Bea hung her head. They asked her to trust them, yet she was unwilling to offer the same consideration. “Trust is a muscle I’ve not exercised in a while. It doesn’t come naturally. How do I start?”
“Start at the beginning, whenever that is,” Evie said.
Amelia tucked a stray golden curl behind Bea’s ear. “We’ll be here in case you falter.”
There was only one beginning, one event which had defined her childhood and had shaped her into the woman she was today, and she found, despite her reluctance, she knew where it all began. “I was eleven years old, and the gypsies had come for the summer. There was a boy named Luka.”
Chapter 35
York, England, June 1811
Bea and Gabriel stayed in Scotland for six weeks, until the snow had melted and spring flowers were visible around the castle. The time spent with her sisters and their families was a precious gift. Surrounded by their love and acceptance, old wounds closed and she recovered scattered pieces of herself she’d abandoned when life’s disappointments had demanded she do so. Saying goodbye was harder than she’d expected, but she promised to visit again, a vow she was eager to keep.
With a renewed heart, she and Gabriel left for home. Bea wanted one last summer in her childhood home before her father’s heir came to take residence at Westby Manor in September. She wanted one last summer to show her son what made this part of England so special. They arrived in York as the trees blossomed, their fragrant flowers a welcome gift as she and Gabriel found their way home. However her happiness did not mask the growing restlessness spring’s arrival brought.
April turned to May, and the days grew longer. The refreshing spring weather turned warm, and by the first week of June, summer had arrived. A persistent disquiet dogged her heels, and she spent her afternoons walking across the fields, showing Gabriel her favorite childhood haunts and regaling him with tales of her wild adventures. Her son’s constant presence and the peace found at her childhood home marked her days with quiet contentment, but her nights brought a surge of restless yearning. Dreams of a dark-haired warrior flitted through her subconscious, whispering the name of the boy she’d never forgotten. Each morning she awoke empty, her arms reaching for someone who’d already gone.
One lazy June morning, she awoke before the cock crowed, having passed another restless night, and snuck out of the house in time to see the sun’s pink rays kiss the eastern horizon. Her slippered feet sped across the dew-laden grass, her steps quickening as she flew across the fields to the eastern woods. Instinct drove her faster across the field, and when her skirts wrapped around her legs and slowed her pace, she pulled them over her knees and ran unhindered.
Please, let them be there today. There was a reason her daily walks took her to the eastern woods and why her dreams were filled with taunting images of the man she loved. Each night since returning to York, she’d wished for him to come, and each day she’d gone to the woods and found disappointment. After months of waiting, she’d awakened and known today they’d come.
By the time she reached the edge of the woods, her sides ached and her leg muscles screamed. She doubled over and sucked in large gulps of air, straining to hear above her pounding heart, but the woods were quiet. “When will I learn? Wishes are for children and those who believe in magic.” She’d left the schoolroom long ago and had never believed in magic the way her sisters did. Her conviction the gypsies had returned was nothing more than optimistic fantasy.
Laughter floated though the air, and hope beat like a thousand winged birds in her chest. Maybe magic was real after all. She navigated through the woods to the clearing beyond. Horses neighed, and the sweet smell of crushed hay tickled her nose. Colorful tents and wagons filled the clearing, and people milled about, laughing as they set up camp. She clutched a large tree trunk to steady herself, and rested her cheek against the rough bark, drinking in the familiar sight.
A spry, gray-haired woman with wild curls wrestled with a length of rope. The wind whipped through the clearing and snatched the line from her hand. She pushed her curls from her eyes and tied back her hair in a vibrant purple scarf before securing the final end of rope to a wagon. Her heart squeezed in her chest. Aba had returned with the family. The old woman had once told her she’d never travel again, much preferring the comfort of her little cottage in her advanced age than the incessant inconvenience of a nomadic life. She didn’t question why Aba had broken her word and left her cozy island home, for Luka strode into the clearing. Tall, broad-shouldered, and strong, he stopped to help an elderly couple as they struggled to set up their home. He bent over to secure a pole, and his black hair gleamed in the early morning light. When he stood, the older couple laughed and slapped him on the back, causing him to smile and stoop to hug the older woman. His eyes scanned the clearing, a leader looking for others in need of assistance—and he spied her.
