The Bittersweet Bride

by Vanessa Riley

  English ivy?

  Had he died or gone insane?

  He poked at a dark emerald leaf. The rubbery shape was true, but Ewan might still be crazed. He might have even imagined seeing the boy with his eyes.

  “You’re awake.” Jasper’s voice. Was he here in this dream, too?

  Ewan turned his head to the left to see his brother, stretching then brushing sleep from his eyes. “Seems the same could be said of you.”

  Dropping a thick book upon the bed, Jasper shuffled his feet then rose from a chair that had been pulled close. “Resting comfortably?”

  Ewan tugged at the strips of ointment-soaked cloth tied across his ribs. “As much as possible.”

  Jasper moved to the door. “I’ll tell the doctor and Mrs. Cecil. They have been attending you without ceasing these past three days.”

  “Wait. Don’t move. Three days?”

  Releasing the doorknob, Jasper pivoted. As he came closer, the dim light revealed shadow on his jaw and rumpled clothes. Had he been sitting here, waiting all three days? Guilt and warmth danced inside. Ewan had not lost everything. He still had a brother’s love.

  “Why do you want me to wait? You are awake. Everyone’s been anxious. I can get you back to Grandbole.”

  “No.”

  “What? Explain?”

  He looked up at his brother and weighed the impact of what it would mean to say his hopes aloud. Another glance at Jasper and his withered cravat convinced Ewan. “My son may be here. I don’t think I merely saved a distant cousin on my mother’s side of the family, but her grandson. I think Cecil’s boy is my son.”

  Frowning as if he’d eaten a tree of lemons, Jasper wrenched at his back, stretching again. “You definitely hit your head. You are seeing things that are not there.”

  “Go look at the boy and see his eyes. They’re my mother’s. I have them, too.”

  “Cecil is a cousin, Ewan. Surely those traits could be passed along.”

  Those eyes, could they have been imagined? New frustration stirred. He struggled to get up and fell to the mattress. “You think it is a coincidence?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but I do know her devotion to Cecil can’t be questioned. And why does this matter now? The child is Cecil’s by marriage. You claimed to be done with her.”

  “What if you were a woman—”

  “I’m not.”

  “Jasper, please. You were a woman whose fiancé died in war and you find yourself heavy with his babe. What would you do?”

  His brother’s frown half disappeared. “I’d go to the country to family or turn to his. Or give up the moppet to Bethlehem Hospital.”

  “A mulatto baby might not be one of the lucky ones welcomed at that orphanage. If Theo did go to Lord Crisdon, what do you think he did?”

  Picking up his book, Jasper plopped into his chair and stretched his stocking feet onto the bed. “You’re a playwright. You are making up a story to suit what you want. I should not have read you Shakespeare these past three days. Maria, she liked a novel or a Psalm when she rested.”

  It was awful to put his brother back into the position of nursemaid. The man was still grieving, but no one had to lose anything if Theo confessed why she had not waited. Ewan swallowed and everything tasted of hope, bright and tart. “Only one person can confirm this. Only one knows the truth. If we stay, she might confide in me.”

  “She is very upset over your injuries.”

  “I have to know, Jasper. You have to help me.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Her time of mourning is up soon and I asked her to marry me, but like you, she is corresponding to find a new husband. She hasn’t fully accepted me. I think her hesitation is the boy. I need to show her I can be good to Philip.”

  “Well, almost dying for him is a good start.”

  “I’ve tried to let her go. I can’t. I want her. I want the boy, even more so if he’s my son. I need to know.”

  “Ewan? You’re awake.”

  Theo had slipped into the room. She came closer. Her almond eyes were wide, maybe with joy. In her hands were a tray of tea and biscuits. “You’ve awakened.”

  Jasper said, “I am not sure what did it, ma’am. Between your ivy plants making him good air or this tome of Shakespeare’s—all your suggestions have returned the man to us.”

  Her beautiful full lips seemed to tremble before she leveled her shoulders. “I’m so glad.” She put the tray upon the bed table and came within an inch of brushing his brow. Instead, her fingers tucked the blanket. “You need to know how grateful I am to you. You saved Philip.”

