A Tale of Two Hearts

by Michelle Griep

  She smiled. “He sounds like William.”

  “Indeed.” Uncle Barlow grinned as well, but then as memories played over his face, his mirth faded. “He was.”

  “What happened to him?” she whispered.

  For a long while, Uncle Barlow stared into the fire, saying nothing. Did he even know she was still in the room? Just at the point when she was sure he wouldn’t answer, he pushed up from his chair and stood with his back to the hearth, flipping up his suit tails to warm his backside. “My brother Edward died not long after your William was born. Both he and William’s mother were taken by a fever. It is God’s grace alone that little William survived.”

  “How awful.” She pulled the words out of a great storehouse of sorrow. The pain of growing up without a mother was bad enough, but to not have a father either?

  “You sound as if you’ve held hands with loss yourself, my dear.”

  Shoving down a rising melancholy, she nodded, eager to change the subject. “Uncle Barlow, I wonder if William spoke with you this afternoon?”

  “I’m afraid I was a bit indisposed.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Your Miss Whymsy is delightful, and I confess to overindulging in her company. I took her on a tour of the entire grounds.”

  “I see.” So, the old fellow still didn’t know the truth. She pressed her lips flat.

  Uncle Barlow returned to his chair. “What was it William wanted to speak to me about?”

  Absently, she ran her hands along her legs, smoothing wrinkles from her gown. Would Will be very cross if she told his uncle herself? But was this not the perfect opportunity? And they had agreed he should know.

  “Uncle Barlow,” she began before she could change her mind. “There is something you need to know about Will and me.”

  “Oh? And what is that?”

  Trying not to think of the disappointment in his eyes when he found out about the deception, she pressed on. “We are not actually—”

  “There you are. I thought as much.” Percy’s voice boomed through the open door, and they turned. Will’s cousin frowned at her, then shifted his gaze to Uncle Barlow. “We are all waiting on you, Uncle, and have been for some time.”

  The old fellow patted her knee. “We shall have to continue this later, my dear.” Rising, he held out his arm and winked, speaking for her alone. “It promises to be a lively evening, for I’ve taken the liberty of seating Miss Whymsy next to me. I don’t suppose Alice shall like it, but then neither Alice nor Percy seem to like much of anything, eh?”

  She rose and took his arm, fingering her pocket with her free hand. Maybe she would need that second-chance coin tonight after all.

  For hopefully she’d get a second chance to tell Uncle Barlow the truth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Never close your lips to those whom you have already opened your heart.

  Charles Dickens

  The evening stretched into a long, sharp dagger and took a deadlier turn when Uncle Barlow and Miss Whymsy decided to retire early. Something about overdoing the day. Will grimaced as he set down his untouched glass of sherry. After parrying Alice’s cutting remarks and deflecting Percy’s verbal swipes, he’d had enough. “Come along, Mina. It’s been a long day for us as well.” He offered her his hand, then glanced at his cousins. “Good night.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps,” Percy drawled.

  Ignoring whatever the scoundrel had in mind, Will led Mina from the room more exhausted than he’d ever been. Normally he would have laughed off such vitriol. Dodged his cousins’ jabs as cleverly as he might a bucket of slop being dumped out a Cheap-side window. But when Mina became the sole target of such venom, he’d had no choice but to usher her out before he popped Percy in the nose.

  As they strolled toward the staircase, Mina’s gaze sought his. “You know you cannot stay in my chamber.”

  “Of course not.” He winked down at her, hoping the lighthearted action would calm her fears.

  “But where will you sleep?”

  “Don’t fret. I’ve got things under control.” For a moment, he wished he had drunk that sherry, if for nothing more than to wash away the bitter taste his words left in his mouth. Under control? Ha! A spinning kaleidoscope couldn’t have been more crazed than this topsy-turvy day.

  Mina paused and turned to him at the foot of the stairs. “Do you suppose your uncle would mind if I brought a book with me to bed?”

