“Have you nothing to say, Mathias?” she dared to ask, his silence was stifling.
“This is yet another opportunity for me to show you how much I love you, Bridget. Without any doubt, the child is mine. There can be no indecision on this. Do you agree?” he asked, defiantly.
“I do, Mathias, I do,” she answered, hopefully. “This is all I could ask for, but I dare not assume that you would…”
He cut her answer off, sitting by her side again and taking her hand to his lips, “My darling, Bridget, a child is the best thing that could happen to us.”
“But how will you feel when you look at this child and ask yourself…”
He stopped her mid-sentence, again, by placing his finger over her lips, “Shh, never speak those words again. This child is mine. It is a blessing upon us and the one good thing to come out of this whole affair. I must also tell you a secret, wife, one that you must never repeat.”
She looked at him, worry in her brow. What on earth could her husband be about to tell her? Perhaps of some terrible love affair he has had. She waited, not really wanting him to speak.
“I’m not sure that I can have children. This child may be our only one, so I am blessed, we are blessed. I will ensure that Mason will curtail any gossip beneath stairs, no one really knows for certain that you and he were intimate.”
“Oh, Mathias, you would do this for me?” she asked, so happy that all may work out in the end.
“I am doing this for us, for our marriage and for our estate. You make me very happy with this news, but, I warn you, you must never speak of that man again, never!” he was adamant that her lover was to be wiped out of their memories.
“Thank you, my love; thank you so very much,” she said, kissing his hand this time. She really had married a good man.
Chapter 18
Malcolm was contemplating on a letter from his son, Tristan. It was full of bad news that the army was not recruiting him back, which had been a blow to him. Unemployment was rife and it seemed there was no future for his son, though he was in the big city of London, trying his luck. One thing that he could be proud of was that his son was a fighter and would not give up easily. Had the boy not been stupid enough to let his heart lead his head, then there would have been a place for him on the estate. Not that Tristan would have been happy training to be a gardener. He was destined for better things, so he often informed his father.
Malcolm would send him some money to find better accommodation. When he had visited him, he was not impressed with where he lived in London, but that was probably because he had lived in such open spaces most of his life, whereas his son was used to city life. Still, he would send him some money, even though Tristan would be annoyed at receiving it. No one liked charity, especially someone as proud as his son.
“Malcolm, might I have a word?” a male voice broke into his thoughts.
“Oh, m’Lord,” Malcolm was taken aback, his Lordship had never sought out his presence, ever, this could only mean trouble. He must know about the baby by now, perhaps he would soon find himself swelling the ranks of the unemployed.
“Come, let’s walk,” his Lordship suggested, the same tactic as the Lady had when she spoke privately with him.
“M’Lord, of course,” he agreed, following Lord Hexley, again with his hat in hand.
“I know that Lady Hexley has spoken with you, about the baby,” he got straight to the point, this needed dealing with and brushing out of the way as quickly as possible. “I propose to buy a ticket to the Americas for your son, along with a healthy sum of money so he can make a new life for himself. This is a generous offer, given the times; do you think he will accept?”
“Tis a generous offer, indeed, Sir, and I don’t rightly know,” Malcolm swallowed his words, unsure what to say or do. This would be a perfect opportunity for Tristan, but would he take it?
“He would be a fool to refuse it,” Lord Hexley said, hoping his father might help persuade him. “Have you told him about the baby?”
“No Sir, I have not, on account that he’s young enough to go and fall in love and make a family elsewhere.”
His Lordship placed his hand on Malcolm’s elbow, “Thank you, Malcolm. You have a wise head on your shoulders. “Let’s just tell him that this is for him to never show his face around here again, shall we?”
“We shall, Sire, but it also means I will probably never see my son again,” Malcolm had to say it as it saddened his heart. “Although, it will bring me joy that the boy will get a chance to start a new life. He’d be a fool to turn you down, me Lord.”
“So help me make the offer too tempting for him to turn down, will you?” the Lord asked.
