Dawn in My Heart

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  From his vantage, Sky could see miles around him, acres of heather that would soon spring to life into thousands of blossoms. Far down below were the green squares where sheep grazed, tiny dots in the distance, with a solitary stone farmhouse far beyond.

  The only sound was the twittering of birds and the constant sifting of the wind like flour being passed through a sieve.

  Beyond what he could see, miles down in the valley, sat the mill town. He knew a part of his mission lay there, in the mill owned by his father…by his family.

  He remembered the cry of the poor and downtrodden in his vision.

  He took a deep breath. First he must regain his strength, he reminded himself. Reluctantly, he left the spot where he stood and began his trek homeward. He stooped down to examine the heather every once in a while, wondering how such dead-looking plants could spring to life in a matter of a few weeks. But there were already signs, a slight tint of green at the tips here and there, hinting at new growth, and the pale white showing at the edges of yet unopened buds.

  He had come farther than he’d realized. He had a few moments of doubt, wondering which way to turn, when the land dipped down and he lost sight of the sheep fields. It seemed then he was in a vast ocean of rolling moors. He had lost sight of any worn paths as he waded through the moors.

  His legs began to feel weak and he wondered if he had been foolish to walk so far. His legs felt as if they would buckle under him at any moment. It was with a sense of relief he came finally to a stone fence at the beginning of a dirt track. He lowered himself onto it.

  He had only been there a few minutes, losing himself in prayer, when he heard a dog bark. It was Sophie, Gillian’s dog. He felt a sudden surge of gladness.

  Far in the distance the dog came bounding toward him. Farther back, he could see Gillian following. His joy at seeing her turned almost immediately to a grimace. Would that look of dislike on her face ever be erased from her pretty features?

  He didn’t even require a grand passion with her, just a simple regard and mutual respect. That’s all he’d ever wanted from a wife. But that seemed an impossible dream now.

  Oh, God, he prayed, we’ve been joined in holy matrimony. Yet we’re living like strangers and enemies. Can You heal this rift between us? Can You bring Gillian to a place where I’m not wholly distasteful to her?

  She spotted him when Sophie ran up to him, barking and seeking to be petted by him. Tertius obliged the dog, as he waited for the inevitable confrontation with her mistress.

  Gillian finally reached him. “What are you doing all the way out here?” she asked sharply.

  “Resting.”

  She frowned. “What’s the matter?”

  He smiled ruefully. “Perhaps I overdid it a little today on my walk,” he admitted.

  “Can you make it back?” she demanded, no hint of sympathy in her tone.

  “I shall endeavor to…in a few minutes. I’m glad I saw you. It means I must be on the right way home.”

  “Yes, you’re not too far from the first farm.”

  To his surprise she sat beside him on the fence.

  “You don’t have to wait here. You haven’t finished your walk.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to leave you out here alone.”

  He said nothing, afraid to bring on an acerbic comment.

  They sat quietly for several moments, watching Sophie run about and nose around the heather and bilberry plants. Finally he tried to stand, but found he still had to support himself on the stone.

  She stood immediately beside him, concern in her pale green eyes. “How do you feel?”

  “Pathetically weak,” he said, trying to make light of it.

  “Well, as I said, it isn’t too far back, perhaps a mile,” she said briskly. “Here, I’ll help support you if you think you can walk a bit.” As she spoke, she guided his arm around her shoulder and the two began to walk back slowly.

  “I’m sorry about this,” he ventured, imagining how disagreeable it must be to her to help him.

  “Never mind about that.”

  They walked excruciatingly slowly through the rough heather plants. Tertius found himself concentrating on putting one leg in front of the other without falling flat on his face before her.

  “You seem to know exactly where to go,” he remarked in admiration.

  “I ought to by now. It’s been one of my few occupations these last few months.”

  One more thing to regret, he thought. How many times might she have been lost or stranded out here on these treacherous, lonely moors during the long winter months?

  He noticed how good and right she felt nestled under his arm. So small compared to his frame, but so right, tucked in his embrace.

  Suddenly they both stepped into a boggy patch, the cold water rising immediately around their ankles.

  “Oh, bother!” she cried, as the two tried to find a dry spot. As they only succeeded in getting their feet wetter before stumbling to higher ground, she began to laugh. “I told you the moors would be wet and muddy this time of year,” she scolded.

  “So you did, which is why I wonder that you should be out here alone.”

  “I usually manage to avoid the wet spots,” she said.

  “If I were half the man I used to be, I’d carry you over this wet patch. Instead, here you are half carrying me,” he muttered.

  “Come, I think it’s dryer here.” She tugged at his waist with her arm and led him along another route.

  When they finally made it back to the hall, she seemed to sense how light-headed he felt. Without a word, she led him to her sitting room, where the warmth of a fire permeated every corner. She assisted him onto the couch.

  “I’ll ring for some tea,” she said with a sigh of relief as she helped him off with his greatcoat. Then she proceeded to help him off with his boots and stockings.

  “Here,” he said, trying to stop her, “you can call Nigel.” He felt embarrassed suddenly at his bare feet.