His entire body stiffened, and he stared at her. The force of those warm, brown eyes flew across the clearing and spanned decades. Once again she was eleven, and he was her home.
Luka strode across the clearing in the time it took for her to raise her hand in greeting. His large hand raised to cup her cheek but dropped to hang at his side, nervous and unsure. Bea’s own fingers curled, anxious to touch him after so many months apart. She had no words to describe the joy she experienced upon seeing him in their clearing, yet they were as awkward as when they’d first met. An impish smile touched her lips as she found the perfect greeting for this man she’d loved forever. Channeling her inner eleven-year-old, she said, “Aren’t you going to say something? It’s rude to stare. You do know that, don’t you?”
Luka smiled, a slow, wicked upturn of his lips, as he caught on to her little game, and her heartbeat sped.
She cocked her head to one side, and stepped closer to the raw heat emanating from his sun-kissed body. Trailing her hand over his muscle-hardened torso, she peered at him from beneath her lashes. “Are you slow?” She placed each lingering caress with precision to aid in his comprehension.
He closed the distance between them and snaked an arm about her waist, pulling her tight against his body to better nuzzle the sensitive cords along her neck. “I am not.”
“Of course you’re not.” She pressed soft kisses along his firm jaw. “But if you were slow, I imagine that is what you would say, hmm?” She captured his lips in a kiss, and his embrace tightened.
“Woman, you may speak to me any way you wish, for I have been and always will be yours.”
“I came here today hoping yet never imagining you’d be here. Returning to England was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. When Cosette showed me the portion of the letter you read, I broke, Luka. To hurt you in such a manner, unintentional as it was, broke me, and I couldn’t stay, or even follow you.”
“So I followed you. You did nothing wrong. Once again it was my foolish pride which caused you harm.”
She smoothed her hands over the linen shirt covering his chest and fiddled with the ties at his neck, not ready to discuss what had happened in Paris. “How did you enter the country without being extradited?”
“I might have mentioned the approximate whereabouts of a strategic military stronghold in Paris. Before traveling here, I stopped in London and spoke to Thomas. He helped me petition the government for a pardon, so I was no longer a wanted man. We’re free to come and go as we please.”
“Thomas and I didn’t part on the best of terms, but I’m not surprised he helped you. He believes himself to be an honorable man, though his choices have been less so.”
“Add reticence to his list of faults. I had to push before he told me what he had done to you. I almost killed him.”
“I did, too. He was wrong in so many ways, but as much as I wish to hate him, I pity him. He was offered a precious gift, and he warped it with his deceit and thirst for vengeance.”
“My own actions were inexcusable. Despite the precious gift you gave me, I didn’t trust you or us. O
ld fears were resurrected and I was a young man again, scared and convinced I was not enough to hold your interest. Your letter confirmed what I already believed. It was too much to credit you’d chosen me, so I ran before giving you a chance to explain.”
“What changed your mind?”
“If you recall my telling you, I sulked and brooded for almost a year after leaving you ten years ago, and the same happened this time. Anyone past the age of two remembered my moody self-obsession then and flat-out refused to follow my command during this most recent bout of melancholy. One week after I arrived to find my family safe in Russia, the clan had enough of my black moods and decided to return to England. On the way to port, I stopped at Cosette’s, hoping you were there. She let me know what had happened and where you were going. After leaving Paris, I became a man possessed, and pushed us hard to reach York before summer. I have an important question I want to ask you, in the same place we met, and to tell you I’m not going anywhere.”
“If you’re here to stay, why is your family here? Are they staying as well?”
“Fortier and Andres will lead them back to the Continent at the end of summer. They traveled with me for another reason.”