“It is the best one he’ll be getting, me Lord, that’s for sure,” the gardener said.
“And you, Malcolm, what shall you be wanting? It will be hard for you, should the child look like Tristan. Might it not be better if we retire you now, somewhere that you may enjoy your old age?”
And there it was, his marching orders, he knew it was coming.
“Aye, m’Lord, I suppose it’ll be for the best. Though I’ll miss the grounds,” Malcolm admitted.
“How about by the sea?” Lord Hexley suggested. “We have a number of fisherman’s cottages by the sea; I have one empty at the moment. It is yours to live in, for your remaining days, rent free and a yearly amount for you to live comfortably. Do you think you’d like being by the sea, Malcolm?”
“Aye, m’Lord, it’s as good a place as any, suppose,” Malcolm did quite like the idea of the sea air; he had only been to the coast on one occasion, so it would be a whole new experience for him. “These cottages, do they have gardens, me Lord?”
Lord Hexley laughed, “This one does, Malcolm, that’s why I thought it perfect for you. You’ve served this estate all of your life, Malcolm. I think you deserve to take it easy in your old age,” he finished.
“I’ll get working on my son, then, m’Lord. Sees what can be done,” Malcolm promised. Tristan might be against it at first, just because of principles, but he would come around. What better offer did he have anyway?
Chapter 19
Lord and Lady Hexley stood at the front doorway with some of the servants, as the coach pulled up. Out of it stepped Lord Hexley’s youngest sister, Lady Olivia Fitzwilliam, and her nursemaid, holding her baby girl, Georgiana. Bridget was so very happy to see her sister-in-law and her very healthy baby. This gave her hope for her own child. Cholera had recently broken out amongst the villagers and she worried for her health and the child that kicked within her belly.
“Oh, my, Bridget, look at the size of you!” Olivia whispered in her ear as they kissed one another’s cheeks in greeting.
Bridge rubbed her stomach in pride, she did not have long to go now, which was the reason for Olivia’s visit. Lady Fitzwilliam was here for an extended stay with the intention of supporting her sister-in-law. She was after all, a mother now, and a woman of experience. Though she might add, an experience she never wished to go through again, at the time of the event. Now though, seeing Bridget’s bump, it made her pine to have another child.
The nursemaid took baby Georgiana straight up to the nursery; her mother would see her later, after she had rested from the long journey here. Lord Fitzwilliam had joined his wife, not wanting them to undertake the arduous travel alone. Besides he liked his brother-in-law, Mathias, and looked forward to many happy days ahead, hunting and fishing.
The whole household was abuzz with the excitement over new visitors, especially with a new baby in the house too. Combined with Lady Hexley’s impending arrival, this was indeed a happy and contented household.
* * *
Tristan boarded the large ship. His father had come to visit him to see him off, and he waved to him from the deck. They had discussed his father joining him, seeing as how he was retired from work now, but his bones ached and he did not wish to embark on such an adventure at this time in his life. When Tristan had visited his father�
��s new home, he was almost tempted to stay in England. The view of the ocean from the house was stunning.
In the end it was probably that view that had encouraged him to accept the Lord’s offer. At first he was angry that Lord Hexley thought he could buy him off. He had truly been fond of Bridget. However, his experiences over the last few months had made him realize the difference in their worlds. They were not meant for each other; it was now obvious to him. Although he was a little surprised at Lord Hexley’s generosity, but what did it matter. If his Lordship was willing to pay him off never to see his wife again, which he wasn’t going to be doing anyway, then so be it. The thought of never seeing his father again had been the hardest part. Yet his father more than encouraged him to go seek a new life, find a wife and have a beautiful family of his own. His father made it all appear very tempting.
And so, here he was, setting off to the new world, and seeking out a whole new life for himself, all at the expense of Lord Hexley. His passage fully paid, in a cabin as well, and money to spare to get him started, what more could a young ex-soldier hope for. He hoped that his skills with the guns might see him into a new trade.
