The Promise

by May McGoldrick

  Stanmore fixed his gaze on her. He had heard Birch’s introduction, but he suddenly found himself struggling to regain his composure. It was the same bloody woman he’d been watching from the window. At least, the cloak and the wind-blown red hair looked the same. Indeed, it was certainly the same woman.

  But her face! Though he could not see it when she was walking on the quay, he could easily see now the reason for his lawyer’s obvious enchantment. She was really quite beautiful…in an unexpected way.

  Her gaze was averted, and he had glimpsed those clear, unusually blue eyes for only an instant. It was enough, though. And the pull of attraction he was feeling only served to anger him more.

  “If you will excuse me, m’lord, after looking in on James…I will be down in the coffee room…er, making arrangements.”

  Birch slipped out the door, and Stanmore noted the anxious gaze the woman directed at the lawyer as he made his escape. The earl waited for a moment, allowing the silence to build. Finally, he broke it.

  “Did you have a pleasant journey over, Mrs. Ford?”

  “We did, m’lord.”

  Her voice was trembling slightly. He watched her eyes search the room with alarm. Her hands were fisted tightly at her sides. Her very stance conveyed the image of a doe brought to bay.

  “And your week in Bristol has not been a hardship, I hope.”

  “No, m’lord.”

  He clasped his hands on his back and tried to not focus on the tendrils of fire that framed the pale face. “I have a number of engagements awaiting me in London, so it would be best if we get down to the reason for my trip to Bristol.” He started pacing. “Before I present you with what I believe you will find to be ample compensation for your service to my family, I want you to know, Mrs. Ford, that you are welcome to remain in England as my guest for as long as you wish. Your expenses--”

  “Compensation, sir?” she interrupted, her sharp gaze stopping him dead. “I was under the impression that I was invited here to speak to you about your son.”

  “You are mistaken, ma’am. I have asked you here so I can finish what my lawyer failed to do…in spite of my clear instructions to him.”

  “Sir Oliver made a very generous—though misdirected—offer of money in Philadelphia, m’lord. Please be assured that the sum he offered had nothing to do with my refusal. But I must tell you that such a discussion is pointless.”

  “Mrs. Ford…” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Madam, you shall be paid for your--”

  “M’lord, I must insist that you consider the matter of this compensation closed.” The change in her demeanor was immediate and remarkable. The hounds might have her at bay, but she was not ready to lie down.

  “My family has incurred a debt to you. Until you accept what is rightfully owed to you--”

  “You owe me nothing, m’lord. There is nothing owed, for there was no debt—no bartering—no contractual agreements of any kind. I did not take James into my care with any expectation of monetary gain. And, to be perfectly blunt, I refuse to demean my affection for your son by allowing you or anyone else to quantify its worth.”

  “Mrs. Ford…”

  “I beg you, Lord Stanmore, to cease this line of discussion.”

  Stanmore stared at her for a long moment. There was more demand in her tone than begging. She was a fighter.

  “Thank you, m’lord. Then since we have concluded our discussion of what you wished to address, I have some business that I should like to discuss with your lordship.”

  “You have business to discuss, madam?”

  “It has to do with the welfare of your son.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, the lad is back where he belongs. His welfare is no longer your concern.”

  “I beg to differ, m’lord!” The anger that brought color instantly to her cheeks was also evident in her tone. “I am the only parent that he has ever known. He remains my concern.”

  “That was a mistake that we have rectified.”

  “Mistake?” Blue eyes flashed hotly at his direction. “It may have been a mistake that you lost a wife and a son. It may have been a mistake that you took nearly a lifetime before searching after them. But, for me, finding and raising James has been a blessing from heaven. And no matter how difficult this situation might appear to your lordship right now, my concern…nay, my love for him will not be called a mistake.”

  Stanmore felt his back stiffen, and Birch’s warning came back to him. The lawyer was correct. Mrs. Ford was not at all what he had expected.

  The two measured each other in silence for a long moment, and then she turned her head.

  As he watched her, he felt his perception shift slightly…and he cursed himself silently. But it was true, the woman had a natural right to be protective of the lad. Nonetheless, he could not allow her display of raw emotions to affect his judgment—not while James’s future was the topic of discussion.

  “You misunderstand my intentions,” he said finally.

  “Then perhaps you have misspoken them, m’lord.”

  Clasping his hands behind his back, he sent her a sharp glance and began to pace before the fireplace again. He didn’t need to explain anything to her. He had the power and the legal right to dismiss her and to do exactly as he’d planned. But the recollection of the young boy throwing his arms around her—the nagging thought of the bond that obviously existed between the two—these things gave him pause.

  “You must understand that you are not tossing the lad to the wolves, Mrs. Ford. We both have James’s best interests in mind.” He tried to gentle his tone as he paused before the small hearth to face her. “I assume your concern pertains to the lad’s immediate welfare, and my plans have been formed to see to it that he is provided for and cared for…so that he is prepared to assume his rightful position. Our goals are not so different.”

  He waited for an argument, but she gave him none, so he resumed his pacing as he delivered his lecture.