  “I should think he’d be delighted and”—he leaned toward her and tapped her on the nose—“would want to hear your thoughts on it when you’re finished.”

  He wheeled about and led her to the library, where she seemed more than at home. He watched her as she roamed from shelf to shelf, her delight doing strange things to his heart. She belonged here, surrounded by books as if they were old friends. Running her fingers along each shelf, she’d pause with a mysterious twitch to her lips, and for some odd reason, he wished this moment to never end. Was this how it was for God to gaze upon His creation as they enjoyed His gifts?

  As she passed near a wall sconce, soft light teased out the coppery glimmers in her hair, all done up and begging for release. How long would those locks fall? How silky the feel? His fingers curled in reflex and—sweet blessed heavens…what was he thinking?

  Finally, she pulled a book off of a shelf, and a little coo caught in her throat. Judging by the way she cradled the thing to her breast, she’d found a favorite. As she rambled back to where he waited for her at the door, her smile faltered for a moment—when her gaze slid to the portrait of his father.

  “Will…” she bit her lip as she drew close to him, bringing the sweet scent of the rosemary water she’d freshened up with. “I hope you don’t mind, but your uncle told me the sad tale of your father and mother earlier today.”

  He stiffened. Father…and mother? What could the old fellow possibly say about her? “What do you mean?”

  “How they died of a fever. I had no idea you grew up without knowing either of them. It was hard enough losing my mother as a child. I can’t imagine not having my father around. I am sorry for your loss.”

  Compassion shimmered in Mina’s eyes, and the fish he’d eaten at dinner flipped in his gut. All the deceptions, the secrets, knotted into a great net, trapping him and squeezing the breath from his lungs. This had to stop. Surely he owed Mina some morsels of truth—despite his mother’s wishes. Besides, it wasn’t as if he were telling Uncle Barlow.

  “Mina, there’s something my uncle didn’t tell you, because he doesn’t know it himself. But I feel I must be honest with you, for you’ve suffered enough untruths at my request. My mother is, well…she’s still alive, though for how much longer, I am not certain. She is very ill.”

  “She’s not dead?” The words rolled from her lips as if she tasted each one and couldn’t decide whether she liked the flavor. “While I am happy for you that your mother is yet among the living, why does your uncle think—why do you allow him to think—she is dead? I don’t understand.”

  Of course she didn’t. He’d barely understood it himself that day six months ago when a solicitor had tracked him down and told him the unbelievable details. Reaching, he kneaded a rock-hard muscle on his shoulder. “It is a complicated story,” he said at length.

  She merely shrugged. “I am well familiar with such tales, for are not all our lives a tangled heap of joy and sorrow? Still, if you’d rather not tell it, I understand.”

  The pity in her eyes made his heart skip a beat. Had ever a more compassionate woman graced this earth?

  Leaning back against the doorjamb, he folded his arms. He’d already relayed the story to Fitz. There could be no harm in sharing it with Mina as well, for his mother had only bade him not to reveal the details to his family.

  “My father,” he began, “was the youngest brother, and as such, was indulged. Overmuch. And to his detriment, I might add. Though my grandfather urged him to go into the church, he could not give up his artistic bent or his dream to become a ren
owned painter. He talked Grandfather—or rather Grandmother—into allowing him to study for a year in France amongst the masters. It was there he met my mother.”

  Mina’s nose bunched. “This doesn’t sound so complicated.”

  “This is where it takes a turn.” He sighed. How to put this delicately? “While staying as a guest in the house of one of his former schoolmate’s relatives, he became enamored with the gentleman’s daughter. He asked to paint her, and she accepted. During those long sessions, alone, his admiration of her turned into an indiscretion.”

  “Oh.” Pink blossomed on Mina’s cheeks, and for a moment, he considered if he should continue.

  Unfolding his arms, he paced the rug in front of the door. Better to tell the rest without making eye contact. “When my mother told my father she was with child, he knew he had to do the right thing and marry her. But she was French. And in his English family’s eyes, that would be a mark against her. Were they to find out she was also bearing his child, they’d both be outcasts.”