Malcolm waved his son goodbye, a few tears in his eyes, but they were of happiness. He had never informed Tristan that he may be a father, what was the point of causing him more grief. The lad had suffered enough, what with his experience in the wars and then falling in love with someone he could never have. He deserved better, and the generosity of Lord Hexley would see to it that Tristan had a good start.
Chapter 20
The whole household was in disarray. All the staff had been informed that Lady Hexley had started in labour, in the early hours of the morning. Everyone was excited and worried, all at the same time. These things could go so very wrong, even money could not guarantee a healthy birth.
Downstairs in the kitchen, everyone had said a prayer around the table at breakfast time. They all hoped that the birth would go well and the baby is healthy. The patter of tiny feet was just what this house needed.
* * *
Bridget insisted on the fresh air from the window. Gertrude had wanted all the windows and curtains closing, and a large fire burning in the hearth, but Bridget would not hear of it. As Mathias was banned from the room, Gertrude had no one to support her, so she reluctantly agreed. She had no choice in the matter as Olivia had supported Bridget.
Bridget had also not allowed any midwives near her. Her housekeeper would be there when she needed her. She wanted no influence from others, much against the better judgement of her husband. He had insisted on a surgeon being in attendance for the birth. Originally she only wanted Olivia in the room, and no one else. She knew though that she was in no condition to object, but she would insist on having things done her own way. Olivia felt the same way and between them they managed to convince Gertrude.
Gertrude, on her part was annoyed with Bridget, she had refuse to any “lying-in,” period, saying that continual rest just gave her more back ache. Gertrude believed a woman needed rest in the later stages, but Bridget would still go for walks in the garden. Thankfully, she had agreed to stop horse riding, for a short while anyway.
* * *
Mathias was aware of his wife’s strange behaviour throughout her pregnancy, but he trusted her instincts. After all, it was her free spirit that had attracted him to her in the first place. She would not rest when she was told to, she would not eat and drink as she had been advised and she wanted only herself and Olivia to deliver the baby. That was preposterous and he had insisted on others being in attendance, at least she had relented on that.
He paced the floor and then poured himself a stiff drink. This was going to be a long day.
* * *
The cry of a baby rang throughout the house. Mathias sat at his desk and put his head in his hands in relief. At least the baby had been born, alive.
“Lady Hexley insists on you joining her, me Lord,” a voice said from the door. One of the maids was over excited at bringing him the strange request.
It was typical of Bridget, he could imagine his sister, Gertrude, would be furious even at the door being opened and risking a draft, never mind letting a man into the room. When he got to her bedroom, he had been right, Bridget has insisted on the door being open and the curtains, and the windows. His eyes gleamed with happiness at the sight before him. There she was, his wife with a bundle in her arms. She smiled at him, though she looked exhausted.
“Mathias,” she said to him as he approached her, “come and introduce yourself to your son.”
At that moment in time Mathias knew he had done everything right. All the decisions he had made over the last few months regarding his wife’s infidelity, had been the right ones. Now they had a child and their family was complete.
He sat at his wife’s side, despite the constant tutting from Gertrude, and looked at his adorable son. His heart was filled with a deep and overwhelming love at the sight of the little infant. Despite his squashed and pink features, he could see much of his mother in his face, her generous mouth and small nose. Maybe it was his just his imagination or desire, but Mathias thought he saw his own eyes in him too.
THE END
His Reluctant Heart
Eddie stepped back to admire his handiwork, wondering when the realization of his the end of his bachelor status would set in. His life was about to change so drastically that he may never again have time to leisurely paint his own house. He probably wouldn’t be able to paint anyone else’s house while drunk either, since the beer slowed his speed considerably, and he’d have to keep better hours now. It never affected his precision, but his hand couldn’t keep up with the speed of his thoughts. He set down his empty glass of ale and ran his dark blue pupils over the cream-colored walls again. The windowsills were painted a true blue, smooth and nearly has deep as his eyes, and the steps and railing were the same shade. He hoped his new bride like it; then the next second a voice within him scolded the thought. What are you, a wuss? Who cares if she likes it.
