Saints and Sinners

by Karen V. Wasylowski

Ewan was already on his feet and beaming, buoyed by the sight of his pretty cousin and her friend. At last he had playmates – even if they were girls! “Hello, Birdy! Mangling French now, are we? What happened to German?”

  “Fertig.”

  “Gesundheit. We thought you’d gone with your Mam and Da to America.”

  “No, although I do miss them both terribly, someone had to remain to care for Grandma and Grandpapa. But, look at you, you’ve grown taller. You’re taller than I.”

  “I’m nearly tall as Mama.”

  “Well, who isn’t? I was nearly tall as Auntie B when I was five years old. Where are my manners? This is my cousin, Amanda Rose, Ewan. She is my dearest friend in all the world – aside from you of course. Mandy help me bring two chairs up to the table would you – there’s a dear – and, meet my schrecklich cousin Ewan and his parents, whom I adore. I call him Oxie sometimes because he was big as an ox when he was born, or so his Papa told me. They’re really the only reason he turned out so fine. Ooh, and do you know what? Ewan is absolutely the best skater in Edinburgh, except when I’m there. We must have him join the boys skating club, then we’ll have the perfect excuse to join in. Tarts! Capital! I’m faint with hunger.” Two peach tarts immediately disappeared from the plate. “Oh, these are scrumptious!”

  “Extremely happy to meet ye, Mandy. I dinnae know how you stand the company of m’cousin. She exhausts me. Birdie, stop touching all the food; are ye looking for the apple tarts? Afraid I’ve eaten them all.”

  “Not to worry. Grandmama, are there – say, wait a moment, I just noticed something! Do you know you look very similar to each other? No, not you and my Grandmama, Ewan! You and Amanda. I’d never noticed before – well, I’d never seen you both together, had I? You look so very much alike it’s truly astonishing! I say, don’t you think Mandy and Ewan look alike, Grandmama? Grandpa? Auntie Bridget? Oh, dear. Have I said something wrong? What’s happened?”

  It was a surprise to see the adults staring in odd directions, each one locked in rigid silence, some pale, others flushed. Birdy was about to apologize for whatever she’d said that had made them all upset, when a scratch on the door was followed by it being swung opened.

  Matthew Fitzwilliam leaned into the room. “‘Girls, lower your voices to a dull roar, would you? You can be heard all the way to the street. Uncle Wills, might I borrow one or two of your footmen? Beastly storm outside. Seems my carriage wheel is stuck in …”

  He froze in mid-sentence.

  It would be years before he could admit he’d been waiting for this moment, hoping, dreaming of seeing her again. Oh, he had gone through the motions of life, visiting gentlemen clubs, midnight dinners with younger and younger women, taking his seat beside his father in the House of Lords, attending the theatre, the opera, the ballet, frequenting museums and parks, enjoying family. He was a powerful and busy man, never left the city for the family estate.

  And no one ever questioned why he’d become such a frequent caller at the Darcy home over the years, or at the home of his cousin, Anne Marie – but, deep down, he knew. Bridget would visit one day – she was family now – and he would be certain to be nearby when it happened.

  The frustrating years of anger and hurt he’d spent in a bottle imagining one scenario after another! He despised her. He obsessed over her. He would humiliate her for certain, he would expose intimate details of lovemaking to her husband, or, seduce her and then expose her to the world. The thought of her pleading for his silence, or his forgiveness, even for a second chance helped him remain sane through the initial years.

  However, this red-hot fury eventually played itself out, becoming unsustainable by year six – the rage was hurting only him and, therefore, senseless to continue. So, he relegated her to his past, slipped her neatly into a pocket of his brain where secrets rested and dreams went to die, and he moved on. Until he walked into that room and saw her.

  Bridget, the woman who had changed his world. Bridget, the woman he had loathed beyond reason, the woman he would love to his grave. Damn her. She was as beautiful today as the first time he’d seen her, nine years before.

  Darcy stood stiffly, saying something Matthew couldn’t comprehend. It was a moment before he could even move before turning to close the door behind him. He gave himself time to compose his wits, took a deep breath, and then turned. “Um. Sorry, I had no idea you were entertaining visitors, or I would not have barged in so.”

