Chapter 25
The alley where he’d spent the first years of his life was riddled with drunks passed out along the muddy cobblestones. Gin was the way most went to sleep and it didn’t matter, man, woman or child, they all clutched bottles to escape the realities of their day to day subsistence. The ground was a strange soup of detritus and he stood in one of the few dry spots he could find.
Over the years, he’d avoided coming back to this hellish place. Even when he’d still roamed the East End streets, picking pockets, conning men for coin, he’d not come here. Even when he’d risen to be a veritable king amidst the hells, this street? This street he’d avoided.
The pain of it. . .
It represented the worst moment of his life, a moment when he’d left behind the only good he’d known.
He stared up at the blackened brick building that had been his mother’s last home. The place where she’d taught him to read, to speak, to think. . . To be kind.
She’d risen so high. So very, very high. Once, she’d had a house in Knightsbridge, servants, beautiful clothes, all paid for by his father, the duke.
Then they’d fallen out.
It had all gone disastrously wrong from that point on.
Heavy with child, she’d been unable to quickly find another wealthy protector. She’d sold everything she owned and, day by day, she’d sunk deeper.
Fortune had turned its back on his mother as it had so many beautiful young women who had risen too high.
The legend of his mother had been spoken of by street girls all his life. They talked of her rise, as high and bright as a shooting star, and her fall. Her terrible fall.
He’d not been able to save her. But as he stood there, the feelings of agony he’d once drowned in ebbed. Meredith had shown him that disaster was not imminent. That pain was not a constant companion.
That a woman could love and be passionate. . . And with the right man, be happy. Hell did not wait around every corner.
Now, as he lingered in this place of agony, he felt. . . A touch of hope. As if he could feel his mother smiling down upon him. She’d approve of his marriage to Meredith. He knew that deep in his bones. It would make her happy that instead of causing pain he was alleviating it. No, not alleviating it. For it was happiness he was giving not only to Meredith, but to himself.
There was so much more between himself and Merry than he’d ever imagined possible. There was acceptance and understanding. She saw him and all that he had done. And yet, she’d still proclaimed her love for him. She’d still held him as if she could soothe away every pain he’d ever felt or at least be there for him while he tried to ride the tide of it. Somehow, she was becoming his anchor in a sea that could be both glorious and storm-swept.
At the thought, his spirits soared.
What better end to his mother’s tale of woe than her son at last finding love? And with such a remarkable and resilient woman?
As he stood in the shadows of his childhood, he wondered if he’d ever truly be able to escape it. How would he know if he didn’t try? If he didn’t give himself over to his wife and take a chance? And even if he never did truly escape, he needn’t condemn himself to it for all his days.
It would be the worst thing to never even try to bask in the sun.
For there was one thing he was not. A coward. And he longed to make his mother proud. And even more, he longed to feel the sun upon his face and upon his heart.
Vengeance was done. Pain was something he need no longer seek. Happiness was calling to him.
Somewhere, his mother was full of joy that her son was rising from the darkness of their lot in life.
Squaring his shoulders, John turned away from the building that had housed all his sorrows. The past was the past and it was time to choose love.
***
The Duke of Clyde had been correct.
Scotland was a place not only of impossible beauty, but it was also the perfect home for the Earl and Countess of Mooreland. Who would have thought it? In all her life, Meredith never would have thought that her tale would end as mistress of a castle in a nigh magical land.
Despite the fact that her uncle had, indeed, written a pamphlet recanting his accusations, despite the fact she was now a married noble, despite the fact that London was doing its best to bow and scrape and atone for their treatment of her (all citing the horrible misinformation provided to them), Meredith had decided that London wasn’t for her. And when one considered her new home, it seemed mad to give London any thought at all. It wasn’t due to her uncle’s unpleasant presence. Oh no. In rather extraordinary fashion, John, the Duke of Huntsdown, and the Duke of Clyde had all taken it upon themselves to make it plain that the very best place for her uncle was abroad. . . In a monastery. . With a vow of silence.
