyrics of a poem. An appallingly bad poem. At the innocent earnestness expressed in the sentimental words, a warm sensation began to take up in his chest. A grin stretched itself over his face. Jan was still so innocent and found it so easy to express his feelings. It boded well for his future happiness.

  Full awareness of how much he loved his son burst in upon him. His smile increased. Poetry… Good God.

  Thomas scoffed. “How can you smile? Do you not see it for what it is?”

  Grey looked up at his oldest, dearest friend and chuckled. “It’s a lot of boyish nonsense, that’s what it is. Don’t you remember being that age?”

  Even Grey could hear the fondness softening his tone. It made Watson’s amber-coloured eyes seem to bug. “I can’t believe you can dismiss this.”

  “What’s he really said here, except that he finds her beautiful and he cares for her and wishes he could protect her from the world? He’s suggested nothing untoward.”

  “It sounds like a declaration!”

  “Thomas, he’s just a boy.”

  “He’s soft on her. You can’t deny that.”

  Grey smiled. “I think that, if I’d had a stepmother like Beth when I was Jan’s age, I’d have been a little soft on her, too.”

  “Well, you’ve a decidedly liberal attitude about it.”

  “He’s my son, Thomas—I trust him. Anyway, I suspect he’s still terrified by women.”

  Watson’s gold-red brows drew together and his eyes narrowed. “What about her? What about how she will react to his declaration? His desire to protect her? To comfort her? We both know the type of comforting she prefers.”

  “I warned you before, take care what you say about my wife.”

  Watson stood back and shook his head. “I never though
t to see you, of all men, turned into a fool over a pretty piece of petticoat.”

  * * * *

  “Watch what you put to paper, Jan,” Grey said later that afternoon in the parlour of his house as he handed his son the crumpled page.

  Jan glanced up at him, open-mouthed, then his face coloured. For a moment, Grey was reminded of Jan in his boyhood days.

  “Where did you get this?” Jan demanded.

  “Watson found it on the balcony, last night.” Grey smiled thinly. “He quite distorted it all into something we both know it is not.”

  Jan’s eyes flashed with anger. “He would not dare.”

  “He says you were embracing.”

  “I didn’t touch her—not like he means. I wouldn’t do that. She came over faint.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I tell you, I didn’t touch her.” Jan’s voice rose with strong emotion.

  Grey flinched inwardly for his son’s embarrassment. He tried to touch Jan’s arm but his son jerked it away. “She was feeling poorly and you offered her some comfort—it is no great thing. But you must be careful what you do when you may be observed. People will often think the worst.”

  Jan crushed the paper in his hands and grew very quiet.

  * * * *

  Beth awoke to the clock chiming in her chamber. She swallowed against a dry, bitter medicinal taste in her mouth. She glanced over at the clock’s face. The time was six in the morning. A sense of impending dread rose to the surface of her mind but she couldn’t place the reason.

  “I am going to take care of Watson once and for all. So he can’t make trouble for you.”

  She recalled Jan sitting by her bed, saying those words. It seemed like a dream. But she knew with certainty that it wasn’t. She sat up, dizzy feverishness making her head swim.

  How long had it been since he’d come to her? She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. Nothing made coherent sense. Shortly after she’d gone to bed on the night of the ball, Joshua had been there to see her, to examine her, and Nellie had been with him. But Beth remembered nothing they had said while there.

  Her hand went to her stomach. Surely, if she’d lost the child, she would remember that? Yes, she’d be sore in her pelvis or something.

  She arose from the bed and reached for her wrapper. The effort made her breathless in a way that made panic arise in her. She forced herself to slow down. She had to speak with Grey. She must make sure he knew about Jan.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  At the sound of the door opening, Grey looked up from his desk. Beth stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Her pallor sent a pulse of fear through his heart. He dropped his quill and rushed to her side, then he put his hands to her waist. The heat of her flesh seemed to scorch him through her nightdress. “What the devil are you doing out of bed?”

  “I…have to tell you…something,” she gasped.

  Her breathless tone caught at his heart. “Hush now,” he said, gently urging her towards a chair. “Sit here.”

  He settled her into the chair, then hurried to pour her some watered claret and took it back to her. “Drink this.”

  She took a brief sip. Her chest rose and fell several times, her breath wheezing out in a way that made him wince. “I must tell you now. Jan…”

  “Jan’s gone back to Red Oaks. He left about an hour ago.” Grey was still uneasy about the way Jan had left. Quiet and sudden. Still, it was understandable. The boy had been quite shaken by Watson’s accusations and the embarrassment of having his private scribblings revealed. There had been no reassuring him. Grey compressed his lips. Maybe he just hadn’t tried hard enough. But damn it, he’d been so distracted with worry over Beth.

  “No.” She placed her hand to his chest and gripped his lapel. “He’s gone to…to meet Watson.”

  Meet Watson? He stared at her dumbly. Her words seemed so unthinkable, he couldn’t comprehend her. Then realisation dawned. His mouth went dry. “My God.”

  Jan was going to meet over pistols with Watson. Over that nonsense about what had happened on the balcony?

