Chapter Fourteen
Ewan sat back, watching as Charlotte and her mother sprinkled oil and wine on the massive yule log that had been brought into the house under great fanfare just after Christmas Eve supper had ended. As the two women leaned in at once, they knocked heads, to the uproarious laughter of the rest of the group.
“Oh, we are not good choices for this job!” Charlotte giggled as she shot Ewan a look and rubbed her head. “Gracious, Ewan, children could do better.”
“So long as you two don’t manage the lighting and burn the house down, I think we are fine,” Baldwin teased as he ladled another cup of Christmas punch into his glass. “But perhaps give Matthew and Aunt Mary the salt to finish the garnishing.”
The Duchess of Sheffield nodded and wrapped her arm around her daughter as the two of them made their way back to Baldwin, giggling and whispering with every step. Ewan’s heart swelled at the sight of Charlotte so happy, so carefree. He hadn’t been certain it would be like that after their trip to the village and the tense and passionate ride home.
But in the hours since, she had placed no pressure upon him. She’d left him to his friends until supper, where she’d participated in conversation and even translated so he did not have to bring out his notebook during the meal. And now she caught Baldwin’s hands and tried to encourage him to dance as their mother began to play a lively tune as the yule log preparations were finished by Ewan’s aunt and cousin.
No, she said and did nothing to make her case…except be exactly who she was. Except make him smile and free his heart from the chains he’d felt bind it all his life. All she did was draw him in with her playful, light spirit that made everything seem…perfect.
She had made her last stand in the carriage. He understood that now. She had reiterated what she wanted, and now the future was left to him. A future he had told himself for years that he could not have. And yet as she spun, making even serious Baldwin laugh at her merriment, he wanted that future more than anything in this world.
More to the point, he felt he deserved it, perhaps for the first time ever. Charlotte was an impeccable judge of character, so she would never offer her heart to a man unworthy of it.
He sighed as Aunt Mary and Matthew finished salting the yule log. They stepped back and his aunt motioned for him.
“I think we’ve seasoned it enough. Your Grace, will you do us the honor of lighting our way?”
Ewan nodded and stepped forward. He moved to light the log, but before he could, Aunt Mary touched his arm. The Duchess of Sheffield stopped playing and Charlotte and Baldwin moved toward the family.
“My love, despite holding your title for three long years, this is your first Christmas in this home, and I have one gift for you tonight.” She picked up a small, prettily stitched bag from a nearby table, and from it she withdrew three shards of burned wood.
“What is it?” Ewan signed, and Charlotte stepped even closer to translate his words for the rest.
Sudden tears filled Aunt Mary’s eyes. “Tradition says that we light the yule log with the remnants of the previous year’s offering. But these are not from last year’s lighting.” She took a ragged breath. “These are from your uncle’s final Christmas.”
Ewan stared at the three little scraps of wood and then up to her face. He didn’t sign nor write anything. It seemed he didn’t have to.
Mary touched his arm. “He was so ill then, I knew we had so very little time left. So I saved shards for yours and for Matthew’s fire, as well. If he ever…” She cast an apologetic look toward her son. “If you ever feel ready to wed, my love, you and your bride can start your holiday with these, as well. Or whenever you would like them.”
Matthew moved forward. To Ewan’s surprise, his cousin’s eyes were misted with tears. He slung an arm around Ewan, and together they reached out to touch those remnants, little pieces of the life they had lost and all still mourned.
Ewan nodded and took the pieces. He signed, “Thank you. Thank you.”
Charlotte sucked in a breath, her voice thick with tears. “He says—”
“I know what he says, dearest,” Mary said as she lifted to her tiptoes to buss Ewan’s cheek. “I know.”
He returned the kiss, then stepped forward with the shards in hands. Carefully, he used them to light the yule log. Everyone watched as the flames took hold, and suddenly the log flared forth, brightening and warming the room almost instantly. As the rest of them oohed and ahhed, Ewan glanced at Charlotte once more. She was wiping her eyes, smiling and weeping at once. Her face reflected all he felt inside. In this height of emotion, he felt a draw to her. A need to reach for her hand.
And it was rising with every moment. He squeezed Matthew’s shoulder and his aunt’s hand, then held up a finger to say he needed a moment. He slipped from the room, feeling their eyes upon him. Knowing he should explain. That what he was doing was abominably rude. Not caring in that moment. Not able to care because his emotions were bubbling and there would come a moment when he would be unable to hide them.
He pushed through the halls, blind to everything around him and into his study. He shut the door behind him as he moved to his desk. There he leaned, trying to catch his breath, trying to regain control over himself.
