Choking back her tears, Gwendolyn sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the boy in the bassinet next to her. Running her thumb across his head of hair, Gwendolyn allowed the tears to fall from her eyes. Thomas will acknowledge his heir, Gwendolyn thought, even if it turned ugly and Katrina would demand her child be his heritable successor, Gwendolyn would still show a good fight. Theirs was an unusual circumstance. Theirs had begun with too much history to disregard. Theirs was a special accident…and, just like her mother, Gwendolyn would journey through life loving someone else’s husband.
The long ride to Yorkshire was serviceable for Thomas. He not only experienced the beautiful countryside on the way towards Kettlewell, he was also able to mend his broken spirit. The past few months were tedious to say the least, arriving to this point was nerve-wracking and getting over her was slow. The one he loved…loved someone else and he just couldn’t bear the separation. All he craved for was an answer, just to hear her explain her selection. Their close history warranted an explanation. This time was a catastrophe of emotions because she was alive and she discarded him willingly. She played her part perfectly, showing him interest, loving him through the night only to take some other path and live with another man? What did he contain that Thomas lacked? Was she not impressed by the success of her father’s company or the wealth he managed to maintain? She would rather live in squalor with her livestock breeder, than be by his side in riches and comfort?
Thomas threw himself into work, trying to erase those images of her and him inside his head and occasionally it would ease, most of the time, it would not. Nighttime was the worst and closing his eyes was sheer torture. Rolling up into a ball, clinging to his pillows, his blankets, wishing she were there lying beside him. He would wake up listless, tired, sickened by the sun bringing on a new day, and then eventually, ending his monotonous evenings.
One eventide, Thomas was so distraught, the breaking point to a juncture of no return when Constance found him on his hands and knees in his bedroom, dripping wet and sobbing. He had purposefully sat outside in the storm and tried to get himself sick. He was shivering and drenched and Constance aided him to his bed.
“She…she does not want me,” he cried, “Why doesn’t she want me?”
Constance pulled off his saturated coat, cravat and boots. Picking up his legs, she tucked him under the heated blankets. “Shush now…no more nonsense, let’s get you warm,” she said sympathetically, rubbing his cold hands and wiping off the dankness from around his forehead and face. “Now, just hold onto me, I am going to use my body to get you warm.”
Thomas closed his eyes and experienced instant comfort from within her motherly embrace. She showed him love and compassion, and his heart cried out for even more. He had to speak to someone and his housekeeper’s presence served her purpose well. “I do not want live without her. Just let me die…leave me be…let me just end it.”
Constance tsked at him, “Shush now…you are sputtering nonsense. Now, Your Grace—Thomas now, I have known you since you were a born and I have never seen you in so much torment.”
Thomas laid his head on her bosom and continued to cry, “But I do not understand it, she was mine…she was always mine, she came back into my life for a reason, only this time, she does not want me?”
“Shush now, you are still shivering, now try and calm down, let me tell you a story,” she voiced tenderly, running her fingers through his dampened hair. “I once knew a girl…my best friend in fact, worked with her for many, many years. I watched her cry in her room as you are doing now. For years, she was in love with the lord of the manor and every time he would go out for the evening, she would run to her room and bawl. He was a disreputable rogue and occasionally dallied with her fondness. I wasn’t surprised when she fled to the country to give birth to his son. The lord was so troubled when he found out that she had abandoned his estate, he could not eat, and he definitely could not sleep and finally chased after her. As soon as she saw him at her door she expressed her devotion, and wouldn’t you know it, the lord returned her affections and Millicent was married the following day.”
“My mother,” Thomas voiced quietly. “…And father.”
“Yes son, your mother and father. They loved you so. You were their baby; your mother’s sweet little boy and she showered you with affection. You remind me so much of her and I promised her I would look after you when she was away, and that’s just what I am going to do. You mustn’t give up hope, Thomas. There is a greater reason behind all this anguish.”
“But my hands are tied, Constance…there is nothing more that I can do. This time she did not choose me.”
Constance continued massaging his shoulders. “I believe in my heart Thomas, that she is still yours. No one, not even Satan himself would ever make me believe otherwise. That girl loves you. You were created just for her, and vice versa. She was always next to you, even when you were toddlers. Why, I remember when she used to make sure to push everyone aside, her brother and yours, just to make room for you at family picnics. She was always making sure you were right beside her. Why, I don’t think Gwendolyn felt comfortable without you in the room.”
She is right, he realized. Thomas leaned up and stopped crying. He instantly recalled his own mother saying nearly the same thing to him. “If she was so attentive back when, then why is she so evasive now? Why did she marry that farmer?”
