The Lovers

by Irina Shapiro

  “May I take a look at the new arrival?” James asked, all innocence as he stepped into the room, having returned with Peg and Mercy, who was bouncing with excitement. “My most sincere congratulations, your ladyship,” he said with a deep bow. “May your son know nothing but robust health, good fortune, and much love.”

  “Would you like to hold him, Master James?” Elise asked, matching his innocence with her own.

  “If I may.” James took the baby and studied his sated features. The child had drifted back to sleep and lay contentedly in James’s arms. Elise couldn’t help noticing the likeness between father and son. The baby had the same stubborn chin, the same full lips and dark hair as James. She was sure that no one else would notice these similarities, but she was so intimately familiar with the features of both her men that she couldn’t help but see them.

  “A fine boy, my lady,” James said as he handed the baby back to Elise. “What will you call him?”

  “I’ll have to wait for Lord Asher to arrive. I’m sure he’s got a name picked out for his heir.”

  “Doubtless, he has,” James replied, a note of bitterness creeping into his words. James would never be able to acknowledge his child, not while his father was alive and maybe not even after, not if the child was to be the next Lord Asher.

  “I’ll go pen a note for Pete to take to his lordship, shall I?” James said as he excused himself and left. Mercy perched on the side of the bed and reached out for the baby’s hand, tenderly holding it in her own.

  “Oh, he’s just lovely,” she crooned. “Not like ’Arry at all. ’Arry was scrawny and red, but me mam said ’e were beautiful,” Mercy confided in Elise. “Can I ’old ’im?”

  “Not yet, Mercy. Maybe in a few days. He’s still very fragile,” Elise said, feeling a bit guilty at denying Mercy this small pleasure.

  “I’m not a baby. I know ’ow to handle a newborn,” Mercy protested, but Peg gave her an evil look and ushered her from the room.

  “Come now, me lady, ye need to rest. Let me take the child. I’ll look after ’im until ye wake,” the midwife offered as she accepted the bundle from Elise and sat down by the hearth. Maisie quietly went about setting the room to rights. She wiped down the chair and put another log on the fire to keep the room warm before scooping up the dirty linens and leaving the room.

  Elise was exhausted and overwhelmed by the intensity of her emotions. She sank into the pillows and closed her eyes, grateful for a bit of quiet. Her body felt battered, her breasts were swollen and tender, and she was sure that the baby had ripped her open during the birth, but the pain was nothing compared with what it had been only a half hour before, so she tried to relax. As long as she didn’t move, the ache between her legs wasn’t so bad. She thought she might not be able to sleep, but a heavy drowsiness pulled her deeper and deeper into its embrace, and she felt herself floating on a cloud of peace as she finally gave herself up to sleep.

  Chapter 64

  December 1665

  Suffolk, England

  Only the front few pews of St. Edmund’s Church were full on the day of the baptism. Edward had been eager to baptize the child right away, but the baby had to be at least a month old, according to the midwife, to be safely taken into town, and Elise had to be churched in order to attend the baptism of her firstborn. Until then, she was considered unclean and couldn’t receive the holy sacraments. Elise thought that she might chafe at being cooped up for a month after the birth, but her body needed to recover, and her fascination with her son kept her fully occupied. The servants thought she’d gone daft, besotted as she was with her baby, but Elise simply basked in the joy of being a new mother and relished being truly needed at last. She’d overheard Mistress Benford expressing the view that this was common enough in peasants, but not in women of higher station who handed off their babies as soon as they were born to be cared for by nursemaids and suckled by a wet-nurse. Elise had no such plans, but she feared that Edward might overrule her.

  Edward arrived three days after the birth, by which time James was safely out of the way with Mercy. He appeared thinner and older somehow, as if the events of the summer had taken a personal toll on him, but he assured everyone that he was in fine health. Edward strode into the room and looked around until his eyes settled on the cradle in the corner. He approached carefully, as if the baby might unexpectedly pop out, and stood over the cradle, watching the child sleep.