It had been quite a shock to the vicar that he would be spending the rest of his days in prayer surrounded by Papists. But the dukes and John had been quite determined. While he wasn’t allowed to become a priest, of course, the good monks would facilitate a life of prayer and religious devotion.
Apparently, John, Clyde, and Huntsdown had also ensured his cell would be quite comfortable and that he’d at least be allowed good walks in the garden. None of them had felt comfortable releasing him back into society where he might cause irreparable harm to Merry or any other innocent member of a future congregation.
So, from that particular standing, London was acceptable. There were many good people in it and she had made friends with the Duchess of Huntsdown. She and Harriet had several enjoyable outings together. Lady Andromeda, too, was a favorite. Though the lady had inferred she, too, would be leaving the land of the English for the land of her birth.
It could be argued that there was something to be said for museums, literary salons, and the opera. But there was also something to be said for cold sea air, shimmering lochs, jagged mountains and vistas that might make one believe heaven was on earth.
At first, she’d been determined to make her way in London for John. The city had always been his home.
But, in fact, it had been her London born husband who had insisted they decamp from the packed-in buildings laced with coal clouds. The past was the past, he’d said. What better way to begin than in the Highlands?
How right he was. A permanent smile had fixed itself upon her visage the moment they had returned.
Now, they spent their days repairing the castle and cultivating the homes of their many, many tenants.
John was a master of organization. She had little doubt that, within a year, their massive estate would be the best and most envied in all the Western Highlands.
She’d found her own peace in working with the villagers. Meredith helped to rebuild the crofters’ school. She reached out to the young women in the area so that they might be trained for more than a life of drudgery.
It had struck her how important it was to have skills. It didn’t bear imagining what would have happened if she’d had to remain reliant upon her uncle. If she had been truly cast out, what could she have done? Very little. Very little, indeed.
No, women should have more recourse than that.
“Darling,” John called, stretching out his hand.
She jumped down the small ravine, her feet easily finding solid holds, before she grabbed on to him. To her pride, she’d become as agile as a mountain sheep.
The rushing brook at the bottom of the rough earth danced down the hillside. John swung her over it easily.
Come rain or shine, they walked together daily. Sometimes, they needed no words. Sometimes, when the sun was out they made love in the heather. And sometimes, they simply held each other’s hands, knowing that they’d finally found contentment with each other.
It had taken weeks. Even after she’d confessed her love, John had not easily fallen into step.
He’d tried though. Oh, how he’d tried.
From stealing her away to Scotland, to making love to her morning, noon and night, and asking her about her deepest fears and deepest desires, he had only proven what she had always known.
John was the best of men.
And it had all led to this moment. Excitement raced through her as she took his hand again.
“I have something to say,” she began.
John arched a brow. “You always do. And I’m always delighted to hear it. Will the village project need more funds? Have you thought of a new possibility for the education of—”
“We are to have a child,” she announced brightly.
John gaped. His grip tightened on hers and then he smiled. He smiled so brightly that the sun could never possibly compete in its hue.
“You’re pleased?” she asked.
“I’m terrified,” he announced. But then he gently swept her against him and kissed her. Kissed her with the utmost tenderness and care. That kiss was a promise. A promise of all the good to come.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For not giving up on me. For seeing me.”
Leaning against him, she teased, “Dear man, it is a good thing that I am determined.”
He laughed, loud and long. “Indeed. And I love you for it.”
Tears stung her eyes. “You. . .”
“I love you,” he repeated, his voice rough with emotion. “I love you. With my heart, with my head, with my body. You have given me back my life and now you give me something to hope in. Something bigger than myself.”
“A child?” she asked, tears of joy filling her eyes.
He brushed a tear from her cheek. “No.”
“What then?” she asked.
He cupped her face in his palms. “A family, Meredith. A family.”
“I love you, John Forthryte.”
“I love you, Meredith Trent.”
And as he took her hand and led her through the heather, she knew that this moment of joy was only one amidst what would soon be a lifetime’s worth of bliss.