To Heal a Heart

by Anthea Lawson

  Home. It was the beginning of another journey, he knew that. So many amends to make. And though he did not know how to begin to ask his brother’s forgiveness, he must try.

  Alex glanced down at Caroline and squeezed her hand, a fierce conviction flashing through him, so white-hot he was sure she must have felt it run from his fingers to hers. I love you.

  Their gazes locked, and for a moment it was only the two of them, caught together in the huge, still center of the world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Caroline barely recalled following the maid to her room the previous night. After reaching Raven Hall and meeting Alex’s mother, exhaustion had swirled around her, heavy and muffling. She had been so weary she could barely keep her eyes open over the hasty supper prepared for them, and she was certain she had fallen asleep somewhere in between laying her head on the pillow and pulling up the sheets.

  Now she felt more rested than she had in days. When she had finally woken, the maid had brought her a muslin dress—another garment that did not quite fit, but Caroline had been only too happy not to re-don the mourning gown. The time for darkness was over.

  Yesterday, learning the dreadful secret that Alex had carried alone for years—her heart twisted at how he had tortured himself for it. He had shut himself away from all joy, all life, in trying to atone. Ah, Alex. She hoped that now… But she hardly dared name that hope.

  “The breakfast room is this way, miss.” The maid—Annie was her name—led her through Raven Hall.

  Caroline glanced about, wanting to see everything, to absorb this place that had been his home. It was large—they passed hallways filled with closed doors—but not forbiddingly so. The house was warm and elegant, with a sense of quiet ease, as though nothing truly tragic had ever transpired within its walls.

  At the end of one corridor she halted, staring at what could only be called a shrine. A gilt-framed oil painting depicting a smiling young man holding the reins of a horse hung on the wall. Beneath the picture a vase spilled over with fresh peonies, their sweet fragrance rising up like hope. Candles to either side shed a warm, constant light.

  She did not need to step any closer to see the rich indigo of his eyes, to know it was a portrait of Alex. They had not forgotten him. He had been loved and remembered every day that he was gone. She moved to the painting and studied it, seeing an Alex she had only caught glimpses of. The face in the painting was open and happy, that of a youth who expects the world to bring him only good things. It wrenched at her to know how little that had proven true for him.

  And yet, the man she knew now was truly that. A man. Someone who had plumbed the depths of his own soul, who had known and weathered tragedy. A man who, though he had rarely smiled, still remembered how.

  “Coming, miss?” Annie asked.

  “Yes.” Caroline gathered herself and followed.

  “’Tis late, but the family is still at breakfast. Here we are.” The maid bobbed a curtsey at the folded-open doors.

  Delicious scents pulled Caroline forward into a sunlit room, where Alex was lingering over his meal. His mother and her companion, Lucy, sat across from him, drinking tea.

  “Caroline.” He rose the instant he caught sight of her. “Come, sit. I’ll fix you a plate.” He took her hand and drew her to the chair beside his.

  Mrs. Trentham gave her a smile of welcome. “Good morning, Miss Huntington. Did you sleep well? Was the bed comfortable?”

  “Very. I know our arrival must have been a shock and—well, I am grateful for your hospitality.”

  “You needn’t worry about that, dear.” Mrs. Trentham poured her a cup of tea. “Alex says you need a refuge, and I am delighted to have you here. And my son, of course.” Her face softened as she watched Alex at the buffet. “My son.”

  Caroline blinked at the expression on the woman’s face and took a hasty sip of her tea. She would not start weeping at the breakfast table. She would not.

  “When Mother inquired about luggage I told her we were traveling lightly.” Alex slipped a plate of food before her, then took his seat again. “There is a wardrobe and some trunks full of dresses for you to look through, I believe. But no more black.”

  “No more.” She could not help smiling at him.

  “I’ll have the seamstress come from the village,” Mrs. Trentham said. “She can bring along some made-up dresses to fit you with as well. But tell me, Alex says you are a relation of the Earl of Twickenham?”

