by Bree Wolf
Richard inhaled a slow breath, honestly at a loss as to how to reply. “I am content,” he finally said, finding his own words lacking, and yet, he could not find any that would be more fitting.
His mother inhaled a deep breath, her head nodding up and down. “I see,” she mumbled, and for a second, her eyes darted to the side.
Richard had learnt over the years that it was a sign for her thoughts turning inward, remembering, contemplating, seeking to find the right words.
“You’ve always been so serious,” she finally said, her eyes meeting his once more, a wistful smile dancing across her features. “Even as a little boy, you seemed…mature beyond your age. Claudia was different. Quite the opposite, in fact. She is the eternal child, carefree and thoughtless.” His mother sighed, and Richard thought to see a hint of regret on her face. “For years, your Father and I had hoped that the two of you would find a way to…balance each other’s temperaments. But I suppose you were too different in order to develop the kind of bond that often exists between siblings.”
Richard sighed, wondering if his mother believed him to be at fault for this. If he had been more compassionate, would he have been able to have a closer relationship with his sister? Would he have been able to influence her in a way to prevent her current predicament?
“Although from what I was told your father was never as serious as a boy as you were,” his mother continued, “he often saw similarities between the two of you. He recognised the way you sometimes looked at the world, judging it in such a rational way, seeing it only in black and white, right or wrong, that he…worried about your happiness.”
Richard’s jaw clenched painfully as disappointment swept through him. “He did not like who I was,” he hissed, unable to better conceal his anger. “He hid it well though.” Richard scoffed. “Or perhaps he did not. Not from those able to relate to others, but merely from me because I have a heart of ice, unfeeling and cold. Is that not what they say?” Bitterness clawed at his insides, and he jerked to his feet, starting to pace the length of the room. “I never would have thought my own father saw me the same way they do. I am such a fool!”
“Nonsense!” Shooting to her feet, his mother crossed over to him, effectively blocking his path, as she seized his hands, refusing to release them when he tried to tug them away. “Look at me,” she demanded, her gaze wide open and compelling.
Sighing, Richard lifted his eyes to his mother’s, afraid to see further disappointment there.
“You are not a fool,” she told him, her voice steady and determined as though she spoke of a fact, something she knew to be true. “Nor are you cold-hearted. Yes, you have a weakness, but so do we all. Your sister could do well to think before acting upon her heart’s desires. Your father disliked confrontations and often rather took a step back than forward. And I…I allowed him to be my whole world,” she swallowed, her voice slightly choked, “and when he passed, I could not hold myself upright.”
Staring at his mother, Richard felt some of the strain leave his body. Was it truly not only him? Did others have weaknesses similar to the one he saw in himself?
Her hands squeezed his. “You see, we all have our faults. Faults that threaten our happiness. Faults that make us vulnerable. Faults that require another’s support. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my son. Believe me, I do not dislike the man you are. I only wish you were happier.” Brushing a hand over his cheek, she smiled up at him. “Is that not my right as your mother to do what I can to see my son happy? Was that not your father’s right also?”
A frown drew down Richard’s brows as his mother’s words echoed in his mind. Although he was rarely able to read between the lines, there had been something in the way her voice had hitched when she had said, to do what I can. “What have you done?” Richard whispered, a chill crawling down his spine as he saw his mother avert her gaze. “What else don’t I know?”
For a moment, his mother closed her eyes before she sought his gaze once more. “About a decade ago, your father and Dr. Procten came to an agreement.”
“An agreement? What agreement?” How was it that he did not know? After his father had died, Richard had taken over the estate and all of his father’s assets. He had spent hours familiarising himself with his new duties, determined to make his father proud and continue his legacy as best as he could. Never had he found anything referring to an agreement between his father and Dr. Procten.
Richard was about to ask, voice his doubts, when he took note of his mother’s gaze as it swept back to the chairs they had vacated moments before. There on the cushion lay the crumpled letter she had held upon entering his study.
“What is this?” Richard demanded, his voice hard as a cold chill spread through his body at the realisation that he had been kept in the dark.
His mother sighed as she walked back and retrieved the letter. “Your father wrote this years ago,” she told him, her voice suddenly weak as though all strength had left her. “He could never find the right words and so he re-wrote this letter again and again until I took it from him. I told him you would understand even if he worded it poorly.” A faint smile curved up her lips. “After all, you’re his son.” Then she extended her arm, holding the letter out to him.
Gritting his teeth, Richard swallowed, his eyes fixed on the envelope. His heart thudded in his chest, and for a moment, he was uncertain if he even wanted to read it. These were his father’s last words to him. As long as he did not read them, there was still something left of him. Something that did not solely live in the past but could be carried into the future. Deep down, a small part of Richard wanted to lock the letter away as it was, unread and untouched, in order to keep his father’s memory close. As though he were still here.
At least, a part of him.
Still, Richard could not for his father had wanted him to know whatever it was that he had written in this letter, and despite his own resentment toward the situation he suddenly found himself in, Richard could not bring himself to disappoint his father. Not even now.
