by Eliza Lloyd
Laraine came in the kitchen with a stack of towels. When she saw the pup, she set aside her work and lifted the squirming mess away. The French that followed was full of kind little words for the puppy and the children who’d rescued it, and Imogene knew she could not say no.
Not to all the little faces, with their big, hopeful gazes. And why should she deny them this small thing when life had already taken so much from them?
“All right, but you must take care of him.”
A vocation. Loyalty.
She understood Jack’s dilemma better now. He’d made a promise to Catherine, to her parents and society at large. That promise was that he would be loyal to his word.
Just as Imogene had a made a promise to Pierre, Lily and these poor, beautiful creatures who needed her so desperately.
She wanted Jack, but not at the price of her soul.
Chapter Seven
The land around Deal was a vast area good for sheep grazing and farming, but to the east there was a substantial port, wide beaches and a prosperous, historical city with a major military presence. There was also a fair amount of smuggling that occurred in and around Deal over the years. The city itself was still considered slightly dangerous and a bit gloomy.
But the Cliffs of Dover and the beautiful North Downs area brought Londoners in droves.
Catherine was buried in the peaceful gardens of the Whitecliff estate, surrounded by her family and the servants who had cared her over the years. Jack’s mother had not attended the funeral, confined to her bed these past few weeks.
Afterward Jack spent time with his sons, sailing one day and, on another, climbing along the rocks as the sea bashed into the land below them. Jack carried his oldest on his shoulders and his youngest in his arms. They picked apples in the orchard and rode in a hay wagon with Danny Farrell.
How he wished Charlie had been here to explain the complicated mysteries with such simple and pure understanding to two boys who still cried at night for their missing mother. But between Jack and the boys’ governess, they had acclimated to Catherine’s absence and the tears had lessened.
“We will be going back to London tomorrow,” Jack said.
“I figured it would be soon.” Danny stared straight ahead, guiding the horses along a well-worn path in the hay field.
“I think I’ll take the boys away for a while. Maybe Scotland. Maybe Italy.”
“You could stay here in Deal. No one is going to bother you and there ain’t no place more peaceful.”
“I suppose.”
He wanted to keep the boys busy and he needed to keep his mind occupied. Guilt and grief were debilitating emotions, but with each day that passed at his estate, with each day he spent enjoying the simplicity of farm life, his thoughts cleared.
“Papa?” His youngest turned on the seat and Jack brought him to his lap, where he settled against Jack’s chest. Benjamin was in the back of the wagon, flopping around in the deck of loose hay.
“I’ve heard rumors Lord Dayton plans to sell his estate in Great Mongeham,” Danny said. “The manor house is in disrepair, but the land butts against your northern border and it’s all prime, well worth what he is asking.”
“Yes, there have been rumors in London about gambling debts. It’s a substantial piece of land.”
“I know the timing isn’t perfect.”
“No. It’s about opportunity.”
“I can make inquiries with his land agent.”
“Can you manage the additional responsibilities? With that much land...”
“I’ve been thinking about that. A few new threshing machines, some additional steel plows. It will cost plenty of money, but the efficiencies would be substantial.”
“Can you promise our farm hands will not revolt?” The last several years had been hard for most landowners and dreadful for laborers. Consequently, he hadn’t been in a hurry to modernize. Maybe Danny could manage the process, understanding the estates and its workers.
“If we make the transition with care and keep everyone informed.”
Jack didn’t answer immediately. Buying additional land, expanding the earldom’s assets? He really did not have the heart to throw himself into the labor and management of such a project, but then Benjamin yelled, “Papa, look!” and Jack was reminded why keeping the estates prosperous mattered.
“As I said, it’s probably not the right time,” Danny said.
“No. If you can direct the project, I will leave it to you and Higgins.” The two of them working together should make it work. Higgins had managed the books for the earldom going on thirty years now.
“I won’t let you down, my lord.”
“Danny, I have complete confidence in you. I just won’t be able to direct the management of it.”
