by Margot Early
She said again, “Thank you.” Then added, “And thank you for being Wesley’s father.”
Patrick blinked away any emotion. “I’ll explain it to him,” he said, “in a way he can understand.”
Abruptly, Bronwyn made the decision to let him be the one to tell Wesley. “Thank you,” she said again, wanting to take his hand.
Knowing that she should not.
Not now.
“I’ll get you the computer so you can find the photographs you need online,” Patrick told Wesley as the boy discussed his after-school plans, which included tarantula-related homework.
Bronwyn hugged Wesley and said, “And I have an appointment at the fitness center.” With Crystal, for a one-on-one Pilates class.
She walked away after one smiling glance back at them.
Patrick watched her go. “Hey, buddy,” he said to Wesley, who looked ready to go upstairs and change out of his school uniform. “I have some news for you.”
Wesley looked up with an expression that reminded Patrick of Bronwyn. Patrick felt his heart breaking again.
He had gone from shock to anger to wanting vengeance when Bronwyn had chosenAri over him. But the truth was that he’d been hurt. Under all the resentment, this pain had lurked. And now he was experiencing it once more.
Bronwyn did love him. He knew that. But she might not love him enough to want to be his wife.
“I’m moving back to Sydney, Wesley.”
Wesley stared up at him with an expression of horror. “But you’re my dad.”
The words stabbed Patrick. “I am,” he managed to say. “And I love you and your mother, but your mother needs a little space from me. It’s not her decision,” he said quickly. “It’s mine. It’s something I’m doing as a gift to her. By being good to your mother, I’m being good to you, too.”
“I don’t see that,” Wesley said.
“I hope you come to understand it in time. You’ll visit me in Sydney, and I’ll see you here. Every weekend at the least,” he said, knowing it to be a promise, a solemn vow to his son.
But tears had welled in Wesley’s eyes.
“Oh, hell,” said Patrick, and he embraced the child, who was suddenly sobbing. He longed to tell Wesley that this move was his last gambit, the only way he knew to win Bronwyn.
But telling Wesley that wouldn’t be fair to Bronwyn, who, likely as not, would never choose to marry Patrick. He said, “Wesley, your mum and I love each other, and we’re going to keep loving each other and being good friends.” This, at least, should be possible, especially after they’d had a little space from each other, giving him time to recover.
If he ever did.
Who are you kidding, Patrick? What other woman have you ever loved as you love her?
He couldn’t think about it, about the reality of leaving Bronwyn, the possibility of her falling in love with someone else, marrying someone else again. But he had to give her the room to choose.
Wesley’s tears wet his shirt front, drenching the fabric.
“Sydney,” Louisa said when Patrick had told her of his plans. “Away from Bronwyn and Wesley.”
“To give Bronwyn space,” he said. “I can’t force her into marrying me by giving her no other choice. And in staying here, I feel as though that’s what I’m doing, behaving indecently.”
Louisa gave a sad smile. “I think you do understand her, Patrick. I hope you understand yourself, as well.”
“What do you mean?” They sat in Louisa’s parlor after Wesley and Bronwyn had both gone up to bed.
“I mean,” Louisa said, “that I hope you will forgive Bronwyn if she lets you go.”
“If she doesn’t love me the same way that I love her,” he replied, “that’s nothing she can help, Louisa.”
Louisa nodded. She walked toward Patrick, moving unevenly with her cane, and sat beside him on the Victorian love seat. “You are dear to me, Patrick Stafford. You are family, and Fairchild Acres is your home forever, as it is Megan’s. The two of you mean more to me than I can say. I’m terribly glad that Wesley is here, but I will miss you.”
“I’ll be back frequently to visit.” He tried to keep the catch out of his voice. But Louisa was elderly. She could be taken from him at any time.
That night as Louisa got ready for bed, she contemplated Patrick and Bronwyn. Patrick had changed. He no longer seemed the brash, arrogant man who had all but tried to force himself on Bronwyn when she’d first arrived.
Yet Bronwyn had rejected him once already. Though Louisa approved of Patrick’s action in giving Bronwyn her space and independence, she feared for Bronwyn, feared for her choice of independence over love.
The terrible grief was with her. How could more than sixty years have passed and yet she sometimes felt the loss as though it was yesterday?
The regret was something of which she never spoke.
And of course she never spoke of her child.
Yes, she must speak of it.
The next morning, after Wesley left for school, Patrick began packing his car. He wouldn’t leave while Wesley was at school, knowing Wesley would want a hug goodbye. He’d already promised to see his son the following weekend, back at Fairchild Acres.
