“‘I’m afraid I’ll pass this to my children,’” she read out loud, and her voice cracked.
He moved to the window, staring out into the inky blackness of the night. Once again, he was haunted by visions of children dancing out in the cold. Charlotte’s hair, his eyes, Charlotte’s smile, his…silence. And he knew the pain those children would endure.
“Your father was my brother,” his aunt said, rising to stand beside him and look out at those ghost children with him. “There had never been another person in our family with your affliction, Ewan. And even since, there have been none. You have two younger brothers who can speak. Matthew was born after you and he can speak. There is nothing in the world that promises any child you had would be untouched by illness or disease or deformity. If we all cut off our future to avoid bearing children who would suffer, the world’s population would cease to grow and humanity would end.”
He slid the notepad from her fingers and wrote, “I couldn’t watch them endure what I did.”
She nodded. “I can understand that desire to protect the children in your head. But there is no way your children, whether they could speak or not, would ever endure what you did. Because you would be their father. My brother was a miserable lout from the time he was…eight years old!” She threw up her hands. “Look at the way he raised your so-called perfect brothers. He was cruel to them, everyone knows it.”
Ewan drew in a breath. That was true, of course. Even before he was sent away, he’d seen his father speak harshly to his brothers. He’d heard about their treatment after he was gone, too.
“You are not that man,” she continued. “Whether your children could speak or not speak, you would love them. And Charlotte is most definitely not that wretched woman who calls herself your mother. She is a kind and golden soul, the kind of person who would invent a wildly complicated language just because she wanted to be able to tell you that she loves you.”
He turned his face. “That wasn’t why she did it,” he wrote.
“Of course it is,” Mary said softly. “Of course it is. From the day they were born, your children would be accepted and nurtured not just by you, but by your wife and her family, your aunt, your cousin and a large circle of incredibly powerful friends. His or her life would be markedly different than yours was, especially in those formative years before your uncle and I took you.”
He bent his head. His aunt was giving him more open doors, more pathways to Charlotte. More hope that felt so beautiful and so dangerous all at once.
“I don’t know,” he wrote.
“You don’t have to know today,” she reassured him. “You can think about it, can’t you? And I think you should, for what you are considering isn’t something that should be gone into lightly. But let me say one more thing and then I will encourage you to return to the others and alleviate your mood with Christmas tidings.”
He nodded and motioned for her to continue.
“Your uncle Aldous fought with every fiber in his being, with almost his last breath, to guarantee that you would have the future you deserved.” Mary’s eyes lit with tears. “It would be a terrible shame if you threw away that future out of some misguided attempt to protect a woman who is strong enough to make her own decisions and children you haven’t even met yet.”
He bent his head as her words sank into his skin and his soul. They shamed him, but they also buoyed him. They left him with a great deal to think about.
“Now, come,” she said. “The yule log is lit and that means a bright fire to dance shadow puppets along the wall. I know it used to be your favorite family tradition.”
He nodded, for she was correct, and linked his arm through hers. But as they left his study and headed back to the warmth of his parlor and the company within, Ewan’s mind spun. Soon there would be no choice but to make a decision that would change his life, whether he backed away from Charlotte forever…or opened his arms to her, and his heart to the life he both feared and longed for.
Charlotte shivered in the frigid night air. Around her a few snowflakes swirled, and she couldn’t help but dart her tongue out to catch one. Normally such playfulness would make her smile, but tonight she just…couldn’t.
She’d wanted to go after Ewan when he left the room after the lighting of the yule log. His deep emotion had been obvious to all. But it was Aunt Mary who had left after him. Her place, not Charlotte’s.
She sighed and suddenly felt her wrap being draped around her shoulders. She turned and gasped in surprise when she found Matthew standing behind her.
“Your mother wished to bring it out to you, but I asked to do so instead,” he said as he came up to the edge of the wall and looked out over the estate with her. “I think you and I need to talk.”
She leaned against the terrace edge. “What is there to talk about?”
He arched a brow at her. “Him.”
“Him,” she repeated with a laugh. “I would feign innocence, but that will only draw this out, won’t it?”
“Yes,” he said. “And it’s cold and we’re old friends. We might as well just be honest with each other.”
She smiled at the handsome man before her. A man with loss in his stare. A loss she didn’t understand, even though her own husband was dead. That was different than what Matthew had endured all those years ago.
“No one could be less than honest with you, Matthew,” she said. “So the subject is him. What is the question?”
“How far have things gone between you while you were alone in this house?” he asked softly.
Heat flooded Charlotte’s cheeks, and she glanced behind her at the parlor where her mother and brother sat talking. They couldn’t hear them, of course. But that didn’t make the subject any less personal or embarrassing.
“As a lady I think I shouldn’t—”
“Friends, remember?” Matthew interrupted. “And I doubt you have anyone else you can talk to about this. So why don’t we forget the missishness and you just be honest. How far?”
“I had myself convinced that if I…” She trailed off, her cheeks fully on fire now. “That if I seduced him, I could make him see how right we could be.”