  Mina’s breath caught. “So what happened?”

  “He brought her home immediately, intending to marry in the Anglican church before anyone knew. But while doing a fitting for my mother’s dress, a servant noticed her thickening middle and went straight to Grandfather. Needless to say, it did not go over well. Grandfather allowed the marriage to continue to give the child—me—a name, but he swore my parents to secrecy and banned them from his household immediately following the ceremony.”

  “How awful.”

  “It was.” He stopped his mad pacing and faced her. “They moved to London, where they took up a shabby existence. My father scrabbled to sell miniature portraits while my mother tried desperately to get jobs tutoring French. Shortly after my birth, my father took ill and died. My mother, alone in a foreign country, with a babe and no means to support herself, decided to bring me back to my father’s family and plead for Grandfather to take me in, for she couldn’t return to her home with a child born far too soon after their marriage. Grandfather agreed. I was whisked off to be cared for by a hired nurse until I could be weaned and questions wouldn’t be asked. He let everyone believe—even me—that my mother had died of a fever alongside my father.”

  “Oh, Will…” Mina’s words shivered on the air. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He shrugged. “Well, there is somewhat of a happy ending. I hope, at any rate. When my mother recently fell ill, hanging by a thread onto life, she sent a solicitor to find me, which he did, thank God. I have been to see her, and I hope—and pray—that by moving her here, I can care for her, and she’ll soon recover.”

  “I pray so too.” Her blue gaze met his. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Nodding, he swept his hand toward the door. “It is getting late. I should see you up to your room.”

  He pivoted and strode past the threshold—and came face-to-face with Percy.

  Blast! If his cousin had heard any of his tale…his hands curled into fists. “How long have you been standing there?” he ground out.

  A slow smile spread across Percy’s face. “Long enough. Good night, Cousin.”

  Percy wheeled about and stalked down the corridor.

  “Oh, dear.” Coming up from behind, Mina rested her hand on his sleeve. “He’ll tell your uncle, won’t he?”

  His shoulders sagged, but a steely determination shored up his soul. Though his mother had asked him otherwise, there was nothing to be done for it now. “Not if I tell him first.”

  And he would. He’d seek out Uncle Barlow first thing on the morrow and tell him everything or die in the trying.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  There is nothing so strong or safe in an emergency of life as the simple truth.

  Charles Dickens

  He’d meant to talk to his uncle, truly he had, but the next day passed in a blur of festive activities—and never once had Uncle been without Miss Whymsy at his side. Morning. Afternoon. Evening. All the events had chafed like a damp woolen muffler, rubbing Will’s conscience so raw that by the time he escorted Mina up the stairway to her chamber well after nightfall, he could hardly stand himself. Now that he was finally ready to divulge everything to his uncle, it seemed as if the powers of hell conspired against his bringing the truth to light.

  At the top of the stairs, Mina leaned close to him and lowered her voice. “Have you spoken to your uncle?”

  “Trust me, I tried, but not yet. It seems your Miss Whymsy is a particular favorite of his. The two were inseparable all day.”

  “I noticed. I’ve never seen her so happy, so…animated, I suppose.” A brief smile flickered on her lips, then just as soon faded. “Though I am sorry you weren’t able to corner Uncle Barlow because of her.”

  “Well, the good news is that Percy wasn’t able to either.” He offered his arm, and they continued down the corridor toward the blue room. “As near as I can tell, that is.”

  “Which is a bit strange, I think. Your cousin seems the type to relish a good tattling, no matter if your uncle were occupied or not.”

  “I know. That does have me concerned.” He scrubbed his face with his free hand. Percy had never been able to keep a secret—especially one as tantalizing as this. So why now?

  “I pray you’ll have better luck tomorrow.” Mina smiled up at him. “And I’ll try to detain Miss Whymsy for you.”

