“What is your name?” Elise asked. She considered offering him a seat, then changed her mind. This wouldn’t take long.
“Aubrey Wilkins, yer ladyship.”
“Did you bring my husband from London?”
“Aye, ma’am. I work for a livery, ye see. Yer husband wished to hire the finest coach available,” the man went on, babbling with nervousness.
“And how are things in London?” Elise asked. She’d had no news of any kind since leaving with James, and the sights and sounds of plague-ridden London preyed on her mind day and night. James hadn’t mentioned anything about his sister or her family, but Elise knew that he was terrified. Molly had nowhere to go, and her husband would not leave his business. It was their livelihood, so abandoning his outstanding orders was out of the question.
“Things are right bad, me lady. Thousands dead of the plague. The stench of rotting bodies fills the air,” the man said and instantly regretted his choice of words. “Begging yer pardon, me lady. I didn’t mean to be indelicate.”
“That’s quite all right, Master Wilkins. I prefer to know the truth. Are you returning to London today?”
“In truth, I wish I didn’t have to, but the proprietor of the livery will be expecting ’is carriage back, so I must be on me way.”
“Godspeed,” Elise said. “Ask Mistress Benford for a parcel of food for your journey.”
“Thank ye kindly, me lady.”
Elise stared out the window. The stately coach that brought Edward from London rolled down the gravel drive, Master Wilkins on the bench. Elise wished that the coach was taking Edward away again, but he was still asleep, a small blessing in view of his current mood. A steady rain began to fall. The room grew dark, but Elise didn’t bother to light the candles. The house felt cold and empty without James in it, and she wished that she could sneak out and join him in the cozy comfort of the cottage. Perhaps once Edward left, she would be able to see him again, but for now she had to play the dutiful wife and hope that Edward’s ire had burned out, and he wouldn’t seek a way to punish her for her disobedience.
Elise put a hand to her belly. Four more months till the babe was born. She had no illusions—the birth of the baby would not set her free, but maybe Edward would be happier once he had a son.
Chapter 48
Edward did not leave as Elise had hoped. He wanted to but seemed unable to get out of bed. He was ill-tempered and unwell, which concerned Elise. He might have been exposed to the plague before leaving London, but it was too soon to tell, and Elise had no choice but to look after him. She’d sent a groom to fetch the physician from town, but he’d been called out on some emergency and would not come until later, or possibly even the following day.
Elise brought Edward some beef tea and sat down at what she thought was a safe distance while Edward drank it. He’d been pale before, but now his face was flushed, and his eyes burned bright, as if he were possessed by an evil spirit. He smelled strongly of sweat, and his hair and beard were matted and greasy.
“Bring me some ale. I’m thirsty,” Edward commanded after he finished the broth. Elise sent Peg to get the ale while she remained with Edward.
“You’re fevered. I’ve sent for the doctor, but he might not get here until tomorrow. Edward, was anyone at Asher Hall ill when you left?” she asked carefully.
“How should I know? The house is quarantined,” he replied, sullen as a child. “I spoke to one of the grooms through the gate. He told me you’d gone.”
“What of Lucy? My maid. She’d been exposed to the plague. Had she taken ill?” Elise persisted.
“I told you, I don’t know. I can’t be bothered asking after a servant.”
“No,” Elise said quietly. Edward did not know most of the servants by name. To him, they were faceless, ageless puppets who saw to his every whim and had no right to expect any kindness or understanding in return. He gave them a home and a meager salary, and in his eyes, that was more than enough.
“Edward, have you heard anything of Molly and her family?” Elise asked.
“Molly who?” Edward growled, annoyed by her questioning. His eyelids were drooping again, but Elise saw a spark of recognition when she mentioned Molly. He knew exactly whom she was referring to.
“Molly your daughter.”
“Get out and leave me in peace,” Edward roared. “And send up that ale.”