He shifted, discomfort crossing his face. “And did that work?”
“A little,” she sighed. “But he is filled with fear about all the what-ifs of the future. Like somehow if he could speak there wouldn’t ever be trouble or uncertainty or loss or grief or pain.”
“That certainly isn’t true,” Matthew said, his voice suddenly rough.
“No, you know that better than anyone.” She reached out and squeezed his arm gently.
She released him and they both faced the garden again, lost in thought and memory and pain together. Then she cleared her throat and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “May I ask you something?”
He nodded without looking at her. “Certainly. It’s only fair considering how I just dug into your life in such a forward way.”
She ducked her head. “He told me…he told me that your father was sometimes…embarrassed about his mutism.”
Matthew spun on her, his mouth open in shock and his eyes wide. “He told you what?”
She shrugged. “It is what he believes. I wanted to know if it was true.”
Matthew shook his head. “Of course it’s not true. How could he think that? My father—our father, for in truth he was more Ewan’s father than his own—he loved Ewan. I never heard even a whisper that he was embarrassed by Ewan’s inability to speak. Angry that others treated him differently, yes. Frustrated that he couldn’t make things easier for Ewan, of course. But embarrassed? Never. Never once.”
She sighed. “That is what I thought. I even told him the same. But in the end, that is our problem.”
“That he thinks my father didn’t wholly support him?” Matthew snapped as he moved toward the house. “Well, I can disabuse him of that notion right now.”
“No.” Charlotte caught
his arm and kept him where he stood. “Not that. My problem is that Ewan believes such a thing could be true. That even if someone professes their love and acceptance, there is a small part of them waiting to be humiliated. Waiting to turn against him.”
Matthew deflated as her words sank in. “Have you told him you love him?”
She flinched. Of course she’d known that her feelings were obvious to some. But to hear Matthew state them so casually made her cheeks burn even hotter than they had when he asked about her physical relationship with Ewan.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I tried once before I married. He wouldn’t let me. And I’ve told him now, as well. There is nothing else I can do. When I go back to London, I’ll reenter the marriage mart. I must. So if Ewan does not wish to have a future with me, then all he must do is wait and at some point the potential for our future will vanish on its own.”
Matthew turned toward her. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. The circumstances are very different, but the pain is real. If I could shake some sense into him, I would.”
“But you can’t,” she said. “Now it is up to him, isn’t it? To love or not to love. That is the question.”
“And a question he must answer on his own.” Matthew sighed and glanced over his shoulder. “It looks like my mother has coaxed him back to the fold.”
Charlotte faced the parlor windows and caught her breath. Aunt Mary and Ewan were back, and he and Baldwin had begun to shift the parlor furniture so they could display their shadow animals on the wall across from the bright yule log.
Life, it seemed, would go on. Aching heart or not.
“We should go in then,” she said.
Matthew nodded and motioned for her to lead the way. “Charlotte,” he said as she grasped the handle to the door to return to the others.
She faced him. “Yes?”
“He’s a fool if he lets you go.”
“Thank you, Matthew.”
Then she went back inside, a false smile plastered on her face and her heart heavy as lead.
Chapter Fifteen
Charlotte came down the stairs and smiled at the silence that greeted her. There were no bustling servants cleaning in the halls or rushing to offer her assistance. Boxing Day had come, and she was pleased Ewan honored the tradition of offering his household a day off en masse.
She entered the breakfast room and found a spread laid out on the sideboard. The presentation was not quite as lovely as it normally was and the selections were clearly left over from the previous day and night’s food. But her mouth still watered.
She greeted her mother and brother, who were already seated, their plates loaded with food.
“It was a lovely Christmas, wasn’t it?” Baldwin asked as he got to his feet and reached out a hand to Charlotte.
She squeezed it and patted her mother’s shoulder before moving to the sideboard. “It was, indeed. The vicar’s presentation was lovely and I do so appreciate my new slippers, Mama, and the journal, Baldwin.”
She began to load her plate but hadn’t gotten very far before Ewan entered the room, followed by Matthew and Aunt Mary.
“Good morning!” the duchess called out. “How did I do with the spread?”
“You did perfectly,” Charlotte said with a laugh. She did not mention that the coffee looked terribly tepid. She merely poured tea instead and then moved to the table. As she passed by Ewan, she said, “Good morning.”
His gaze rolled over her and her body reacted of its own accord. She had gone decades without his touch, but now two days was too much.
“Good morning,” he signed, and then turned away, leaving her to go to the table and situate herself next to her mother.
The others sat, as well, and for a little while they were a merry group, discussing music and books. Charlotte couldn’t help but think of how easy it all was. How easy it would be to live like this forever.
If only Ewan would allow it.
But at last their plates were empty and Aunt Mary leaned back in her seat with a happy sigh. “Your cook really is the very best, Ewan. Even her leftovers are divine.”
