‘Am I?’
‘You are hardly comparing like with like. The decisions we have to make in the heat of the moment are different from those which are premeditated. I am hardly surprised you found it easy to do one and struggled with the latter. For a man who lives determined to right wrongs, I know you would not have been able to live with yourself if you had murdered a defenceless man on the road. That would have been wholly and morally wrong—and you are too noble. Nor would your mother had wanted you to carry such a burden. She would have been devastated to have caused it. We mothers are conditioned to only want happiness for our children at whatever cost it happens to come to for ourselves. And as much as you claim you are not the least bit sorry for killing Saint Aubin, killing another human—no matter how monstrous they happen to be—would weigh heavily on the mind. Especially when one is so dedicated to upholding right over wrong as you are. The trauma of that decision, the knowledge you had ended another’s life, would always have deep emotional consequences. Therefore, it is hardly surprising it dredged up the last time you aimed a gun at a man as a frightened boy and the tragic, senseless death of your mother years later. But you are wrong to question yourself. In both situations, you acted justly.’
‘Maybe, but it’s forced open Pandora’s box and now I cannot, for the life of me, shut it again...’ Unpleasant noise and destructive chaos. He fought the overwhelming urge to weep, not because he thought she might judge him because her tears were still openly flowing, but because he knew that if he allowed just one tear to escape, then the dam would burst and he wasn’t entirely prepared for those most powerful of emotions yet. ‘So to finally answer your question from the rose garden, yes, you do remind me of her a little bit. Or at least your situations do. Penhurst and my father were cut from the same cloth. You and my mother both suffered at their hands. Those similarities, alongside the niggling echoes created by passing the milestone of a decade, churned it all up and I’ve been mired in the past ever since. It is as if my past has decided enough is enough. It’s there. Hovering. I can’t hide from it and I can’t ignore it.’
He risked looking at her then and something peculiar happened to his heart. Beneath his ribs it felt as if it was opening like one of his mother’s summer roses, reawakening after a long hibernation. More feelings swamped him and this time he let them. This was necessary. Cathartic. He was tired of running from it or burying it. Tired of keeping it all locked within because it was eating him from the inside. The protective numbness was lifting and leaving him vulnerable. Burying himself in his work no longer worked. For some reason, his mind had taken itself back ten years and was demanding the right to process thoroughly all that had transpired.
‘I realise I need to face it, because you are annoyingly correct. I cannot make amends for my guilt regarding my mother by bestowing it on you. Helping you is something I find myself naturally wanting to do.’ He allowed his thumb to trace circles on her skin. Accepted the strong emotions he felt towards her. Not pity or guilt at all, but affection. Tenderness. Absolute trust. Probably more. ‘And being able to be there for you makes me feel...content, but Pandora’s blasted box is still there lurking in the background. Waiting for me to properly look inside and face it.’
‘And do you now know what is in it?’
‘My mother.’ Easy to answer. ‘Guilt—misplaced or otherwise. Regret. Sadness. Pain. I’ve spent the past two days thinking about her. It probably sounds daft to you, but I haven’t allowed myself to think about her since it happened. She died and I felt numb. I still felt numb when I put her safely in the ground and then I carried on with my life.’
‘It sounds to me as if you didn’t allow yourself to grieve.’
‘Again, my clever Penny, you are annoyingly correct. I am not comfortable with emotions. It was easier to bury myself in work and hide behind the numbness than face it all. My mother would be livid. She was always so adamant she wanted extensive weeping and wailing. She enjoyed a bit of drama.’ He smiled at the memory, felt a single tear form and allowed it to fall, closing his eyes as her thumb gently brushed it away, feeling entirely overwhelmed and totally lost. Clearly, the dam which had held firm for a decade was about to collapse and it was unlikely to be pretty. ‘I should go...’ Although he didn’t want to. He was so tired of being all alone.