Elise left the room, her insides burning with rage. She knew that men often failed to look after their bastards, but what difference did it make whether a child was born in wedlock or not? They were still their flesh and blood, still their children. How did a man justify turning away from a child they had fathered, convincing themselves that they had no responsibility to either mother or child just because the union hadn’t been sanctioned by the Church? How easy society made it for them. They sowed their seed wherever they pleased and then just walked away, free of any responsibility to live their life while some poor woman was left to raise a child in near poverty with no claim on the father.
She supposed that Edward’s decision to look after Molly and James would be viewed by others of his class as an act of ultimate kindness and sacrifice, but Elise saw it nothing less than his duty. Edward had found a use for James, but Molly was of no interest to him, nor were her children, who were his grandchildren. Edward cared not a jot if they all died. He’d probably be more upset if one of King Charles’s dogs died, mourning with his sovereign as if the creature had been a beloved child.
Elise sent Peg up with the ale and vowed not to see Edward again until the doctor came. Instead, she fetched her cloak and went out, making sure that no one saw her leave. The walk to the beach took her nearly a half hour, but she didn’t mind. She liked walking by herself. It was a beautiful June morning, and the path was alive with birdsong and the rustling of small creatures as they went about the business of living. The ground was dappled with sunlight, the trees overhead forming a green tunnel above Elise’s head. She’d never felt such peace or seen such unspoiled beauty in London.
The air became a trifle cooler as she neared the sea. James said that the water was always cold, no matter how warm the summer days might be. The currents carried water from up north, where it was cooler even during the summer months. Elise walked down the beach, carefully stepping on shingles and keeping far enough from the surf to keep her feet from getting wet. There was a desolate beauty, the relentless crashing of the surf disrupted only by the screaming of seagulls. She liked it and wished that she could keep walking until she was far away from this place and her unfeeling husband. She tried to tell herself that things would improve once the child was born, but she knew full well that she was deceiving herself. Edward felt no love for her and might not even care for the child since it wouldn’t be truly his. He needed a son and heir, but there was no guarantee that he would be kind to the child. He might ignore the babe as much as he ignored Elise, using it only to fulfill his ambition. Would she spend the rest of her life hidden away and used only to serve her husband’s purpose?
Elise had always pitied women who were widows, thinking them unfortunate and lonely, but now the idea of widowhood didn’t seem so grievous. She didn’t wish Edward to die—that would be unchristian of her. But she did long to be free of him. What she wouldn’t give to sail away from these shores and live a life with James and their baby. Would Edward care? Would he pursue them? She was his property, and so would be the child. He would not let them go, if only out of principle. Having a runaway wife would not look good in front of the king he so worshipped. Or did he? Elise often wondered why Edward spent so much time at the palace. Was it because he was truly devoted to His Majesty, or did he have some other agenda?
Elise put Edward from her mind when she saw James walking toward her. He looked handsome in the golden morning light, his dark hair ruffled by the wind, and his eyes fixed on her as if he was trying to memorize her every feature. He smiled in greeting, but Elise could sense the tension in his shoulders and the d
etermination in his gait. He’d come to say good-bye, she was sure of it.
Chapter 49
December 2013
London, England
Quinn stopped in front of the building, suddenly unsure if she should go in. She’d spent the past few days agonizing about what she’d learned from Sylvia Wyatt, going from pitying the woman, to raging against Sylvia’s gullibility and lack of courage, to wondering if she might have made the whole story up. Quinn came close to calling Sylvia several times, but Gabe talked her out of it, remaining steadfast in his opinion that she should wait until she knew more.
“Quinn, find out the facts before you make any decisions. This woman might be the genuine article, or she might be an opportunist who found information about you on the Internet and decided to take advantage. Perhaps she thinks you have money or you can do something for her.”
“I do resemble her to some degree,” Quinn countered, but Gabe wasn’t persuaded by her argument.
“I’ve met people who’ve resembled me, but as far as I know we were not related, not even distantly. You are a scientist, and scientists deal with facts. I’ve called Dr. Scott, and he’ll be expecting you. He’ll run some discreet tests, and then you can know for certain what you’re dealing with.”