He nodded and his warm smile reflected how much he adored Mrs. Winkle and all his staff. “Did you already give them your gifts for Boxing Day?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes,” he signed. “The household staff was given their things early today so they could go be with their families.”
She translated to the others and his aunt smiled. “You are still planning to go out to the tenants just after breakfast, aren’t you?”
He nodded. Aunt Mary smiled at Charlotte. “I hear you have some things for the children.”
“I do,” she said. “A reward for their hard work and bravery during the flooding.”
“That’s lovely, Charlotte,” her mother said, reaching out to take her hand. “So you’ll go with Ewan, then?”
Charlotte shifted and glanced at him. His mouth was now tight, and tension all but coursed through him. “I’d like to,” she said softly.
“I think that’s a fine idea,” Matthew chimed in, and elbowed Baldwin. “Don’t you?”
Charlotte’s brother seemed the least keen on the idea. He looked not at her, but at Ewan. “If Ewan would like her company.”
“Of course he’d like her company,” Mary said with a laugh. “It’s settled then. You two go out and make your gifts and when you return I think a game of whist will be in order.”
Charlotte looked at Ewan. “May I come with you?” she signed. “Don’t say yes just because they’re pushing you to do so.”
He tilted his head and swiftly signed, “I want you to come. No one has pushed me to do anything.”
“How do you remember all the signs?” the Duchess of Sheffield laughed as she got up and began stacking the plates from breakfast.
“It’s easy. There are signs for each letter and also some shortcuts for words we often use.”
Her mother shook her head. “That must be nearly a hundred signs.”
Charlotte shrugged. “We recall thousands of words. What are a few little turns of the hand?” She glanced at Ewan. “I’ll fetch my wrap and we can go.”
He nodded and she slipped from the room, her heart throbbing. Once again they’d be alone. Once again, they would be tested. And once again, she felt the man she loved pulling away from her.
And this time, if he succeeded, she knew she’d have to let him go forever.
Ewan couldn’t keep his eyes off Charlotte. It was impossible not to stare at her when her face was lit with laughter and she was surrounded by sword- and dolly-wielding children.
“You’re too kind, Your Grace,” one of the ladies, Mrs. Nickel, said to him, and he shook his head and forced himself to focus. His tenants had finished collecting their Boxing Day gifts. Baskets of food, bolts of fabric, and bags filled with coins had been passed around to bright, happy faces.
He shrugged and patted her arm as a response, hoping it would turn her away. He was uncomfortable with the praise. Of course, Mrs. Nickel was not deterred.
“It is such a blessing that you brought Lady Portsmith to us,” she continued. “Everyone just loves her. She is the kindest lady I have ever met.”
Ewan swallowed and let his gaze slide to Charlotte once more. She was talking to Mrs. Boyd now, totally engaged with the other woman, her face expressive and open and yes, so very kind. He nodded slowly in answer to his tenant’s comment.
“My husband looks to be motioning for me now,” she said. “Excuse me.”
Ewan shook off his distraction and nodded again, forcing himself to smile at her as she left him alone. His attentions turned once more to Charlotte. She had crouched down and was adjusting the dress on one of the little girls’ dolls. The child stared at her like she was a princess or a goddess.
Of course, Charlotte was both, and as he watched her with the little girl, his heart hurt. A good hurt and a bad hurt mixed t
ogether, expanding his chest. He heard his father’s voice echoing in his mind, saying all the worst things he’d ever said. Idiot. Worthless. Should have never been born. Good for nothing and no one.
But he also heard his aunt’s words. His uncle’s. His cousin’s. His friends’. And hers. Always hers. Charlotte telling him she loved him. Charlotte in all her tiny kindnesses and smiles and laughter over the years, showing him the same. He wanted the future she represented, with all his heart. He wanted it and now, staring at her as she ruffled the little girl’s hair, he leaned forward, almost as if he could take it.
She straightened up and glanced his way. Their eyes met and after a beat her lips parted. She looked confused, like she could read his expression and wasn’t certain of it.
Of course, she probably could. Who knew him better, after all, than the woman who had all but forcibly wound her way into his life? His barriers meant nothing to her, like she had been born to knock them down. When he pushed her away, she came back, stronger and more determined than ever.
How could he not love her for that independence and stubbornness? For that kindness and calm faith? For the fact that she loved him, all of him, no matter what?
She moved toward him, like an angel gliding from heaven, and into his space. With a smile, she took his hand. Her fingers wound through his and she looked up at him.
“Are you well?” she whispered. “You have a strange look on your face.”
He nodded slowly. Oh yes, he was well. He had never been so well in his entire life. Because he knew exactly what he was going to do. Not in this moment, with people who were practically strangers looking on. Not even the moment he got home and they were surrounded by family and friends.
But later, tonight, he was going to come to this woman, this remarkable woman, and surrender all he was and all he had to her. He was going to ask her to marry him, and he already knew what her answer was.
He was going to take that magnificent leap of faith that the future, no matter how cloudy and uncertain, would be right if it was one he shared with her.
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