Bill leaned his chin in his hand and sighed disconsolately. “I’m beginning to hate you very deeply, Gerald. Please. Cheer me up. Tell me that you had to rob a few widows in order to buy all those nice gifts for your uncle.”
Gerald’s crooked smile widened. “Sorry, Bill, but the widows of England are safe from me. Even after I left the firm, Lucy insisted on sending me my share of the profits. It didn’t seem right, somehow, to spend it on myself, so I used it to help my father buy his house in Old Warden, and to bring Uncle Williston a few things to cheer him up.”
Bill pursed his lips, disgusted. “That’s what I thought.”
From far down the hall came the sound of a ringing telephone. A moment later, Mrs. Burweed appeared, saying that the call was for Willis, Sr. He thanked her, then asked if he might have a word with Bill in private.
Bill answered my questioning look with a perplexed shrug as he followed his father out into the hallway. I looked over at Nell, but she’d wrapped her arms around her knees and turned to stare intently at the bars of the electric fire. I knew by her preternatural stillness that she’d drifted into a deep reverie.
For all intents and purposes, Gerald and I were alone.
31.
My heart began to hammer dangerously. I opened my mouth once or twice before finally managing a lame “Sorry about your eye.”
Gerald gave me an impish, sidelong look and murmured quietly, “A small price to pay.”
Toying nervously with a fold of my cotton dress, I gulped and looked down at my lap. “And I’m very sorry for the stupid trick Nell and I played on you.”
“Ah, yes. Miss Shepherd and little Nicolette.” Gerald tilted his head to one side. “Why the charade?”
“We’d heard the same rumors William had heard,” I explained, keeping my voice low so as not to break Nell’s concentration. “We weren’t sure that we could trust you.”
“But you’re sure now?” Gerald asked.
“Yes. And so is the rest of your family.” I felt Gerald stiffen, glanced up, and saw that his face had turned to stone.
“Apart from Father,” he said coldly, “I have no family.”
“No family?” The red-gold haze that had risen before my eyes changed abruptly to solid red, and I turned toward Gerald so I wouldn’t have to raise my voice to get my point across. “What could you possibly know about having no family? I never got the chance to meet my grandparents, and my father died when I was still in diapers. The only family I ever had was my mother. But you ...” I stabbed a finger at Gerald’s startled face, almost too angry to speak. “You have a father and an uncle and an aunt and more cousins than you know what to do with. And each and every one of them worships the ground you walk on. And you dare to tell me that you have no family?”
“But... but...”
I held my hands up, refusing to let him speak. “Okay, so Uncle Williston lied to you about some stupid little male-bonding ritual. Big deal. Does that cancel out a lifetime of love? And for your information,” I sputtered, leaning forward until my nose was nearly touching his, “it’s the women who decide who’s part of a family, not the men.”
“Is that right?” Gerald said meekly.
I thought of Bill’s aunts and nodded emphatically. “Yes. And as far as Anthea and Lucy are concerned, you’re one hundred percent Willis. So just stop all of this ... this whining.” I paused to catch my breath, and as Gerald lifted his arm to lay it along the back of the couch, I became keenly aware of the fact that I was practically sitting in his lap.
“Self-pity, eh?” he asked. “Is that my problem?”
“Y-yes,” I replied, trying very hard not to be distracted by the knowledge that my knee was nestled snugly against his thigh. “It’s made you lump Lucy in with the idiot males in your family, and she doesn’t deserve it. She never betrayed you. She didn’t know a thing about Sir Williston’s nasty old diary.”
“Exactly,” Gerald said dejectedly.
“She’ll get over it,” I declared. “She’ll toss Julia Louise’s portrait onto a bonfire and dig up a more worthy role model. Not that she needs one. She’s pretty incredible already:”
“I suppose she’ll find out about the diary eventually,” Gerald acknowledged. “Arthur’s bound to slip up one day.”
