—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen
BY THE END OF THE TWO weeks, by special license, Matthew had taken Bernadette Marie as his wife. He knew without any doubt—for, his heart and soul whispered of it—that she would, indeed, be carrying his child, and soon.
As they journeyed from New York to Liverpool and into London, in between stolen moments away from Ronan, who was excitedly making the journey with them, Matthew made love to his Bernadette, spilling his seed into her with a passion and a purpose he’d never known as a man. He wanted to prove to her that he could make all of her dreams come true. Even that of being a mother. It was his hope that by the time they left England, she would be carrying the first of his five children.
London, England—Park Lane
THE FOOTMAN GESTURED TOWARD the open doors of the library beyond. Matthew reached out and grabbed his wife’s ungloved hand, squeezing it. Ronan rounded to the other side of Bernadette and also took her hand, lending equal support that they were all a family. No matter what the old man did or said.
Drawing in a steadying breath, Matthew let it out, knowing that having a one-eyed Irishman for a son-in-law wasn’t every aristocrat father’s dream come true. Together, they entered through the double doors of the cavernous room lined with endless books that swept floor to ceiling, from corner to corner.
Matthew’s brows rose. He’d never seen so many goddamn books in his life.
Bernadette leaned in and whispered, “I used to build pirate ships out of these books when I was a girl. And here I am with my own Pirate King.” She nudged him.
His chest tightened as he scanned the brightly lit room, imagining his Bernadette scampering around, with braids swaying as she piled up those books with fiery determination and a glint in her eye.
As they came to the other end of the room, his gaze settled on an old man with snowy white hair. Lord Westrop. The man sat in a large, leather wing-tipped chair dressed in a tawny Turkish robe, those slippered feet propped atop a plush ottoman.
Eerily, the man reminded him of...his father. His father used to sit like that, with feet always propped on something.
Upon seeing them, Lord Westrop’s eyes widened.
Matthew could see the old man sinking back against that chair. Those dark eyes darted from Matthew to Bernadette and settled on Ronan.
Fortunately the man didn’t bolt out of the room. Although...given the man’s age, Matthew doubted he could.
They paused before him, releasing hands.
Matthew inclined his head. “My lord.”
The man’s veined hand trembled as he set it onto the armrest of his chair. Glancing from him to Ronan, he eventually asked, “Which one did she marry? Which one is Mr. Milton?”
Bernadette choked. “Papa. Do be serious.”
Matthew cleared his throat. “I am her husband. Not the other one.”
Ronan smirked, leaned forward and added, “Bernadette ain’t my type. Too much of a lady.”
Bernadette smacked the boy’s arm.
Lord Westrop’s eyes stoically swept the length of Matthew before landing upon his face. “I see.”
Matthew felt like a lame horse begging to be purchased. “It’s an honor to at long last meet you, my lord.”
Lord Westrop stared. “What happened to your eye? It looks clouded.”
Apparently, the man shared his daughter’s tongue in all things blunt. “I lost sight in it many years ago.”
“How?” the old man pressed.
Matthew’s jaw tightened.
“Papa,” Bernadette gently scolded. “Have more tact. You and he met all but a moment ago.”
Ronan reached up and hooked an arm around Matthew. In a strained tone, Ronan said, “He lost it because of me. He rescued me when I was six.”
Matthew wrapped his own arm around the boy’s shoulders. He tightened his hold. “You know damn well it wasn’t because of you, Ronan. I could have handled the situation differently, but I stupidly chose to fight.”
Silence hummed.
Lord Westrop shifted in his chair. “Bernadette. You didn’t even greet me. Give your old father a kiss on the cheek.”
She hesitated. “Forgive me. I didn’t know if you would have wanted to be greeted.”
The old man grunted. “Why would I have called you all the way out to London not to greet you? Now, come.”
She smiled brokenly and hurried toward him. Leaning down, she kissed his weathered cheek. “’Tis a blessing you are in such good health and in good spirit.”