‘Please stay.’ Before he could stand, she did. ‘Extensive weeping and wailing should never be a solitary pursuit. Besides, just like you, I am exceedingly good in a crisis. It is one of my strengths. Let me be here for you.’ She wrapped her arms around him and enveloped him in what felt a lot like love, that one elusive and powerful emotion which had been missing for far too long. For the first time in years, and despite all the overwhelming grief threatening to engulf him, Hadleigh no longer felt all alone. When he heard her quiet sobs on his behalf, they proved to be his undoing and he stopped fighting. Burying his face against her middle, he finally let the dam burst.
Chapter Sixteen
He had no clue how long he wept for, but he was grateful she was there. Was grateful for the reassurance of her unwavering embrace, her strength, her mumbled soothing words of comfort, her tears, the feel of her fingers in his hair and the steady beat of her heart against his ear. All reminded him that there was life beyond the pain—but that this pain was necessary to move forward. When the worst was over, she seemed to sense he now needed space to recover from it all, insisting on fetching him hot tea from the kitchen because everything was better after a cup of tea. It gave him time to compose himself, rinse his face with water and ponder the unstoppable explosion of uncomfortable emotion properly.
Bizarrely, although undoubtedly hugely embarrassing, noisy and chaotic, it had been cathartic. And completely draining. He felt as if he could sleep for a week, which would indeed be a blessing if he could manage it. It had been too long since he had slept soundly.
She appeared at the doorway with a tray and smiled. ‘I’ve brought some biscuits up, too. I seem to recall I ate a phenomenal amount of them after my mother died.’
He felt awkward and stupid and vulnerable, but ridiculously happy she had returned. ‘Did they help?’
‘With hindsight, probably not, but they gave me something pleasant to do between the constant bouts of crying. I had Freddie by the time my father passed away, so he kept me occupied.’ She deposited the tray on the table and passed him the entire plate. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Odd. Not quite myself. Embarrassed that you had to witness it.’
‘Would it make you feel less foolish if I told you that I am vastly relieved that you finally found the courage to grieve? When I first met you, I found your ability to conceal your emotions unnerving. In truth, it was a little off-putting. I like that you feel things deeply, that you are human and care. My father was a very sentimental man. I grew up in a house where his stiff upper lip would constantly quiver—usually with happiness or pride or nostalgia. After living with a man who was incapable of feeling natural human emotion, let alone display it, it restores my faith in men to know that it was my husband who was abnormal. Besides, I am contractually obliged to keep secrets, remember, so it’s not as if I would dare to tell another soul even if I had a mind to. Which of course I don’t. You needed to face your fears and you did. If anything, I am inordinately proud of you and I dare say your mother would be thrilled she finally received some decent weeping and wailing.’
‘She would and she was due it. So was I. Because I now see that beyond the pain and guilt there are a million other memories—all surprisingly happy. In ruthlessly blocking out all the bad to keep the pain at bay, I lost sight of all the good. Not at all a fitting memorial to the woman who made me what I am.’
‘There is still time to make proper amends and honour her memory as it should be. We all grieve differently and time and tears eventually heal all wounds. That I know, too.’
‘You are a very wise woman, Penny.’ He smiled and realised h
e wasn’t sad or confused or angry any longer. He simply felt better. Purged. Not completely, but the process had started. ‘For the record, I blame your hat analogy entirely. It forced me into uncomfortable soul-searching.’
She smiled. ‘Analogies will do that. My current one involves coins, ironically, but has done much the same thing. Clearly the last few days have been a time for soul-searching for both of us.’
‘Was yours as fruitful?’
‘Very.’
‘I’d love to hear it if you’d like to share your findings.’ Because he wasn’t ready to leave her yet. The cosy atmosphere and intimacy in this room felt special and necessary. Like a balm to his soul. A soul that was, perhaps, a little less troubled now that he had bared it and said it all out loud. Over the coming days he would face it all. Confront every fear, remember everything which deserved remembering, empty out every nightmare inside the locked box in his mind, probably allow himself to cry a good deal more and try to find enough peace with it all to let it go.