Jack did a quick calculation of the money that would be needed for the project and knew the cash was available, though it would be tight until the fall crops were harvested and other investments matured. He was not willing to take on new debt.
“Very well.” Danny clicked his tongue and slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps, turning toward the main house and traveling a few miles to the Whitecliff lane. Jack glanced back to see Benjamin had fallen asleep in the hay. Justin was playing with his fingers but would probably sleep soon.
“I ought to tell you that I intend to see Imogene again,” Jack said.
Danny sighed and pressed his lips together. “Lord Prescott, what do you want me to say?”
“I was doing you the courtesy of telling you rather than having you find out indirectly.”
“Ain’t me you got to worry about. We’ve changed. All of us. There’s no going back.”
“What I owe Imogene cannot be easily explained to her brother.”
“Strange way to put it. I seem to remember that we owed you. Maybe you think it is time to collect?”
“That is unworthy of you, Mr. Farrell. And of your sister.”
Jack was glad to see the outbuildings and the manor. Danny directed the hay wagon up the lane and circled in front of the house where they disembarked. Danny lifted Benjamin from the hay bed and followed Jack into the house. When the children were hauled away to their rooms, Jack turned to Danny, who now stood with his hat in hand.
“Lord Prescott, I spoke out of turn.”
“We are friends, Danny. If my friend can’t speak the truth, then who will? I have no intention to embarrass her or harm her reputation—there are just unresolved matters between us and now seems a good time to take care of them.”
Jack walked out to the wagon with Danny and watched as he drove away.
There was a time when he would have confided in Geoff Shiffington rather than the Farrell brothers, but Shiffington had always derided Imogene, calling her a two-penny whore and not worth a nobleman’s attentions. It was a strange reaction, considering Shiffington had his share of poppies.
Shiffington had not attended Catherine’s funeral. Jack had half expected to look up at the service and see Shiffington standing on the opposite side of the casket, with a smirk upon his face. He’d done this to them. He’d killed their marriage and he’d killed Catherine and the unborn child.
After Jack had found out about their liaison, after the confrontation, Catherine had withdrawn. Why had she expressed sorrow on her deathbed, when all along he’d believed Catherine had longed for her lover? Jack assumed she’d placed her anger squarely on his shoulders.
Now that Catherine was gone, he could see more clearly.
Catherine’s feelings were a trifle to Shiffington. He’d faded away as if he hadn’t a care for her. He hadn’t fought for her, declared he loved her. Nothing.
His wife had died knowing neither of them loved her. He would hate himself if Shiffington hadn’t been responsible for nearly everything that had gone wrong between Jack and Catherine. As it was, he’d have to live with the guilt.
Before the carriage arrived to take the family to London, Jack walked toward the back garden. He stopped at
Catherine’s burial site. The marble stone was still being carved and would be placed sometime this coming month.
He whispered a Psalm he remembered from childhood. “You were not unloved, Catherine,” he said, then turned away and placed his hat upon his head.
As their children grew and Benjamin learned the details of managing his estates, maybe they would spend more time at Whitecliff. Catherine would not be forgotten here. Or alone.
A hearty breeze blew in from the ocean and Jack lifted his face. The scent of salt and the tang of sea filled his nose.
There were few times in a man’s life when he got to start over.
Today would be Jack’s rebirth.
* * * * *
The entire LeClerc household stood outside when Mary FitzPatrick arrived by hackney from Brighton’s train station. Mr. Brewster had insisted on meeting her when she arrived and he assisted as she stepped from the black conveyance.
Mrs. Fitz was bundled in a light coat and scarf with a puffed felt hat adorned by a single peacock feather. She wasn’t the jolly sort like the departed Mrs. Bunton, from Old Fish Street. She was more like a sturdy aunt, compact of frame with stern red cheeks.
“Oh dear. Now I remember why I stay in London. We were shoulder-to-shoulder. I could barely draw a breath.”