“Make sure she finds out about it from you.” I peered earnestly up at Gerald’s beautiful, battered face. “You go back to Lucy and tell her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth—and don’t ever tell her anything else.”
Gerald’s dimple reappeared. “You’re advising complete honesty?”
I nodded. “Believe me, Gerald, it’s not just the best policy, it’s the only policy when you’re dealing with someone you love.”
“In that case, I have one more confession to make to you, Lori.” He leaned forward and whispered, his lips mere inches from my own: “I was not simply being kind.”
I gazed steadily into his sea-bright eye and saw something there that sent a new kind of warmth flooding through me. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you.”
Gerald lowered his long eyelashes, and his lips curved into a rueful smile. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “The last time I saw you...”
“Things have changed since then,” I assured him. “Mr. Willis’s son has come to his senses. But thanks, Gerald. I’ll never forget your kindness.” I bent closer and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Maybe I can return the favor sometime.”
“Lori,” he said softly, “you already have.”
Gerald and I were discussing the difficulties he was encountering in identifying the rightful owners of his father’s collection when the hall door opened and Bill strode jauntily into the room, talking excitedly with Willis, Sr.
“Who called?” I asked, smiling fondly at my husband.
“Thomas,” replied Willis, Sr. “I assured him that all was well and that his son would visit him tomorrow.” He and Bill came to stand in front of the couch, looking as though they’d just solved the problem of how to weight a certain bamboo fishing pole properly so that it would stay at the bottom of a certain lake in Maine.
“Now, Gerald,” continued Willis, Sr., brightly, “I believe we can conclude the business that brought me to you in the first place.”
“Excellent,” said Gerald, getting to his feet.
“What business?” I asked suspiciously. “You promised not to leave Boston.”
“A promise I fully intend to keep.” Willis, Sr., put one hand on Bill’s shoulder and the other on Gerald’s. “Lori, please allow me to introduce the newly formed European branch of Willis & Willis.”
It took a minute or two for the meaning of his words to sink in. “Bill?” I exclaimed. “Bill’s going to work in Finch?”
“When he’s not working in London,” said Gerald. He held his hand to his black eye. “I’ve been telling Lucy for years that we need a heavy hitter in our corner.”
“With all due modesty,” said Willis, Sr., “I believe that the announcement of our alliance will lay to rest any uncertainties Dr. Flannery’s revelations may arouse in the legal community on both sides of the Atlantic.”
I looked up at the three men as they launched into plans for the future. Willis, Sr., talked expansively about the complications of dealing with his firm’s increasingly international clientele, but he couldn’t fool me. I’d finally figured out what he’d been up to all along.
My darling father-in-law had just seen to it that Bill and I would no longer be the only transatlantic couple we knew. He was taking us out of the mansion and away from Bill’s horrible aunts, and putting us into the cottage, where we’d be surrounded by loving friends and a whole flock of caring relatives. He knew that the first two years of our marriage had nearly broken our hearts, but he also knew that they would mend, given the proper care and attention.
At the same time, of course, he was clearing the decks back in Boston, so he could return to what he considered his life’s work, as well as increasing his chances of ha
ving a grandchild, but that was only to be expected. Uncle Tom hadn’t called Willis, Sr., a crafty old fox for nothing.
“William,” Nell said, emerging suddenly from her reverie near the hearth.
Willis, Sr., turned toward her. “Yes, Eleanor?”
Nell regarded him with a dissatisfied frown. “Does this mean that number three, Anne Elizabeth Court, belongs to you?”
“It belongs to my family,” said Willis, Sr., gazing benignly at Gerald. “As it always has.”
“There’s something else,” said Nell. “Why did you leave that silly note for Lori when you left the cottage? We had to jump through hoops to find out where you’d gone.”
Willis, Sr., regarded me sheepishly. “Forgive me, Lori. I was in such high spirits when I departed that I must have left out a few pertinent details. Understandable, I would say, considering the circumstances. It is not every day that one receives such gratifying news.”
“Gratifying news?” I repeated blankly.