  Caroline finished her bite of toast and nodded. “He is my uncle.”

  “How splendid! We were acquainted in my youth—before he held the title, of course. You are to be adopted by him?”

  A pang against her heart. “No. I’m afraid not.”

  “It’s for your safety.” Alex reached and took her hand.

  “I know. It’s just…I worry at how Uncle will take the news. He was so happy at the thought of making me part of the family.”

  “Caroline, you are part of the family. Publicly halting the adoption is the only way you can be free of Simms and his employer.” He squeezed her hand. “Your uncle will not hesitate to withdraw the petition, once he understands it’s for your protection. And you know he loves you.”

  “Yes.” That knowledge glowed, a coal of warmth, deep inside her.

  “Tell me more of yourself, dear.” Mrs. Trentham took up her teacup.

  “I’m involved in charitable work,” Caroline said.

  “She’s founded a very successful school for orphans in London,” Alex added.

  “How good of you.” Mrs. Trentham’s bright, interested gaze lit upon Caroline again. “The world is always in need of generous souls willing to help.”

  “Which is why I insist you have one of Cook’s cakes,” Alex said. “Until then you will not know how sadly deprived your life has been.” He deposited a round cake before her, lightly dusted with sugar.

  “Alex!” his mother said. “I am certain Miss Huntington does not appreciate her orphans being compared to tea cakes.”

  He smiled at his mother, who smiled back. Caroline was delighted to see him in such a mood. She bit into the confection, aware of Alex watching her intently.

  She tilted her head, letting a skeptical expression settle on her face, and laughing inwardly at the look in his eyes. “Well…I suppose they are not bad.”

  “Not bad! Cook makes the best cakes in all of England.” He took a large bite of his own. “Although, I think one needs to be twelve years old to truly appreciate their finer points.”

  His mother nodded. “Twelve years old and gangly as a young colt. Heavens, how you could eat, Alex. Cook complained her larder was constantly bare, what with feeding you and your brother.”

  “How is Percy?” Alex’s voice grew serious. “He is well? His family?”

  “They are in good health, although Percy works constantly, to hear his wife tell it. Oh, and you have a new niece!”

  He gave a half smile, edged with sorrow. “I must visit him in Cumbria. Soon—but not yet. Caroline, will you come driving with me today?”

  “Of course.” She would go anywhere he asked.

  ~*~

  Alex glanced at Caroline, perched beside him as he drove the surrey down the country road. She was carrying a large bouquet of flowers the two of them had gathered from the gardens. Daisies and peonies, Queen Anne’s lace and delphinium, she had named them all for him. She dipped her head and inhaled, closing her eyes. It made him smile. Today almost everything made him smile, though he could not deny the whisper of tension coiling tighter around his spine as they neared their destination.

  The morning wind blew lightly off the sea, the sky showing no memory of storms. The roadside was edged with red poppies and the village below seemed a colorful, bustling place. He looked down at Ravensbridge, those well-remembered streets, the marketplace in the center square.

  The road meandered along the top of the hill. Ahead the silver-grey walls of the little church became visible, the single bell in its a
rch over the door. He knew the exact moment Caroline caught sight of it. Her quick, indrawn breath, the sudden stillness of her body as she guessed, then knew, where they were going. Without speaking, she laid her hand over his.

  Dear God, she could read him so well. He firmed his lips, his heart tumbling in a whirl of emotion. Gratitude. Fear. Love.

  He pulled the surrey to a halt outside the graveyard. It was quiet, and on this light summer day he was beginning to believe the ghost of Arabelle he had seen three years ago had only been inside him, a specter of guilt visible only to his own haunted soul.

  He handed Caroline down from the vehicle, then kept hold of her—his living, vibrant talisman. Together they stepped through the gate. The breeze riffled the longer grasses at the edge of the tended graves and the sun lay itself over the headstones. Most were plainly carved. A name, a date. Others were larger—a few ornate crosses studded the yard—but it was not those he was looking for.

