Edward smiled ruefully at Elise’s shocked expression. She hadn’t considered that Edward might actually desire her or suffer torment because he couldn’t consummate their marriage. He was right: he did seem old to her, and she just assumed that the passions of his youth had dissipated along with his ability to lie with a woman. Edward gave her a look of sheer disgust, guessing at her thoughts.
“You never spared me much thought, have you, dear wife? Well, let me tell you something: My youth was spent enduring the horrors of the Civil War and wondering every day if I might survive long enough to see the downfall of Cromwell and his accursed Republic. Those years were the bleakest of my life, but if I could turn back the clock, I would return to that time in a heartbeat rather than live this half-life that God has seen fit to bless me with. When I am at court, the glittering opulence and sheer extravagance of it all intoxicate me. I lose myself in the mad fantasy that is the reign of our king, and for a short while, I feel like my old self again, until I come home and see you—young, beautiful, and ripe for the picking by any man who’s bold enough to try.”
“Are you suggesting that I would have a love affair if you brought me to court?” Elise asked, astonished by the reason for her exile.
“I’m saying that you belong to me as much as any horse in my stable. I might not ride it, but that doesn’t mean that I will tolerate anyone else riding it in my stead.”
“I’m not a horse, Edward,” Elise protested hotly. “You can’t lock me away for the rest of my life just because you don’t wish anyone else to look at me.”
“It won’t be for the rest of your life, Elise, but for the rest of mine. You might get lucky and end up being a wealthy widow. All you have to do is produce a healthy son who will ensure that all my worldly goods do not pass to my sniveling cousin, who is my closest male kin. Oh, how he would love to lay his hands on my fortune. Well, I’ve fought and plotted to have His Majesty restored to the throne, and he has rewarded me for my loyalty and valor. I will not have some spineless popinjay reap the rewards of years of deprivation and terror. Oh no. You will bear me a son, Elise, and then you will bear me another. I will keep you locked away and pregnant until you’ve fulfilled your purpose. And if you retain something of your looks, perhaps you will enjoy your well-deserved freedom then.”
Elise gasped at Edward’s words. He was nothing more than a bitter old man who wanted to punish her for his life’s disappointments. And the tragic thing was that he not only could but would.
“I never took you for a cruel man, Edward,” Elise said as she rose to her feet.
“And I never took you for anything more than an empty womb waiting to be filled,” Edward spat out. A desperate sob tore from Elise as she fled the room.
Chapter 56
December 2013
Surrey, England
Quinn ordered a glass of white wine and found a table in a corner next to the window. She was early, but she needed a little time to compose herself before facing Sylvia again. She supposed she could have invited Sylvia to come over, but it seemed a better idea to meet on neutral ground, in a public place full of people where emotions would have to be kept in check. Quinn took a sip of wine and gazed out the window at the people walking by. The day was sunny but cold, and a bitter wind blew from the north, forcing the passersby to huddle deeper into their coats as they went about their business. The village was decorated for Christmas, wreaths of evergreens with red bows and fairy lights making the normally sober street look festive.
Quinn watched as Sylvia hurried down the street, her colorful scarf blowing behind her like a sail. The gusty wind blew her dark curls away from her face, and she bent her head into the wind to shield her face. Quinn gave a small wave as Sylvia entered the pub with a rush of cold air. She gave a brief nod, placed her order at the bar, and came to join Quinn at the table.
“Hello,” she said simply. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”
“No, I just got here. I normally walk, but today I drove in,” Quinn admitted. “Too windy.”
“I don’t like this time of year,” Sylvia said as she shrugged off her coat and unwound her scarf. “Some people love winter, especially the holiday season, but to me it’s just a dark, cold stretch to get through.”
The waiter placed a cappuccino in front of Sylvia and she inhaled its aroma, smiling in contentment. “I’m not much of a drinker, but I do love coffee.”
“So do I.”
Sylvia took a sip of her drink and raised her eyes to meet Quinn’s. “I was really glad you called. I was beginning to abandon all hope of ever hearing from you.”
“I had some things to work through,” Quinn replied, being deliberately vague. There was no point in telling Sylvia that the test came back positive: she already knew she was Quinn’s mother, and the news about Rhys was not something that Quinn was ready to share just yet. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing Sylvia again. When she’d imagined meeting her mother, there was always an immediate and natural bond, but she didn’t feel anything except resentment for the woman sitting across from her. She’d tried to push it down and reason herself out of feeling so angry, but the feelings kept rising to the top and bubbling over, leaving Quinn with a deep sense of frustration. This is not how this was supposed to go.
“Have you ever regretted your decision to give me away?” Quinn asked. She knew what she wanted to hear, and she suspected that Sylvia would tell her just that to make her happy, but Sylvia shook her head, a stubborn expression that Quinn so frequently saw reflected in her own mirror hardening her features.
“No, Quinn. I know you want me to feel remorse, but I promised myself when I came to see you that I would be honest with you. I owe you that much. I thought of you often, and I wished that I had a way of keeping up with you, but I never regretted not being a mother to you.”