  “For a boy of James’s age and lineage, the most critical step will be for him to acquire a solid foundation for his education. And this is what I have planned for him now that he has arrived.”

  He gave her a quick glance. Despite her travel-worn attire and her rather untamed hair, she looked quite regal, standing there, listening intently to him. Even the flaming color in her cheeks had begun to subside.

  “James will be sent to Eton. For generations, all the Stanmores have been Eton men. It is a fine school. Sir Oliver has warned me already of the lad’s difficulties. To be blunt, he has informed me of the lad’s deafness.”

  “He will not fit in.”

  “He will with time. I shall see to it that James will receive all the proper assistance.”

  “You know nothing of the assistance he will require.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “When is James being sent there?”

  “Immediately, of course.”

  Shoulders raised. Head high. Eyes again flashing with challenge. He watched the fists form again at her sides. “Why, m’lord?”

  “Are you questioning the importance of education?”

  “Hardly. I am a teacher myself. I would never question such a worthy course of action. But I do question the timing of his departure. The month of June will soon be upon us.”

  “He will need to attend during the summer in order to catch up with the rest of the boys who will be returning in the fall. The arrangements are--”

  “And how much would he suffer if you were to delay your plans and send him there with the rest of the students in the fall?” She took a step toward him. “More importantly though, I wonder if you have considered how much he would suffer if you proceeded with such a plan. Put yourself in his place, m’lord. If you were sent to a strange school, among unfamiliar people, having just been separated from the only family you have ever known, how would you feel? Compound that with the brutal knowledge that your newfound father has shown no interest in even becoming acquainted with you.” At his silence,
she pressed on. “I wonder how you, or anyone, would feel, m’lord.”

  “He will adjust.”

  He saw her close her eyes and take a calming breath, no doubt to cool a temper that was blistering beneath the skin.

  “But is there any reason why he should be forced to adjust so abruptly?” She did not wait for an answer, shifting her gaze to the floor at his feet. “Blame me if you will, m’lord, but your son is different than other English boys…in so many ways.” She appeared to be measuring the distance that separated them. “In wealth and comfort, there has not been much that I could give him while I have had him, but he has never wanted for affection or love. I have always been prepared to fight his battles with him when other children laughed at his deformed hand or when adults screamed at him cruelly, thinking him ignorant rather than simply hard of hearing. I fought for him, and I taught him how to fight for himself. I taught him to draw strength from the goodness that he carries within, and never surrender to a hardship that burdens him. I taught him that burdens make us strong. But for all of that, m’lord, he is still only nine years old and far too young to be facing a whole new world of obstacles on his own.”

  Stanmore had never harbored any intention of ever allowing compassion to affect his dealings with the lad, but the woman was proving quite adept at eliciting his sympathy. Damn me, he swore silently, turning sharply toward the window and staring out.

  “I ask you, m’lord, to reconsider your decision. I implore you to give him a chance—to get to know him—even if just for now. When the fall comes, there will be ample time for you to decide what must be done. I only ask that you allow him to adjust to his new life in steps. Let him feel accepted by you…before I leave him.”

  The last words caught in her throat, and he did not have to face her to know she had tears in her eyes.

  Damnation! He shut his eyes and forced himself to master his anger. The woman had no right to question his decision. She knew nothing about his past. She knew nothing of the torment he’d endured or the willpower he’d exerted to make himself come even this close to the child.

  She also knew nothing about the promise he’d made.

  Stanmore opened his eyes and stared out at the cobbled stones where he’d seen them first. The quay seemed strangely empty and idle.

  He turned sharply and faced the woman waiting quietly for an answer.

  “Two months at Solgrave, my home near St. Albans,” he pronounced gravely. “A private tutor will be sent down to work with the lad as soon as he settles in.” He paused, frowning deeply. “And you would do me the honor of accompanying him there…if you wish it.”

  The instantaneous change that swept over her was most diverting to observe. She closed her eyes for an instant, and he saw her lips move in silent prayer. More so than in almost anyone he had ever met, Mrs. Ford’s face was an open window to her soul.

  Finally, she nodded and took a step backward toward the door. “Thank you, m’lord.”

  “Mrs. Ford,” he found himself calling after her.

  She paused with a hand on the latch.

  “I meant what I said in asking you to remain at Solgrave as my guest.” Stanmore looked out the window. “However…well, since there is no delicate way to put this, I will just say that you will find that the attire that is apparently suitable in the colonies is hardly suitable here. Mrs. Trent, my housekeeper in St. Albans, will see to it that you have everything that you need.”

  ***

  Escaping the room as quickly as she could, Rebecca paused in the empty hallway and pressed her icy hands to the feverish skin of her face. She felt shaken, spent, and in total chaos over a battle that she appeared to have won. But why was it, then, that she felt so wounded?

  The sounds of footsteps on the stairs jarred her from her momentary lapse. Hurriedly, she moved down the dim corridor and slipped into the first of the two rooms that she and Jamey were occupying. A door between the chambers was ajar, and before joining the lad Rebecca untied the knot of the cloak at her neck and laid the garment on a chair. On the wall in front of her, a small mirror caught her reflection.