  There, near the center. A pale marble stone carved with angels. Swallowing, he stepped close enough to read the inscription, his fingers tight over Caroline’s.

  Arabelle Trentham

  1835–1845

  Beloved daughter, Blithe spirit

  Rest in His love Forever

  She read it aloud, her voice steady and clear, though he saw the moisture gathering in her eyes. She handed him the bouquet and he knelt, laying it before the stone.

  His throat burned with tears, and he let them come. So sorry. He was so sorry.

  He did not know how long, but finally a clear peace began filtering through him. The ache eased into something he could bear, the sobs replaced with deep breaths as he returned, cleansed, to the sunlit world.

  “Alex.” Caroline whispered into his hair, one hand stroking his shoulders.

  One final, deep exhalation, the last of old grief slipping free of his body. “I thought that I owed her my hope, my happiness—that somehow by forsaking the sweetness in the world I could right the balance. A life for a life. But now…” He pulled her close against him. Caroline, warm and alive and full of sweetness. “Giving myself up to suffering only brought more of it, to everyone.”

  At last he was beginning to understand. The best payment he could give was to open his heart to the world, to live his life to the fullest. To embrace the light, not the darkness.

  He rose to his feet, drawing her up with him. “Come with me.”

  Beyond the graveyard the grasses grew tall on the bluff, susurrating in the warm breeze. The sea below was clear and flecked with light, and swallows flung themselves through the air in impossible trajectories of joy. He turned to face her, took both her hands in his, warm and strong.

  “It ends,” he said, “where it began.”

  “And it begins here as well.” Her voice trembled. “All we can ever do is move forward, try to bring a little more light into the world.”

  He gazed down at her. Their faces were very close, the amber flecks in her eyes shimmering and golden, something amazed and hopeful in her expression.

  “Caroline Huntington…” Dear God, his heart was hammering in his chest, nearly shaking him with the force of it. “I would ask you something. Something I wish I could have asked a thousand times before this day, but could not.” He swallowed. “Today I am a man who is free to love you without bonds or limits. And out of that love I would ask to spend the rest of my life by your side.”

  Those beautiful eyes now filled with tears, a smile trembling on her lips. He drew her close against him.

  “Let us tend the living together, Caroline. I would marry you, heart and soul and strength, if you’ll have me.” He nearly stopped breathing, waiting for her answer.

  She searched his face. Finally, finally she spoke.

  “Yes, I will have you, Dr. Alex Trentham, for I would have no other.”

  He lifted her then, laughing with a wild relief that seemed large enough to fill earth and sky. Their lips met in a kiss full of hope and redemption, and there, by the edge of the sea, Alex knew at last that he would heal.

  There would always be scars, but he would be a whole man again. More complete than he had ever been, with this woman in his arms.

  He felt in his coat pocket and drew the ring out. The faceted topaz caught the sunlight, shone like warm honey, like her eyes. Diamonds edged it with a harder, brighter fire. “Hold out your hand.”

  She did, her fingers trembling.

  “It was my grandmother’s wedding ring. This morning Mother insisted I start carrying it with me everywhere.”

  Caroline blushed as he slid the ring onto her left hand. “I’m sure she’ll be relieved. There is no denying the fact we arrived quite outside the bounds of propriety. I’m amazed she didn’t say anything.”

  Amusement ran through him. “You should have heard her before you came down to breakfast. I have not gotten such a thorough scolding since I was six and freed all the chickens from the henhouse.”

  “Oh?”

  “Apparently I have been derelict and rakish in spiriting you away without the benefit of matrimony. She said that any fool could see how it stood between us, and that I had best make my intentions known with all haste.”

  “Those intentions being?” There was a lilting tease to her voice.

  “To give you all the tending you deserve…” He bent, brushing another kiss across her lips. “For the rest of our days.”

  ~*~

  Alex’s mother did not miss the significance of the ring on Caroline’s finger when they returned to Raven Hall. She was delighted, and he was pleased that she had taken so quickly to Caroline.