Inhaling a deep breath, he slowly extended his arm and took the envelope from his mother. Then he stepped around his desk, needing a bit of distance, and sat down in his leather armchair. With a last sigh, he broke the seal, took out the parchment and unfolded it, his hands trembling as they never had before.
My dearest son,
I beg your forgiveness for this letter as I have no doubt that it falls far short of the explanation you deserve. I can only hope that you are able to make sense of the words I chose to convey this message.
Every day I watch as you become a young man I am proud to call my son. I see kindness and strength in you, and it gives me joy to see you come into your own. I have no doubt that you will do right by your family and ensure their well-being even before your own.
Still, every day I see traces of the man I used to be in the way your eyes look out at the world. I’m glad to say that you’re by far more observant and honest than I used to be, but I cannot deny that I see something in your eyes that gives me reason for concern. Please, do not ever think that I am disappointed in the man you are becoming, for it could not be further from the truth. You possess all the qualities of a gentleman, and your conduct is beyond reproach.
What concerns me is the absence of happiness I see on your face. You only see duty and obligation, commitment and devotion, and I fear that you will never know the truest joys the world has to offer. I have tried but failed to open your eyes to them, and so I did the only thing I am still hoping might make a difference.
For me, it was Josiah Procten who made that difference. His selflessness and compassion have brought great joy to my life and turned me into a man worthy of your mother. Without his counsel, I might never have understood how fortunate I was to have met her and how dark my life would have been without her. He helped me see past superficial attributes and to the core of what is important in life. To this day, I value his friendship and loathe to think of the man I would be today i
f it had not been for him.
A few weeks ago, Josiah visited Farnworth Manor with his young daughter Evelyn. She is a delightful child, and I could not help but notice the way she looked out at the world with utter joy and an open heart. Being raised by a man like Josiah, I have no doubt that she will grow up to be an impressive, young woman.
A woman who might be able to do for you what Josiah did for me.
My old friend and I have come to an agreement as he, too, is concerned for his child’s happiness. Even as young as she is, Miss Procten shows the same talent for healing that her father always possessed, and I have no doubt that she will follow in her father’s footsteps. Understandably, Josiah worries about her future for the world might not yet be ready to accept a female doctor into its midst and pay her the respect she deserves.
In discussing our fears for our children’s future, we came to realise that you and young Miss Procten might benefit from a union. You are two halves of a whole. Whereas you, my son, are the rational and strategic side, she is guided by compassion and empathy. Together, you might help each other grow beyond your own limits. We pray it will be thus.
Therefore, Josiah and I have agreed that the two of you are to marry upon Miss Procten’s coming of age. While you might disagree with my decision, I can only urge you to honour it. Believe me, my son, there are more important triumphs in life than title and reputation, fortune and standing. In the end, happiness is based on love and family for those are the things that will make a man far happier than anything else the world has to offer. Put aside your objections for I know them only too well as they once were mine as well. Still, I never regretted opening my mind, and I urge you to do the same. Heed this agreement, Richard, and be good to Evelyn.
I have no doubt she will be good to you as well.
Your loving father
When Richard first put down the letter, his mind was reeling so fast he could not have told up from down. Staring at his father’s handwriting, Richard momentarily believed himself to have strayed into a dream for this could not possibly be true.
None of it.
While his father’s assurances that he had never found his son to be lacking had eased the ache in Richard’s heart, he found the words on the page begin to dance before his eyes when he continued on to read about his father’s agreement with Dr. Procten.
Evelyn.
Her name echoed in his mind, bringing back the memory of the day he had kissed her. It had been impulsive, irrational and so very wrong, and yet, he could not stop thinking about it.
About her.
Only too well did Richard recall his utter shock when he had thought her betrothed to Mr. Bragg. Oh, how he had loathed the man…and envied him if he were honest with himself. Also, he recalled the relief that had flooded him upon learning that it wasn’t true.
Still, it had made no sense. After all, they were not suitable for one another, and therefore, a union between them would be impossible. Or so Richard had told himself again and again.
And now, he saw his father’s words before him in black and white, telling him the opposite. Was his father right? Ought Richard to heed his father’s advice and disregard all objections to the contrary?
Leaning back, Richard drew in a long breath, unable to think a clear thought. Certainly, it would be wrong of him to decide now in this moment when his faculties were impaired by the shock of this discovery. Yes, he ought to give himself some time and consider this proposition from all angles lest he make a mistake that could not be undone.
“Are you all right?”
Blinking, Richard lifted his gaze to his mother, who stood on the other side of his desk, her hands clutched together as she looked at him with tension marking her features. “You look pale,” she observed, her eyes studying his face as though she feared he might faint.
Richard scoffed, “This came as quite a shock to me,” he said, gesturing toward the letter on his desk. “And that in turn cannot be a shock to you, dear Mother?”
“Of course not.” For a moment, she fell silent before her lips moved, her mouth opening and then closing, the words stuck in her throat. “Will you…? What will you do?” she finally asked, her gaze darting back and forth between him and his father’s letter.