“Mrs. FitzPatrick.” Imogene took a few steps and wrapped her arms about Mrs. Fitz, then kissed her cheeks.
“My dear Imogene. Charles. Let me look at you.” Charlie gave her a bear hug, nearly lifting her from her feet. “Oh, I’ve missed you, and so have the downstairs girls.”
“They’re a bunch of proper flirts, but a man of the cloth cannot be so distracted,” Charlie said.
She peered around Charlie’s shoulder. “And what have we here? Oh, let me guess. You are Laraine?”
“No, I am Ynez, ma’am.”
“Well, you better tell me your names and be prepared to tell me again. I don’t have the memory I used to.”
Laraine gave her name, followed by a curtsey.
“Then you must be Madelina?”
“Oui, madam.”
In the letters Imogene wrote to Mrs. Fitz, she often described the chaos of the household and the situations each of the girls had found themselves in. The Mitchells were a new addition and Imo hadn’t had time to tell her about them.
But of course there were six children, not just the five Mitchells.
“And our newest addition to Chez LeClerc...” Imogene named them, but before she got to Lily, Mrs. Fitz bent, held out her hands and swept Imo’s daughter up.
“Hallo. And who are you?”
“Lily,” she said, while wrapping her finger in Mrs. Fitz’s scarf.
“Your daughter is beautiful and she looks just like you.” Mrs. Fitz planted a kiss on Lily’s cheek and earned a messy hug in return.
Imo glanced at Charlie and he gave her an innocent shrug.
She leaned toward Imogene and whispered, “You would be surprised what an old woman can figure out on her own. And it was the only thing that explained your sudden marriage to a man my age.”
“Mrs. Fitz—”
“Heavens, girl. You don’t need to explain things to me. I thank the Creator every day for my Farrells.” She patted Imogene’s face. “But this lovely creature, I could just eat her up. All of you,” she said to Lily, tickling at her stomach.
And so like Mrs. Fitz, she then honed in on Birdie. “And you? I want to know everything about you and your family.”
“Not much to tell,” Birdie said.
Mrs. Fitz could do a lot with a few words.
Charlie grabbed Mrs. Fitz’s bag and paid the hackney driver. The cacophony intensified as they all hustled inside the front door at nearly the same time. Lily led the way, barefoot and screaming, “Everybody’s here now.”
Mrs. Fitz settled in her room and took a short nap while Mrs. Brewster filled a picnic basket and prepared essentials for a trip to the beach.
The entire household took the afternoon off and strolled to the seashore. Charlie and Mr. Brewster carried the basket between them and everyone else under the age of ten took turns holding hands and running back and forth until they arrived at their destination. The children were all stripped of their stockings and shoes. The girls removed their light petticoats.
Birdie stayed close to Mrs. Fitz. Secretly, Imogene believed Birdie was scared of her and fearful of accepting a mother figure again. Imo would earn her trust somehow.
They had a couple of hours of sunlight left and the day was warm with a cool breeze that gusted now and again.
The young ladies spread blankets near the water, the picnic chest was set in the middle and food was dispersed while Imo corralled the young ones, insisting that they eat before they jumped and splashed in the water.
Charlie clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention and then said in the most funny and very un-Anglican way, “Lord of heaven and the sea, feed me full so I can be, the very best of You in me! And everybody says...?”
“Amen!” everyone said, some louder than others. They had all been practicing since Charlie arrived and knew when to shout the appropriate response. Imo still marveled at Charlie’s unique perspective on spiritual matters.
“Well, what are they teaching you at King’s College these days?” Mrs. Fitz asked.
“Life isn’t meant to be a drudge,” Charlie said as he sat between two of the Mitchells. “Now what smells so good?”
“Evewything,” Todd said, leaning next to Charlie.
“This bread is divine, Mrs. Brewster.”
“Madelina deserves all the credit.”
The girl pinkened at the compliment. Imo thought Charlie was not aware that more and more young ladies noticed him. His gaze was to the heavens and he hadn’t bothered with women that she knew of—and Imo would never ask him about his intentions.