‘Well... I’ve been thinking about me and the hats I want to wear.’
‘I thought this analogy involved coins?’
The giggle was accompanied by a playful nudge. Hadleigh enjoyed both immensely. ‘Did I interrupt you during your crisis?’
‘A fair point. Do continue.’
‘Since the trial, I’ve been so busy trying to invent the new Penny, I had forgotten the old. When, in truth, they are both two sides of the same coin... What was there beforehand combined with what has been tarnished by life’s experiences. And I have come to the conclusion, there is no new Penny—nor can there ever be. Does that make sense?’
‘Not really. Other than the coin you are referring to is you. I think this new analogy of yours needs work.’
She laughed again and he decided it was the very best sound in the world. ‘Then I’ll go back to the hats, seeing that your poor, addled brain understands that.’
‘A splendid idea. Thanks to Pandora, my brain has turned to mush. Which hat are we currently talking about?’
‘The new one I’ve been trying for size. It doesn’t feel right. I need to stop being the version of me I think I should be or the version other people think I should be. My “Poor Penelope the Viscountess Penhurst” bonnet and the fictitious Penny Henley’s ill-fitting mob cap have been resigned to the rubbish pile where they belong. Neither suit me.’ She shrugged and smiled wistfully. ‘I’m going back to being Penny Ridley. Back to being what I am. I have decided I am going to take my fifty guineas and rent out premises in Cheapside and dust off my shopkeeper’s hat. I’m going to reopen Ridley’s.’
He couldn’t hide his concern. ‘Is that wise...it is still so soon? Once the newspapers get hold of it, then they will drag everything up again.’
‘What better time than now? It’s all bound to get dragged up again anyway with this new trial. Penhurst may be dead, but he was still part of all that. Yet life moves on and scandals pass. Ultimately, I never did anything wrong and so have nothing to be ashamed of. I need to stop behaving as though I have. I am done with hiding. Done with trying to flee the past or pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t want it to sneak up on me unexpectedly in the future and bring shame or scorn on Freddie. As you now know, it’s better to face your demons because you cannot outrun them indefinitely. I intend to carry on regardless and refuse to let them define me. People might turn up their noses at the beginning, but I have my mother’s eye for what will sell and my father’s talent for selling it, so they will come around in the end.’
He felt immensely proud of her, too. ‘Then allow me to correct my previous statement. You are a very brave and wise woman, Penny.’
‘And you are a very tired and very brave man, Lord Hadleigh. You look exhausted and, I fear, urgently need your bed.’
She stood and dragged him up with both hands. Hands some devil inside of him refused to let go of. ‘It is long past time you dropped the lord bit.’
‘Because Hadleigh is so much more personable? I have never understood that about titled men. The title is always there regardless. An abrupt punctuation to prove to each other how important you all are. Hadleigh, Flint... Penhurst.’ She rolled her eyes at the last and made a face. ‘Yet another hat—but an ostentatious one. Do you know I was never given leave to call him anything else? How ridiculous is that?’
‘Then clearly it is also time to resurrect my Christian name, although it might take me a while to answer to it again. I haven’t heard it for ten years...it’s Tristan.’
‘Like the medieval knight?’
‘My mother was a hopeless romantic as well as an evil embroiderer and thwarter of inadvisable romantic conquests.’
‘It suits you... I suppose a barrister is the modern equivalent of one of the knights of old. Defenders of justice and damsels in distress.’
A crusading righter of wrongs. Him in a nutshell. ‘Even if they are no longer in distress.’
‘I’ve long thrown away my distressed bonnet. I loathed that thing.’ She tugged him to the door. ‘Goodnight, Tristan...what’s left of it. Sleep tight.’