As he was carrying a box full of work files out of the house, Bronwyn came upstairs, having just finished teaching her morning yoga class. Louisa emerged from her office, threw an unreadable look at Patrick, and said, “Bronwyn, could you please come here and help me with something?”
Here was the parlor. Patrick wondered why Louisa looked so grave. He said, “Do you need me?”
“Bronwyn,” she repeated, but Bronwyn was already hurrying toward Louisa.
Bronwyn followed Louisa into her parlor, and Louisa shut the door behind her and made her way to the love seat, where she carefully sat. She nodded at the space beside her, inviting Bronwyn to sit there, which Bronwyn did.
This is about Patrick, she thought. She doesn’t want Patrick to go.
And he was going because of Bronwyn.
Everything roiled inside her, turning her decisions on their heads. Patrick’s determination to leave, to let her be, had changed something in her heart, deepened her love for him, made it more clear to her.
“I am going to tell you something in confidence,” Louisa said. “I’ve never spoken of this to a soul.”
Bronwyn blinked.
“Many people wonder why I banished my own sister from Fairchild Acres.”
Bronwyn’s heart seemed to still. Everything within her was poised for Louisa’s next words. Why is she telling me?
But Bronwyn did know why. In some way, she reminded Louisa of herself. Louisa had said as much. That fact touched and flattered Bronwyn. She was glad to be like Louisa, wanted to be like her.
“When I was a teenager,” Louisa said, “I became pregnant.”
Bronwyn’s breath did not change. She remained motionless.
“I went away. That’s what we did in those days.” A pause. “There is no need to go into details. My baby died in childbirth.”
Bronwyn let out a small cry, unable to help herself.As she imagined Louisa’s pain, her own eyes filled with tears, and she was shocked to see a sheen in Louisa’s eyes. It was no surprise that after decades the memory of a child’s death could still make a mother cry. But Louisa? She was so strong, believed by so many to be indomitable.
“Then I learned that my sister was involved with the man I loved, the father of my baby. I could not bear to have them at Fairchild Acres, and when the estate came under my control I asked her to leave. With the man I loved.
“And this is the thing, Bronwyn,” she rushed on. “I did not fight for my love. I did not make my love known. I let it go. And that choice has changed my entire life, changed me, and not for the better.” She withdrew a lace-edged handkerchief from one of her trouser pockets and methodically dried her eyes. “Anyhow, that’s it. Don’t make my mistakes, Bronwyn.”
Bronwyn felt a chill within her. Patrick was packing.
Patrick had forgiven her for choosing someone else over him once.
And for refusing him a second time.
Now he was granting her freedom, freedom to let him go.
I can’t let him go.
She knew it, knew it with certainty.
There had never been a man for her like Patrick, never would be.
She whispered, “Thank you, Louisa.” Half blind,half mad, she rose from the love seat and rushed to the door, throwing it open.
Where was he? He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Wesley. He couldn’t be gone already.
She searched the bottom story, then rushed up the stairs to find him in his office, selecting books to put in a box.
How am I going to tell him? she thought. How can I tell him when he is doing all this for me?
“Patrick,” she said, grasping the doorjambs, holding on tight. “Patrick.”
He straightened up, came toward her.
She looked up into his eyes and made the words come out, the words that stole her freedom and gave her a new freedom, words that would bring her a new life. “Patrick, I love you. Please don’t go. Unless you’re the one with doubts. I have none. None at all.”
His eyes reminded her of Louisa’s as he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her against him, whispered into her hair, “Are you sure, Bronwyn? That you want to marry me, live with me, be my love and my wife till death takes one of us?”
She clasped him tightly. “I’m sure.” And she added softly, “Now that’s what I call a decent proposal.”
He laughed, and she looked up to see the laughter in his eyes and met his mouth with hers.
“Shall we tell Louisa the good news?” he asked.
“I think she deserves to know first thing,” Bronwyn told him. “And then there’s someone else who’s going to be ecstatic.”
“There certainly is,” Patrick said, holding her close, as though he would never let her go. “We’ll take him out for a ride after school, maybe take a picnic and celebrate.”
Yes, there were so many people to tell, Bronwyn reflected. Marie and Helena. Megan and Dylan. And most of all, most of all Wesley. They were all her family. Because for the first time in her life, Bronwyn was truly home.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2548-4
AN INDECENT PROPOSAL
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Margot Early for her contribution to the Thoroughbred Legacy series. Copyright © 2008 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Copyright © 2008 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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