  “It’s all done,” she said, spreading a throw over him before carrying his boots and stockings to the hearth.

  “You are wet as well. Why don’t you go and change? I’ll be all right now.”

  Rather than reply, she removed her own hat and pelisse and rang the bellpull. When Katie came to the door, Gillian instructed her to bring some tea. Katie looked in surprise and concern, over Gillian’s shoulder, toward him. “Oh, yes, and please bring some dry socks and slippers for us both and some papers to stuff into our wet boots. That will be all, thank you.”

  When she closed the door behind her, she went to a chair by the fire. As if she had forgotten his presence entirely, she bent to remove her own half boots and stockings.

  He could feel the heat rising in his face at the sight of her slim arched foot and the curve of her calf. She worked quickly and efficiently, first one foot then the other, but not quickly enough to prevent Tertius from being overwhelmed by a swift, fierce desire for his wife.

  It was over in a few seconds. Two pairs of boots stood neatly by the fire, two pairs of stockings draped over the fender. What a sign of domesticity, and it came to him with a sudden, jolting clarity that a platonic sort of respect and affection from his wife wouldn’t satisfy him. He wanted a passion to match the one he was feeling.

  She turned to him and he quickly closed his eyes, feigning sleep. Sleep was the last thing his pounding heart was capable of at the moment. He heard her rise and pour something into a glass.

  She approached him and crouched by him, gently placing her hand under his head and raising it. “Here, drink this,” she directed softly.

  He drank a sip of the liquid, his light-headedness disappearing.

  “Thank you,” he said, lying back against the cushion she had placed for him.

  “Would you like me to read to you?” she asked when she had set the glass down.

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  She retrieved her book and brought a chair up close to him. As sh
e began to read, almost without conscious thought, he took her free hand in his and held it loosely.

  She didn’t draw her hand away, but continued reading as if nothing had occurred. He felt the wedding band between his fingers and began to play with it idly. His eyes focused on it and he was grateful she was still wearing it. But what of the other? he wondered, thinking of the ruby and diamond ring he had given her. His gaze strayed to her bare foot peeking out from the hem of her gown and he forgot about the ring.

  At length he drifted off to the sound of her soothing voice, at peace, his fingers still loosely entwined with hers, knowing the warmhearted girl he had fallen in love with hadn’t disappeared. The girl who’d risked her life for a flea-ridden stray was still there beneath the hurt and bitter exterior.

  When had he fallen in love with her? Was it when he’d seen her petting the dog, oblivious to its dirt and fleas? Or when she’d confessed shyly to wanting a home and children of her own? Or when the Lord had filled him with His love—such a love that overwhelmed and overflowed until it couldn’t be contained but had to touch others?

  I’ll make it up to you, Jilly girl, he promised in an inaudible whisper before drifting off to sleep completely.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tertius surveyed Gillian across the great hall of the house. She was laughing at something an older gentleman was saying to her. Suddenly she caught his eye and her own twinkled back to him, as if telling him, See, here’s our tedious squire.

  He bowed his head to her and turned back to the group of gentlemen he was standing with.

  “You’re lucky you weren’t here during the Luddite uprising,” old Mr. Haversham said in a throaty growl. “We were afraid to go to bed at night, for fear they’d torch us. We had the militia patrolling every night.”

  “Those Luddites were a fiery rabble. Demanding we shut down the factories and return the hand loom to them!” Another well-fed squire snorted into his drink. “Against all progress. They were lunatics. Hanged a bunch of them and transported the rest. Good riddance, I say.”

  “You should be grateful you were out in the Indies. Though you had to face slave uprisings, no doubt.”

  “Yes, that was an ever-present danger. When you take away a man’s freedom, he is bound to rebel,” he added quietly, his mind going to his wife.

  As the men looked at him askance before resuming the topic of the Luddites, Tertius thought about Gillian. He knew he must allow her back her freedom, but he didn’t feel able to let her go quite yet. If only he could have a little more time to win her forgiveness.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he told the company, “but I believe I promised this dance to my wife.”

  “A most gracious lady, the new Lady Skylar,” the men all remarked. “We congratulate you.”

  “I thank you,” he told them with a bow before making his way across the room.

  “May I have the honor of this dance?” he asked, taking her hand in his.

  “Very well, my lord,” she answered. “I must leave you, Sir George,” she said to the portly gentleman at her side.

  “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your charming husband, my dear lady.”

  Tertius escorted her to the set. “I’m sorry to interrupt your tête à tête with the amiable Sir George.”

  “If you hadn’t rescued me from his tiresome conversation, I should have accosted the first gentleman to pass by and demanded a dance.”

  “I’m glad I saved you from that fate,” he answered lightly, leading her in the steps as the music started up. It was a lively country dance so they had little chance to talk.

  He enjoyed watching her and feeling her hands in his each time they came together. Although she had not been involved in any of the preparations for the house party, she was behaving as the model hostess. He realized for the first time what an ideal wife she was for a man of society. She had spoken to each of her guests for at least a few minutes and had let none of them commandeer her company for very long. She put the matrons and their plain daughters at ease, so although she was clearly the most fashionable among them, they warmed to her.

