Seven Years to Sin

Page 37

She ached everywhere. A bone-deep ache that stripped all the strength from her limbs. Her child was gone. Her husband as well. And she couldn’t feel anything but dead inside. It amazed her to sense her breath blowing past her lips. She would have thought such signs of life were beyond her.
“It was Edward at the last,” she whispered.
Her sister fell silent.
“He came into my room as the man I’d come to hate and fear. Wild eyed and brandishing that pistol. I felt such relief to see him. I thought, ‘Finally, the pain and sorrow will end.’ I thought he would be merciful and free me from it.”
Jess’s arms tightened around her. “You mustn’t think of it anymore.”
Hester tried to swallow, but her mouth and throat were too dry. “I begged him. ‘Please. Take my life. The babe is gone from me … Please. Let me go.’ And then it was Edward standing there. I could see it in his eyes. They were so bleak. He saw what he’d done when he wasn’t himself.”
“Hester. Shh … You need your r-rest.”
The telltale break in her Jess’s voice echoed through her. “But he didn’t spare me this agony. To the end he was selfish and thought only of himself. And yet I miss him. The man he used to be. The man I married. You do remember him, don’t you, Jess?” Her head tilted back to look up at her sister’s face. “You do recall the way he was long ago?”
Jess nodded, her eyes and nose red from tears.
“What does it mean?” Hester asked, lowering her chin. “That I am happy he’s gone, yet I am so sad … equally?”
A long stretch of silence ensued, then, “I suppose, perhaps, you miss the promise of what could have been, while at the same time you are grateful that what it was instead is over.”
“Perhaps.” Hester burrowed closer, seeking more of her sister’s warmth. “What do I d-do now? How do I g-go on?”
“One day at a time. You rise, you eat, you bathe, and you talk to the few people you can tolerate while feeling so wretched. Over time, it hurts a little less. Then a little less. And so on.” Jess ran her fingers through Hester’s unbound hair. “Until one morning, you will awake and realize the pain is only a memory. It will always be with you, but it will eventually lack the power to cripple you.”
Tears burned Hester’s eyes, then wet the bodice of Jess’s gown. Jess had climbed into bed with Hester fully dressed, offering the connection Hester needed before she even comprehended that she needed it.
“I suppose I should be happy,” Hester whispered, “that I am no longer increasing with my dead husband’s child, but I can’t be happy about it. It hurts too much.”
A sob broke the hush in the room, a raw sound of pain too fresh to manage. It clawed through Hester’s numbness and ripped into her vitals, tearing her apart. “I wanted that baby, Jess. I wanted my baby …”
Jess began to rock her back and forth, words spilling out in a frantic attempt to soothe. “There will be others. Someday, you will have the happiness you deserve. Someday, you will have it all, and everything that transpired to get you to that place of contentment will make sense to you.”
“Don’t say such things!” She couldn’t even contemplate another pregnancy. It seemed like such a betrayal of the child she’d lost. As if babes were replaceable. Interchangeable.
“No matter what happens, I will be with you.” Jess’s lips pressed to her forehead. “We will make it through together. I love you.”
Hester closed her eyes, certain Jess was the only one who could say such a thing. Even the Lord Himself had abandoned her.
Alistair entered his home, weary to his soul. Jessica’s pain was his own, and his heart was heavy with the sadness and horror that presently shadowed her life.
He handed his hat and gloves to the waiting butler.
“Her Grace awaits you in your study, my lord,” Clemmons announced.
Glancing at the long case clock, Alistair noted the lateness of the hour. It was nearly one in the morning. “How long has she been waiting?”
“Nearly four hours now, my lord.”
Clearly the news she carried was not good. Steeling himself for the worst, Alistair went to the study and found his mother reading on the settee. Her feet were tucked up beside her, and her lap was covered with a thin blanket. A fire roared in the hearth. A candelabrum on the table at her shoulder illuminated the pages in front of her and gilded her dark beauty.