There was a light knock behind him and he turned, ready to see Charlotte standing there. Ready for her to push him over the precipice he was so delicately balanced on now.
But it wasn’t her. It was his aunt. She met his eyes, and in her soft gaze he saw every time she had tended his wounds, physical or something deeper. He saw every time she had spoken kindly to him, or helped him communicate when he was frustrated by his inability to do what came so naturally to everyone else. She was his mother, really—far more than the one who had born him and abandoned him when her husband gave the order.
She shut the door behind herself and motioned him to the fire. He hesitated, then trudged over to join her there. As he settled into his place, she took his hand. “Did I go too far?” she asked. “With the yule log?”
He shook his head swiftly and dug into his pocket. He scribbled, “No! That was the most meaningful gift you could have ever given me. I will always know that this house’s yule log is watched over by my uncle. Thank you so very much.”
She sighed, almost in relief, and then her hawkish gaze speared him again. “Very well, then it is not the high emotion of the gift.”
“It?” he wrote, though he knew full well to what she referred.
She speared him with a glance he knew far too well. The look she’d given him if she suspected him of lying and was ready to demand the truth. He’d seen it a dozen times as a boy and he’d never been very good at keeping things from her. But in this case, the truth was more complicated.
“Ever since we arrived this morning, you have been on edge,” she said. “I know you, my darling. I can see that you are troubled. I can guess why, but I think it would be better if you told me.”
He let out his breath gently. Aunt Mary was a force of nature, undeniable when she struck on a subject she intended to pursue. There was no use even trying to refuse her the truth now. In the end, she would get it.
He wrote, “Charlotte.”
She was silent a long moment, and then she nodded. “I have always known how you held her in your heart. When she married, I watched you shrink a little. I wondered why you let her go then.”
He shrugged and wrote, “The same reason why I know I must let her go now.”
Aunt Mary’s lips pursed. “And why is that?” He tilted his head and motioned to his throat. Her eyes narrowed. “Your mutism?”
He nodded.
“That is utterly ridiculous, Ewan, and you know it,” she snapped. “I’ve known Charlotte as long as you have and she, above all others, has never shown any indication that your issue is a problem for her.”
“It isn’t,” he scribbled. “If we could live in a bubble in this house, as we have for the past few days, there would be no issue. But we can’t, can we? I couldn’t do that to her, the social butterfly. She would have to endure exactly what you and Uncle Aldous and Matthew have all these years.”
She read his words and looked at him in confusion. “And what exactly do you think we’ve endured?”
“The whispers,” he scribbled, his normally neat handwriting now jerky with emotion and hard to decipher. “The censure. The questions about my fitness. The battles to have me granted any acceptance whatsoever. Charlotte would face the same.”
“You think that is what we endured?” his aunt whispered. “Dear God, Ewan, we were happy to have you. If your uncle or your cousin or I fought battles on your behalf, that was a pleasure. That was done out of nothing but love for you. You know that in your heart.” She grabbed for his hands and held his stare. “What is it really that keeps you from taking the life that you could have with Charlotte?”
Emotion swelled in him like it had when he saw the shards of his uncle’s last yule log. He withdrew his hands from hers and wrote the words he’d signed to Charlotte. He wrote his deepest fear in black and white and shoved it over to her as he got up and paced away.
“‘I’m afraid I’ll pass this to my children,’” she read out loud, and her voice cracked.
He moved to the window, staring out into the inky blackness of the night. Once again, he was haunted by visions of children dancing out in the cold. Charlotte’s hair, his eyes, Charlotte’s smile, his…silence. And he knew the pain those children would endure.
“Your father was my brother,” his aunt said, rising to stand beside him and look out at those ghost children with him. “There had never been another person in our family with your affliction, Ewan. And even since, there have been none. You have two younger brothers who can speak. Matthew was born after you and he can speak. There is nothing in the world that promises any child you had would be untouched by illness or disease or deformity. If we all cut off our future to avoid bearing children who would suffer, the world’s population would cease to grow and humanity would end.”
He slid the notepad from her fingers and wrote, “I couldn’t watch them endure what I did.”
She nodded. “I can understand that desire to protect the children in your head. But there is no way your children, whether they could speak or not, would ever endure what you did. Because you would be their father. My brother was a miserable lout from the time he was…eight years old!” She threw up her hands. “Look at the way he raised your so-called perfect brothers. He was cruel to them, everyone knows it.”
Ewan drew in a breath. That was true, of course. Even before he was sent away, he’d seen his father speak harshly to his brothers. He’d heard about their treatment after he was gone, too.