There was no rush anyway. With Jack’s help, Charlie would be established in a few years and then he might find a woman with the same kind of simple faith.
Lily bothered everyone, walking on the blanket, standing too near the food and finally, settling in Imogene’s lap, uninterested in any one thing, it seemed.
“Mama, I miss Papa Pierre,” she said in French.
“Me too,” Imo replied and then added, “But here we must speak in English.”
“Where did he go?”
Imo pressed a kiss to Lily forehead. No one seemed to notice Lily’s sudden sadness, but Imo knew it came and went. Lily understood her papa was gone but hadn’t a clear idea about where he went. While Pierre was alive, they had picnicked often in the parks around Paris.
Imo whispered in her ear and Lily curled closer and closed her eyes.
It was such a fine day, one of the best in the early autumn. Rain would be coming, but Imogene had planned to nest with her family in the new home and ignore the storms that would come and go through the winter.
They would all be safe, and Imogene thought she craved that more than anything. Well, maybe not. Having a warm body next to her at night would have been wonderful too.
“Begging your pardon, but I’ll be stealing Mrs. Brewster away from you all now,” Mr. Brewster said. His wife giggled as Mr. Brewster hoisted her to her feet.
“We won’t be gone long,” she assured everyone.
“There’s no rush,” Imo said.
Charlie jumped to his feet too, thumping Todd on the head. “I’ll race you to the water.”
Todd took off running followed by the younger Mitchells. Birdie stayed beside Mrs. Fitz. There was an awkward stage between childhood and womanhood and Birdie was in the middle of it but Imo did understand Mrs. FitzPatrick’s appeal—she was a solid bulwark with a hint of love beneath her exterior.
“Go on, Birdie. Have some fun,” Imo encouraged. “Mrs. Fitz and I will be fine.”
Birdie glanced between them then scampered away to catch up with the others. The boys kicked at the water, spraying droplets over anyone nearby. The girls were less boisterous,
holding their skirts above their ankles and letting the water wet only their feet.
Lily had fallen asleep in Imo’s arms. Damp curls clung to Lily’s forehead and she breathed softly.
“She’d a beauty,” Mrs. Fitz said.
“Like finding a diamond in a dust bin. I don’t know how I will be able to watch her grow into a young woman and then leave me for a man who might not treat her like a queen.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. So much happened in such a short time and I didn’t want my past to bleed all over her. Oh, Mrs. Fitz, she is so smart and she is curious about everything. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“I wish your mam could see you now.”
“Oh, let’s not talk about Mam.”
Mrs. Fitz brushed her fingers through Lily’s hair. “She would love this little girl, but she would be more proud of what you’re doing with those that ain’t your own.”
“Would she?” Imo laughed, one of those choking sounds that might quickly turn into crying. “Pierre was such an angel. Like one of Charlie’s prayers came to life and found me. Pierre just...Pierre just wanted me to be more than a reformed whore.”
“Then he can rest well, knowing you took his guidance to heart.”
Compared to what her life might have been, and Charlie’s and Danny’s for that matter, the Farrells had succeeded. But Imo felt pain for the missing pieces too.
How she had cried the day Frank had sailed away, punished for the crime of trying to protect his sister. The judge called it murder. Would Imogene be alive if it weren’t for Frank and Danny?
And Jack.
He hovered around their circle, as if he had wings spread over the family. There was no reason for him to be kind. He’d paid his debt to her. And yet Jack had been steadfast, since he’d first tossed a coin to Danny.
She’d already made up her mind to travel to London after Mrs. Fitz and Charlie went home. And the trip would have to be in the guise of some other important need.
Imo hugged Lily a bit tighter. How she had missed Jack. His arms about her. The desire in his gaze when he stared at her.
An ugly voice startled Imogene. The joy stirring in her body abruptly turned to nausea. She plucked at the corner of the picnic blanket and drew it over Lily—a flimsy reaction to a great danger.