  “You are to be congratulated, madam,” Edward said formally to Elise, who hovered behind him, awaiting his reaction to his newborn heir. “You have fulfilled your wifely duty.” Elise was taken aback by Edward’s stiff demeanor but decided to go along with it, hoping to tease him into a better mood.

  “So are you, my lord. You have a fine son and heir and are the envy of all,” she said with a smile.

  “So I am. So I am,” Edward replied, finally relaxing enough to smile. “What shall we call this little fellow?”

  “I assumed you had a name picked out already,” Elise said, hoping that Edward would permit her some input.

  “Charles, I think, after His Majesty. The king adores flattery, and having children named after him makes him happy. Charles Edward. We should have him christened at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Middle of December, then,” Elise replied. “I will be churched by then, and Charles will be strong enough to be taken out.” She would happily accept the name Edward chose as long as she was allowed to be present at the baptism.

  Edward looked irritated but conceded with good grace. “All right, middle of December it is. I shall remain here with you until then. His Majesty was most effusive in his congratulations and has given me leave to stay as long as I like.”

  “It’s our pleasure to have you, then,” Elise said with as much cheer as she could muster. She hoped that Edward would return to court and remain there until the christening, but it seemed he was determined to actually play the role of husband and father for a change. She couldn’t imagine that Edward wouldn’t grow bored after a few days, but she had to hold her tongue in check. He was master here, and she had to put on a show of obedience.

  “What do you think of your brother, Barbara?” Edward boomed when he saw Barbara in the doorway. She never entered, just stood there, hovering and silent, her blank gaze fixed on the baby as if she couldn’t quite figure out where he’d come from.

  Barbara shrugged. “Brother,” she said, but her attention was already on something else. She wandered off, leaving Edward even more annoyed than before.

  “Dimwit,” he said under his breath, and Elise prayed that Barbara hadn’t heard that. She wasn’t sure that Barbara would care, but it was still wrong of a father to speak so of his child.

  “Have you engaged a wet nurse?” Edward demanded.

  “No. I’m nursing him myself.”

  “That’s most unseemly. I’ll have Mistress Benford send to the village for a wet nurse. No lady in your position should suckle her own child. It’s base and quite disgusting.”

  “Please, Edward. I enjoy it, and it’s not as if anyone sees me. I know virtually no one here, so no one would care. It’s such a pleasure to feed him. He is always hungry and has the most wonderful expression on his face when he’s had enough. It’s almost a smile.”

  Edward turned to Elise, his eyebrows comically raised with surprise. “You enjoy it?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

  “It’s a most gratifying feeling,” Elise confessed, hoping that Edward wouldn’t persist in hiring a nurse.

  “The child seems to be thriving, so you may continue nursing him until we return to London. Then, a wet nurse will be engaged, whether you like it or not.”

  “Thank you, Edward,” Elise said. They wouldn’t be returning to London for a while yet, and by then Edward might have forgotten his decree. For the moment, Elise had to endure Edward’s presence and accept the separation from James. Not having him nearby made her feel vulnerable and lonely, especially since she couldn’t share her joy of
their son with the child’s doting father. She missed Mercy too. Mercy infused the household with good humor and mischief, and without her, the others seemed gloomier and less inclined to laughter.

  Elise tried to focus on the words of the reverend, but her mind wandered as she gazed around the beautiful church. Bright winter sunshine filtered through the stained-glass windows behind the altar, and rays of colored light streamed down, casting colorful shadows on the stone floor. The voice of the reverend seemed to carry all the way to the vaulted ceiling, traveling the length of the nearly empty church and disturbing the unnatural hush.