  His gaze locked upon hers and he dared not blink. For a moment, he saw her eyes, dark mysterious pools opening for him, trusting him, believing in him again. If Ewan could grasp her hand, work his fingers between hers, he’d never let go. “I am glad to be of service.”

  When Jasper coughed, she blinked and backed away.

  Their connection—it pounded in Ewan’s chest—stronger than six years ago. He wished in his soul he could claim her hand right now.

  “My brother wanted to know if Mathew Cecil looked more like his uncle or his own mother. I think, neither. Your son is too handsome to bear the stodgy bones.”

  Jasper’s question couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  Biting her tender bottom lip, Theo moved away from the bed. “I’m not sure if they favor. I only met Lady Crisdon once. Is there anything that I can do for either of you while you stay?”

  Ewan didn’t quite know how to answer that. Everything ached, but a battle waged inside him. Was it wrong to want her, the boy, and to feel vindicated for believing everything he’d written in his play? But Theo, unlike others who’d confess or proclaim her innocence, had drawn deeper inside. He’d never win her if she shied away. “I thank you, Mrs. Cecil, for your hospitality. You remembered Shakespeare.”

  “It was Cecil’s favorite. He liked the foul shrew, too.”

  Her smile, small and sweet—would it last for Ewan, if he pushed for the truth?

  Beating her to the door, Jasper stood in her way. “Mrs. Cecil, when your son’s lessons are finished, please bring him. My brother’s been asking for him and, as we told Lester, it would benefit Fitzwilliam’s health.”

  She seemed to wince, her shawl fluttering, as if Jasper’s girls had performed a monstrous trick. “Later. Lord Hartwell, you have not slept in three days. Your room is ready. It’s a few doors down the hall. I don’t want another ill man in my house.”

  Almost in a full giggle, Jasper nodded. “I’ll sit with the hero a little longer, but then I’ll follow your orders. We are at Tradenwood.”

  She nodded and then slipped out the door.

  Jasper put his ear to the wood panel. “Good, she’s not an eavesdropper. And she seemed nervous when I asked about the boy. You may be right.”

  Ewan pushed at his brow. “I’m almost certain Philip Cecil is my son. She passed him off as Cecil’s. She’s wondering if she can trust me, but what about my trust in her?”

  Jasper returned to his chair. “You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.”

  Ewan glanced at his brother and found not a drop of humor in his stern face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Mrs. Cecil nearly lost her son. That worm Lester threatened to take the boy if she didn’t comply, but she stood up to him so you’d have the best care. I think you need to rest some more. Awaken and see the truth.”

  “What are you saying?

  Jasper slumped more in his chair. “The widow isn’t the enemy. I don’t even think she’s ever been one to our family. I think she is misunderstood.”

  “You defend her now?”

  “You can’t fake the fear of losing someone you love. I saw it in her, Ewan. Even when she knew her boy was safe, she still looked as if the world was about to end. It was the fear of losing you.” He tapped his rumpled waistcoat, which showed three days of wrinkles. “It matched what happened in here.”

&nbs
p; Not knowing what to think or admit to his brother or even his own soul, he went with humor. “Didn’t know you were so sentimental.”

  Jasper ran a hand through his unruly gold locks. “I watched the love of my life die. I remember the dread of missing that last moment, of failing Maria. I saw Mrs. Cecil pacing for you, while Lester threatened to take away her son.”

  “My son.”

  “That woman has been graceful and kind. You need to look at her through a lens that’s not clouded by loss.”

  “What?”

  Tugging at his neckcloth like it choked, Jasper gave up and stilled his hands. “You say you don’t begrudge me for being the heir. Maybe that is true. But for Cecil to inherit what would have been yours, marrying the woman you wanted, and giving a name to the boy that might be yours, I’d say you have a right to be disgruntled. But it’s not Cecil’s fault he inherited Tradenwood or that a woman left unprotected found someone who was willing to marry her. If this boy you saved is yours, would you rather he be a by-blow bastard and not have a name?”