“That I do not know, but you can ask her,” she remarked simply. “I know it is highly inappropriate for you to be seen together with your former wife, but I say buck convention. You were invited to your daughter’s birthday celebration and I think that’s a wonderful opportunity for you to shed some light on your doubt. You two have always been friends, and links you shall remain.”
“Mary,” he conveyed, “…Yes, we still have that connection.”
“Be strong Thomas, you have to be convincing in your happiness for her. I am sure she will explain her choice if you ask her.”
“Yes, you are absolutely right. She would…I know she would.”
“See now, you are chills have ceased. Now, let’s get you some more blankets and I will go warm up some tea and broth for you to eat.”
Thomas watched her walk around the bed before saying, “You are a good friend, Constance…and…and, I love you.”
Constance bit down on her lower lip and fought back her tears. “Oh I know, child…I know.”
After stopping at a nearby watering hole to soak his horses, Thomas had asked for the location of the McMillen farm. Some of the villagers knew exactly what he was looking for; most of them had not. When one villager spoke up unannounced, she offered Thomas information he did not quite count on.
“Gwendolyn does not reside at the McMillen farm,” the woman spoke with evident assurance. “They live at Crestwood Square, in the Drummond cottage, up the hill…keep following the path, and you’ll see it, atop the bluff.”
Thomas thanked the woman and handed her a shilling. She was so elated by his gesture, she nearly fainted.
I have to be convincing in my happiness for her, Thomas thought while winding along the dirt path towards Gwendolyn’s home. This was Gwendolyn’s choice. The only role he would play in her life from now on would be the sketch of father. It would be a routine he was willing to perform in order to stay involved in his daughter’s life. His daughter, his seedling…unexpected to be known as someone’s parent. He was so careful in the past not to father any children out of wedlock, he never wanted offspring by any other woman, but with Gwendolyn, he wanted several. On that night he made love to her he tried to get her pregnant. Oh, he knew it was self-seeking, knew it was manipulative, but he did not care. Staying inside her longer than need be, he wanted her without end. All that concerned him was that Gwendolyn was his, under his charge, heavy with child once more. She would have no option, no decision to make; her fate would be mapped out for her. She would have to remain his wife, stay with him indefinitely. However, his undertaking failed;
there would be no second chance. With Constance’s reminder, there was opportunity now where there once was none, through their daughter. He could remain on pleasant terms with Gwendolyn in order to see his child. He was determined to know his descendant. Mary was not illegitimate; therefore, she did not deserve to be swept under the rug like most of the bastard children of England and Mary would grow up with dignity and purpose, pride and his future legal heir; her children would secure his title and he would never deny her that.
As soon as he arrived at Gwendolyn’s home, his heart began to thump. Outside, across the lawn, children were laughing, jumping and playing. There were chairs and blankets sprawled out over the grasses, tables with food, pastries and drink. He eyed Phyllis first; who had been serving biscuits at the buffet.
“How are you Miss Tallymen?” Thomas asked arriving on foot around the many guests.
“Oh Your Grace, I am so very glad you decided to attend,” Phyllis gushed, grabbing the back of her husband’s shirt. “But I am no longer Miss Tallymen; it is Mrs. Archwald…Mrs. Stewart Archwald.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” Stewart said, with a courtly bow.
“Father! Father! You came! You came!” Mary screamed, running towards him and jumping into his arms.
“I promised you I would come, love…and I never break a pledge,” Thomas said, receiving his daughter’s welcoming hug.
“These are my friends,” Mary exclaimed, “And this is my Father!” She hollered excitedly.
“Nice to meet you all,” Thomas freely smiled, bowing to all the youngsters.
“Father, this is my best friend, Marcus,” Mary gushed, yanking the boy’s shirt from within the circle.
Thomas was nearly knocked down with shock. A boy? Her best friend was…a lad? “Nice to meet you, Marcus.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, sir,” Marcus claimed, bowing as well.
Thomas then nodded to all her many friends staring up at him. “Where is Whinny?” He asked, gazing around him.
“He is over there,” Mary stated, pointing at the corral. “Why?”
“Because I have a present for him.”
“A present? Why, it’s my birthday.”
“Yes, I know, it is your present too.”
Thomas whistled and Cherish comes trotting over next to him. She is a magnificent buff Arabian and by her side is a tiny foal. Black mane and tail, the filly is the spitting image of its dam. “It is a girl…and she is yours.”