  He saw then the compassion in Darcy’s eyes, the sympathy – and also, perhaps, a silent plea for restraint. Matthew was reluctant to look away from those eyes. His uncle had always been the rock of their families, the one person they all looked to for common sense, even his father. He just needed another moment to start his heart going again, gain some composure, think…

  “Matthew, you remember Sir Alex Durand and his family.”

  “Yes, of course.” The butler silently entered the room behind him and settled a chair beside Darcy then motioned for another servant to bring his lordship a brandy to warm him. No one said a word, everyone just watched, and waited, the clock ticking away. Finally, when the servants had left the room, he acknowledged Alex. “And to what does England owe this tremendous honor?” The cold smile never reached his eyes. “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. You’ll be joining Commons this session.”

  Lizzy settled a hand on Matthew’s back, out of view of the others. He had always been impulsive, hotheaded like his father – still, he was like a son to her, her heart arched for him as a son. The truth was she loved all his brothers and sisters as if they were her very own, and had promised their mother, her dearest friend in the world, that she would watch over them. Was he even aware there was a child? If not, his greatest shock was yet to come.

  “Sir Alex and Bridget are in London with regards to his brother Jamie and our Anne Marie. They were concerned, of course.”

  “Well, they’ve certainly come to the right place, Uncle Wills. Hope you’ve been able to put their minds at ease.”

  “Yes, I believe I have.” Darcy walked to the fireplace mantle to retrieve his pipe, his absence exposing a side table where the children sat in silence, their huge eyes watching the adult drama unfold before them. Amanda Rose kept her gaze intently on her father, sensing his tension. Birdy watched her grandmother’s eyes moisten with tears for some unknown reason.

  His back to the adults, Ewan leaned over and tugged on his father’s sleeve. “Papa, are you all right?” It had been a while since he’d seen his father look upset; it brought back bad memories, it frightened him. “Is your leg aching you?” he whispered.

  “Ach, no, I’m fine, son.” Alex squeezed his boy’s hand and smiled reassuringly.

  Unconvinced, Ewan quickly looked to his mother for reassurance but found little comfort there, her face even paler than his Papa’s. In fact, it was a rarity in his young life to see his mother distressed at all. He gulped back his panic. “Mama? What is it? Is everything all right?”

  Bridget pressed a hand to her stomach as the room began to spiral. She had tried to fool herself into believing she was travelling to London with Alex out of her love and concern for him, nothing else; yet, her heart knew otherwise. From the moment she’d heard his voice in the hallway she’d known the truth – her very soul belonged to him, and only him. But, how could that still be true? How could she still love him? How? He was arrogant, selfish, cruel; everything Alex was not.

  “Mama?”

  Hearing her son’s voice jolted her; he was speaking but her mind was a jumble.

  Birdy broke the silence with what she thought would be a pleasing observation. “Cousin Matthew, you haven’t met my Auntie B’s son yet, have you? He’s a great bowler, and he loves to skate, don’t you Ewan?”

  “Oh aye. Especially if there’s a game of bandy anywhere nearby. I even brought m’goaler’s stick with me.”

  Matthew stepped forward, rested his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. So, the bitch had a son, did she? Good for her, may he
bring her nothing but heartache the rest of her days. “I had no idea. May I be introduced?”

  “Stand up, Oxie and make your bow to my cousin. Here he is, Cousin Matt. Doesn’t he look so much like our Amanda?”

  When the lad looked up at him and smiled Matthew’s world stopped.

  My son. As sure as he breathed, he knew. Wild emotions shattered within him, overwhelming him long before they became manageable. Shock, wonder, joy, pain. Love – Blinding love. Everything about the boy was familiar, intimate. It was as if a part of himself was staring back.

  Tears threatened, he shot a narrowed glance at Bridget. How could they have kept this from him all these years – both Bridget and that bastard cripple beside her? All these years. A son lost to him, all these years. He wanted to kill them both.

