by Nicole Byrd
“What must be, must be,” he answered, keeping his voice low. “It’s true that she was not safe where she was, all alone. And as for us—”
“Yes?”
“I suppose we should be chaste in thought and deed, as the vicar would advise,” he answered.
She must have looked most disappointed because he laughed silently at her expression and leaned to give her a sudden hard kiss.
“Or else,” he whispered into her ear, “very very quiet.”
Grinning, she kissed him back and walked with lighter heart to her own room.
Once inside, she washed and changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed. But the impression of the kiss lingered, and she hungered for more. Her bed seemed very empty. She wished for some way to signal Adrian to come and join her. She could tiptoe her way back down the hall to his room, of course, but every step was a chance to be seen, and she would blush indeed if they were caught in their illicit lovemaking…not that Felicity would tell her father, but still.
Sighing, Maddie tried to redirect her thoughts—not easy with her body craving the viscount’s practiced and loving touch. She reached over to the table beside her bed and picked up the packet of her mother’s letters, once again reaching into the pile and selecting one at random.
Just a glimpse, she told herself, just a few lines. Somehow that made her feel less intrusive than reading the whole letter, the whole stack.
When she unfolded the paper, her heart seemed to skip a beat. The handwriting was different! This letter was not written in her mother’s flowing soft script. Perhaps her father—no, no, nor was it in her father’s more compact hand.
She had seen his writing in his household budget books, and in short notes to merchants and other business letters she had sometimes had reason to add her own notes to or carry to the village for him.
What could this be?
She should close it and put it back, one part of her mind said.
Maddie knew she should not read it, but now that she had seen it—now that she knew her mother had kept a letter from some unknown person—she could just as easily have stopped breathing.
Perhaps it was only a fond female friend, Maddie tried to tell herself. Yes, it was only a dear friend from some other shire…
But a quick glance at the salutation ended that theory, as the letter began:
My dearest love:
How did I ever survive without knowing that you were in the world? My world has been so much the richer since you entered it, my universe so much more golden since you eclipsed the sun!
Oh, heavens! Someone else had written her mother a love letter?
She felt sick, as if her own world had suddenly been shaken, as if her foundations had crumbled.
She could not bring herself to read any more.
Perhaps she was wrong about the handwriting; perhaps it was her father’s. Perhaps the carriage accident, even though most of the damage had been to his legs and hips, had nonetheless changed his style of handwriting, she told herself desperately, perhaps—
She turned the page over and scanned it for the signature.
James
Who in heaven’s name was James?
Eleven
People could be in love with more than one person, she tried to tell herself. It was just that her mother had married her father quite young…she had had little time to fall out of love with one man and into love with another. And her papa had always said that they had known each other since childhood and always been fond of each other. She had pictured their relationship as two childhood sweethearts growing into a more mature romance as they had reached adulthood.
When did that leave time for another man?
Perhaps this was some poor young man whose unrequited love had not been returned. Just an acquaintance carried away by her mother Elizabeth’s pretty face and sweet nature? That thought gave Maddie a space to still her fast-beating heart and clasp her shaking hands together. That could be why her mother had kept the letter, out of pity.
But she had to know. She found she was out of bed reaching for her shawl and pushing her feet into her slippers. Her father might be already asleep, but if not—
She could not bear to lie awake all night wondering what this piece of paper meant about the mother she thought she had known, about her parents’ marriage, their deep love that she had assumed had been so true and untroubled.
Easing open her door, she ran as noiselessly as she could for the stairs, tiptoeing down, avoiding the steps that she knew would creak. On the ground floor, the hall was shadowy and dim, but a light still burned in her father’s bedroom. She could see the brighter glow in the crack beneath his door.
She hurried to his doorway and tapped lightly on the panel of the door.
“Yes?” came the voice from inside.
She turned the knob and pushed open the door.
His expression surprised, John Applegate lowered the book he was reading and looked up at her from his bed. “My dear, is something wrong?”
Then she was kneeling by his bed without even knowing how she got there. “Papa, who is James?”
From the change in his face, Maddie knew that this was not a slight acquaintance of her mother’s, not at all.
She felt her heart sink, and wondered too late if it would have been better not to have asked, never to have known. Once the apple was bitten, would Eve have chosen to put away all knowledge? But how could one choose ignorance when the choice is given?
“If I have distressed you, Papa…”
He had put one hand to his face, but he lowered it and shook his head. “No. I had thought perhaps your mother had told you, but you were still so young when she died.” He sighed. “What makes you ask, now?”
“I found a packet of letters in the attic, when I was going through a chest of some of her dresses, looking for material to remake. I haven’t read them, just looked at a few passages. But I saw the name, and…” Her voice faltered at the expressions that flickered across his face. “You don’t have to answer, Papa.”
“Better that you hear it from me, my girl,” he said, his mouth firming. “If your grandparents had not already passed, if—but there are always rumors, you know. I would not have someone in the shire throw out a harsh remark, someday when least expected, and wound you. Better to be prepared.”
