Chapter Fourteen
As the days grew shorter, it became evident that winter was going to arrive well ahead of schedule. But given the lack of anything resembling a summer, Hecate wasn’t surprised.
The Tisdale twins still slept at Doireann Vale now and again, but were least in sight for the rest of the time. Mrs. Trimmer’s cousin lived five minutes from the farm, and had a convenient guest room she was very happy to let out to Phoebe and Hestia. Her own daughters had married and moved away, so having girls back in the house was something she very much enjoyed.
Hecate thought she might also be enjoying the developing romances.
But she could see that both Hestia and Phoebe were beginning to find their feet as normal young women busy about building lives. No longer were they hunting likely protectors or chatting loosely about their London careers.
Even their outfits had changed, since there was no fashionable modiste to garb them in frills and furbelows.
They were in serviceable cloaks on this particular morning, bundled against the sharp wind and bracketing Digby who had come to fetch them, and carrying a few more of their clothes in bags.
Hecate watched them chatter animatedly as they walked away down the drive.
“It’s delightful, isn’t it?” Augusta’s voice sounded behind her. “Watching those two become the girls they were supposed to be.”
Hecate detected a bit of a wistful note in the older woman’s tones. “It is indeed. I don’t believe it’s ever too late to become the person we were meant to be…”
Augusta smiled a little. “Thank you for that, my dear. And thank you for all your care.” She sighed. “I cannot tell you what a low point I had reached when I arrived on your doorstep. And you had no reason to take me in. But you did.” She reached for Hecate’s hand and grasped it tightly. “You saved my life, Hecate. Truly you did.”
“Will you join me by the fire?”
Augusta hesitated. “I won’t be in the way?”
“Of course not.” Hecate held out her hand. “Come. Just an hour. You and I.”
Unable to resist such a persuasive invitation, Augusta nodded. “All right.”
Settled by the fire, and watching the flames dance as the wind whistled around the corners of the building, Augusta sighed. “It’s odd, you know.”
“What is?” asked Hecate.
“That I should sit here and feel no urge to be anywhere else. No desire to buy a new gown, find a new lover…just sit here and let the world pass by.”
“Perhaps the desire to enjoy some solitude was buried beneath the fast pace of your life in London,” Hecate suggested.
Augusta raised her eyebrows.
“Would you give me your hand, Augusta?”
“I…of course…” The older woman extended her arm. “What for?”
Hecate took it and enfolded it with her fingers. “Let me ease your mind.” She closed her eyes.
Augusta remained silent, perhaps in confusion or curiosity.
Within her thoughts, Hecate once again allowed her gift free rein. It had been silent of late, but now, with Augusta’s hand in hers, it returned. A flood of pain made Hecate gasp, and she knew she was sharing some of the heartbreak that only a mother who had lost a child could experience.
“Oh dear God,” she whispered, tightening her grip. “Let it go, Augusta. All of it…”
Whether she realised it or not, Augusta did. The love she’d felt for the father and the heartbreak when he’d turned away from her after she told him about the babe.
And the guilt. Dear Lord, the guilt.
Once again she spoke softly. “It was not your fault. You did nothing wrong. This babe was not meant for you, Augusta. It could not survive. Its spirit will be born to another. You were never at fault in this.” She gripped Augusta’s hand hard as she drained the agony from her. “Believe me. You were never at fault.”
Augusta broke their connection and fell back in her chair, a weak cry on her lips and tears on her cheeks. “I thought it was me. I thought I’d killed the child somehow…that I had done something…”
Still reeling from the onslaught of such distress, Hecate shook her head. “No my dear. You were wrong. And it is time for you to set such feelings aside. You have a life to live and now you have a greater wisdom at your command.”
Augusta cleared her throat and blew her nose. “You’re right.” She took a breath. “Hecate. What did you do? I feel as if someone lifted a cloud from my heart.” She turned and stared, her eyes wide.
