Nick turned his focus on the envelope in his hands. In his grandfather’s handwriting. When he was a boy, he had lived to receive his grandfather’s letters. The old man had been the one adult he always knew loved him after his mother had passed away. But after this ridiculous quest, seeing the handwriting hurt so much, he almost couldn’t bring himself to open the flap and read the words. Truth be told, he still felt the betrayal of his grandfather’s plan. The old man hadn’t died until after he had been a married man. That the plan even existed seemed almost a prediction of Mary’s death. He should have considered that Nick had fulfilled the requirement and not put his grandson through this pain.
That bitterness warred with the comfort his grandfather’s handwriting brought. To feel, just for a moment, that his grandfather was still with him, especially right now when he was at a loss as to how best to proceed, was to be that boy sitting at the man’s knee again.
He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer. “Dear Father, my whole life, my grandfather loved me. But now, it seems he has taken my home from me. I am angry and hurt, and I fear reading this letter, not because of what it might say, but because of how it might make me feel about this man that I love. Thank you for my grandfather’s love, and please strengthen me, that no matter what this letter says, I can find forgiveness and remember my grandfather for what he was to me while he lived. Amen.”
Deep breath. Then he began.
My Dear Nicholas,
I have today received the joyous news of your betrothal. I begin my preparations to attend your wedding, but it occurs to me that life is often shorter than one hopes, and I should take care of this business rather sooner than later.
First, let me state that it is my great hope that you will never read this letter, for if you do, it can only mean that great tragedy has occurred. If you are indeed reading, please know that you have my condolences. I have felt the pain of loss and the confusion of suddenly being the sole parent of a tiny infant. It is a terrible pain.
What was he talking about? Nick’s grandmother had lived until only a few years before this letter was written.
Second, let me get to the business of this letter. I have known you since you were born. I, perhaps more than other grandfathers, have been a kind of student of your person. I know that above all things, you are loyal to those you love. I witnessed it when you were a small child, loving your mother with everything you had. When you were a young man, defending your brother against your stepmother’s whims. And I know that you will be a loyal husband and father. Perhaps I noticed this in you because in many ways, for better or worse, you are very like me. And so, I must tell you a story.
When I was a young man, not even in my title yet, I met a young debutante named Rebecca. She was everything a nobleman’s wife should be. Beautiful, kind, sweet, steadfast. As I considered myself quite an intellectual, I also took great delight in the fact that she was a great student of the Bible and often had insights into God’s word that changed my perceptions, and even my habits. We were quite happy together, and were thrilled when we realized a child would be joining our family. And several months later, we rejoiced together when our daughter, Louisa, was born.
Nick’s grandmother was Henrietta, not Rebecca. But Louisa was his mother’s name.
Louisa was a delightful child (who grew into a delightful woman, of course). A year later, when we learned of another child, we were even more excited, now that we knew the pleasure to be found in one’s child. Alas, it was not to be. The child, this time a son, had a difficult birth and died before his mother could hold him. And within hours, Rebecca had taken fever, and joined him two days later. I often wondered about the two of them, cuddled together, looking down on the two of us, our little broken family. But truly, there was not much time for introspection. I still had a daughter to raise, a daughter that had just lost her mother. And my father was growing older, nearing his own death, and pushing, pushing for an heir. I was terrified to remarry. I feared for Louisa, of course, how she would fare with a stepmother, but I also feared for myself. What would I do if I married and found that I loved Rebecca too much and could never be happy with another? What would I do if I married a woman and was constantly disappointed because she wasn’t enough like my sweet Rebecca? And perhaps worst of all, what if I married a woman and I did love her as much as Rebecca? What would that say about my love? Inconstant, perhaps? And finally, what if I lost another wife, and perhaps another child, the way I lost Rebecca? How could I possibly survive it?
When I met Henrietta, the woman you remember as your grandmother, the woman my sweet Louisa called mother, I was certain that I would never wed her. She was nothing like Rebecca. She was lighthearted and impish rather than staid and steadfast. Putting aside the fact that I didn’t want a wife, I didn’t believe she’d make a suitable bride. Nevertheless, over the next several months, God put her in my path over and over again. Finally, I realized that Henrietta was exactly suitable to be my bride, and once I saw her with Louisa, I was certain. I asked Henrietta to be my bride, and we became a family. A new family, to be certain, a different kind of family. And over time, that family grew to include your uncles and aunt, and eventually you and your cousins.
The pain of losing Rebecca was a terrible one indeed. But I have always been grateful that I was induced to set aside my pain and stop wallowing in it like a pig, and to introduce joy back into my life, back into my daughter’s life. I believe Rebecca would have loved Henrietta and that she would be so glad to have a mother for our sweet girl, since she was unable to fill the role herself. I know that Louisa was glad and loved Henrietta to her dying day.
Given this history, you can imagine that it was extremely painful for me the way your own youth unfolded. The death of your mother was almost as painful for me as it must have been for you. I know how she loved you and how you loved her as well. Her marriage was not as happy as one would have hoped, and you and your brother and sister were a blessing in trying times. Once she was lost to us and your father remarried, I worried about your future. And of course, your own stepmother was nothing like my Henrietta. You often stepped in, at great personal peril, to protect your sister from her cruelties. Proud though I was to see your loyalty to your brother and sister, I sorely regretted—regret still—the choice your father made.