Lord Westrop grabbed her hand and patted it. “In good enough health and spirit to survive this, I assure you. A letter was not the way to go about announcing your marriage.” He sighed. “I would like to speak to Mr. Milton alone. If I may.”
Holding Matthew’s gaze, and clearly ready to fight for him, Bernadette confided, “Only if my husband wishes it.”
Matthew smirked, endlessly touched. “I promise not to pull out the pistols.” He paused and tauntingly patted his waist for her, which hadn’t seen a leather belt or weapons since he left Five Points.
She tsked and shook her head, grabbing Ronan’s arm. “Come, Ronan. Would you like to see the stables?”
Ronan set his shoulders. “If I can take a carriage out and ride it across Town, yes.”
A laugh escaped her. She nudged him. “Let us think on that, shall we? Now, come.”
Together, they walked across the library and out.
Matthew stood alone before Lord Westrop. He set his hands behind his back, and knew it was best they get to the point. “There is no need to pretend that you’re pleased with this marriage, my lord. I’m not by any means every father’s choice in man, be he an aristo or a butcher. Even I know that. But you might like to know that she and I are happy. Gloriously happy, in fact. She is an incredible woman and I’m blessed to call her my own.”
Lord Westrop’s features tightened. “Her mother and I were happy. It was an arranged marriage, mind you, and I was much, much older than the woman, but we were happy. I...I tried to make Bernadette happy, thinking I knew what was best for her. At the time, I really didn’t think her happiness could be found in a young man. Young men these days are...overly ambitious and have a tendency not to take their duties of matrimony seriously. They give in to their passions and bed women just because they can and break their wives all in one go. And I didn’t want that for her. William, her first husband, was a good man. He adored Bernadette. And that was what I wanted for her. But in the end, I only made the poor creature miserable. ’Tis something I still live with every day.”
It appeared this man understood how he had wronged his Bernadette. And he supposed that was all that mattered. “Have you told her any of this?”
Lord Westrop shook his head. “I live in shame enough.”
Matthew stepped toward him. “I think it time you give peace not only to yourself, but to her. I know without any doubt that she would want to hear this from you.”
“In time...in time I will tell her. When I am ready.” Lowering his gaze to his lap, he adjusted his robe over himself. “I have but one request before I give this marriage my blessing.”
Matthew lowered his chin, astounded they had already veered past any lectures. “But of course. What is it?”
“I ask that you, she and this boy stay in London.” Lord Westrop cleared his throat. “I wish to be present for the coming of my first grandchild. I have waited many, many years for it.”
Matthew drew in a shaky breath and let it out. The staying in London bit he could get past, given Coleman and Georgia had both settled into new lives. Coleman as Atwood and Georgia as duchess. He rather liked the idea of being around his friends. The newspaper was the one and only thing that truly held him in New York, and that, he realized, he could turn over to Kerner. Even though it was his father’s legacy, and it would be difficult to let go, Kerner loved the publication and Matthew knew it would be safe in his hands.
But this whole business of
children...
He swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice from quaking. “If Bernadette wishes to stay, we will.” He couldn’t bring himself to say much else.
“Good.” Lord Westrop captured his gaze, those dark eyes unexpectedly brightening. After a long moment of silence, he asked, “Do you fence at all? You appear to be the type.”
Matthew’s brows rose. “Fence?”
“Yes. As in swords.”
A gruff laugh escaped Matthew. “Is this your way of announcing a duel?”
Lord Westrop snorted. “Quite the opposite.” The old man slowly stood, grabbing the cane set against his chair. “I used to fence in my younger years. And was rather good at it. I wouldn’t mind another go before I find myself unable to walk. There is a fencing academy just down the way—Angelo’s. I used to fence there all the time when my wife was still alive. I stopped going when she passed. I felt my time was better spent with Bernadette.” He nodded and eyed him. “Perhaps we could tap the swords a bit?”