  “How soon are you planning to have the wedding?” His mother’s bright gaze moved between them.

  “Ah…” Caroline hesitated, her eyes meeting his.

  He caught her hand. “As soon as possible.”

  For a thousand reasons. Her safety was paramount, but he wanted the freedom to travel openly with Caroline, the freedom to share rooms with his beloved, the freedom to kiss her scandalously in the middle of the town square if he wished. Now that he had set his course, nothing would stand in his way.

  His mother smiled. “I am well acquainted with the local bishop. He would be able to procure you a special license immediately. That is, if you desire to wed here in Yorkshire. Of course, your fiancée might have different plans.”

  Caroline bit her lip. “I need to write to London again. I’d like my uncle’s blessing—and, oh dear, Alex, he has not even met you! I still don’t know if he’ll forgive me for refusing the adoption.”

  “Of course he’ll forgive you. And he’ll forgive you for marrying me, once he sees how slavishly devoted I am to you.”

  That comment made her laugh, as it was designed to do—all the more piquant because of the utter truth of his words. “Yes, I expect you to cater to my every whim.”

  He sent her a private look. “I shall certainly find an excuse to indulge you.”

  Color tinged her cheeks, but she met his eyes steadily.

  He set his hand over hers. “Will a week give you enough time? Or—are we to have a large wedding in Town? We could wait if you like, Caroline.”

  “No…” She paused, a thoughtful look in her eyes, then continued with more certainty. “No—if I ever imagined being wed, it was at one of Uncle’s summer estates with my family and close friends in attendance. None of those crushing Society events.” She shook her head. “The adoption ball was enough for me. I would not relish planning a wedding on that scale. It would take months.”

  “Excellent!” His mother clapped her hands together, her smile bright enough to outshine the day. “I will speak to the bishop then. The local church is beautiful—it overlooks the bay.”

  “Yes,” Caroline said. “We were just there. It’s lovely.” She shared a smile with him, a smile full of promise.

  A week. He squeezed her hand. He could hardly wait the span of an afternoon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Caroline sat before the f
ire in her new dressing gown, brushing her hair and waiting. Alex would come—the expression on his face every time he had looked at her today assured her of it. The hunger in his eyes had set little fires burning all through her.

  Her room was golden in the extravagant light of a half-dozen lamps, the bed was turned down, and a peat fire infused the air with warmth. She glanced at the wide scalloped lace edging the sleeves of her silk gown, lace that moved gracefully each time she lifted the brush and pulled it through her hair.

  The local seamstress, Miss Goodey, had arrived that afternoon as promised, bringing not only a number of made-up dresses but a selection of undergarments as well. The rest of the day had been spent in measuring and fitting, and in considering what Caroline would be wed in. Mrs. Trentham had declared that none of the simple day dresses would suffice. No, Caroline must be wed in something splendid. She had bade the servants fetch two trunks and watched proudly as they unpacked the contents.

  “I am glad my whim to save my favorite gowns is being rewarded. And though styles have changed, Miss Goodey is a marvel with the needle. She will be able to do wonders with any one of these.”

  The seamstress had nodded thoughtfully as wealth after wealth of ball gowns spilled from the trunks. Sky-blue satin, bronze taffeta, yards of lace, Chinese figured silk in royal purple; it was like being at the most stylish of modistes.

  “Oh, that one is lovely,” Caroline had said, catching sight of an elegant gown of cream and palest rose. She moved forward to run her fingers lightly over the netted silk. “You were quite the height of fashion, were you not?”

  Mrs. Trentham blushed. Looking at her, Caroline thought the years were already lying more lightly on her face. It was astounding how joy could so transform a person.

  “I was reckoned a beauty in those days, and not a little vain with it. My husband and I would go to London four times a year to take in the sights—which included multiple trips to the milliner’s. And then we would have grand balls here at Raven Hall to show off our finery.” She smiled, her expression softening with memory.