  A gasp of astonishment accompanied the sudden flush of color that sprang to her cheeks. She stared in shock and dismay at the rippling waves of hair dancing in every direction. Taking in the well-worn dress, covered with splotches of mud where Jamey must have held her when the two had fallen down, she realized she looked more like a strumpet than a prim tutor fit to preach tolerance and compassion.

  No surprise that the arrogant earl of Stanmore had no qualms about telling her that she was unsuitably attired for a stay at his estate. She sighed deeply and bent to the task of creating some sense of order out of the wild locks of flaming hair.

  “You’re back, Mama!”

  Jamey’s delighted cry from the doorway and the excited bounce in his step as he came forward, stopping in front of her, made Rebecca immediately sweep her troubles aside.

  He gave her a formal bow. “Have I cleaned up properly, ma’am?”

  She gave him a full curtsy. “Aye, Master James. I’d say you look absolutely stunning.”

  Rebecca blinked back tears and opened her arms as Jamey moved into her embrace. She kissed his freshly brushed hair and looked up to find the serving woman smiling warmly at the two of them.

  “Is there anything else you’ll be needing now, Mrs. Ford?”

  Rebecca shook her head. As soon as the woman had left the rooms, though, Jamey started to bombard her with questions.

  “Now, who is it that I have to be meeting this afternoon?”

  Rebecca looked down into the young boy’s upturned face. “The earl of Stanmore.”

  “And what is he to you?”

  She took a deep breath and tried to calm her jittery stomach. “He is no one to me, but…”

  “Very well!” He shrugged and pulled out of her embrace, walking to the open window. “If he is nobody to us, then maybe you and I can take another walk down the quay.”

  “Jamey…”

  “This time, I am going to count the number of ships we see. I know George won’t believe me when I tell him that there were more ships here than we have at our wharves in Philly.”

  “Jamey…” Rebecca moved next to him at the open window, knowing in her heart that she wouldn’t be able to find the courage to repeat what she was about to say. Once would be crushing enough. She wanted to be certain the young boy heard her clearly.

  “When do we go back home?”

  Rebecca heard a note of sadness in his voice and she caressed his hair. “We just arrived, my love.”

  “I don’t like it here. I want to go home.”

  She lifted his chin and found tears glistening on the rims of his blue eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong, Jamey.”

  “I don’t like the way these people treat other people.”

  She hesitated, trying to remember what they had seen—what Jamey might have noticed that had escaped her own attention.

  “What do you mean, my love?”

  He pulled his chin free, and Rebecca followed the direction of his gaze. She spotted a line of Africans in chains being boarded onto a ship at the quay in front of the inn. She frowned and took a deep breath.

  “Isn’t it wrong to treat people like that?” he said, looking up at her.

  “Of course, it is wrong. Those people were stolen from their own families and homes and brought here against their will.” In Philadelphia, because of constant efforts by many of its residents and led by the Quakers, many slaves had already been given back their freedom. In fact, she’d heard that a man named Benezet was about to open a school for blacks this very year.

  Rebecca could understand the lad’s uneasiness, though. The number of slaves Jamey had seen this week, the way most of them were shackled and handled, was not like anything he had ever seen in Philadelphia.

  “Do they treat them like this because they are different?”

  “I think they treat them like this because some men are greedy and c
ruel and lack the belief that we are all God’s creatures…equally.”

  “Will they treat me like this because I am different?”

  Rebecca realized Jamey hadn’t heard her last words. He was now staring at the two fingers of his deformed hand poking through his sleeve. She took a hold of his hand and brought it to her lips. Tearful eyes followed her movement.

  “You are perfect as you are, my love. In God’s eyes, we are all perf--”

  “Then why?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot answer that. But I do know that we should never be ashamed of who we are. Instead, we should work hard to teach and change these people who value money above compassion. Those who are ignorant simply don’t know any better.”

  His trust in her words was clear as he blinked the tears away. She kissed his fingers, wiped a tear from his cheek, and caressed his face with the warmest smile she could summon.

  “Now, about this meeting you will be having with the earl of Stanmore. I have something very important to tell you.” He watched her. Waited for the words. Rebecca took a breath and pushed herself to say the words. “It is something that you must know before he sends for you. But what I am about to tell you, my love, changes nothing between us. It does not change how much I love you. It…it…”

  The sound of shouting and the clattering of a horse’s hooves on the cobbles below stole Jamey’s attention from her, and her shoulders sagged a little as the boy leaned out of the window.

  “Jamey, I...” Rebecca stopped as she saw what was happening.

  “Look at that, Mama. Isn’t he a stepper!”

  Amid the activity of the busy harbor front street, a beautiful chestnut-colored stallion was prancing and pulling at reins held somewhat tentatively by a stablehand. Before Rebecca could say anything, though, the earl of Stanmore strode out of the front door of the inn and into view.

  As the two of them watched, the nobleman took the reins and spoke curtly to the steed, which settled down immediately at the sound of his master’s voice. Stanmore swung up into the saddle easily and turned to say a parting word to Sir Oliver Birch, who also came out from the inn.