  Lord and Lady Fillmore stood next to Edward and Elise, having been invited by Edward to act as godparents to little Charles Edward. Lady Fillmore was pleasant enough and expressed an interest in the baby and Elise’s health post-delivery, but Phineas Fillmore barely glanced at her, his eyes searching the church instead, as if he expected an ambush at any moment. Elise met the couple briefly at the wedding feast, but she hadn’t had an opportunity then to speak with them or observe them. She had been too absorbed by her own worries and expectations. Now that she had nothing to do but stand quietly, Elise studied the people who would be her son’s godparents. She wasn’t sure why, but she feared Lord Fillmore. His shifty eyes and prizefighter physique put her on guard. He held a noble title and dressed like a gentleman, but Elise knew a thug when she saw one. Beneath the elaborate wig and richly embroidered coat was not a man of refinement.

  Elise turned her attention to Lady Fillmore. She was a few years older than Elise and very beautiful, with tresses of honey-blonde hair and wide blue eyes that constantly strayed to her husband, their expression watchful and at times even fearful. What bound Edward to this coarse man, and why did he choose him to be their son’s godfather? Elise hoped that they wouldn’t stay long and would return to Oxford—where the court had moved in September after cases of plague were reported in Salisbury—to the side of their king.

  It was bitterly cold when they stepped out of the church. An icy wind picked up and blew with gale-like force off the North Sea. Shutters banged on houses, and brown, shriveled leaves cascaded from trees before being blown away like specs of dust. Elise held Charles close and covered his face with her cloak to keep the chill wind from freezing his little face. Her own face felt numb with cold and tears formed in her eyes from the force of the wind. Several carriages waited outside, ready to take everyone back to the house, where a christening luncheon would be served. Elise looked around as she was handed into the waiting carriage, hoping for a glimpse of James, but he wasn’t there. Edward might fly into a rage if he spotted him, so James wisely stayed away. She wondered where he’d taken Mercy. What a shame it was that Edward was so rigid that he had no desire to even meet his granddaughter. Surely, he wouldn’t even care if Molly and her family perished. They were of no interest to him.

  As the carriage drew up to the manor, Elise squared her shoulders against the gale and followed Edward into the house, where she reluctantly surrendered Charles to Peg. Mistress Benford had been cooking and baking since the previous day, and a mouthwatering aroma permeated the first floor. Lord Fillmore rubbed his hands together in anticipation, ready to enjoy a hearty meal and Edward’s fine claret. Elise wished that she could escape directly after luncheon, but it was her duty to play hostess and look after Lady Fillmore, who’d be left to her own devices as soon as the men’s drinking turned serious. It would be a long afternoon, particularly since all Elise wished for was to be alone with her lovely boy. She pasted on a smile and invited their guests into the dining room.

  Chapter 65

  December 2013

  London, England

  Quinn sat across from Rhys in his office. He was going over some notes, so she forced her face into an expression of complacency as she looked at him. A part of her wished to confront him about Sylvia and everything Quinn had learned over the past weeks, but common sense told her to remain quiet. There was nothing to gain by confronting Rhys. Gabe was right: this wasn’t her fight. Sylvia had made her choice, and Quinn had to respect that. But her anger was too close to the surface, and Quinn was afraid it would boil over if she remained in his presence.

  “So, the child was born in Southwold, Suffolk, and was baptized in St. Edmund’s Church on December fourteenth. This explains why we never found any reference to him in the London archives,” Rhys said with an air of great satisfaction. That was one mystery solved, as far as he was concerned. Rhys pushed aside his papers and looked at her, his expression thoughtful. “But what happened to him? There is no trace of this boy anywhere. We know when he was born. We know his name. And we know who his parents were, but there’s no record of this child anywhere after the baptism.”

  “I don’t know,” Quinn replied. The logical answer would be that the child died in infancy, and his death was never recorded, but Quinn hoped that wasn’t so. She saw the baby in her visions, and he was as sweet and precious as only a newborn could be. To think that little Charles died shortly after the birth left Quinn feeling sad and weepy. Perhaps she would learn something of him once she got to the end of Elise’s story. Quinn still had no idea when Elise actually died, or how, but the skeleton had been that of a young woman, and it stood to reason that Elise had only a few years left to live. Quinn almost wished that she could stop herself from finding out. She’d grown fond of Elise and hated to see her suffer. Elise was headstrong, and probably too naïve in some instances, but she was a young, vulnerable girl who’d been an innocent pawn in the game grown men played. Quinn sighed.

