“And what did I get for that? A ghost that hates me. A boy who can’t hear.”
“I don’t hate you. But what about Philip? What’s wrong with my son?”
She tugged on her shawl, pulling at the fringes, trying to hide, but she couldn’t. The truth demanded that she face Ewan. Leveling her shoulders, she turned back to the bed. “When I discovered that I was with child, you were with your regiment. I didn’t know how to write you. I thought maybe your father would send me to you. I went to him and he refused to see me. Then one day he saw me in Town and tossed a note at my head. I had a shop owner read me the most horrible news—that you’d died. I’d lost you and any hope of doing better than my mother.”
“You weren’t a prostitute.”
“The streets don’t make a distinction from a woman troubled by love or money. This baby wouldn’t have a real name. Philip, the Flower Seller. How would that be? The one thing I promised myself—”
“Theodosia, if I’d known, I would’ve married you. I want back every moment with you and Philip.”
She held up her hand to block his words. “I trusted you with everything. Then you changed your mind and abandoned me with a promise of a year.”
“I’m sorry. That was wrong.”
She waved him silent. “I’m not done. You need to hear me. I must say this without thunder or fear twisting up my words. I thought I forgave you, when you died. I couldn’t hold on to that bitterness, I had to survive. I tried to work to save money before Philip came but bad thing after bad thing happened. Your father banished me from picking his fields, and my cart was stolen. I couldn’t get to Covent Gardens to sell in the mornings. I worked as a field hand but couldn’t make enough money to eat and have a safe place to sleep. I began to starve.”
The horror etched on his face made her heart hurt, but she had to tell him why Philip was deaf. He forced himself to sit. There was pain on his face, his breathing sounded rough. “No one would help. What about my mother?”
“One person helped.” She returned to Ewan, picked up his bare feet, and swung them back in the bed. “Mathew Cecil caught me stealing from these fields. I thought he’d turn me in. They would have hanged me for stealing. That might have been a way out.”
Ewan lay back but he kept his hand on hers, clutching it to his night shirt. “It was stupid to rise, but I didn’t want you so far from me.”
She freed her palm, but stayed at his side. “You will when I finish. Mathew had me come to his patio and he fed me sliced chicken and bread. The first full meal I’d had in months. We talked about flowers and how he wasn’t watering his lavender right. He told me his favorite place in the summers was sitting on the patio. He smiled and let me ramble on with all my nervousness, wrong words. But he was a gentleman.”
“So how did you become his mistress?”
“It was your mother’s idea.”
Ewan’s lip twitched. He blinked liked he’d become crazed. “What?”
“She caught me leaving Tradenwood. She blamed me for you having gone to war. That you would be alive, if not for me. I told her I had your babe, I put her hand on my stomach, but she didn’t believe me. She said harlots weren’t faithful. She warned me to never mention your name again.”
Her throat clogged, remembering her desperation. Swiping at her eye, she said, “I begged her to help. She said to starve or find a new mark. I went out into those fields and cried half the day. I wanted to die, but how could I let the only thing left of you go? I saw Mathew’s carriage pass, and I thought about my mother and this babe in my body. So, I washed in the waters you and Lord Crisdon want. I snuck back to Tradenwood. Mathew was asleep on the patio. I lay at his feet.”
“Voluptuous you, wet from the river, dropping at Cecil’s feet. I already said I hate him, correct?”
“He woke up and I threw myself at him, tossed my arms about his neck, like I’d seen my mother do at the brothel, like I did to you in the carriage. But he didn’t want me. He wondered why someone who knew how to grow lavender would do this. I sobbed as I told him about you, and you dying, and that I would do anything to have enough food to save this baby.”
Remembering her desperation, she felt her eyes stinging, but she stood tall. She owned her mistakes. “He agreed. He said I would be his mistress. He moved me in to the room I sleep in now. He spent tuppence on vegetables, six pence on meats and cheese. I’d never eaten so well. Philip felt better inside. I had hope again.”
“So then what happened?”