Quinn sucked in her breath, feeling as if she’d just been slapped. “I was lucky to have been adopted by a wonderful couple who never treated me with anything less than love, but my fate could have been very different. I could have been shunted from foster home to foster home, becoming one of those children who fall through the cracks and eventually end up on the street, or dead of an overdose. Did you ever consider that?” Quinn demanded.
“Quinn, I know you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be, but that decision was made by a frightened seventeen-year-old girl who thought she had no one to turn to. I did what I thought was best at the time, and despite all the ifs and could-have-beens, you’ve had a wonderful life. You are a beautiful, smart, successful woman, and I couldn’t be more proud that you are mine, even if my claim on you is tenuous at best. I can’t change the past, but I would very much like to be a part of your future.”
“In what capacity? I already have a mother,” Quinn replied spitefully.
“Perhaps we can just be friends, then.”
Quinn took a sip of her wine. This wasn’t going as she had planned. She meant to be cool and polite, but instead she was being hostile and accusing, pouting like a small child because she felt hurt and wanted someone to kiss her boo-boo, while Sylvia remained dignified and composed. Quinn looked away, suddenly ashamed of her behavior. She was a grown woman, and she would act like one.
“Are you married?” Quinn asked, turning back to face Sylvia. It was safer to change the subject and learn something about this woman whose DNA formed a large part of Quinn’s being. Sylvia was right: the past couldn’t be altered, but perhaps they could take a small step toward the future by learning something about each other.
“I was. My husband passed two years ago. Pancreatic cancer,” Sylvia explained, her eyes filling with tears. “We were married for nearly twenty-five years, and most of them were happy ones.”
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said and meant it. “Tell me about your children.”
“I have two sons: Logan and Jude. Logan just turned twenty-six, and Jude is twenty-two. I wanted more children, but it just never happened for us.
”
“Do they know about me?”
“They do now. They were angry at first and resentful. But they’d like to meet you, if that’s something you might be open to.”
“What about your husband? Did you ever tell him?” Quinn asked.
“No. I was too afraid to tell him in the beginning, imagining that he might think less of me, and once the opportunity had passed, it became harder to confess. I always knew I should have, but it was never the right moment. He would have understood, I think. He was a good man, my Grant. He was a primary school administrator. That’s how we met. I was a teacher at the school he worked at.”
“And Logan and Jude? What do they do?” Quinn asked, curious about these two lads who were her half-brothers.
“Jude is a musician. He plays guitar and sings. He’s quite good, although I don’t really enjoy his type of music. It’s punk rock, or so he tells me. And Logan is a nurse. He works at the London, which is why I moved there. I wanted to be close to him after Grant died. I just couldn’t bear to stay in the house all alone. It went from being a place of comfort and love to a place of isolation and loneliness.”
Quinn thought of her own little house. That’s how it felt after Luke left, except that Luke was still very much alive. And he was no longer necessary to her happiness.
“Sylvia, may I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course. You must have loads of questions.”
“Was there anyone in your family who had psychic ability?”
Sylvia looked at Quinn, clearly surprised by the inquiry. Judging by her reaction, it was obvious that even if there was someone, Sylvia wasn’t aware of it.
“Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. It’s just something I’m interested in,” Quinn lied.
“I see. Well, sorry to disappoint, but no. I think the closest anyone came to being psychic was when my grandmother told my dad that my mother would come to no good. And she was right.”
“Do you keep in touch with you mother?” Quinn asked, suddenly remembering that this woman’s parents were her grandparents.
“I didn’t for a long time, but we eventually made peace. As I got older, I didn’t fully forgive her for leaving, but I tried to understand her reasons. I loved my dad, but I could see how he wasn’t the right man for her. My mother was a very sensual woman who needed a man whose appetites matched her own, but my dad, God bless him, just didn’t seem very interested in that side of things. He never remarried after Mum left. Never even had a girlfriend. Not everyone is cut out for it, I guess.”
Quinn nodded. It was strange hearing about these people who were her close family. “Is he still alive, my grandfather?”
“No. He died a few years before my Grant. Just fell asleep in front of the telly one day and never woke up. I miss him,” she added.
“Did he ever suspect anything, once you came back after having me?” Quinn asked.
“I think he might have, but he was too afraid to ask. He’d already lost my mum, and he was afraid to lose the only person he truly loved. He was happy to have me back and didn’t ask too many questions.”
Sylvia finished her cappuccino and reached for her bag. “I’ve brought some photos. I thought you might like to have a look.”
“Oh, I would,” Quinn exclaimed. She studied every photo, trying to find some small resemblance between herself and the people who were her family. She did bear a resemblance to Estelle, Sylvia’s mother. She had been glamorous in her day, a woman who clearly enjoyed male attention. Her grandfather smiled benignly into the camera, and Quinn could see something of him in Sylvia, especially about the eyes.
Logan was a surprise. He was tall and lean, with shaggy black hair and sleeve tattoos. His lopsided grin was infectious, and his hazel eyes looked like they hid many secrets. He was the one who looked like a rocker, not his brother, who appeared almost prim by comparison. Jude must have taken after his father, his light brown hair thick and wavy, and his eyes a lovely shade of blue. He was almost classically handsome, unlike Logan, whose features were not as regular.