“Gabe, what if she really is my mother? Where do we go from here? Where do we start?” Quinn cried, suddenly alarmed by the possibility that Sylvia might be telling the truth. Wishing to find your birth mother was one thing; being confronted by one was a whole different thing entirely. “She has two sons,” Quinn added. “They might be my brothers.”
Gabe pulled Quinn close and kissed her on the temple, making her feel like a little girl. He’d been very protective of her since Sylvia’s visit, and Quinn had to admit that his concern for her made her feel somewhat better about the whole situation. He was there, and no matter what happened with Sylvia, he’d catch her if she fell.
“If she is your mother, then you start slow. I know you want to believe that she will do anything to make up for lost time, but you don’t know her at all, and she doesn’t know you. You have to learn to walk before you can run, sweetheart.”
Quinn nodded and squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Gabe. You are right, of course. I can’t seem to think rationally these days.”
“You’ve had a lot to take in. Go see Dr. Scott. He’s the first step in determining what needs to be done.”
Quinn yanked the door open and walked into the morgue. The smell of carbolic and decay assaulted her immediately, making her wish that she hadn’t had to come here and could have met the doctor outside, but Dr. Scott was busy, and he was doing her a favor.
“Quinn, a pleasure to see you again,” Dr. Scott beamed as he set aside a file he’d been working on. Thankfully, he wasn’t in the middle of an autopsy, and his green scrubs were clean. “Hand it over,” he said with a grin. “I hope you don’t mind, but Gabe told me something of what this is about. I can only imagine how anxious you must be to get the results.”
“Yes and no,” Quinn confessed.
“Understandable. Your life will never be the same if these tests show that these two are your biological parents.”
“Dr. Scott, may I ask you a question?”
“You just did,” he quipped. “Of course, go on.”
“Do you think psychic ability is genetic?”
Dr. Scott looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. “I tend to think that everything is genetic to some degree. I’ve never done any research on psychic ability, but I would think it runs in families just like artistic talent or an allergy to peanuts. Has this woman claimed to be psychic?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
“No, nothing like that. It was just a hypothetical question.”
“Well, I’ll give you a hypothetical answer: It’s possible, and it’s probable, but nothing is certain.”
“Thank you. When can I expect to get back the results?”
“Give me three days. You shall have them by Monday morning.”
Quinn spent a restless night tossing and turning, finally dropping off to sleep after several hours only to be awoken by strange dreams. She couldn’t quite recall what they were about, but they left her feeling unsettled and bad-tempered. There’d been a message from Sylvia on her answerphone when she got back from London on Thursday, but Quinn decided not to call her back until she had the results of the tests. The weekend would be hell, especially since she hadn’t made any plans. Rhys tried to cajole her into seeing him, but the thought of spending time with the man set Quinn’s teeth on edge. She’d have to see him sooner or later, but the way she felt now, it would have to be later—much later.
Quinn got out of bed on Friday morning feeling headachy and disgruntled. She had no idea how she’d fill the hours until Monday morning, and the prospect of three days of complete freedom filled her with dread. She’d hoped that Gabe would offer to come over, but he sounded uncharacteristically evasive when she spoke to him last night, making no mention of seeing her at the weekend. Quinn started when she heard the sound of an engine and then the slamming of a car door. She wasn’t expecting any visitors so early on a Friday morning, and she hoped that Sylvia hadn’t decided to take matters into her own hands and shown up at her door. Quinn pulled on a warm dressing gown and ran a hand through her wild hair. I must look a fright, she thought as she went to see who was at the door.
Gabe, looking fresh as a daisy so early in the morning, tried to keep the self-satisfied grin off his face as he stepped into the house and gave her a peck on the cheek. His face was cold and he smelled pleasantly of chilly winter air tinged with a hint of pine.
“It’s bitter out there,” he said as he unwound his scarf and shrugged off his coat. “Make us a cuppa?”