  Alex cleared his throat. “Lord Fitzwilliam…” he began then stopped when Matthew glared at him, realizing he knew the worst of it now. There was no more hiding. Although he disliked Matthew intensely, Alex felt great compassion at that moment. Perhaps he should have pressed Bridget harder over the years to contact him. A man had a right to know about his own son, after all. It was wrong, all wrong, to learn of his child this way. “Good afternoon,” he finally said, feebly, quietly.

  “Good afternoon? Really?” Matthew spit out, amused in spite of himself. “That’s all you have to say to me after – well, shall we say after all these years?”

  “I hope you are well.”

  “Well, that’s much more sensible, isn’t it?” The fury in Matthew fueled his spite and he smiled kindly. “Never felt better, old man. Physical exercise such as skating exhilarates me, as does cricket, tennis, swimming. Oh, do please forgive me; how insensitive. You’ll never know that joy again, will you?”

  Facing the only rival he’d ever known for his wife’s affection, Alex wanted to spit in his face. He had always hated the fellow’s arrogance, his contempt – the younger man with the still robust physique, handsome looks… full head of hair. And with both his legs, the bastard. How can I compete with this? To hell with him – he had never deserved Bridget, and certainly did not deserve a son like Ewan. “I have been blessed in other areas,” he answered gruffly.

  “I can see that.” Matthew’s gaze briefly skimmed over Bridget’s body as he tried to convince himself he felt nothing but contempt for her, that any shred of tenderness remaining from their past was destroyed. A youthful dalliance, that’s all it had ever been, nothing more – her long-ago betrayal evaporated his imagined ardor like steam from a kettle. Then, to have given birth to his flesh and blood but never tell him? He would never forgive her for this. Never. He could not, nor ever would, say it was a pleasure to see her once more. That would give voice to a lie.

  It was no pleasure at all.

  Bridget wanted to scream. This was not how she’d imagined he would find out about Ewan. So many years had gone by, oceans of tears. In her desperation to see Matthew again she had forgotten how cold he could be, how cruel. He looked at her with hatred in his eyes, and suddenly she felt terrified of the man who had abandoned her in London, before she could tell him she was having his child. Didn’t he understand why she’d run off with Alex? Where was his compassion for that? His understanding? Where was his love?

  She must not panic, must gain control of herself somehow. She had done nothing of which to be ashamed when she married Alex, except go on with her life, secure a future for their baby. Matthew hadn’t thought about her welfare when he’d left her on her own nearly nine years before – alone, ashamed, frightened, pregnant. Why should she care what he believed now?

  As all this played out across her face her son slipped a hand into hers. “Mama, please sit. You don’t look at all well.”

  She closed her eyes, love chased away her fear. Ewan.

  Smoothing a hand across his hair she relaxed; as always, his voice calmed her. It was amazing the amount of courage and strength she had gained from being a mother. When all was said and done, her months as Matthew’s mistress had given her the greatest gift of her life – her son. “No, my darling, I feel fine.” For her boy’s peace of mind, she even managed to face Matthew. “Lord Fitzwilliam, may I introduce you to…”

  Good heavens, she had been about to say, ‘our son,’ but meaning hers and Alex’s, of course. She quickly composed herself and continued, “… my son, Ewan. Ewan make your bow to Lord Fitzwilliam, please.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Seeing his mother’s features relax again he smiled, then stepped forward and bowed. “Tis an honor to meet you, sir. “

  His son was glorious – and it was his son, of that there was no doubt; an added reason to go on living, working, pick oneself up from the ashes that sometimes were life. “Ewan, it is an honor to finally meet you as well. An honor.” He glanced briefly at Bridget. “And, that is a fine name – it was my grandfather’s.”

  At that Alex looked up; no wonder she’d insisted upon the name. Why the secrecy, though, lassie? Well, at least she had the decency to blush and look away when he stared at her.

  “What a fine lad,” Matthew continued. “If I may be so bold, may I ask your age?”

  “I’m nearly nine. Well, I shall be nine in eight months.”

  “That old, are you? Very good,” Matthew pressed his lips together, fighting off the urge to shout. Nine years. It was all true. “Well, this is certainly well met, Ewan. I hope we see a good deal more of you now that you’re in London. But you must become acquainted with my nephews and their friends. They’re a wonderful group of boys, some around your age. I shall make certain you meet them all.” Bridget’s soft intake of breath at that statement wasn’t lost on him; he wanted to laugh out loud. Let her try and stop him, please God. He could care less what she thought.