Willis, Sr., raised a hand to the knot in his tie, then placed it gently on my shoulder. “My dear girl,” he said, his voice filled with disbelief, “am I to understand that they never got hold of you?”
“Who never got hold of me?” I demanded, beginning to feel nervous.
Willis, Sr., sat beside me on the couch. “Dr. Hawkings, my dear. He telephoned after you went to visit Emma, with the results of your most recent test. Lori, my dear, dear girl—it was positive.”
“Dr. Hawkings released my test results to you?” I squeaked.
“Test results?” said Bill.
“He told me that you had given him permission to shout them from the rooftops,” said Willis, Sr. “He also said that you should have noticed definite ... symptoms by now.”
“Symptoms?” Bill echoed.
“Hmmm ...” I scratched my head and reviewed the past few days—the unusual fatigue, the persistent backache, the mood swings ... How could I have been so obtuse? I looked down at the loose-fitting cotton dress Nell had picked out for me and said wonderingly, “I even tossed my cookies in a hedgerow.” My head snapped up and I stared accusingly at Nell. “You knew.”
“I had a hunch,” said Nell, crossing from the hearth to the couch.
“Emma warned me about your hunches.” I jumped to my feet and enveloped her and Bertie in what could only be described as a bear hug.
“Tossed your cookies in a hedgerow,” Bill was murmuring. Suddenly his face was suffused with what seemed like a heavenly radiance. “Lori? Do you mean to say that you‘re—”
“Yes, you great thundering idiot,” I said, beaming up at him. “I’m pregnant! You’re nearly as slow on the uptake as I—Quick, Gerald! Catch him!”
We stayed at the Georgian that night, after a local physician had stitched up the cut on Bill’s head, and returned to Finch the following day. Emma and Derek were waiting for us at the cottage, with an overjoyed Ham at their heels. Bill insisted on carrying me not only over the threshold, but everywhere else he could think of, until I told him I’d give him a clout on the head that’d make him forget about the comer of Gerald’s coffee table if he didn’t put me down.
Emma had prepared a welcome-home feast of vegetarian dishes, which promptly became, in Derek’s words, “A Salute to Fertility,” and although I passed on the wine, I ate more than enough for two. Replete with food and happiness, I left Nell to describe our adventures and slipped into the study with my briefcase and Reginald.
The study was just as I’d left it, still and silent and dappled with green shadows from the sunlight pouring through the ivy. I sat in Willis, Sr.’s tall leather chair and pulled the briefcase toward me, unsnapped the locks, and took out the blue journal. I placed the briefcase on the floor and Reginald in my lap and opened the blue journal, calling, “Dimity? We’re home.”
At last. Do I sense that someone else is with us?
I hadn’t cried till then, but a tear splashed on the top of Reginald’s head as I answered, “If she’s a girl, may I call her Dimity?”
I would be honored. And if he’s a boy?
“Rob, I think. For Bobby, your fiancé.”
Have you told Bill?
“About not naming our boy William?” I shook my head. “Not yet. But he’ll get used to it.”
Bobby always wanted a big family. As did I.
“Dimity,” I said, “you already have a big family. I think the only reason you sent me on this wild-goose chase was to get me out there to meet some of them. I’m glad you did. I love being a part of your family. And it’s going to grow by one, pretty soon.” I brushed away another tear that had trickled down my cheek. “Would you tell my mom?”
She knows.
“I wish...” I looked at the window. The ivy leaves fluttered in a vagrant breeze, like a hundred banners welcoming me home. I laughed suddenly, as a wave of deep contentment flooded through me. “I wish I could learn to stop wishing.”
Lori, my dearest child, your wishing days have only just begun!
Epilogue
Bill’s stitches should be out well before the baby’s born, but I’ve already told him to forget about coming into the delivery room. There’ll be too many sharp metal objects in there, and I want all three of us to leave the hospital in good health.