“You’d better have a good reason for being here before eight,” Quinn chided Gabe as she went to fill the kettle. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.” Secretly, she was thrilled to see him, her worries from last night put to rest by his unexpected appearance. They’d reconciled, but Quinn still had no clear idea where they stood. Gabe had been supportive and affectionate since Quinn’s tearful phone call, but nothing had been resolved between them.
Gabe plopped down on the sofa and gave her a furtive look. Quinn suddenly felt her heart drop. Had Dr. Scott called Gabe with the results? That would be unethical, but they were friends, and this inquiry was completely unofficial. Perhaps Dr. Scott decided to tell Gabe first so that he could be there for Quinn when she got the results, thinking that she’d need the support when she learned the truth.
“Gabriel Russell, what do you know that I don’t?” Quinn demanded as she stood over him, hands on hips. She was trembling behind the false bravado, praying that Gabe would just tell her, whatever it was.
“I know that you will spend the whole weekend pacing this room like a caged tiger, waiting for the results that, in your opinion, will change your life.”
“Well, they will,” Quinn replied, her tone defensive. She thought Gabe understood what this meant to her, but now he was making the outcome sound trivial and irrelevant and her anxiety unfounded.
“Quinn, you are who you are. It might be nice to know who your parents were, but it won’t change anything in the grand scheme of things.”
“Said the man who can trace his ancestry back to William the Conqueror,” Quinn retorted, crossing her arms in front of her. She was pouting like a child, she knew that, but she was hurt by Gabe’s lack of understanding.
“Said the man who’s booked us into a lovely little hotel in the Cotswolds for the weekend. If we leave within the hour, we can be there before lunch. Shall I help you pack?” Gabe asked, all innocence.
Quinn stared at him in utter astonishment. She was torn between irritation with Gabe for making plans without even consulting her to overwhelming gratitude for his thoughtfulness. He understood what she was going through and did the one thing he knew would help, secretly planning a weekend away to distract her mind from obsessing about the outco
me of the DNA test. She knew what this weekend would mean, and suddenly there was nothing in the world she wanted more. No matter what happened come Monday, she wanted Gabe in her life, and she was ready for their long friendship to evolve into something deeper. The thought of spending a weekend with Gabe in the picturesque Cotswolds made her grin with anticipation, and she dashed off to the bedroom to throw a few things together.
“Does this mean you’re coming?” Gabe called out from the living room. Quinn could hear the smile in his voice as he went to pour them both mugs of tea.
Gabe came in with the tea but didn’t advance into the room. He leaned on the doorjamb, as if he needed support, his expression saying it all. He was happy, excited, and nervous. He looked like a schoolboy who’d just come to collect his date for the school dance, unsure of whether it would be a night to remember or a disaster he’d recall to his dying day.
Quinn stopped packing and accepted the steaming mug from Gabe, rising on tippy-toes to kiss him on the lips. “Thank you,” she said, smiling into his eyes.
“You can thank me by not bringing enough clothes to fill a trunk,” he said, gazing at the growing pile on the bed. “It’s only two nights. A pair of knickers and a toothbrush will do.”
“Spoken like a man.”
“I’ve perfected the art of packing light. All my possessions fit into a knapsack.”
“Well, good for you,” Quinn said as she added an aubergine-colored knit dress to the pile. “I certainly hope you’ll be taking me out to dinner. Twice.”
Gabe laughed and went to rinse out his mug. Quinn strongly suspected that he’d already had dinner reservations for both nights, in restaurants that he thought would be to her liking. It was nice to have him fussing over her like this. She would thank him again, properly, when she got the chance.
Chapter 50
Quinn smiled happily as she watched the countryside fly past. It had snowed during the night, and the normally green and brown fields were covered in a blanket of sparkling white. The sun peeked playfully from behind fluffy clouds that floated lazily past, and bare branches made intricate patterns against the pale-blue winter sky. Black crows looked like charcoal smudges on a sketch as they nestled in the branches, watching the car speed by with their beady eyes and crowing madly.
The Lovers Page 29