  “While he’s here we hope he’ll join the St. James Bandy Club, Cousin Matthew. He’s very good, an excellent goalie...” Birdie backed away from further comment when she saw her beloved Bridget becoming upset.

  Matthew noticed it too and it warmed his heart. He hoped her suffering was just beginning. “Really? Why, that’s splendid! The very group to whom I was referring. So, you’d like to join in with the lads?”

  “I should like that verra much, sir. Oh, it would be grand fun, I think.”

  “It certainly would. I doubt your parents will deny you some entertainment and exercise during your visit, making new friends, meeting family.”

  Bridget was becoming more uneasy by the moment, her mind racing for rebuttals; however, each time she opened her mouth to object either Matthew would interrupt, or, worse yet, Ewan would laugh happily, too excited to notice.

  “Oh, no, sir! I’m certain they’ll be pleased. My mum and da have spoken of you, and of your family, often. And, o’course, you are a great favorite of Birdy’s – I mean Cousin Roberta.”

  “Rather surprised your parents mention me to you at all. We were not – that is to say, your father and I – were not that well acquainted with each other. Just what have they said?”

  “Oh, mummy often talks about the olden days in London, about the Darcy’s and the Fitzwilliam’s, and about how everyone was so verra kind to her.”

  As her son spoke Bridget watched Matthew stare intensely at him, drinking in his every word. She could see he already adored the child, and it both thrilled and terrified her. “The olden days you say? Around the time of the flood, is that what you mean, young man?” The girls giggled and his son guffawed, both sounds warming his heart.

  “Amanda Rose, darling, I see you’ve met these friends of your ‘olden days’ father already, Sir Alex Durand and his wife, Lady Durand.”

  The child happily ran to her father’s side. With angelic features, softly curling golden blonde hair and immense blue eyes, she beamed proudly up at him. “Yes, Papa; and, Lady Durand is as pretty as Birdy told me she was.” She turned to Bridget. “Birdy said your home in Scotland is a wonderland, and that you have sheep and goats and mountains and fish leap from the streams.” The child’s voice was unique, a b
it richer than one would expect of a little girl, melodious. She sparkled, innocence shone in her eyes.

  Bridget smiled warmly but could have easily wept. “That we do, dear. Aye, she’s lovely, Lord Fitzwilliam.” She had yearned for a daughter; however, after two dangerous miscarriages reality had taken hold and she’d stopped hoping. There would be no more children for her and Alex – sons or daughters. “You are your father’s image.”

  “Tres vrai!” Birdy clapped her hands with delight. “And Ewan’s as well – is that not tre vrai amazing?”

  The room became deathly quiet. Matthew’s gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well… indeed, Cousin Matthew… that is… sorry. Have I said something wrong, Mandy? Am I being too loud?” she whispered. Amanda looked from one person to another then shrugged, confused as always by the inexplicable tensions that occasionally flowed back and forth between adults.

  Matthew cleared his throat then turned to Lizzy, his smile brittle. “Well. I believe I’ll wait out the storm here in the bosom of my family. I know you won’t mind if I settle my cattle in your stable, Uncle Will, until the snow lifts. Tea anyone?”

  Chapter 6

  It had been nine years since a broken-hearted Bridget fled London, her bridegroom and dependent sister in tow. She’d been two months enceinte at the time, fear for the future of her unborn child obliging her to abandon her dreams, her hopes, her lover. It had nearly killed her – or at least there were times she prayed for death – but she would gladly do it all again. Nothing came before her child, not even Matthew; no sacrifice was too great. She would banish all memories of the man who had been her life, her other half, her soul mate, and resign herself to a loveless marriage. Stoically she had accepted her martyr’s existence…

  Imagine her surprise, then, when the years following had turned out to be not only pleasant, but joy filled. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to fall in love with Alex Durand, the kind man who had rescued her from shame – but, she did. Oh, it might not be the romantic, all-consuming adoration she’d known for Matthew, but it was a dear romance nonetheless, a great friendship, and it had provided her with a loving home.