“He confirmed my story with your father and even your mother. And right before I was ready to pop, he came with a special license. He said family takes care of family and proposed to me.”
“So he didn’t coerce you.”
“No. He was kind. So wonderful with Philip. Got him every doctor that could help. When he was born, he was perfect, but then the palsy set in. He has some hearing in his right ear. None in his left. When you were yelling for him to move, he couldn’t hear you.”
“Theodosia, I saw the child in trouble. That’s all I thought of. I didn’t want him hurt or for you to suffer. I didn’t suspect until I’d saved him and saw his eyes. I’m his father.”
“No. He is your flesh, but Mathew is his father.”
“On paper, but that is only because I didn’t know. I’m grateful Cecil aided you.”
Shaking her head, she pulled his hands away. “I was grateful to him, but you were still locked in my heart. There wasn’t room for Mathew. He wasn’t you. He didn’t like the gravel of his voice, so he hired tutors to read to me. He didn’t do things like you, but when I saw how he took care of Philip, how he stood up for me, even listened to me to improve the Cecil lavender, installed my ideas about hothouses, I grew to love him. Yes, I loved him very much. I was safe, completely safe for the first time in my life.”
Ewan dropped his chin, rubbed at his neck. “I didn’t make you feel safe.”
“No. Your mind was changed by your family. How could I ever be a safe again, when one word from your father could change your mind? Mathew didn’t care what anyone thought. He gave me and Philip his name. I wasn’t Theo the Flower Seller. I was Theodosia Cecil.”
With his face blank, Ewan looked away. “You really did love him?”
He had to know it all, and Theodosia refused to hold in her feelings. She patted her broken heart. “I was a wife, in every sense of the word, to Mathew. He gave me honor. He loved my sickly child. He waited for me to love him. Yes, I loved him with all I had.”
Ewan frowned and his eye held a light she’d never seen. “So what do we do now? I want to know my son. You haven’t answered my proposal. I still want to marry you.”
“You are Philip’s cousin. You saved his life. You can always have an influence, but Lester is his guardian. He may not want you around. And once I marry again…things will be awkward.”
“Marry me. I should never have left you.”
“But you did. We are not the same people, those two stupid lovers caught in a thunderstorm. You don’t know me now.”
“I never thought I’d left you in such straits. You were so strong and determined. I didn’t think you’d faced such things. My family should’ve sent you to me. I should’ve taken care of you.”
“You didn’t know what I needed, Ewan. And we should have thought of the dangers of what would happen when our love was illicit. I know you say differently, but I’ll always wonder what test your family will have of me.”
“Theo…Theodosia. I know my own strength now. I will fight for the dreams we share.”
He tried to lay back but didn’t seem to have the wherewithal.
“I don’t dream anymore. I close my eyes and I see nothing. You should rest.” She rose and tucked the blanket about him.
He grasped her hand. “I’m serious about marrying. We could find what we had. You loved me once.”
Her heart remembered, and it beat as hard as it had in the carriage the night of the theater, or the balcony, but that would mean
being vulnerable to him again. And his family. Though Lord Hartwell seemed nice, it wasn’t worth the risk, even if the touch of him made her pulse soar. “Get some rest. I’ll—”
The door to the chamber opened. Pickens stood there with Philip. Her boy cried hard and held his ear.
“Ma’am,” Pickens said, “the pain just started up.”
She held out her arms and gathered the boy up. “Philip, it’s going to be better.”
“What’s going on, Theodosia?”
Ewan sounded angry but she couldn’t help him. Philip needed her.
She bent and smoothed his thick black hair.
He held on to her leg. “Ma-Ma. It hurts. Hurt so bad.”
“Ssh. It will be better. Pickens, the laudanum?” Her heart exploded. “We’re out of laudanum.”
“I sent a footman, but it will be hours. Perhaps there is some at Grandbole?”
“No. Nothing from there.” She capped her mouth, then released it, and then scooped Philip up. She’d do anything for Philip but beg at hateful Grandbole, but she couldn’t leave her son in pain. “If I can’t get him calm. We’ll ask Lord Hartwell.”