  “Why would he do such a thing?” Grey wondered aloud.

  “Watson has been…bothering me. Jan knew. I didn’t want you to know.”

  His brows snapped together. “Watson was bothering you? How?”

  She waved sharply. “That doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that Jan thinks to take it upon himself to settle this.”

  “But Thomas wouldn’t accept—not without speaking to me first.”

  “No, Watson accepted his challenge last evening, Jan said.”

  His son—his beloved son. Horror washed over him. “Christ, I’ve got to get there.”

  He walked to the window and threw open the curtains. The sky was turning from inky night into a bright blue. Jan would have gone to Weehawken. just a few miles away, but dawn was already breaking. He might not make it there in time. Even if he did, he might not find the exact spot in time. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach at the thought.

  “Grey.”

  He looked down into Beth’s eyes, large pools of sky blue in her too-pale face. He took her hand from his lapel and caressed it. “What, my love?”

  “You must do more than stop this duel. You must take Jan’s aimless, self-destructive bent seriously. You must take him in hand before it is too late. You must, or else this shall only be the beginning.”

  A dull ache began to gnaw between his temples. Why was she bringing all of this up now? But she was ill and he did not have time to argue the matter. He kissed her forehead. It burnt his lips. “Come, let’s get you back to bed and then I shall leave right away for Weehawken.”

  * * * *

  On the little beach beneath the high cliff, Grey stood with Jan in the leaden, cloudy light of the December dawn, watching the Hudson for Watson’s arrival. If Watson showed. They had walked a pace away from Jan’s second, the boatmen and the physician Grey had woken from his bed and dragged along.

  “Have you taken leave of your very last sense?”

  Jan scowled. “Someone had to take action. He’s your friend, but she’s your wife and you were too blind to see what was happening. Or were you too afraid of damaging a favourable business relationship?”

  Grey’s jaw hardened. A cutting breeze blew, carrying scattered snow flurries. He reached out and pulled up the collar of Jan’s greatcoat. “Have a care for yourself. I don’t need you ill as well.”

  Jan kept scowling at him. “She’s been unhappy. You haven’t cared. You’ve just kept on living as if you were still unmarried. She was terribly ill, all night, and you couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see it. She’s a true lady in every sense of the word and you don’t deserve her.”

  “Jan, these things are not your affair.”

  “It was Watson’s fault she fell from her horse.”

  Grey’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “Yes, he followed us to Red Oaks. He tracked her down while she was out riding. I saw them together and he put his hands on her—treated her quite roughly. She denied it and I didn’t push for details. I don’t know what he said to her but it upset her enough that she rode her horse blindly.”

  Grey turned from Jan, staring intently at the Hudson. With every heartbeat, grim determination pounded into his blood. He knew what he must do. “Go back to the boat, Jan. Wait for me there.”

  “But, Father—”

  “It’s my quarrel with Watson, not yours.” He caught Dr O’Brien’s eye and motioned him over. He would serve as well for a second as a doctor.

  Grey turned to head up the narrow, rocky path to the duelling area he and his associates had been using for as long as he could remember.

  “But, Father, I can go with you.”

  Grey stopped, turned around. Jan stared back at him, so very earnest. So ready to be of help, to be needed. It was almost painful for Grey to look at him. Beth tried to tell me—I wouldn’t listen.

  “I can be your second,” Jan ad
ded, his voice tense with the emotion he was so obviously trying to conceal.

  Grey shook his head. “Go and wait with the boatmen.”

  Turning away, Grey resumed his climb up the narrow path. Beth was right. He had not valued his son’s individuality. But she had seen Jan all along the way as he truly was. She had a woman’s kind of wisdom. A strength in her softness. He hadn’t valued her. He had almost lost her and Jan and everything truly important to him. He had not properly honoured her place in his life or admitted to himself what he truly needed from her.

  And what did he really need from her?

  He needed her to provoke him and get him out of his head and make him feel. He needed her to save him from himself and his isolation from those around him. Thank God for Beth—he needed her fire in his life. He also needed to live up to what she needed so she could believe in him.

  He needed her to truly love him.

  But for that he’d have to make it safe for her to do so. He had to fully open his life to her. He couldn’t be partway a husband. He’d have to dedicate himself to her and to Jan and to their children. The business must come second now.

  How odd that the thought rested so easily with him now. There was no panic, no anxiety about things spiralling away from him. There was nothing but sure resolve.

  As he came to the halfway point, the snow was falling steadier, sticking to the path.

  “Sexton!”

  It was Watson’s voice. Grey stopped and faced the dark-looking river and the bleak clouds resting low on the horizon. Farther back on the path, Dr O’Brien gave him a quizzical look.

  “You’ll face me today, Thomas,” he called down to the beach.

  “The boy challenged me, Grey, not the other way around. I’ve got no quarrel with you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He didn’t want to say more with the physician and the boatmen there. But his eyes met with Thomas’ and locked. He let all his deadly intent show. He’d either hear Thomas’ apology and gain some concessions or he would indeed face him—and he wouldn’t delope or intentionally misdirect his aim.