  “Actually, I still have a chance to speak with my uncle tonight. It’s his habit to record the day’s activities in a journal he keeps in his study. I’m not sure if it’s the writing he enjoys more or the cherry tobacco he uses in his pipe while composing.” He winked down at her—and was rewarded with a blush that pinked Mina’s cheeks to a most becoming shade.

  “Well, despite everything, it was a lovely day. The sleigh ride. Meeting some of the tenants. Oh, and the drinking chocolate afterwards. Sublime!” Her eyes closed and her mouth moved as if she were savoring it all over again.

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. Such innocence. Such beauty. A sweet combination of all that was lovely and right. His mirth fled, replaced with a sobering revelation. Not only would he never tire of spending time with Mina—he didn’t want his time with her to end.

  Her eyes popped open, and she arched a brow. “If you don’t mind, I shall have to steal that recipe and bring it home to Martha. What an addition it would be to Father’s Christmas celebration. It might even outshine his oyster stew.”

  He stopped at her chamber door and tapped her on the nose. “No thievery involved. You have my blessing to ask Cook for it.”

  He opened her door and stood aside, but she hesitated on the threshold, apparently lost in thought. Fine little creases marred her brow.

  “A farthing for your thoughts?” he asked.

  “I…well…” She sighed as if the weight of the world were hers to carry.

  He stepped closer, alarmed yet instantly ready to fight whatever dragon tormented her so. “Tell me.”

  She peered up at him, her blue eyes almost greenish, so pure was her anguish. “I am concerned about the Christmas party, what with your uncle and cousins planning on attending. Father doesn’t know we’ve been playing the part of being married, and were they to hint at anything, well…if my father finds out, I—”

  He laid a finger against her lips, and his knees nearly buckled from the softness that met his touch. “Stop right there. If the rest of the evening goes as promised, I shall have the matter taken care of by morning. You are not to lose one bit of sleep over this. Promise?” For a moment she wavered, then her gaze brightened back to normal and the trust shining in those blue ponds did strange things to his gut. He lowered his hand to keep from pulling her into his arms.

  “I promise.” A small smile curved her mouth.

  “Right then, off with you. See you at breakfast.”

  She nodded and crossed into her chamber, then turned with her hand on the door. “Good night, Will.”

  Ahh, but she was a picture, standing
there with lamplight bathing her in an angelic glow. It took him several tries just to get out a simple goodbye. “Good night.”

  Turning on his heel, he fled down the corridor. It was either that or give in to the urge to kiss her senseless. He upped his pace as he descended the stairs, then swung around the staircase and strode toward Uncle’s study. The sooner he got this over with, the better. Bracing himself for a long night of explaining, he stepped through the open door. “Uncle Barlow, sorry to disturb you, but there’s something important I need to…”

  His words stumbled to a halt as two grey heads turned to look at him from across the room. A lively blaze in the hearth cast light on the figures seated on the sofa—his uncle and Miss Whymsy. He shoved down a groan. Ought not a woman of Miss Whymsy’s age be abed? What on earth could they possibly be talking about now when they’d been locked in conversation all the blessed day?

  Uncle Barlow beckoned with one hand. “Come and join us William. Miss Whymsy here is just telling me about her volunteer work at an institute I’d never heard of. Quite interesting. You may learn a thing or two.”

  “I…uh…” Clamping his mouth shut, he gritted his teeth. What to do? Stay and listen, wait out whatever the older lady had to say—which could take hours, as elders generally got sidetracked frequently and for long periods. Or leave now and have a go at Uncle first thing in the morning?

  “Yes, do come join us, Mr. Barlow. If you’re half as enthralled as your uncle at my stories, I daresay I could regale you until daybreak.” Laughter warbled past the lady’s lips.

  Just as he’d thought. The two of them had settled in and would make a very long night of it, and by the time it wrapped up, no doubt Uncle would be too weary for the weight of the sordid truth Will must tell him.

  “I thank you, but—” He forced a small yawn. “I didn’t realize the hour. Perhaps, Uncle, I might speak with you straight off in the morning?”

  “Of course. Any time, my boy. And a hearty good night to you.”