  Ewan closed his eyes. The anger at being denied his son dissipated a little. Maybe Theo had done what she had to do. Ewan had not been here to protect her. “A name is important, but I’m here now. She should admit it. I’ve been here for weeks. Why withhold such a truth?”

  “From the man who left her because he couldn’t stand up to his father? From the man who wrote a whole play defaming her?”

  Hating the list of his wrongs, Ewan wanted to strike out. Pain swelling, he tightened his fist on the blanket. “Well, I must have been unconscious for quite a while, if you are defending her. Last time I checked you held a very different position. Something about a lesser woman, one who’d been a mistress, of a lesser race, and illegitimate to boot.”

  “Yes. And I’ve been a fool before.” Jasper swiped at his face before folding his arms. “I’ve spent three days at Tradenwood. Only leaving for a few hours to make sure that the girls haven’t burnt down Grandbole before sending them to your mother. Mrs. Cecil and her friends have been generous and caring. Very good company. I’ve never been around women like them, educated and funny. And Mrs. Cecil has been kind.”

  “You take her side? Lord Crisdon would be pleased. You are looking to marry a rich widow with a love of children.”

  “You are looking for a villain. You created one in your play, but be mad at yourself or the folly of youth. One is not here.”

  The weight of truth in his brother’s arguments was too great. Ewan dipped lower into the sheets, swatting the ivy as he did. “So what should I do? Walk away and not know if that boy is mine?”

  Jasper picked up the book from the bed as he stood. “I think I’ll finish this before I sleep; I want to read how things work out between Petruchio and Katherina. I can get the doctor to say you must stay for another couple of days. Make good use of them.”

  Book tucked under one arm, Jasper took a flask from his pocket and poured a bit in the tea Theo brought. “You’re on the mend. The girls are with Lady Crisdon. I can relax a little.”

  “You didn’t tell Mother or Crisdon I was hurt?”

  Taking a sip, Jasper’s face reddened. “I did, but when I told her we were here, she didn’t want to know more. Get a bit more rest.”

  When the door closed, Ewan released a long breath, deflating what felt like shallow lungs. Would Theo trust him enough to tell him the truth? Was his soul ready to accept if the boy was Cecil’s? In either case, could there be a future with Theo and the boy who should be his son?

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Lies We Love

  Theodosia looked at her dressing closet, waiting for the sound of footsteps. Lord Hartwell’s room was beyond her door—Mathew’s old connecting chamber. With Ester and Frederica staying in the other wing of Tradenwood, she’d hear the man’s boots, if she stayed quiet. Then she’d know Ewan was alone and could be told he’d saved his son’s life.

  Waiting, she fingered a pink gown folded in tissue on the shelf. It had stayed dormant in the closet. She’d purchased it years ago to wear for Mathew at his birthday dinner. He had liked the colors and the soft silk. But he wouldn’t like Theodosia disclosing the secret he’d worked hard to bury.

  Bam, bam, swoosh. Those sounds—they were a man’s boots, followed by the sound of a closing door.

  It was time. Shaking loose her doubts, she prepared to leave. One final glance to her mirror exposed shadows under her eyes. The angled corners were red. It had been hard to sleep, in the three days it had taken for Ewan to awaken.

  She stepped out in the hall and spied Pickens coming up on the landing. He held a tray in his hand. The bowl on it steamed and smelled of broth. Bread was nicely buttered on a plate. “Evening, Mrs. Cecil.”

  “Who is that for? Lord Hartwell?”

  “No ma’am. I gave Mr. Fitzwilliam the last of the laudanum. He mentioned wanting some nourishment.”

  The perfect excuse to be unaccompanied in his room had presented itself. She approached with hands wide. “I’ll take it to him.”

  A brow rose on the butler’s face. “Yes. And the footman retrieved this note.”

  Her breath caught until she saw the scrawl. The squire, not the baron. “Put it in my room.”

  He gave her the tray but took the letter away. “Shall I come for this later?”

  “Yes. In an hour. I’ll yell if I need you sooner.”