Swann has promised that Bill’s arm will be completely mended in time for Lucy and Gerald’s wedding, a great consolation to Willis, Sr., who winced visibly at the thought of having to ask his tailor to design a morning coat around a protruding thumb and an arm encased in plaster. I’ve bought a formal tent for the occasion, since I should be about the size of the Hindenburg by then. The baby is showing signs of achieving Arthurian dimensions.
Nell has been as good as gold since we returned from our journey. She worked her fingers to the bone helping Emma bring in the rest of the harvest, sang Derek’s praises to the bishop after the dedication ceremony in Chipping Campden, and slipped the word “horse” into every conversation so artlessly that when Emma and Derek finally bought Anthea’s chestnut foal they honestly thought it would be a surprise present.
Uncle Tom is doing amazingly well, now that he’s not expending half of his energy fretting about Gerald. He accepted his son’s grave news with equanimity, commenting dryly that, having survived the Blitz, he thought he could survive a minor jolt to his self-esteem. Anthea’s retitled her biography Dragon’s Fire, and is busily revising the whole thing. When I called to offer my sympathy, she admitted, “It was a shock, at first. Then Swann reminded me of how well horror sells....”
Gerald sent Sybella’s remains to Boston, where they were quietly interred in the Willis family plot. He also sent a copy of Sir Williston’s diary to Cloverly House, where it’s made a world of difference in Uncle Williston’s therapy. As Sir Poppet observed, after a first read-through: “It helps no end to have all of the facts.”
Nell tells everyone that she hopes Uncle Williston will be able to attend the wedding, but I know her well enough by now to know that she’s secretly hoping he’ll turn up in knee breeches. I also know her well enough to keep my mouth shut whenever Emma asks me about a certain brown suede jacket that mysteriously appeared in Nell’s closet shortly after we came back from Haslemere. I figure it won’t hurt Willis, Sr., and Derek to share the pedestal with another idol, and Nell couldn’t have chosen a better one. Hell, if I were in her shoes, I’d keep his damned jacket under my pillow.
But I’ve got my own hero to worship, and even though I’ve refused categorically to refer to the new life inside of me as “our little red pudding,” my hero seems to worship me back. We expected to spend the past few months getting to know each other again, but we’ve barely scratched the surface. A true marriage, it seems, is a voyage of discovery without end.
I still haven’t learned to stop wishing, though the things that I wish for have changed. The moment you feel a tiny foot tap-dance on your spinal cord—from the inside—everything changes. I’ve told Emma about some of my wishes, and Bill about others,
of course, but only one person is privy to them all.
Dimity isn’t always at the cottage, but she always seems to be there when I need her. On those nights, I wait until Bill’s sound asleep, then slip downstairs to brew a pot of Sir Poppet’s herbal tea. I make a fire in the study, sit with Reginald near at hand, open the blue journal, and discuss important issues with Aunt Dimity. What to do about stretch marks, whether to get a sonogram—the vital, pressing issues of the bright new world I’ve found myself inhabiting.
And when I close the journal, I also close my eyes, and wish with all my might that my child’s life will be as blessed as mine.
Uncle Tom’s Butterscotch Brownies
Makes 16 brownies
½ cup melted butter
2 cups dark-brown sugar
2 eggs
1½ cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon vanilla
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
Butter a 9-inch square cake pan. Mix all of the ingredients together, combining them well. Spread mixture in the cake pan and bake for 35-40 minutes, or until dry on top and almost firm to the touch. Let cool for 10-15 minutes, then cut in 2-inch squares.
IN FEBRUARY 2009-TWO NEW ADDITIONS TO THE AUNT DIMITY SERIES
Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon
Lori Shepherd loves living in the small English village of Finch, but she finds herself wishing for something exciting to spice up her all-too-familiar routine. When King Wilfred’s Faire opens nearby, Lori gets her wish and more. Wizards, wenches, magicians, and minstrels cajole the fairgoers while lords quaff, jesters joke, and knights battle in the joust arena. But Lori soon discovers that it’s not all pageantry and play.
Aunt Dimity's Good Deed Page 23