She looked up. “Alistair.”
“Mother.” He rounded his desk and shrugged out of his coat. “What’s wrong?”
Her gaze raked over him. “Perhaps I should ask the same of you.”
“The day has been endless, and the evening even longer.” He sank into his chair with a tired exhalation. “What do you require of me?”
“Must I always want something from you?”
He stared at her, noting the hints of strain around her eyes and mouth, signs he’d most recently cataloged on Lady Regmont—the signs of a woman in a troubled marriage. Signs he would never see on Jessica’s face because he would die before he caused her such sorrow.
When he didn’t answer, Louisa pushed the blanket aside and swung her legs over the edge of the settee. She clasped her hands in her lap and rolled her shoulders back. “I likely deserve your wariness and suspicion. I was so focused on what I was feeling that I did not pay enough attention to what you were feeling. I am so tremendously sorry for that. I’ve wronged you for many years.”
Alistair’s heartbeat sped up, confusion warring with disbelief. As a boy, he’d wanted to hear such words from her more than he had wanted anything else.
“I came to tell you,” she went on, “I wish you happy. It does my heart good to see you well loved and admired. I did see it. I also felt it. She esteems the ground you walk upon.”
“As I do for her.” He rubbed the spot over his chest that ached for Jessica. “And her regard will never alter or diminish. She knows the worst there is to know about me, yet she loves me in spite of my mistakes. No … I would say perhaps she loves me because of them; because of how they’ve shaped me.”
“It’s a wondrous gift to be loved unconditionally. It is my failing that I didn’t do the same, my son.” She stood. “I want you to know that I will support you and your choice to the last. I’ll hold her in my heart as you do.”
His fingertips stroked over the smooth lacquered top of his desk. By God, he was exhausted. He wanted Jess beside him, close to his heart. He needed to hold her and comfort her and find his own peace with her. “It means a great deal that you came to me, Mother. That you waited for my return. That you give me your blessing. Thank you.”
Louisa nodded. “I love you, Alistair. I will endeavor to show you how much, and pray that one day there will no longer be any reticence or mistrust between us.”
“I should like that.”
His mother rounded the desk. She bent and pressed her lips to his cheek.
He caught her wrist before she straightened, holding her close to gauge her reaction. Had she truly come, repentant and guileless, with warm sentiment? Or had she already been given the news he was about to share with her, freeing her to give her blessing with mitigated risk?
“You will be a grandmother,” he said quietly.
She froze and her breath caught, then her eyes widened and filled with startled joy. “Alistair—”
So, she hadn’t known. The warmth of her acceptance and blessing spread through him. “Not mine. As you likely surmised, Jessica is barren. But Emmaline … Albert saw to his duty after all. Perhaps not a boy I could name as my heir, but regardless of gender, you will at least have the joy of a grandchild.”
A tremulous smile banished the melancholy reflected in Louisa’s blue eyes—irises that were so like his.
Alistair smiled back.
Epilogue
“Your sister looks well,” commented Her Grace, the Duchess of Masterson.
Jess looked across the veranda table at Alistair’s mother. “Yes, she is healthy and strong. And every day, she remembers a little more about laughter and finding joy.”
Just beyond the carved stone balusters that divided the veranda from the immaculate Masterson gardens, many of the dozen guests attending Jess’s house party strolled through the neatly trimmed yew hedges. Even Masterson was out enjoying the beautiful day, holding hands with the infant Master Albert who was toddling along the gravel paths.
“Lord Tarley seems quite taken with her,” Louisa noted.
Jess’s gaze moved back to Hester and Michael, following as they walked together; Hester with her parasol, and Michael with his hands clasped behind his back. They made a lovely couple, his dark comeliness so beautifully complementing her sister’s golden beauty.
“He’s been a dear friend for a long time,” Jess said. “But these last two years have proven him to be invaluable in so many ways. He’s made her feel safe, and from that position of safety, Hester has found the peace of mind to heal. Much as your son did for me.”