“Have you asked her yet?” Aba shouted across the clearing.
Luka grimaced, pressed a quick kiss to Bea’s lips, and yelled over his shoulder, “Quiet, you nosey old woman. I’m getting to it.”
Gentle laughter floated on the breeze, and Aba’s voice when she replied was laced with amusement. “Get to it faster. We’re all waiting to hear what she says.”
“When I say what?” Bea asked.
He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Will you marry me, Beatrice Josephine Westby? You are my soul’s companion and the reason my heart beats. Will you be my partner and my wife?”
“Yes, Luka.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and their lips met in a gentle kiss. Loud cheering, punctuated by shrill whistles, surrounded them, and Bea raised her head to see Luka’s family watching, their faces wreathed in joyful smiles. One young smiling face stood out, her fat brown braids bouncing as she squealed and clapped.
Bea smiled and waved. “It’s Amy. How did she get here?”
“Fighting has increased in the peninsula, and Cosette worries about a resurgence of violence in Paris. She wants Amy safe, and I assured her we’d give her a loving home, if you are agreeable.”
“Of course I’m in agreement,” she said. Amy waved back before leaving with Aba, her cheerful voice like music carried on the summer breeze. “Mother, Mother!” Bea spun around and watched as Gabriel raced across the field to the tree where she and Luka stood. Ignoring the man beside her, her son tugged on her hands and spun her about. “Grandma Agatha said the Rom have come. Uncle Jack says they haven’t come in years! Can I meet them?”
Laughing, Bea pulled her son into her arms and pressed her forehead to his, winded from their impromptu spin around the clearing. “Look behind you, and you’ll see.”
He twisted around, his bright eyes curious. “Hullo,” he said to Luka who had blanched and grabbed the tree for support. “I’m Gabriel Westby.” He bowed, a short perfunctory bending of the waist. “Who are you?”
Luka’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged. His beautiful eyes, so like their son’s, drank in the sight of the gangly boy, whose golden skin, impish smile, and black hair declared him none other than child of his seed.
Placing a hand on her son’s shoulder, she ushered him closer to Luka, who was too overcome to do much more than clutch the tree and stare. “Gabriel, this is Luka Stefano, your father,” Bea said to the boy.
“You have a lot to explain, Mr. Stefano,” Gabriel said, his black eyes snapping. The boy’s ire jolted Luka out of his stupor, for he released the tree and cleared his throat. “I do, but I want to spend the rest of my life making amends to you and your mother, if you’ll let me.”
Gabriel’s hand snuck into hers as he stared at his sire. “Are you going to go away and make my mother cry again? Mother cried heaps this spring when she thought no one was around to hear her. You are not to hurt her again. I forbid it.” Bea longed to intervene and smooth things over for both her men, but Luka had to find his way with their son, as she had done.
“I’m here to stay. I want to be a good husband to your mother and, with your permission, a good father to you.”
“Who’s that lady staring at me?” Gabriel asked, pointing to Aba, who stood near their little circle. Bea chuckled and ruffled her son’s hair. His young, curious mind did not stay focused on one topic for long. Family was his current obsession, and he had pestered her for weeks about hers until she’d drawn him a detailed family tree. He’d been disappointed at the small size. With Aba here, Gabriel was soon going to discover another branch to his family tree, starting with his great-grandma.
“I’m your grandmother, boy.”
He cocked his head and studied Aba. “I’ve got a grandma. Grandma Agatha makes me biscuits and cakes and tells the best stories. Can you do that?”
“No, but I can whittle a stick, catch fish with my bare hands, and spit farther than any man,” she said.
Gabriel licked his lips, eagerness brightening his face. “Perhaps you can show me this spitting business.”
“Come with me. I’ve a new granddaughter, too, whose spitting education is almost as lamentable as yours. I’ll introduce you to some of your cousins on the way. They’ll want to see you’re properly educated, too.” Aba offered her hand, and Gabriel fitted his own within it.