As he was about to leave he remembered the items in his pocket. ‘Here...seeing as tonight was a night for honesty, I wanted to give you these.’ He pulled out the old jewellery and place the lot in the centre of her palm. ‘I bought them back from the pawnbroker. Please don’t shout at me.’
She stared at the precious pile of trinkets for the longest time before her eyes lifted again to his. They were swimming with tears again. Sentimental tears of happiness. ‘Oh, Tristan...what am I going to do about you?’ Then she kissed him.
* * *
She considered telling herself she had intended it to be an innocent kiss, merely a brief, chaste expression of gratitude for returning the last earthly remnants of her mother, but realised that had not at all been her intention the second her lips had touched his. But the truth was Penny had wanted to kiss him because he had thoroughly overwhelmed her with his thoughtfulness, with his openness and by simply being him. She felt affection for him, that was undeniable, but it was more than the sort of affection bestowed upon a friend or a family member. This was different because attraction and, miraculously, lust was involved. Something she never thought she would experience after Penhurst. Somehow, the man in front of her had sneaked past the walls of her hardened heart to the romantic core which clearly still beat at its centre.
Worrying.
Perplexing.
Thrilling.
Just as it had the first time, soft and tender quickly turned to more and she welcomed it, wanting to touch him and feel him touch her, happily surrendering to the power of the sensual spell the kiss created. Those sensations were all so new and gloriously addictive. But it was Penny who reluctantly ended it this time. She stepped away, smiling when he tried to tug her back. ‘We are both tired...you are vulnerable...and I don’t want either of us to continue this with anything clouding our judgement. Go to bed, Tristan, and sleep. Tomorrow, apparently, we have a house full. Eleven people and one mad dog? Followed by the Attorney General himself later in the week. Significant details you neglected to mention.’
He looked delightfully sheepish. ‘Ah...yes. I meant to send you a message about that, but...’
‘You were in high dudgeon.’ She couldn’t resist the eye roll. ‘But fortunately, Lord Fennimore had the good sense to tell Harriet, who in turn passed word on to me. So I must spend tomorrow readying the place for them and you have hours of important trial work to do... Fortunately Harriet also mentioned the trial had been brought forward so I am expecting it will be all hands on deck.’
‘Yes, it will. We are almost there. I want to present it in a completed state to the Attorney General when he arrives later this week. I’ve been cross-referencing all the evidence we have with witness statements, organising the order to present my investigation and call the witnesses. All in all, I am
confident. I firmly believe we have enough to convince the Lords of the guilt of all seven of the treason as well as the smuggling.’
‘The Lords rather than a jury?’
‘Unlike your husband’s trial where the Crown decided to make a point, the six peers charged alongside Viscountess Gislingham were not impeached before the trial. Therefore, they can elect to be tried in the House rather than the court, which they have. The defence clearly believes they might receive greater leniency by their peers rather than a jury of potentially lesser men.’
‘Does that bother you?’
‘It is standard practice for peers, regardless of the severity of the charges, to seek justice in Parliament. The structure of the court is the same. All the Lords can witness the trial, but the proceedings will be overseen by the Lord High Steward assisted by a smaller group of legally minded lords who will act as the jury. As in any trial, there will be witnesses called and the accused will be defended and prosecuted by trained lawyers—the only difference is those barristers must be allowed to speak in the House.’
‘By that you mean they need to be peers—like you?’
‘Exactly. Occasionally, being my father’s son has its rewards—few though they may be.’
‘Will they be more lenient, do you suppose?’
‘With treason as part of the charges, and in view of the seriousness of this case and the way it has been widely reported, I sincerely doubt it. To be frank, the fact it is in the Lords might well work in our favour. Had I been defending those men, I would have cautioned against holding the trial in the House. If the evidence is strong and the arguments conclusive, it would take a brave peer to query it. This smuggling ring had infiltrated the highest echelons of the British aristocracy and threatened both the economy and the safety of these shores. Most will be keen to make an example of them.’
The Determined Lord Hadleigh Page 18