“It is no less than what you have done for him.” The duchess lifted her teacup to her lips, her porcelain skin shielded beneath the brim of her wide straw hat. “Where is my son, by the way?”
“He’s looking into an irrigation problem of some sort.”
“I hope he knows that Masterson is impressed with him.”
There was no way for Alistair to know since the two men rarely spoke, but such unfortunate rifts were topics best left for another day. “There isn’t anything he fails to excel in. Truly, I find it remarkable that such a romantic and creative soul should also be so well versed in numbers, engineering, and countless other analytical pursuits.”
There was also his physical prowess, but that was for Jess alone to know and enjoy.
“Milady.”
Her attention moved to the maid who approached with a missive in hand. Jess smiled and accepted it, immediately recognizing her husband’s penmanship on the exterior. She broke the seal with a smile.
Find me.
“If you will please excuse me, Your Grace,” she said, pushing back from the table and standing.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Always.” Jess moved through the open French doors into the house. The interior was quiet and peaceful, the large sprawling estate somehow retaining a feeling of intimacy and welcome. She and Alistair occupied one wing of the manse during the summer months, while the duke and duchess occupied the other most of the year. This was their second year summering with his family and, so far, it was progressing better than the first. Alistair’s naming of Albert’s son as his heir had been a great relief to all.
Jess had used the excuse of requiring assistance with a house party to bring Hester closer to rejoining Society with the start of the next Season. The past two years had been difficult, with the scandal surrounding Regmont’s death and all the speculation that sprang from it. Jess’s marriage to Alistair Caulfield, a future duke, had helped to divert attention, but nothing could hasten the healing process for Hester. Still, her sister’s recovery was progressing slowly but surely, with Michael always nearby if she needed him, a solid and unobtrusive friend. Perhaps he would become something more to her one day, when Hester was ready. Alistair believed his friend would wait patiently, just as Alistair had done for Jess.
Heading to Alistair’s study first, she found the space empty. She moved to the parlor, then the billiards room, but still didn’t find him. It was only when she began ascending the right side of the split staircase that she heard the faint strains of a violin. Her heart swelled with joy. Listening to Alistair play was one of her favorite pastimes. Sometimes, after they’d made love, he would rise from their bed and engage the stringed instrument. She would lie there and listen, hearing in the notes all the emotion he couldn’t convey with words. It was the same with his drawings. The finely wrought pencil lines captured moments and expressions only a lover would grasp and treasure. They told her more eloquently than speech how precious she was to him, how often he thought of her, and how deeply he felt about her.
Jess followed the haunting strains of a plaintive melody to their rooms. Two of the upstairs maids lingered in the hall, as awed as Jess, until they saw her approach and scrambled away. She opened the sitting room door, then shut and locked it behind her. Contentment swept over her along with the increased volume of music. She located her spouse in their bedroom, standing before the open window, his clothing removed except for his buff-colored trousers. Acheron lay at his feet, staring raptly up at him, as entranced as everyone became when he played.
As Alistair slid the bow to and fro across the strings, the muscles of his arms and back flexed and clenched with the fluid movements, creating a view she would never tire of. She sat on the bench at the foot of the bed, watching and listening, her blood already beginning to heat and thicken with anticipation.
It was the middle of the day. Numerous guests surrounded and awaited them. Yet he’d lured her to their bedroom to seduce her with the refinement of his talent and the primitive lust of his virility—appealing to the disparate needs she hadn’t been aware of until he’d shown them to her.
The music faded into the warm summer breeze, and she applauded softly. He placed the instrument carefully within its case.
“I love to hear you play,” she said softly.
“I know.”
She smiled. “And I love the sight of your bare back and provocative backside, as well.”
“I know that, too.”
He faced her and her breath caught. He was partially aroused and wholly beautiful.
Jess licked her lower lip. “I feel overdressed.”
“You are.” His approach was both predatory and graceful, his rippled abdomen and confident stride engaging all of her feminine instincts.