Your uncle probably will, he reminded himself. His Uncle Raymond was counting on him to make this marriage stick, unlike his own father had done with his series of wives. By the time Eddie was four, his mother, Lola, was living with her sister and allowed the confused boy to see his father one day a week, if that, and never while he was drunk (after the first time Eddie came home with singed pants: his father had accidentally lit him on fire with a cigarette). His Uncle never wasted breath tiptoeing around the fact that he feared Eddie would turn into Edward Senior, and this was no different. Raymond reminded Eddie of his father’s last words, spoken before he’d died of a head injury.
“I promised your father I’d take care of you,” Raymond said gruffly a month before Eddie’s bride was due to arrive. “And I’ve done that. I gave you a plot of land, materials for houses, and taught you to build and paint. And you done good in some respects,” Raymond said hurriedly as he saw Eddie’s face grow red. “But you ain’t taking real good care of yourself.”
“I’m fine, Uncle Ray.” Eddie had grown tired of lectures by the time he turned 16. “I work, I rest, I work some more. I don’t need anyone to help, and when I find someone, I’ll settle down. I’m not an old man yet.”
“Moments away,” Raymond answered. “You’re 35. You can’t keep bringing loose women into this pigsty you call a home for a night or two. It’s time to calm down and have a real life. You ain’t gonna live forever.”
“I don’t want to,” Eddie said hotly. He towered over his uncle normally, but now he was sitting on his sofa with his head in his hands while the portly older gentleman stood in front of his hunched body. “I just want to live. How can I do that with some biddy tying me down?”
“Don’t call her that. You’re not a kid anymore, Eddie, you know those ideas don’t fly!” Raymond had lost his patience and was wringing his handkerchief fretfully. “I can’t take this. I’m gonna come over and find you lying on the ground with your head cracked op
en, just like your father. Except it’ll be you who done it, and not some sap who’s been cuckolded.”
Eddie fell silent then. He remembered the scene clearly because he’d been with Raymond on the day his father died. Raymond traditionally took Eddie to his father’s house---he was the only family member of Eddie Senior’s that Lola still got along with. Eddie recalled Raymond slinging him over his shoulder and backing away hurriedly, depositing him with a neighbor before tearing back down the street. Eddie had time to glimpse his father with his limbs splayed akimbo and a dark red pool surrounding his head like a crimson halo. He saw him again after they transported him to the hospital, one short hour before he died. The horrible memory hung between the two men, and Eddie finally raised his eyes to meet his uncle’s.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll take the bride.”
Now she was finally arriving. Eddie worked thought the month numbly, making alterations and additions to the house without letting himself acknowledge why. He spoke about his bride---Martha Hannigan---with his uncle only when the other man brought it up. For the rest of the time, he simply put his body in motion and didn’t think about the reasoning behind it. He’d meant every word he said to his uncle, but he also acknowledged that something about him wasn’t completely right. Sometimes he broke things simply because rage ballooned in him so hard and fast that he had to let it out some way. He drank until he blacked out and occasionally woke up choking on his own sick. And even though being the best carpenter in a hundred miles meant he often met a pretty young thing who gushed over his craftwork and took him to bed, after she left, he was always overcome with the same feeling: an astounding emptiness, like the woman had simply reached inside him and tore a chunk of his soul away as she walked out the door. It felt hollow and raw and horribly painful all at the same time, and sometimes he’d drink just to black out and wipe the feeling away. He didn’t say anything of this to his Uncle, or even aloud to himself. He didn’t want to make it more real.
ROMANCE: CLEAN ROMANCE: Summer Splash! (Sweet Inspirational Contemporary Romance) (New Adult Clean Fantasy Short Stories) Page 140