  “You care what happened to her, don’t you?” Rhys asked as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “She’s long gone, Quinn. Her story ended many years ago. Don’t take it to heart. The past is the past.”

  “Is it?” Quinn asked pointedly. “Sometimes the past has a way of catching up with you.”

  Rhys leaned back forward and gave her a hard look. “Are you referring to anything in particular?”

  “I am, actually. Perhaps you haven’t given it a thought since, but thirty-one years ago, you went to a Christmas party at the home of a friend. There was a girl . . .” Quinn let the sentence trail off, eager to see Rhys’s reaction. She was gratified to see him go pale as his eyes widened in shock. She’d hit a nerve.

  “How do you know about that?” he breathed, eyeing her with suspicion born of fear.

  “That doesn’t matter. Tell me, Rhys, was that the only time you raped someone?”

  She hadn’t meant to let that slip out, but now that the words were out, she was glad. She needed to know. She couldn’t continue working with Rhys with this two-thousand-pound elephant casually lounging between them. He seemed like a good, kind man, but there was another side to him, and she needed to expose it, at least to herself.

  Rhys got to his feet and turned his back to her, staring out the window at the gray London morning. Somewhere below, people went about their business, and cars moved at a glacial pace down the congested street. The London Eye stood still, not yet open to the public for the day. It was like any other weekday morning, except that it wasn’t. Rhys finally turned around. His face was white, his eyes shadowed by either grief or guilt, Quinn couldn’t quite tell. She thought he might lash out at her, accuse her of slander or deny it all, but Rhys simply nodded as if acknowledging her question.

  “Quinn, I don’t know what your connection is to what happened that night, but I have lived with what we did these past three decades. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of that girl. Robert made me swear not to say anything to the police, especially if she pressed charges, but I promised myself that I would never hurt or disrespect a woman again as long as I lived.”

  Quinn exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. At least Sylvia’s story checked out, and it meant the world to Quinn to know that her mother hadn’t lied to her to cover up her own mistake. Quinn wished that young Sylvia could have been s
pared that awful night, but at least now they could move forward with a little more trust between them.

  “Why, Rhys? Why did you do it?” Quinn asked, needing to understand why someone she found so likable would have stooped to something so base and violent.

  “I was young, foolish, and easily intimidated. Robert and Seth pressured me into participating. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t resist. I was a virgin, and the opportunity to finally lose my virginity to a girl who was half-conscious and wouldn’t laugh at me was more than I could refuse. Robert and Seth were so drunk, they’d barely remember if I made a fool of myself, and they’d already taken their turn, so one more wouldn’t really matter. We didn’t hurt her, Quinn.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?” Even after all these years he couldn’t own up to the truth.

  “Well, not physically anyway. There was no brutality, just persuasion. She never said no. She never even tried to push any of us away. She went along with it.”

  “She was drunk,” Quinn spat out, amazed by the man’s propensity for self-delusion.

  “I know. There’s no excuse for what we did.” Rhys suddenly grew silent, his eyes opening wide. “Is one of them dead? Is that it? Have you found something that belonged to them and saw what happened?”

  “No, Rhys. I was approached by Sylvia. That was her name, in case you couldn’t remember. Sylvia.”

  “Why did she approach you?” Rhys asked, suddenly nervous. He looked like a cornered fox, desperate to escape the hounds that were closing in.

  “Because she’s my birth mother, and you could have been my father, but you are off the hook. Your DNA didn’t match mine.”

  Rhys let out a slow breath. “You’re Sylvia’s daughter?”

  “Yes. I was conceived on the night you all took turns with her.”

  “Oh, Quinn, I’m so sorry.” Rhys breathed. “I had no idea she’d had a child. Have you known all along?”