“I did little other than help you release your emotions,” answered Hecate. “Some say I have a gift for such things.”
“I would be one of those, then,” responded Augusta. “For you have indeed changed something inside me. Cleared the shadows. I am…well, I am amazed.”
Hecate squeezed back. “You give me too much credit.”
Augusta shook her head. “I don’t, but we’ll let it rest there.” She let Hecate go, but stayed at her side, looking out at the leaves blowing across the drive.
They remained thus, silent, for many minutes, until finally Augusta spoke again.
“I’m not sure what to do now. I have my life back, but I am loth to return to London. There is nothing there for me anymore.”
Hecate glanced at her. “Do you have property, or a home anywhere other than London?” She touched Augusta’s arm. “Forgive my impertinence in asking such a personal question.”
“No, no, dear girl. Ask what you wish.” August smiled. “I believe I may have a small home somewhere near Southampton. I know a cousin had asked to live there a few years ago. I haven’t really thought about it since.”
“Perhaps it bears looking into,” answered Hecate. “But until then, you have a place here at Doireann Vale. In fact, it is a pleasure having your company, not to mention the countenance you lend us. With Finn now fully recovered, you are functioning as both friend and chaperon. A valuable task, you’ll agree.”
Augusta thought about that. “An interesting notion, and thank you again,” she smiled. “But I will indeed look into the property matter. I have an address of a lawyer in London; one who would be disposed to assist in that business.” Her smile grew. “There are a few old friends I can rely on. But not as many as I would wish.” She shrugged. “For now, that is enough. And I believe it is time for me to find Dal. I am teaching him to play piquet.”
Hecate’s eyebrows flew up at that pronouncement. “You are?”
“Yes indeed. And he’s very adept already. Quite the risk taker…”
Gulping down her shock, Hecate chuckled. “I confess myself astounded but also very pleased. You must go and continue to broaden his skills.”
Augusta’s step was light as she nodded and left the room, which made Hecate wonder at the unlikely duo of a notorious London Society beauty and an inscrutable and mystical Indian gentleman bending together over a game of piquet.
Winnie Trimmer poked her head around the door a few moments after Lady Augusta’s departure.
“‘Scuse me, Ma’am, but me mum’s ‘eard back from ‘er aunt ‘bout that Willows stuff. Do yer want ‘er ter come up ‘ere?”
“No, no. I shall come down to the kitchen directly.” Hecate’s thoughts skittered around in her head. “Let me find Finn. I want him to hear what she has to say.”
Winnie nodded. “‘E’s readin’ in t’study, Ma’am.”
And indeed he was. But he looked up immediately as Hecate opened the door.
“Is everything all right?” He stood, putting his book aside. “You look…excited about something.”
“Mrs. Trimmer has heard from her aunt.”
Fortunately, this obscure statement was crystal clear to Finn and he hurried over to her. “Thank goodness. I was starting to wonder if we’d ever have answers to our questions.” He took her hand without a second thought. “Come on. Let’s see what she has to say.”
Hecate allowed him to lead her from the room, realising that with him at her side, she had no need of her cane. It was as if his strength flowed through their linked fingers and into her body—definitely a pleasant thought.
*~~*~~*
The kitchen was warm and smelled of fresh baked bread and blackberry pie.
Finn’s mouth watered as he entered with Hecate, and he looked toward the pantry in case there might be something that required tasting.
Hecate tugged on his hand. “Not now, Finn. We’re here for news not food.”
“How did you…” he glanced at her then chuckled. “Oh, never mind.” She was who she was, and he had to adjust to it. There would be no getting away with much around her.
“Sit then, Miss Hecate,” said Mrs. Trimmer, pulling a letter from her apron pocket. “This ‘ere’s jes’ come from Aunty. Lemme read it to yer.”
She squinted and put the paper flat on the table as Hecate sat, Finn behind her.