The mattress creaked from behind. Ewan had sat up again. “Get an onion. Warm it, cover it in cloth. Put it on his ear.”
Her face surely showed every fret and concern her mind could conjure, but he slapped his palm on the bed. “Trust me. It’s an old soldier’s remedy.”
Pickens came to her side. “Ma’am?”
Not knowing what to do, she decided to listen to the only person who sounded calm and reasonable. “Do what he said.”
Pickens nodded and left the room.
Ewan heaved and waved. “Bring him to me. Bring my son here.”
She stumbled a bit, bouncing Philip against her shoulder, but she brought the tear-stained boy to Ewan and laid him out on the bed. As usual, he cried in silence like the quiet world he was becoming a part of.
Her heart broke again.
Ewan ran a hand over the boy’s chest, his little jaw and nose. He mumbled something, a prayer, a wish.
Theodosia clamped her palms onto the bedframe to keep them from trembling. She was afraid for her son, afraid of how content Ewan looked comforting Philip, afraid of the way her heart pounded at the sight of them together.
It was too much, and her fear too great. The letter from the squire might be the answer to keeping Philip and her heart safe forever.
…
Ewan passed another quiet week in Tradenwood. He spent the early mornings reading to Philip. The warm onion helped the first night and the two other times the boy had ear pain. It was hard seeing the little man suffer. And poor Theo, every time, she looked as if she’d fall over from fright.
Swinging his feet out of bed, he sent the English ivy jiggling. Whether it made good air or not, it showed Ewan that Theo cared. She never stopped his request to see the boy, but rarely did she stay. The woman was simply too stubborn or too afraid to admit the obvious, that he could be a good father to his son, and that they, all three of them, could be a family.
Why deny the attraction that was as sweet as the lavender in the hand lotion she used? Maybe she needed more convincing. He shrugged as he pushed aside the foul Shakespeare that he’d read to his son today. Philip was a lovey child, well-mannered but quiet, very unlike his nieces. Unfortunately, the few words the boy spoke had a heavy lisp.
To think, this boy might’ve been more perfect, hearing out of both ears, if he hadn’t left for war or if his father had showed some compassion. And what of his mother? She had known Theo had his child and had turned her out to starve. He expected such cruelty from Lord Crisdon, but not Mother.
Tired of languishing even with Shakespeare, he rose and slid into his breeches. It took a great deal out of him to stand, but solitude was bringing him no closer to convincing Theo to trust him. And though he’d rewritten his play with the name Cleo and had made her Egyptian instead of a mulatto, it wasn’t enough of a sacrifice for her. What would be?
He managed to head down the stairs, clinging tightly to the banister with each step. The exercise felt good. His lungs didn’t sting as badly as they had before. Maybe he’d have enough strength to kneel and propose.
At the bottom of the treads, he huffed and repacked his chest with the savory air of a roast of some sort. Music and laughter carried through the hall, and he turned his head to its source, the blue polished drawing room.
Peeking into the opening, he saw Jasper sitting close to the pianoforte. One of Theo’s friends, the duke’s daughter, played a jaunty tune vigorously on the grand instrument.
He heard clapping across the hall in the parlor. As stealthily as he could, he backed up and craned his head to spy inside. Theo’s other friend read a book on the chaise. In chairs, holding glasses of wine were the doctor and a new older man, one with a receding gray hair line. A second glance didn’t return the man’s name to Ewan, but Jasper had so many physicians visit, it was hard to keep the names straight.
The last confirmed what Theo had said about Philip. He was going deaf. He didn’t think it possible to be more angry at himself. If he’d stayed, all could’ve been different.
Leaning against the wall, he sighed and sucked air through his nostrils. Where was the lovely hostess?
She wasn’t with the boy. She’d come for him and had put him to bed at his typical time of seven.
Then it hit him, the one place she would be. The place she seemed to love the most, the patio.
Not wanting to interrupt the music or get mired in small talk, he left the house and made his way around to the terraced gardens.