  “Good, but I was more worried about Fitzwilliam. You have left him on your doorstep so many days since his return to Grandbole.”

  Theodosia wanted to smile at the man’s accurate memory, but she must focus on Ewan and saying the right words to him. “He’ll manage.”

  Pickens held the door open for her. “Godspeed to both of you.”

  Chin up, she marched inside. The room was darker than before, no doubt from the sun finally setting. A sole candle flickered on the bed table. It cast a warm, healthy glow on Ewan. He didn’t look so pale or as pained as he had before. That gave her energy. This wasn’t a deathbed confession, though it would end the truce they’d formed. That saddened her to the core. She didn’t want him to hate her again.

  Leveling her shoulders, she strode all the way to the headboard. “Ewan,” she said as she set down the tray on a bed table. “Are you awake?”

  His eyes opened. Hypnotic, bluer-than-blue, his gaze grabbed onto her as it had before, when gratitude overwhelmed her soul.

  “Theo, dear Theodosia, you don’t look well. Is something wrong?”

  “I…brought you some broth.”

  With a slow, jarring motion, he raised his hand from beneath the sheets and clasped hers.

  The hold was light. She could break free if she wanted. “Ewan, I brought you some broth.”

  “You said that already.”

  “Umm. Would you like some?”

  He nodded, shut his eyes, and released her.

  Her freed fingers were like ice. She broke the bread, taking a small piece and soaking it in the savory brown liquid.

  She looked at his strong jaw. The grown-up version of the button nose she saw every night. She stroked his cheek as she often did Philip. “Open.”

  He chuckled but complied. Two pieces down, he nipped her finger, suckling it before giving her palm a kiss.

  Too surprised to move, she stood there, letting him have his way with her hand, nuzzling it against the light rasp of shadow on his jaw.

  With a heart beating like crazy, she still didn’t move her hand. It felt too nice. The joy she should’ve had when she’d seen him at Burlington Arcade, she let it free, one tear drop at a time down her nose, her cheek. Ewan, her first love, the father of her son, lived. And he’d almost died again saving Philip.

  Grunting, he reached up and wiped a tear from her lips. “I don’t want you crying for me. Have you come only to feed me? There are questions you have to answer, like will you marry me when I can stand?”

  “I have to tell you about Philip. Your son, Philip.”

  There w
asn’t any shock in his expression. Instead, Ewan smiled wide.

  “You know?”

  “When I saw his eyes, my eyes, right before the cart hit me, I suspected. I’ve lain here torturing myself, wondering if you’d trust me enough to tell me. Wondering what it would be like to hear the truth from you. Now you have more reason to marry me. I want my son.”

  “I’m sorry, Ewan.”

  Hooking his palm behind her neck, he drew her closer.

  She could feel his labored breath on her nose, but he went no further. “You thought me dead. You made your choices going to Cecil. He took a mistress who soon proved to be pregnant.” Ewan tilted her and towed her into a deep embrace. “I understand.”

  She couldn’t accept his truth, not when Ewan’s forgiveness made Mathew weak. Stiffening, she eased his palm from her shoulders. “You think I fooled Mathew?”

  “Did he know or did he feel guilty for impregnating a mistress when he was three or four times her age?”

  The scorn in his voice sliced through her. It was fine for him to think her a jade, but to make Mathew’s choices sound anything less than admirable was too much. She bolted up from the bed. “Don’t you dare make this Mathew’s fault.”

  “I know it’s my fault. For dying, I mean, almost dying in the war.”

  “If there is a fault, it is mine. Mathew was good and decent.”

  “Theo, you don’t have to protect him. You were confused, alone, carrying my child. You wanted that babe to have a name. I understand. You have done nothing wrong. Once we marry, everything will be right.”

  She wrapped her arms about her waist to keep from slapping her hand across his face. “I told you about Philip because you needed to know, especially after saving his life, but I don’t want this to be another thing between us to cause hurt. I don’t want to always be reacting to you, to keep hurting you.”

  “It’s fine to be reactive. It’s called being alive. Not living so carefully. You used to like that.”