“That was before he started with his current band,” Sylvia explained. “He looks a bit more wild now. Grew his hair out, and got inked, as he puts it.”
“They must be popular with the girls,” Quinn observed as she studied her half-brothers.
“Oh, aye, they are, except Logan doesn’t go in for girls. He’s quite the player, though—nothing like his dad, who never even had a girlfriend before he met me. He’s been with the same bloke for a few years now. I hope it’ll last. And Jude is artistic and sensitive. And single, as far as I know.”
“I’d like to meet them,” Quinn blurted out. She hadn’t intended to, but seeing her brothers in the photographs loosened something in her heart. They were her flesh and blood, her siblings. Would they find common ground?
“Of course. You can meet Logan anytime, and with Jude, we’ll arrange something.”
Quinn returned the photographs to Sylvia. She felt a little more comfortable about spending time with her, and the anger of an hour before had faded but was still there at the back of her mind, gnawing at her. She’d found half of what she’d been searching for, but there were still questions she needed to ask.
“Sylvia, Rhys Morgan is not my father.”
“How do you know? He has a one-in-three chance, just like the other two.”
“I had a paternity test done. It came back negative.”
Sylvia stared at her, shocked. “Does he know? Have you told him, then?”
“No. I just helped myself to some hair from his comb when he wasn’t looking,” Quinn explained, smiling guiltily.
Sylvia frowned, obviously coming to the wrong conclusion. “Are you involved with him?”
“Not in the way you think. There is someone special in my life, but it’s not Rhys.”
“Good. I’m glad. I want to see you happy.”
“Sylvia, I’d like to know something of the other two men. I need to know who my father was.”
Sylvia looked distressed but nodded. “I understand your desire to know, but I wish you’d leave it alone, Quinn. No good can come of it.”
“Are you now being psychic?” Quinn joked, making Sylvia smile.
“I suppose I am. I’ll tell you whatever I can, though.”
Chapter 57
July 1665
Suffolk, England
Elise felt vastly relieved when Edward finally left for Salisbury. She tried to play the dutiful wife, but Edward’s words had cut her to the quick and left her feeling despondent and frustrated. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Edward married her for love—few people of his class did. But most couples, being put in a position where their lives depended on each other, at least attempted to have some sort of a relationship. Edward wanted nothing to do with her; he cared nothing for her or her feelings, but he held the key to her future, and legally she was his property. She was a bird in a gilded cage, a prize to lock away in a silver coffer and admire on occasion. Edward made it clear enough that to him she was something less than human: a vessel and a means to an end.
Elise wasn’t precisely sure when she’d made the decision, but by the time James returned from London, she knew for sure. If her husband felt no obligation toward her, well, then she felt no obligation toward him. Perhaps this was a radical notion for a woman of her time, but she refused to allow a man to rob her of her chance of happiness. Edward might be her husband, and he owned her and her offspring, but he did not own her thoughts or her heart, nor did he own her loyalty.
Elise threw aside her sewing and rushed outside when she saw James canter into the front yard. James rode pillion behind a small, tired-looking girl whose head drooped like a flower as she slept. James said something to her, and the child stiffened, her eyes flying open once she realized that they’d reached their destination. James dismounted and helped the child off the horse, setting her gently on the ground. She took his hand and looked about fearfu
lly.
“James, you’re back,” Elise cried as she approached him, but James made no move to go to her. Instead, he held up his hand to keep her from coming any closer, his expression closed. “It’s all right, Lord Asher is gone,” Elise said.
James shook his head. “Don’t come any closer. We are both fine, but there is still a chance that we might take ill. I only came to tell you that I am back. I will stay at the gamekeeper’s cottage with Mercy until it’s certain that neither one of us has been infected.”
“And your sister?” Elise asked carefully, stealing a peek at the child, who pressed herself to James’s legs when her mother was mentioned, as if trying to make herself smaller.
“Molly and Peter are not ill, but Beth . . .”
“I understand,” Elise replied and turned her attention to the little girl. “Welcome, Mercy. I hope you had a pleasant journey.” Elise cringed at her inappropriate choice of words. There was nothing pleasant about fleeing a plague-ridden city, having left your family behind. Mercy was old enough to comprehend why her parents sent her away. Children grew up fast, especially when sudden death was all around them. Mercy might never see her parents or sister again, nor was it guaranteed that she wouldn’t begin to display symptoms herself, having been exposed to the sickness.
“Thank ye, me lady,” Mercy replied, her thin voice barely audible. “It was most pleasant. Uncle James took good care of me. He promised me mam.” At this, Mercy nearly began to cry, but James put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she got hold of herself.
“Well, I, for one, am very glad you are here, and I hope you will come to the house and visit me once Uncle James deems it safe.”
“I would like that very much, me lady.”
“Are you well, Elise?” James asked over Mercy’s head. Elise nodded, unable to speak. What could she say? She was well enough physically, and there was no need to tell James of the conversation between her and Edward. He knew the truth of their arrangement and his own part in it, and he was just as bitter and angry as she was at being used so cruelly.
The Lovers (Echoes From The Past) Page 32