“There’s stuff ‘bout family, but I’ll pass on that…’ere we are.” She took a breath. “Yer asked ‘bout Willows. I remembers ‘im, a’cos Mr. Declan ‘ad them eyes yer never fergit. Blue as the tropics, they used ter say. Nice lad ‘e was. ‘Is sister used ter visit some, Moira ‘er name was. Pretty as a picture and ‘ad those same eyes.”
Hecate’s breath caught in her throat. “My mother. Good God, my mother stayed here.”
“There be more, Ma’am, if’n yer ready?” Mrs. Trimmer looked at Hecate. “Yer all right then, are yer?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I think so. Please go on. Let’s hear all of it.”
“Righty then.” Mrs. Trimmer resumed her squint. “As ter Mary Willes, I be thinkin’ she were a lass wot took care of t’children. Stopped in an’ kept an’ eye on ‘em fer when the parents were off someplace. She used ter live over by Bridgeby, ‘ad a nice cottage by the inn, she did. Dunno if she’s still there…”
She folded the paper. “An’ that’s ‘bout it, Ma’am. All she ‘ad to say ‘bout them names yer give me…”
Hecate reached for Mrs. Trimmer’s hand, and shook it. “I can’t tell you how wonderful this news is, Mrs. Trimmer. To know that my mother lived here, or at least stayed here for a while…that is truly astounding and it means so much to me. Will you make sure to thank your Aunt when next you write?”
Mrs. Trimmer blushed a little. “Well, o’course, Ma’am, ‘appy to’ve been a ‘elp.”
“You have. Very much indeed.”
Finn helped her up. “We have a place to start now. Perhaps a trip to Bridgeby to see if Mary Willes is still living next to the Inn?”
“Could we?” Her eyes beseeched him, even if her words were more casual.
He grinned. “Of course. Right this minute if you wish.”
“I’ll get my cloak.”
Finn hurried out to the stables, glad that the new gig was ready for them. It took a scant few moments to get the horse into its harness, and he was tightening the last strap when Hecate appeared, walking carefully from the house with one hand on her cane and the other on her bonnet. “Goodness, I should have tied this more tightly.” She laughed as the wind buffeted the straw on her head.
“Here, let me.” He neared her, tilting her chin up and reaching for the ribbons beneath. “This could certainly be snugged up a bit,” he muttered, distracted by the sheen on her lips and fighting against looking into her eyes. A man could drown there if he wasn’t careful.
But inevitably his gaze met hers, just as he finished off the tightened knot in the ribbon.
“That should do it,” he said, his voice catching in his throat.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Ah, dammit Hecate,” he lost his personal battle. Sliding his hands either side of her face he tugged her forward, lowering his head to hers, breathing in that wondrous fragrance of flowers and woman.
The kiss was inevitable, wonderful and oh so dangerous.
His lips slid over hers and as soon as his tongue licked along their seam, she opened her mouth and welcomed him inside with a tiny moan that rocked his soul.
He scarcely realised he had her crushed against his body, or that her arms were free of her cloak and wrapped around his neck.
He devoured her, eating at her mouth, sucking her breath and knowing his body was responding as well, hardening instantly as the taste of her filled his senses.
She slithered and writhed in his embrace, rubbing against him, sighing into his mouth and duelling with his tongue, all things guaranteed to land them both naked in the straw behind the gig if he didn’t stop this now. This instant.
Maybe in just a few more moments…
The horse whinnied and shifted, rattling the tack and moving the gig a little.
“Whoa,” Finn wrenched his mouth from Hecate’s, panting a little and fighting to regain his composure.
“Whoa, indeed,” she mumbled, her lips swollen and deep pink from his bruising kisses.
“Did I hurt you?” He ran a fingertip over those lush folds.
“Of course not,” she said, a smile moving them beneath his touch. “You could never hurt me, Finn. Ever.”
For a second he leaned his forehead against hers. “I pray to God you’re right,” he whispered. Then he let her go. “Come on then. To Bridgeby and Mrs. Willes.”