Another gruff laugh escaped Matthew. “I really don’t think Bernadette would approve of us—”
“This is between us men.” Lord Westrop pointed the cane at him. “She doesn’t need to know. The devil that she is, she never tells me anything she does until after she does it. You, being a good example of that. She and you owe me this.”
Matthew inclined his head, not about to argue with an old man. “We’ll tap the swords anytime you’re ready, my lord.”
“Good. That is exactly the sort of cooperation I want out of a son-in-law. Now. If you don’t mind, I intend on finding that daughter of mine. She said something about the stables.”
Lord Westrop marched his way out with the cane.
When the man was gone, Matthew swiped his face and for the first time since becoming a husband to his Bernadette, he doubted if, in fact, he would ever be a father to a child of his own. A part of him felt guilty as hell even thinking it, as though he was betraying Bernadette by already giving up hope, when it had been only about two months of trying.
* * *
RONAN PATTED ALL of the horses, one by one, going down each and every stall. “How is it one old man needs all of these horses?”
Bernadette sighed. “’Tis the curse of the aristocracy. One horse is never enough.”
Someone grunted from behind her. “I dare say, who ever knew a man could feel so insulted before his own horses?”
Bernadette blinked and swung toward her father, who stood at the entrance in his robe, hay scattered at his slippered feet. “Papa. What are you doing out here? You shouldn’t be wandering outside the house in your robe.”
“I’m an old man,” he tossed out. “No one cares what the devil I do anymore.”
Ronan hesitated. “Should I leave?”
Lord Westrop pointed the cane at him. “No. In fact, once I up and dress, you can drive me about Town in my chaise. The air is good and the weather dry. What say you?”
Ronan’s eyes widened. “You’d let me drive?”
Bernadette’s own eyes widened. “Papa. He has never driven a chaise before.”
“Eh.” Lord Westrop waved her off. “I’ll teach him. ’Tis a pull of reins here and there. Mr. Sullivan, go hunt down one of my coachmen. Have him show you where everything is.”
Ronan let out a whoop and sprinted past, skidding through the hay and out of the stables.
Bernadette rolled her eyes, gathered her skirts to keep them from dragging against the dirt-pounded floor and made her way toward her father. “Do be careful driving. He is only fifteen.”
“I was ten when I learned to drive a chaise.”
Her brows rose. “Ten? I didn’t know that.”
He puffed out a breath and after a long moment said, “There is a lot you don’t know about me, my dear.” He reached out and grabbed her arm, shaking it. “I will make this brief, for I promised that boy a ride through Town, but I came to say three things. One, that husband of yours clearly adores you. As such, I have no choice but to accept him. Two, I hope you will remain in London. And three—” His brows came together as he searched her face. “If I had one of your dolls, I would use it to ask that you forgive me. For everything.”
“Oh, Papa.” Bernadette leaned in, setting her hands gently on those shaven cheeks that had been etched with too many woes in life. Many more beyond her own, that she knew. All she had ever wanted was to be loved by him.
She had known of his love when she was a girl, and adored him and that love above all else, but the older she got, the less he knew how to communicate with her and the more awkward it became. When she was about five, shortly after her mama had passed, he used to toss out the governess for three hours every afternoon and sit on the floor and play dolls with her. They were his means of communication, her dolls. For he didn’t know how else to communicate with her.
He would assume a silly high-pitched voice to speak through the dolls, saying things such as, “I have a bit of gossip. Though you might not like it.”
She thought it great fun and played along, by wagging her own doll at him and saying, “What sort of gossip?”
He would wag his doll back and say, “Lord Westrop, droll man that he is, has decided to hire a new governess. A better one. For less money. For we have very little of it, sadly. You won’t mind, will you?”
Depending on what he said, she might throw her doll at him. The dolls were how they always settled all of their disputes.
Obviously, as she grew older, it was outright demented to use dolls to speak with each other. This method therefore ceased when she was eleven. And from thereon out, with no other means of communication, it was as though their relationship had ceased.
But this...this acknowledgment of what had once been, was enough to make her feel she could move on. “If I had my doll,” she whispered, “I would use her to say, ‘I forgive you, Papa.’”