  When the dance ended, he bowed again and said, “Perhaps another?”

  She gave a fluttery laugh. “What, two dances in a row? Of course not, or we run the risk of being like those unfashionable husbands and wives who monopolize each other’s company at a social function.”

  As she walked away from him, already in conversation with someone else, he felt a pang. He shouldn’t feel the hurt at her careless remark, clearly addressed more for the benefit of those around them than for him.

  As he watched her get in line for the next set, he told himself that her behavior only reaffirmed something he’d known all along—he was too old for her. He’d spoiled her youth. He’d left her alone for so many months. He still had no clue about her disgrace and no longer thought it important. Perhaps because God had shown him the extent of his own sin, hers paled by comparison.

  The best thing he could do for her would be to take her back to London as soon as possible where she could be among her own kind.

  But he hated the thought of giving up the tenuous closeness they had achieved in this wild and lonely house on the edge of the moors. In London he’d likely rarely see her, if this gathering revealed anything of her social nature. How would he ever restore his marriage in London? he cried silently to the Lord. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being selfish in keeping her isolated here. He must give her back the freedom he’d taken away from her.

  Gillian continued dancing every set after that, with whichever gentleman asked her, from old wheezing squire to pimply, stammering youth. As long as it wasn’t with Tertius, and as long as it kept her from him.

  The dance had been too unsettling. Each time he’d taken her hands or held her close, she’d felt shaken. It confused her. It had all begun the afternoon he’d taken her hand in his.

  She wouldn’t let him weaken her resolve at this late date. She was going to leave him. She swore it. It would be fitting retribution for all he’d put her through.

  Although she kept far away from him, she couldn’t help observing him. He was a charming host. She noticed he didn’t dance anymore. She also noticed that although spirits were served, he partook of very little. It seemed more as if he enjoyed watching the others enjoy themselves.

  Humph! He probably thought he was above all forms of earthly pleasures now. There would undoubtedly be no more card games as well. He’d become like that sister of his in her plain dresses and quiet manners. Althea would be halfway pretty if she took a little trouble over her appearance, but then she probably enjoyed the fate of a spinster doing her good deeds.

  Gillian turned to the young gentleman approaching her and graciously accepted his compliment. She’d had enough of these evangelicals for one evening.

  Late that evening, when she and Tertius waved to the last departing guest, they reentered the great hall.

  The new footman Tertius had hired locked and bolted the large double doors behind them.

  “Will there be aught else, my lord?”

  “No, thank you. Go on to bed.”

  “Very well. Good night, m’lord, m’lady,” he said, bowing to each in turn.

  “Good night.” Tertius turned to her with a smile—too warm a smile. “Although he doesn’t yet have a proper livery, I think he adds quite some elegance to the establishment, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, with his broad Yorkshire accent,” she replied disdainfully. “I vow, I can hardly understand half your tenants when they speak.”

  “You’ve met them?”

  She floundered around for a reply, flustered for some reason. “Isn’t that what the lady of the manor is expected to do, visit the tenants?” she countered.

  “Yes. It surprises me a little, is all,” he said.

  “That I should have seen to my duties? Don’t be unduly alarmed. I didn’t go out of my way. I’ve only met a few on my walks.” She didn’t want hi
m thinking anything good of her at this late date.

  “How did you find their living conditions?”

  “Deplorable—what little I saw,” she answered in an offhand way, already turning away and heading toward the staircase.

  “Come, sit with me a few moments in the sitting room before you retire,” Tertius bade her, as she reached the first steps. “I don’t know about you, but I’m too keyed up at the moment to sleep.”

  She struggled for a moment, a part of her wanting to accept. “Very well.” She didn’t want to be alone with him, and yet suddenly neither did she want to go up to her bed.

  She preceded him into the room but didn’t sit down immediately, too aware of being with him in a house where everyone else had retired.

  “Your party was a success,” she told him, standing behind the couch, her hand resting on its back.

  “Thanks to you. You were a wonderful hostess,” he said, handing her a glass.

  He touched his glass to hers and they each took a sip.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”

  “Only about three or four times,” she replied, refusing to let him see that the words meant anything to her.

  “Then let this be the fifth.” He raised his glass to her. “You are a beautiful woman, Gillian.”

  “La, sir, but you are most unoriginal in your compliments,” she said, turning away from his warm look, conscious of her evening gown. It was the first time she was wearing anything remotely fashionable since London.

  She walked to the far end of the couch and sat down.

  He came and sat beside her, leaving enough space between them to turn and face her.

  “Tonight I saw the Gillian who has probably been gracing the London ballrooms for the past few seasons, charming all and sundry of the ton.”

  “Is that a criticism?”

  “Not at all. It’s a compliment.”

  “You can save your Spanish coin,” she said stiffly, determined to hang on to her resentment. He wasn’t going to make her relent of her plans with all this softness and tenderness. She wasn’t going to forget what he’d done to her.