“You’ll be here when I’m done?” he said over his shoulder to Luka.
“I’m not going anywhere.” The boy nodded and went with Aba. They were halfway back to camp when he whispered something in the old woman’s ear and sprinted back to the tree where Bea and Luka sagged against its weathered trunk. He barreled into Luka’s stomach, wrapped his arms about his middle and squeezed before he turned and raced back to Aba, yelling over his shoulder as he ran, “That’s so you don’t forget me while I’m gone!”
Curling an arm about Bea’s waist, he rested his cheek on her hair. “We have a son,” he said.
She snuggled in his embrace. “He’s a joy, Luka. You’re going to love him.”
“I already do.”
Her son grew smaller in the distance, but she didn’t worry. He was safe with Aba and his new sister, Amy. “Aba is going to corrupt our son.”
“It’s an important skill every child should have. Isn’t it?” His brows furrowed. “God, I can’t credit I’m a father. What a terrifying prospect!”
Her gentle laughter eased his frown.
“What’s so funny?”
“Us. I’m as terrified as you.”
“Doubtful. You’ve had months to acquaint yourself with him. I’ve known about his existence for less than a half hour.”
“You’ll be fine. We both will. We have years to figure out how to be parents, so no more distractions, Luka Stefano. Our children are currently learning the fine art of spitting, and your family have all returned to other tasks, leaving us alone.”
“What do you have in mind?” he asked, his nimble fingers feathering along her spine to cup her curved bottom.
“My sisters have informed me that, with children underfoot, it is important to seek time together whenever possible. Since we are alone for the time being, you have years of kisses to make up for. I suggest you begin making amends.”
“With pleasure.” His slow smile when it came melted her insides and buckled her knees. With a gentle push, he settled her against the tree and slanted his mouth atop hers. The rough trunk dug into her back, but she didn’t care. Luka’s arms enfolded her, keeping her where she belonged.
****
They were married a week later, on summer’s solstice, choosing to wed in the clearing beyond the eastern woods where they’d met as young children. She wore a simple dress of pale green, with bluebells woven in her curly locks. Gabriel, after some tense moments with his father,
accepted the man was staying, made a tentative peace with him, and agreed to give her away. Amy was her attendant, the young girl dressed in a new gown of rosy pink. Her elation at being a part of the ceremony rivaled the discovery she was part of a family again. Gabriel adored his new sister and accepted her presence more readily than his father’s, but these were early days. Bea fully expected both of her men to love each other as much as she loved them. After all, she was delightful.
As the sky darkened and the family prepared to celebrate the longest day of the year, Luka’s family, along with Agatha, Uncle Jack, and Grant, gathered around a large bonfire. The lively strains of a country dance floated above the crackling fire. More musicians joined the lone flautist, and a steady beat accompanied the light airy tune. Beatrice grabbed Amy’s hand and they danced around the fire. A small hand grasped her free one, and she smiled into her son’s bright eyes; they twirled and spun around the flames. Luka grabbed onto their son, while Aba joined in next to Amy. With each addition to their dancing line, Bea’s joy crested higher and higher as they danced in an unending circle of love and family. The music carried her feet around the ever-growing fire, her curls tumbling about her flushed cheeks. Flames bathed her face in light and shadow, and she closed her eyes, savoring the weight of her children’s hands in hers. The simple band Luka had given her warmed her skin, and she welcomed the press of metal against her finger. Happiness bubbled within her until it burst free, and she threw back her head and laughed. After years of searching, Beatrice Westby had finally come home.
A word about the author…
Sara Ackerman is a lifetime lover of words. After years of encouraging students to write, she finally took her own advice and “sat down and did it already.” She lives in southwestern Wisconsin where she was born and raised.
She loves to read all genres of books, though her true love is historical romance. Unsurprisingly, that is what she can be found reading when she is not writing. Her particular favorites include Jane Austen alternative histories.
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