~ Three ~
1793
MORE THAN TEN YEARS HAD passed since Godwin’s first disillusionment with his wife. Many other disappointments followed.
His decision, however, to take Sara’s love-child as his own was one he never regretted. In spite of the fact that his youth’s dreams and hopes of a loving marriage and a household of children had been dashed, he had found a place of acceptance. He found a place in his heart where he could give his love to Roderick, who he thought of as his son.
Because of who Godwin was, he was able to bring a certain measure of contentment to his orderly and quite dull life. He had learned to exist with what he had and forget about what he would never have.
He had come to adore Roderick in every conceivable way. He was proud of his son, and life at Ravensbury went on in this fashion. He watched Sara as she dove into her social teas, routs, and gossiped outrageously with the ladies of society. He watched Sara as she indulged herself and took lovers. She tried to be discreet, but he knew and did not care.
He had taken another bedroom as his own and no longer visited her bedroom. He allowed himself an occasional and passionate night with a pretty barmaid or two when he traveled on estate business. Now and then, when he thought of the life he had envisioned for himself, he was struck with the terrible loneliness of oneness. He and Sara couldn’t even find a common ground for friendship.
He thought her an awful mother to Roderick. She scarcely bothered with the boy who seemed to adore her.
Godwin knew he was trapped, if for no other reason than his love for Roderick. He was resigned to the fact that he and his wife would never really be friends. They were too different in too many ways and he could not shake his dislike of her.
Friendship, he knew, he believed was one of the most important ingredients to a healthy marriage. He also knew much of his loneliness was his own fault. He knew he had never really loved Sara. He had loved a creature of fiction.
He realized he often treated her with disdain and coldness and often regretted some of the remarks he shot at her. Now, he had a wife who often did not feel comfortable with him in the same room and lowered her eyes when he spoke to her. At times, he felt the cad and then he would discover another lie…all small ones, but lies nonetheless.
He stood looking over the rocky cliff, gazing in earnest contemplation of his life and wondering how he could make it better.
He loved Cornwall, with the ragged harshness of the jutting boulders being splashed by the crashing waves. Cornwall’s beauty made him feel alive. He loved how the salt air smelled, how the spray from the ocean whispered to him of another time.
As he stood there on the cliff, something, he wasn’t sure what, made him turn to his right, and then he couldn’t look away.
She was walking towards him, her red hair glinting in the sun’s rays, its silken tresses swaying over her dark cloaked shoulders as she bent among the crags to gather her herbs. She had not seen him yet.
Undetected, he watched her, mesmerized by her beauty. Her cloak blew about her graceful body, and she smiled to herself as she inspected her basket nearly full with her pickings.
She stumbled over an unseen rock in the ground and he heard the instinctive cry of one who knows a fall is inevitable, and she vanished from view.
He hurried in her direction, going as fast as he could over the razed slope and steep terrain, and came to find her rising to her feet. She was intent on brushing the pebbles and sand from her clothes and did not notice him as he approached.
He was at her elbow and asking hurriedly, as he was genuinely concerned, “Are you all right, miss?”
She looked up and it was obvious to him she was startled by his presence. Her eyes, he thought, as he stared, were the color of wild violets!
She gave him a hesitant smile. “Oh, quite, thank you, though my clumsiness has given my pride quite a hit.” She looked herself over and added, “Ah, I have injured my gown, haven’t I? Now, if only I haven’t dropped a morning’s work into the sea…?” With which she spied her basket, dove towards it, and nearly landed herself on the ground once again.
Godwin reached out and held her, preventing her fall. “Careful,” he said on a chuckle, “or we’ll have you toppling into the sea, and I have no desire to take a swim this morning.”
“Oh, what an awful idea…an April swim?” She laughed and the sound prodded a smile from him. Her laughter was musical. Her violet eyes twinkled, and he thought her the most stunning woman he had ever encountered.
She frowned and said, “I must collect my basket and return to my uncle or he will say I am a lazy wench not worth my keep.”
“Then stay put and I’ll retrieve the basket for you,” he said, escorting her to a nearby somewhat flat rock and seeing her seated there. He found the basket with most of its contents still in tact and brought it to her. “There, and I don’t mind telling you that you have an odd sort of uncle sending you off on such a dangerous mission,” he teased.
“In truth, the herbs can be had closer to home.” She sighed. “‘Tis just that I do so love Windmera, and thought I might be able to enjoy the morning here and still get my errand accomplished.”
“Windmera?” he repeated, frowning, having no idea what she meant.
She laughed and said, “‘Tis what I call it. Look…they all meet here, don’t they? I mean the sea, its marvelous winds…the rocks. It creates a peace. Papa and I gave it that name. We used to come here together before he died.”
He smiled warmly at her. “Yes, Windmera suits this place. But tell me, what is your name?” he asked, and felt the heat rush to his cheeks. He was surprised at his boldness. He was not a womanizer. He had never thought of his occasional wayward nights as more than the needs of the body. He was married to Sara. He had never tried to romance a woman who might expect more. How could he? He was tied up in marriage and so when he looked at this young beauty, he felt a wave of conscience sweep over him. What are you doing? He felt guilt, but not because of Sara…he felt a shade of guilt because all at once and completely he was aware that he wanted this beauty so much more than he should.
He knew why he lingered with this young woman. The animal in him wanted to take her in his arms and ravage her…the man in him wanted to save her from himself.