The wind stirred but he could still hear the lively tune of Miss Burghley’s. In time with the beat, he cupped his hand to his face and craned his neck, scanning left and right.
There Theo stood, a beauty in a gray gown. Though he hated the mournful color, he loved how the bodice melted against her form, how the lacy cap sleeves showed forearms that held onto things with her strength and delicacy. Right now, he understood her.
She must’ve heard him and turned in his direction and started to descend, moonlight hitting her here and there, all the right places. A few steps away, her hands folded as if she wore a shawl, but no amount of wool could hide her loveliness. Her dark, shiny hair was coiffed in ringlets and sculpted her long neck. “Why are you out of bed?”
He took a step and came out of the shadows. “I needed to see a real flower. Mrs. Cecil the prettiest rose in Tradenwood or Grandbole.”
She looked at her patio, hers and Cecil’s place, as if she would flee, but didn’t. “I thought you gave up haunting.”
“How could I when it leads to a moment alone with you? Theodosia Cecil, may I have this dance?”
He held an arm to her. “It’s not thundering. I’d like your hand given to me in trust. I won’t let go.”
A hundred seconds passed but she took his hand.
Slowly, he twirled her. She bit her lip then smiled.
He moved her farther from the steps. Nothing need interrupt them.
When the music slowed, she leaned her head upon his shoulder. “I always liked your height.”
“I always liked you.”
She reared back. “Don’t talk like that. Be my good cousin.”
He strengthened his hold, pushing her closer to the bruises on his chest. “Is that all you want, a good cousin? You had dreams. Remember owning your own flower shop? You were going to make blooms for my actresses.”
Her face lifted and her eyes widened, beautiful pools of fine teak. “You remember?”
“I hope I wasn’t always self-absorbed. Of course, I remember. What do you want now?”
“I want Philip whole, Ewan. I want him to have a full life.”
“You and Cecil have done well. He’s a great boy.”
Her smile widened as he twirled her again. He kept at it, conserving his energy until she collapsed into him. Panting, she clung to him.
He ran a hand along her chin. �
�I dream, too, but mostly of a kiss. Just one. One without the fear of being tossed out at the docks again. One that you give because you trust me.”
“Be serious, Ewan. What if we are caught?”
“I’ll kiss you again in front of the voyeur. Indulge me, Theodosia. Your heart has moved away from me. And you have every right after how I left you, but I will praise you, for you are fearfully and wonderfully made. I marvel at how you’ve worked these fields, all the variety of flowers that you have bloomed. When I am with you, I know my soul is right.”
She pushed at his hold, but he didn’t have the strength to keep her, not if she wanted to go. “Please.”
“I hid you. I made you keep our love a secret. That was the lowest, but I know that your pretty almond-shaped eyes saw my substance, how imperfect I was and you loved me still.”
This time she pulled away and put her back to him. “Is that more Shakespeare?”
He approached and placed his palms on her exposed elbows, the beautiful skin freed of gloves. “No, a little King David, a great poet for only the best women. Lead me, Theo. Tell me what it takes to win your trust.”
“I thought poets spoke of love.”
“I know I have your heart, Theodosia. It’s been in my breast pocket next to my scars. I know the truth about us. Trust, the lack of it, keeps us apart.”
She looked down. “Your hands, they are light next to mine. You need sun, then maybe they wouldn’t be so different.”
“Theodosia. It’s night. The moonlight doesn’t show much difference. You married Cecil, a man whose age alone would make him paler than me. What is it?”
“Your father thinks we are too different. I won’t put you in the position of having to choose. I remember how you needed your family’s approval. Even now you’ve haunted me to get the water agreement.”
Theo was sticking with all the old arguments. None of it mattered. She needed to be that daring girl, the girl he had once believed fearless. “Then kiss me good-bye. I will keep Philip’s secret and be his good cousin. I want one kiss as payment. You know costs. You’ll feel good paying. Then, we are done.”
With a shake of her head, she turned to face him. “It’s not right to kiss you tonight.”
The Bittersweet Bride Page 23