Tears appeared in his eyes. He nodded against her hands, sniffed hard and stepped away, ensuring his face was turned.
He gestured with his cane. “I should dress. I don’t want to keep the boy waiting.” He strode out, each step thudding in time with his cane.
Bernadette could do nothing but stare after him. Without any doubt, she knew Matthew, her beloved Matthew, had something, perhaps everything, to do with what had just happened.
* * *
WHILST MATTHEW VISITED with Lord Atwood, who had astoundingly up and married, Bernadette took the carriage across town and called upon her own dear friend Georgia, who was officially Lady Yardley, and had been for almost a year.
Imagine her astonishment when the redhead waddled across the parlor with an oversized stomach no gown could ever hide.
Bernadette’s lips parted. She rose to her feet. “Georgia! Heavens above. I didn’t know you were...”
“With child?” Georgia tossed back. She sighed and eased herself into a chair. “’Tis tradition never to say a word until after the child comes. Even if it’s obvious.” She rubbed her large belly and slowly grinned, the edges of those green eyes crinkling. “Which it is. This here babe ought to be due any moment. Robinson has been asking me every two blinks if I’m feeling any twinges.”
Bernadette hurried over to Georgia, grabbed that freckled face and kissed her forehead twice. “Many blessings and more.”
Georgia reached up, grabbed her hands and squeezed them. “I hear you and Matthew are married.”
“I most certainly am.” Bernadette gently grazed a hand across Georgia’s belly, knowing there was a little babe inside and tried not to be sad that she and Matthew would most likely never have this.
Georgia smiled. “I imagine you’ll be next. If you aren’t already, that is.”
Bernadette drew away her hand, tears now burning her eyes. She felt selfish ruining this moment for Georgia and tried not to cry as she pinched her lips.
Georgia’s smile faded. “What is it?”
Bernadette shook her head and turned away, swiping away tears that had stupidly run do
wn her cheeks. “We have been trying. So much so, I am exhausting him and he is exhausting me. I was never able to sire an heir for my first husband and being that I am but a few years from forty, I am beginning to accept that no child will ever find its way into my life. Not into my belly, at least.”
“Bernadette,” Georgia softly said. “Come. Come here.”
Slowly facing her, Bernadette sniffed and took her friend’s outstretched hand.
Georgia shook it. “Did I ever tell you that I had a dream about you and Matthew? You had a boy and named him Andrew. He was beautiful.”
Bernadette sobbed, unable to see anymore and squeezed that dear hand with as much love as she could. “Tell me what he looked like.”
“He had black hair, like yours. Eyes as black as any night. He was round and pudgy and all things perfect.”
Another sob escaped her. “And I named him Andrew.”
“That you did. Andrew Joseph Milton.”
“Oh, Georgia.” Her breaths were ragged. “I shouldn’t be asking for more than I already have. Matthew and I...we plan to take in orphans soon. Five, actually.”
“You do that. Until Andrew comes.”
Bernadette grabbed hold of Georgia’s face and kissed her forehead again and again. “I will do that. Until Andrew comes.”
EPILOGUE
A year later
Port Royal
THERE WAS NO DOUBT IN Matthew’s mind that, as he watched his Bernadette gleefully bustle through the sand and into clear blue water with her skirts hitched to her knees, alongside their children, that his family was in all ways perfect.
“Papa.” Annabelle poked him with a determined little finger, her blue eyes darting up toward his face. “You aren’t helping.”
Matthew grinned and helped scoop up sand and pile it for her. “Yes, Captain.” They called her Captain because she enjoyed giving orders ever since they took her in.
All six of their children, whom they had taken in from the Five Points, varied in age, shape and size—Ronan, being now sixteen, Charles being eight, Annabelle being four, Elizabeth being ten, John being six and Marie being twelve. With The Truth Teller no longer on his hands, and the mayor keeping the council busy with Five Points business, he could keep himself occupied with more important things. Such as being a husband and a father.
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