Sighing, Richard shook his head. “I honestly don’t know.” His gaze fell to his father’s handwriting once more before he looked up and met his mother’s eyes. “Why did I not know about this? Why are you informing me of this now? Today?” He frowned. “If I’m not mistaken,” he swallowed before speaking her name, “Miss Procten is already of age.”
His mother nodded, wringing her hands. “We meant to tell you. That was why your father wrote these letters to help him find the right words. Still, the right moment wouldn’t come, and in the end, we decided to wait until Miss Procten was of age. But then…”
Richard swallowed. “Father died.”
His mother nodded, tears misting her eyes. “He fell ill, and all our thoughts were for him,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “And then when he died, my heart and mind were elsewhere. I’m sorry, my son, for not speaking to you of this sooner.”
Richard nodded. “I quite understand, Mother.” His gaze drifted to the window. “Does she know?”
His mother shook her head. “I spoke to her father before I came to you because Mr. Bragg told us that–” She flinched when Richard abruptly shot to his feet, the legs of his chair scraping over the floor as it was pushed back.
Growling a curse under his breath, Richard felt his hands ball into fists, and he pictured them raining down on the loathsome man. How dare he spread such lies? How dare he think he had any claim on Evelyn?
She’s mine, Richard’s traitorous heart whispered as his legs carried him over to the window. The snow still swirled through the air, and yet, within seconds his gaze locked on the hooded figure standing down below.
As she stood on the small slope near the pond, her cloak billowed in the wind, and he could see that her hands held on tightly to the soft fabric. Strands of her warm, brown tresses fluttered in the strong breeze and she held her head slightly bowed to shield her face.
For a long time, Richard simply stood by the window, gazing out at the woman whom his father had chosen as his wife. Still, his heart and mind warred over what was to be done, what decision was to be made when suddenly a strong gust of wind ripped off her hood.
Startled, she spun around, her hands eagerly seeking to pull the hood back over her head. For a long moment, Richard was able to gaze at her beautiful face, her cheeks rosy from the cold and her dark curls dancing around her head.
She’s mine, his heart screamed at him, and for a small eternity, Richard was deaf to the objections his rational mind put forth. His father’s words echoed in his mind though, reminding him why she had been chosen.
Had it not been for the simple reason that his father had hoped that she would change him, that she would teach him how to balance his heart and mind, that she would help him feel rather than think?
Richard frowned. Had she not already begun to do so?
Again, he became aware of his heart thudding in his chest…as though it had awakened after a long slumber.
Well then, the only question was: would he allow her to continue? Or would he send her away, retreating into a world made safe and clear because of guidelines and rules? Because of facts and rational thought?
Or was he daring enough to leave the safe haven his life had been and plunge ahead into the unknown?
Chapter Twelve – The Long Reach of the Past
Inhaling a deep breath of the chilled air, Evelyn glanced at the silent woman beside her.
Like Evelyn, Miss Davenport was bundled up warmly, her hands protected from the piercing wind by a muff as she slowly walked down the garden path, her feet leaving soft prints in the fresh snow. It was a beautiful day, for despite the cold, the sun shone brilliantly, reflecting in the pure, white snow.
Yet, unlike Evelyn, Miss Davenport seemed to
be blind to the beauty around her. Mostly she kept her eyes downcast, and even when they would occasionally sweep over the world around her, it seemed that they saw nothing at all.
Over the past week, Evelyn had all but dragged her charge outside, hoping that the fresh air and exercise would do her some good. However, while her body seemed to relish the gifts offered to it, her mind and heart remained subdued. Sadness clung to her so acutely that Evelyn began to fear Miss Davenport’s melancholy would never surrender.
On her own, with only her mother and Evelyn to keep her company, Miss Davenport seemed like a mere shadow of the vivacious, young woman she had once been. Would she ever be able to reclaim her smile? Evelyn wondered, contemplating what exactly it was that had put the young woman into such a subdued state. Was it merely the lack of diversion she had complained about so vehemently before? Or was it the thought of giving away her child as her pregnancy advanced? Or was the burden of not knowing what had happened to her in Scotland too much for her to bear?
Evelyn sighed. It could be any of them, or even all of them together.
After a long time of silence, with nothing but the sound of snow crunching beneath their feet, Evelyn placed a gentle hand on Miss Davenport’s arm, stilling her progress. “I wish you would speak to me,” she said gently, her eyes watching the young woman’s face carefully. “What is it that haunts you? For it is clear that something does.” She nodded encouragingly when Miss Davenport cautiously lifted her gaze. “Please. I promise I will not breathe a word to anyone if that is what you wish.”
Miss Davenport heaved a long, sorrow-filled sigh, and the eerie stillness left her face as she looked at Evelyn. “I keep trying to remember,” she finally said, a sudden need to speak in her eyes as though she had remained silent for too long, “but there is nothing there.” Gritting her teeth in angry disappointment, she drew in a long breath. “At least nothing tangible.”