However, in the event that you are in a similar situation—a single man with a child or children of his own—I want to assure you that there is indeed hope to find happiness again, both for you and your children. Your father made his choice of a second wife based not on love but on power and influence. But you, you are not your father. You can choose better. Open your eyes. Pay attention to details. Watch for signs of kindness. And watch your heart for love. Perhaps you can give your child the kind of stepmother that your mother had, the kind of stepmother that you deserved. It is my great wish that you will. As Proverbs 8:22 says, “Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the LORD.”
Then why, you may ask, have I attached a very desirable property to the condition that you marry? This is a noble question. I hope that you will forgive an old man for his whims when I say that the answer is only to get your attention. I just wanted you to read this letter and consider my words. I have instructed my solicitor that this letter is in fact a codicil to my will, eliminating the condition that you marry and granting Poppledown Park and its correlating lands to you, my grandson Nicholas Daventry. To my grandson Julian Weatherly, I leave 1,000 pounds, for the inconvenience of believing he might inherit the house instead.
These are my final wishes.
Frederick Maple
Nick sat staring at the letter for a long moment, absorbing the message. Poppledown Park was his. He was free of that hateful requirement to marry. He should be relieved. But somehow, returning to Poppledown Park only seemed possible if Susannah were there to brighten its halls. He tried to imagine walking in the garden with Gabriel, but his imagination rebelled and inserted Susannah into the s
cene, chasing butterflies with his son. He tried to imagine eating dinner or tucking Gabriel in to bed at night, and always she was there. For years, he had avoided the home to keep sad memories of Mary at bay. How now would he return and manage to keep the happy memories of his time with Susannah from haunting him? And how would he explain to Gabriel that she wasn’t with them because he’d made such a hash of it?
He’d been looking for some wisdom from his grandfather, and he’d gotten it. Now he just had to convince Susannah.
Chapter 27
By the end of her third day of travel, Susannah found herself bone-weary. The next day was the Sabbath, a day of rest from all kinds of work, including travel. Although she still felt a sense of urgency to be gone, she admitted to herself that she was grateful for the break.
She waited outside the inn while Amy made arrangements, trying to stay out of the way of the groom and carriage drivers bustling about. Two other carriages were in the yard, and a young family climbed out of one, the husband solicitous of his wife and children, reminding Susannah exactly why she was here and exactly what she could never be. She averted her eyes, preferring to watch a groom unhitch one of the horses, pretending that she didn’t hear the laughter of a child calling out to his papa.
Blessedly, Amy returned quickly. “We’ve a room upstairs. We can go there directly to freshen up. Dinner is in an hour’s time, and there’s another lady traveling alone, so you’ll have to share the private parlor with her.”
Susannah sighed. Another lady. Another evening pretending to be respectable.
But when Susannah arrived at the appointed time, she was glad she had come down after all, instead of having her dinner brought up to her, as she had contemplated. The woman was very near the end of her pregnancy. So close, in fact, that Susannah estimated she would give birth within the week. Odd that she had chosen to travel. She couldn’t be comfortable.
“Good evening. I’m Mrs. Stanhope.” Susannah smiled her introduction. Her own life might be crumbling to bits, but that was no reason to spoil this woman’s dinner.
The woman smiled back. “I’m Mrs. Osborne. Nice to meet you.”
They exchanged pleasantries over dinner, and Susannah found it very easy to spend time in Mrs. Osborne’s company. If they were to be stuck in this inn over the Sabbath, she was happy to have met someone to talk to. Especially because Amy was not high on her list of agreeable people at the moment.
The proprietress came to see to them near the end of the meal. “Is there anything else I can get for you, ladies?”
After Susannah and Mrs. Osborne confirmed that there was not, the proprietress added, “Guests are all invited to join us for services in the morning. It’s just a ten-minute walk to St. Mary’s. I will send a maid to wake you, if you’d like.”
“That would be lovely,” Mrs. Osborne replied. “But perhaps you’ll stop by my room on your way down, Mrs. Stanhope? I find I’m a bit wobbly down stairs these days. It would be nice to have someone to walk with me.”
And even though Susannah had not looked forward to meeting Mrs. Osborne this evening, she found that she actually looked forward to seeing her again. Mrs. Osborne was a nice reminder that there were kind people everywhere in this world, not just in Seaton.
But when Susannah knocked on the door at the appointed time, a frightened-looking maidservant answered.
“Are you the midwife?”
“No, I’m Mrs. Stanhope. Is a midwife needed?” Susannah gently pushed the frightened girl away to move into the room. There she found Mrs. Osborne lying in bed, a light sweat beading on her brow. “Good morning, Mrs. Osborne. It appears you’ll not be keeping our appointment this morning.”
Mrs. Osborne grimaced back. “Yes, I’m afraid you’ll have to attend services without me.”
“Perhaps. But this seems to be where all the excitement is. How long have you been laboring?”