She thought of the acid-tongued Mrs. Masham and nodded slowly.
“Pull up the stool, my dear, the floor is cold, and I do not want you to catch a chill,” he said, and when she obeyed, pushed a knitted blanket toward her to wrap around her.
Maddie found that she was shivering, but she thought it more from nerves than from the cool of the night. The cold seemed to have settled inside her. To find that her beloved parents that she thought she knew so well had such secrets—it shook her to her core. Now she waited, impatient and at the same time terrified, to hear about the great enigma that had been hidden from her all this time.
“What I told you was quite true.” Her father spoke slowly, not quite meeting her eye. “I had known your mother since we were children. We grew up on estates, both not terribly large, which were not that far apart. She was a sweet-natured girl, pretty and kind, and I always liked her. But as she grew, and I went off to university, I had the chance to go to London for a year or two, and you know about my misadventure there.” His mouth hardened for a moment, and Maddie waited.
Recently she and her sisters had learned, to their shock, of the existence of their half brother, Lord Gabriel Sinclair, when he had tracked down their father. At that point the long-ago affair between John Applegate and Gabriel’s mother had been brought to light.
“When I returned home, after I’d agreed that I must give up my forbidden love, I was depressed and lonely, and—I’m sorry to say—given to bouts of self-pity, thinking only of myself. At first I didn’t notice that Elizabeth was also in something of a state.
“But we both attended an alfresco party, dining at tables brought out under the trees. We had w
alked a little apart, and she passed out almost at my feet. I carried her to a nearby stream to revive her, and only then did I find out what had happened. While I was gone, Elizabeth had fallen in love with a young ensign visiting his cousin, who lived on a neighboring estate. The pair had made a secret betrothal, and the young man had planned to return to elicit her father’s consent so they could be wed. But he had been sent back to sea earlier than he’d expected and was killed in a sudden engagement. Then Elizabeth discovered she was—ah—with child.”
Her father paused, and Maddie knew her eyes had widened. Her mother had made love before she was married?
Good heavens!
Of course, she’d done so herself a mere few hours before, but her own mother? Somehow, one didn’t imagine one’s parents to be so—so human! First to find out that her father as a young man had been so fallible as to fall in love with a married woman in peril from an abusive husband and to try to come to her aid, in the end to no avail, and then to find her mother in such straits for being so precipitant as to make love before she was wed…and then for Elizabeth to learn that she was increasing and unwed, a situation always totally unacceptable.
“Oh, my goodness, what was she going to do?” Maddie asked, putting her hands to her cheeks, thinking what a panic her mother must have been in.
“Yes, that was the question,” her father agreed, his tone grim just from the memory. “You can imagine what her father, what both her parents, would have said. And the community would have turned their backs on her. She was almost sick from considering it. Her condition was not yet obvious, but soon would be. She had not meant it to happen, of course. The poor young man had not meant to leave her in such sad straits, either, I assure you, Madeline; he had every intention of coming back to be wed. The French had the devil’s luck—the wind on their side and a good aim with their cannon—and managed to end his life before he could get leave again, that was all. Poor James McInnon.”
James—her father! Maddie felt a strange pang shoot all the way through her. She had to blink hard.
“So I offered her my name and my protection,” her father—oh, no, not her father—continued. “What else could I do? As I said, I was always fond of Elizabeth, and at the moment, for myself, it hardly mattered as I didn’t expect to ever fall in love again. And she was so distressed that I felt for her…” He sighed.
Maddie blinked; her eyes were filling, and her throat ached with a strange pain. “That was very good of you,” she managed to croak out.
“No, no.” He put his hands down and shifted in his bed. “Not at all. She was a dear friend, you know. And she was so grateful, it pulled me out of my stupid melancholy. I felt that I was doing something useful, at last. As it turned out, we were most content together; that was not a lie, Madeline, so I don’t wish you to consider anything different.”
He looked at her anxiously, and when he saw the tears on her cheeks, he made a distressed sound and reached out to touch her face. “We ended up loving each other, I want you to believe that. We lived together very happily. I’m sure I never regretted our marriage.”
She nodded.
“Nor did your mother, I am confident, even though she could not have her first love. She had been so frightened of what would occur—and she was so thankful—and we were two people who were much of a kind, she always said, soft-spoken and amiable, and we did know each other well, so it was a good match. You came along a bit soon, of course, but these things happen, and if there was talk, it died away. We didn’t care.”
He smiled at her, but this time, she couldn’t contain her tears. She had to lean forward and hide her face on the bed.
“Oh, my darling girl, do not cry,” he said, his tone anxious. “I am so sorry to have to tell you such shocking tidings.”
He patted her shoulder, but it was a few minutes before she could control the spasms of sobs.
Her father—no, Mr. Applegate; she couldn’t think what to call him—found a large white handkerchief beneath his pillow to hand her, and she wiped her face.