Mary’s eyes flew open wide and all the other children gasped in awe. Mary runs towards the colt and grabs its neck pulling it into her for a hug. “Oh she is beautiful Father, thank you, thank you so very much,” Mary spurted, “I cannot wait to show mother.”
Thomas ran his fingers nervously through his hair, “By the way, where is your mother?”
Mary does not bother to look at him and continued to gush at the foal. “She went back to the cottage.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Gwendolyn was in the kitchen putting the last of the frosting onto the birthday cake. Alone, and talking to herself, she went to wipe the bottom of the wax paper and stuck a finger of frosting into her mouth. “Oh darling…mother made you a wonderful cake,” she voiced, gently picking up the block and placing it onto a tray to take outside.
In the corner of the kitchen, Nathaniel started to whine and Gwendolyn turned around to get him. “My—my, what big lungs you have deary…mother is coming…mother is coming.” She bent over the baby’s cradle and picked up her son. Within hearing his mother’s comforting voice, the baby started to wail even louder. Calming down her son, cuddling his head and tiny body to her breast, Gwendolyn stood quietly shushing the baby and spun around to gape into questioning green eyes.
Thomas leaned over and took a peek at the bundle of joy. “Boy or girl?”
Gwendolyn could not breathe…she couldn’t even speak; seeing Thomas authentically dashing, hurled her heart to the pit of her stomach. “Boy,” she exhaled, peeping down at the baby.
“Congratulations,” he gave to her dismally.
Cradling the baby within her arms, Gwendolyn tried to regain composure. “Th—thank you.”
“Nice home,” he said despondent, putting down his hat and eyeing the décor. He walked around the open area; it was a woman’s touch with feminine furnishings, where were her husband’s possessions? He then closed his eyes. You have to be convincing in your happiness for her. If this was going to work, you have to display your acceptance of her choice. Only Thomas’ heartrending stare almost gave his heartbreak away. He stood there like an idiot, gaping at her with that farmer’s baby in her arms. A child—he wished to God—was his. She looked beautiful, absolutely glowing and he wanted so much to hold her in his arms. But he knew he could not and therefore would not. It was not right; this whole situation was off the mark. His words were stuck inside his throat, everything he was feeling displayed by way of his pitiful worship of her. His heart pounded fierce, he wanted to ask her how, when and why, but the only words that seemed to form on his lips were, “…H—How are you”
Gwendolyn soaked in his sadness, he was miserable; she could tell the moment he gave her his best wishes. It was how he said it—it was in his tone. She could always tell when there was something wrong with him and he looked as if he were about to cry! She wanted to console his despair, wrap her arms around his shoulders and hug him near to her heart. What was wrong with him? What on earth happened? “We are doing well…we are all doing well.”
Be convincing will you! He petitioned for her compassion by staring at her some more but it was no use, he had to settle for her friendship and his anxiety was overwhelming. Maybe things were better left unsaid? No, he had to find the nerve to ask her.
“May I…may I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course, what?” Gwendolyn then blinked out of her haze. Something was not quite right. Why was he so sad? Why did he seem so lost? What was so wrong? Something was misplaced…someone was missing. She looked beyond him before saying, “Where is Katrina?”
Thomas swallowed his anguish and looked at her strangely, “Katrina?” He asked surprised now, “Why, she is…she is back with Henry, where else would she be?”
“Henry?” Gwendolyn asked taken-back, “Why is she with him?”
Thomas shook his head and realized that the two of them were on different spectrums. “Because he is her husband, that’s why.”
“What!” Gwendolyn bellowed, scaring the baby within her arms again. Her son began to wail.
Poking his finger in his ear and jiggling it, Thomas pronounced, “Oh my—he is a loud little thing.”
“You have no idea,” Gwendolyn returned, trying to shush the baby down. “…So you did not marry her?” She asked wide-eyed, holding her son’s head up to her neck, shushing him continuously.
Thomas glanced away and eyed the furniture again. How was he ever going to get that courage back to ask her why she married her farmer? “We did not marry,” he let go hopeless, turning around then closing his eyes in frustration.
Gwendolyn looked at his backside with round eyes. “But…but, I thought you wanted to marry her…I expected to see you, but, well since I had not heard from you, I thought you had found a way to proceed with the matrimony. Only seeing you together at Scarborough did I get my confirmation.”
Thomas tilted towards Gwendolyn and his heart pounded oddly at the sight of her eyes beginning to water. All his festering incertitude vanished. “I explained everything to you in the letter Gwendolyn.”
“What letter?” Gwendolyn asked while kissing her son’s forehead. He was finally calm, and babbled within her grasp.
Dare To Love Page 26