“I’ve only been sure of it for about an hour. I sent Betsy down to send for the midwife, but we haven’t heard back yet. The innkeeper said she’s a devout woman and would likely not come until after luncheon, especially since this is my first child.” She wrung her hands. “But I’m so afraid that the babe will come while it’s just me and Betsy. I’ve never even been in the room during a birth. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.”
Susannah walked nearer the bed and reached for Mrs. Osborne’s hand. “Well, Mrs. Osborne, you’re in luck. Though I’ve not been in your position, my mother considered birth a necessary part of a young lady’s education, so I’ve witnessed many a birth. I’m far from a midwife, but I’ll be good company while we wait for her.”
Relief broke over Mrs. Osborne’s face. “Oh, Mrs. Stanhope, you cannot know how much this means to me!”
“’Tis no trouble for me at all. And please, if we’re to be such intimate friends, you must call me Susannah.”
“And I am Kate.”
“Well, Kate, first things first. Let’s talk about what will happen today.” Susannah explained as gently as she could the details of birth. It was unconscionable that women so often left their daughters unenlightened on the birthing process. Country girls, even noble ones, often figured out the basics from farm animals or from talking to local girls, but girls reared primarily in cities often had no idea what would happen, only that it would be quite painful and that many women died. That was no way to face what could be a frightening ordeal, even with a good deal of education.
When she was done, Susannah was afraid she’s only managed to frighten Kate further, so she thought it was best to distract her. “Would you care to take a turn about the room?”
Kate regarded her fearfully. “Is it all right to do so?”
Susannah nodded. “Perfectly fine. In fact, many women find it helps the process along quite nicely.”
Kate nodded. “Then yes, I suppose that would be nice.”
Susannah helped her rise and then gave her arm for support. They moved slowly.
“So, Kate, where were you traveling to? Shall we send notice of your delay?”
Kate didn’t answer for a moment. “No. I think it will only worry them. I’m going to my parents. But they do not expect me.”
“Oh. I see.”
“I’ve left my husband. We are no use together. There is no way we can make it work, and I’ve gone to seek refuge with my family. At least until after the child is born.”
This worried Susannah. “He is a cruel man then?”
Kate’s brows shot up in surprise. “No. He is rather kind. But I cannot bear to be near him.”
Susannah was confused. “If he is kind, why can you not bear it?”
Kate sighed. “He’s forbearing and controlling. He practically kept me prisoner in the house. I was not even allowed to walk outside because he feared something would happen.”
Susannah frowned. “What kind of something?”
“Oh, just…anything.” She paused. “He loved us. Loves us. He couldn’t bear it if we were hurt.” Tears started to roll down her face. “And we had a row, and I couldn’t bear being so mollycoddled. So I waited until he left for the day, and I left for home.” She was really weeping now. Between sobs she said, “I thought I had more time. I thought the babe wouldn’t come for at least another week. And now I’m here, relying on strangers, with no one who loves me nearby.” She looked at Susannah with some alarm. “Though of course you’ve been so lovely and kind. Please don’t think I don’t appreciate it! But…”
“But I am not someone who loves you. I think I understand.”
There was some commotion downstairs, and Susannah checked the clock. It was still only midmorning, too soon for the midwife to arrive. They soon heard a male voice yelling at the innkeeper. “Where is she? I saw her carriage in the stable. I know she’s here!”
Susannah looked to Kate. “Do you have anything to fear?”
Kate sniffled, a small hopeful smile on her face. “No. He came for me. He came for me, and now I don’t have to do this alone.
” Again, her gaze flew to Susannah. “I don’t mean…”
Susannah brushed her away. “Of course you didn’t. You don’t have to explain. I’ll go help him find you.”
She walked downstairs to find the innkeeper saying, “Mr. Osborne, I won’t take you to the lady until you calm down.”
“Mr. Osborne?” Susannah said.
He looked at her.
“Your wife would very much like to see you. Will you please come with me?”
Relief flooded his features. “So she is here! At last I’ve found her. I’ve stopped at every inn from home to here. Is she well?”
Susannah hesitated. “She is as well as can be expected. I believe you’ll be a father before the day is out.”
He nearly fell over. “The babe? I thought we had days yet. Are you sure?”
Susannah smiled. “Quite sure.”
“Are you the midwife?”
“No, just a fellow traveler. The midwife will be here around luncheon.”
“Around luncheon! Is there time?”
“Mr. Osborne, I believe your wife is perfectly well and will be at least until luncheon. Her labor is progressing exactly as expected in a first-time mother, but she is feeling very low and wishes to see you very much. Will you come with me?”
“Of course. Please, lead the way.”
A few moments later, Susannah witnessed a touching reunion. The sweet couple didn’t part until the midwife finally arrived. Susannah had just begun to despair that the woman would get there in time, because Mrs. Osborne seemed to be in a great deal of pain and had begun to fear she could not complete the job at hand. Susannah knew that was a sign the end was nearing, and she had begun to look in earnest for the midwife. Part of her would have loved to catch the baby, but Mrs. Osborne had already had enough to fear for one day, without adding Susannah’s inexperience to it.
Legacy Redeemed (Redeemed, Restored, Reclaimed Book 1) Page 23