She smiled and studied her fingers. “Yes, it is only fair that you should know my name, as I know yours, my lord.”
“You know my name? How?” he asked, surprise filling him.
“You are Godwin, Lord of Ravensbury. Everyone in this part of Cornwall knows that.” She looked up and smiled warmly at him. “Indeed, I have seen Lady Ravensbury in town now and then.”
Ah, so she knew he was married, was his immediate thought, and shame once again traveled through his mind. What must she think of him, married to such as Sara?
“Very well, then,” he said softly. “As you said, it is only fair I know your name.”
“I am Heather Martin.” She looked away towards the white foam spilling on the rocks.
“Oh, so you are the vicar’s niece?” he said, surprised.
“Yes, the same,” she answered, still not looking at him.
“But that is impossible!” he exclaimed.
“Is it? What an odd thing to conclude,” she said, turning a bemused eye to him.
“What I mean is…” he started.
“What you mean is that you have heard the vicar’s niece is a spinster of sorts and that I am far too attractive to fit the fiddle?” she teasingly interrupted him and arched a brow.
He laughed out loud, inclined his head and said, “Indeed, far too beautiful to be a spinster, and too young.”
“I am one and twenty, nearly in my dotage, you see. Up until last month I chose to teach in the school my father founded in Hampshire. However, when I lost him…well, the school was closed, lack of funding, you see—so here I am at Uncle Martin’s, driving them to distraction because I am not interested in the young men they throw at me.” She stopped and shook her head. “Gracious…whatever made me go on and on to you in such a manner?”
“Please don’t stop. I want to know…everything about you,” he whispered, and his dark eyes found her eyes as he drank deep.
* * * * *
Heather and Godwin found themselves meeting often after that first encounter. Their reasons…all too obvious, although Heather told herself she was rushing to meet him only because he was her beloved friend, someone who understood her, someone she felt whole with—no more than that.
How he made her laugh and how often she told herself that she was dipping into dangerous waters. He was another woman’s husband, but oh, the thought of not being with him, not listening to his dear voice was far more terrifying.
At some point, Heather looked inward and honesty roared its hoary truths. Her motives, she told herself, needed questioning. Clearly she saw what Godwin made her feel, and she felt so very much when with him.
Truths are frightening revelations of heart and mind, and she couldn’t deny that she needed Godwin, wanted him, and dreamed of kissing him, of holding hands, of being with him. All these things told her that her heart was lost to a married man who would never be hers.
Somehow he had worked himself into her mind and soul and now she was forever lost to her love of him. It was wrong. He was married, she drummed into her head. He belonged to Sara.
He had confided a great deal to her over their weeks of friendship. He had told her that his marriage was a sterile thing, lifeless and hateful. He had told her he had felt dead inside for so long…until he had met her.
He told her how Sara had tricked him into marriage and how he now suspected that she had tricked him with intent from the first moment she smiled at him. He told her how he felt she had somehow thwarted his courtship of Lisa, tricking them all. He never held back as he spoke from the heart. Heather listened to him as all his angst and heartache flowed out and saw the relief he felt at confiding in her.
He was Godwin of Ravensbury. How could she live with him so near, knowing he would never be hers? What kind of life had she to look forward to if she allowed her heart to rule her head?
Godwin stared at himself in the looking glass. Once again, he felt alive. The vivacity of youth had infected him. He only knew that his life had taken on new sparkle, his heart felt light, his nerves tingled, and his blood bubbled with passion. He only knew that Heather was the source of his delight, of his newfound purpose.
What was the answer? There could only be one. It came to him late one day in May of that same spring. They met, he and Heather, at Land’s End, on the cliff she called Windmera. How she loved it there, how he now thought of it as Windmera. They met with but one shared thought—to make the other happy.
Godwin watched her as she came to him, and knew himself on fire. He reached for her, and she fell into his arms for their first kiss.
It was enchantment.
They cherished one another and they drank of a fount that for them was innocent and pure. Forgotten was the world with its demands. Forgotten was the world and its snares. Such was the joining of Godwin and Heather.
Afterward, she lay in his arms, his chin resting upon her head, and she listened hungrily to his words.
“It cannot, will not end. We are meant,” he whispered softly. “You must be mine in name, as well as body, my love.”
“Hush, Godwin…that can’t be,” she answered gravely. She had not expected this kind of talk.
“I will not demean you, demean our love by keeping you as my mistress. No…my darling, that would never do,” he said determinedly.
“What of Roderick? Would you shame him? Oh, my love, leave well enough alone. I am content to have stolen moments with you,” she said gently.
“No, Heather, I am not content to live half a life,” he growled. He held her face. “I have lived a sham of a life with Sara. There was never any love between us. There was only Roderick. I intend to see my solicitors and divorce her.”
“Godwin…no, you must not. It isn’t done…that would bring shame to your house.”
“Shame? She brings shame to my house. Don’t you see? It is the only answer. And divorce is done from time to time, one way or another,” he said, his voice firm. “I will see that Roderick is not hurt by this. He is my son, and my heir. I shall not use him to free myself of her unless she forces me to. I shall provide for Sara’s needs—send her to London, but I will be rid of her once and for always. I will not suffer this marriage any longer.”
Heather begged him to reconsider, but his mind was made up.
And so it was that Godwin of Ravensbury made the second fateful decision there at Land’s End, their Windmera.