“I don’t know very much about the young man. I believe he came from the Lowlands, but we can make inquires if you wish to locate his family and find out more—”
This time she shook her head vigorously. “No! At least, not yet. I do not know what I wish. I must—give me time to think about it, please.”
“As you wish,” he said quickly. “I didn’t know if you would wish to know more. That perhaps that was part of your distress, learning that you had a father who was quite unknown to you, and then losing him at the same moment you had first heard of him?”
Again she shook her head. She thought, No, you—this is the father I have lost. But she could not speak the words aloud.
She wanted to reach out for his hand. Only a few moments ago, she would have, easily, naturally, but now something stood between them.
He was not her father.
She was not his daughter.
She had been living a lie, and no one had told her…they had not trusted her enough to tell her the truth.
Why had they not told her?
Her own mother had not told her…
Reeling inside from the stunning blow, she felt curiously light-headed. She managed to straighten her shoulders.
“I must get back to my room,” she said, her voice a peculiar croak even to her own ears.
Mr. Applegate watched her with an anxious expression on his face. “Are you sure you will be all right? Should I call for Bess?”
Even though it was a falsehood, she shook her head. “No, I am fine.” The servants likely knew more than she did! She had no inclination to discuss the subject any more just now. She wanted her own room, she wanted to be alone, her thoughts were all ajumble.
“Madeline, you must know that I could not have loved you any more than I do. You will always be my dearest girl, my first and most cherished daughter, no matter how you were engendered.”
She felt a strange ache in her throat. She had to get out of the room before she fell apart completely. Maddie backed away, one hand holding her candle and one on her throat. “I must get back to bed,” she said, avoiding meeting his eye.
“If you wish to talk again later, I will be happy—anytime—” he called after her, his tone still anxious, as she fled out the door and eased it shut behind her.
The hall was quiet and cold.
How quickly could your life change, she thought. Yes, to the world she was still Madeline Applegate, but now she knew that her surname should have been…McInnon? No, they had not managed to marry. How was a bastard styled? That was a bitter thought!
Perhaps that was why her mother had not told her, one part of her mind noted, with cold clarity, but it would not do. She deserved to know her own history, surely, she did.
Overwhelmed—it made her limp trying to absorb so much—she climbed the stairs slowly, feeling more lonely than she ever had in her life. The rooms on the other end of the hall were dark, and the house echoed with quiet. Her candle sent shadows quivering down the long hallway.
In front of the guest chamber where Adrian slept, she hesitated, then reached to touch the knob. She wanted to turn it. She knew instinctively that it was not locked, that it would turn beneath her hand. Inside, the chamber was dark, there was no line of light beneath the door, and its occupant must be asleep.
She should go back to her own room, she thought, and not disrupt his slumber. Besides, somehow, though she longed for his presence, for his comforting arm about her shoulders, another part of her wanted no man near her just now.
No man to hurt her, as her mother had been hurt…no man to walk away just when she needed him the most…and worse—he did plan to walk away.
Maddie lifted her hand from the doorknob and continued her slow pace down the hallway till she could climb into her own lonely bed, her heart frozen and her body cold, where she shivered beneath the bedclothes, all alone.
In fact, she woke early, when the darkness was only just graying
. She tried to sleep again, but her newfound knowledge all came rushing back. All she could do was lie still against the pillow and stare up at the curtains of the bed.
Her mother, grieving for her lost love, panic-stricken over her state of impending motherhood with no husband ready to marry her. How grateful she must have been to her old friend when John Applegate had offered his hand…and how like him to come to the rescue, Maddie thought. He did seem to like to rescue damsels in distress, first the marquis’s wife, which had led to their illicit half brother in London, Lord Gabriel Sinclair, and now, Maddie knew, he had rescued her own mother…but why hadn’t they told her?
She felt her eyes dampen again. No, she refused to start up again like a regular waterworks, so she rubbed her eyes and turned over, pounding her pillow and trying to redirect her thoughts.
Today she had promised to walk to the cottage with Felicity and help bring back more of her clothes and personal belongings so that her friend could make a longer stay, and not worry about being alone and too out of the way with a band of gypsies wandering about the countryside. Having more people in the house should take Maddie’s mind off herself, surely. Take her mind off the fact that soon it would be Sunday, and the final reading of the banns. Then she and Adrian could be married, and then—what?
Surely he would not seek to leave, so soon?
Her stomach lurched at the thought, and her mouth felt dry. She must impress on him how necessary his company was to her comfort, how important his nearness to her happiness. She could not bear it if he went away. She would take her chances with the mad assassin, wherever he might be.
Sighing, she tugged at her pillow again; it seemed determined to knot itself under her head instead of lying smoothly. As if she could sleep.
When the birds were singing in chorus outside her window and the sunlight could not be denied, she gave up and pushed back her covers, rose, and washed in tepid water. She would go down and help Bess with breakfast; Papa—that is, John—oh, she might as well call him what she had always called him; she would never break the habit! Papa always liked his food early, and her guests might be up at a prompt hour, too.