“You are not that man,” she continued. “Whether your children could speak or not speak, you would love them. And Charlotte is most definitely not that wretched woman who calls herself your mother. She is a kind and golden soul, the kind of person who would invent a wildly complicated language just because she wanted to be able to tell you that she loves you.”
He turned his face. “That wasn’t why she did it,” he wrote.
“Of course it is,” Mary said softly. “Of course it is. From the day they were born, your children would be accepted and nurtured not just by you, but by your wife and her family, your aunt, your cousin and a large circle of incredibly powerful friends. His or her life would be markedly different than yours was, especially in those formative years before your uncle and I took you.”
He bent his head. His aunt was giving him more open doors, more pathways to Charlotte. More hope that felt so beautiful and so dangerous all at once.
“I don’t know,” he wrote.
“You don’t have to know today,” she reassured him. “You can think about it, can’t you? And I think you should, for what you are considering isn’t something that should be gone into lightly. But let me say one more thing and then I will encourage you to return to the others and alleviate your mood with Christmas tidings.”
He nodded and motioned for her to continue.
“Your uncle Aldous fought with every fiber in his being, with almost his last breath, to guarantee that you would have the future you deserved.” Mary’s eyes lit with tears. “It would be a terrible shame if you threw away that future out of some misguided attempt to protect a woman who is strong enough to make her own decisions and children you haven’t even met yet.”
He bent his head as her words sank into his skin and his soul. They shamed him, but they also buoyed him. They left him with a great deal to think about.
“Now, come,” she said. “The yule log is lit and that means a bright fire to dance shadow puppets along the wall. I know it used to be your favorite family tradition.”
He nodded, for she was correct, and linked his arm through hers. But as they left his study and headed back to the warmth of his parlor and the company within, Ewan’s mind spun. Soon there would be no choice but to make a decision that would change his life, whether he backed away from Charlotte forever…or opened his arms to her, and his heart to the life he both feared and longed for.
Charlotte shivered in the frigid night air. Around her a few snowflakes swirled, and she couldn’t help but dart her tongue out to catch one. Normally such playfulness would make her smile, but tonight she just…couldn’t.
She’d wanted to go after Ewan when he left the room after the lighting of the yule log. His deep emotion had been obvious to all. But it was Aunt Mary who had left after him. Her place, not Charlotte’s.
She sighed and suddenly felt her wrap being draped around her shoulders. She turned and gasped in surprise when she found Matthew standing behind her.
“Your mother wished to bring it out to you, but I asked to do so instead,” he said as he came up to the edge of the wall and looked out over the estate with her. “I think you and I need to talk.”
She leaned against the terrace edge. “What is there to talk about?”
He arched a brow at her. “Him.”
“Him,” she repeated with a laugh. “I would feign innocence, but that will only draw this out, won’t it?”
“Yes,” he said. “And it’s cold and we’re old friends. We might as well just be honest with each other.”
She smiled at the handsome man before her. A man with loss in his stare. A loss she didn’t understand, even though her own husband was dead. That was different than what Matthew had endured all those years ago.
“No one could be less than honest with you, Matthew,” she said. “So the subject is him. What is the question?”
“How far have things gone between you while you were alone in this house?” he asked softly.
Heat flooded Charlotte’s cheeks, and she glanced behind her at the parlor where her mother and brother sat talking. They couldn’t hear them, of course. But that didn’t make the subject any less personal or embarrassing.
“As a lady I think I shouldn’t—”
“Friends, remember?” Matthew interrupted. “And I doubt you have anyone else you can talk to about this. So why don’t we forget the missishness and you just be honest. How far?”
“I had myself convinced that if I…” She trailed off, her cheeks fully on fire now. “That if I seduced him, I could make him see how right we could be.”
He shifted, discomfort crossing his face. “And did that work?”
“A little,” she sighed. “But he is filled with fear about all the what-ifs of the future. Like somehow if he could speak there wouldn’t ever be trouble or uncertainty or loss or grief or pain.”
“That certainly isn’t true,” Matthew said, his voice suddenly rough.
“No, you know that better than anyone.” She reached out and squeezed his arm gently.
She released him and they both faced the garden again, lost in thought and memory and pain together. Then she cleared her throat and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “May I ask you something?”
He nodded without looking at her. “Certainly. It’s only fair considering how I just dug into your life in such a forward way.”
She ducked her head. “He told me…he told me that your father was sometimes…embarrassed about his mutism.”
Matthew spun on her, his mouth open in shock and his eyes wide. “He told you what?”
She shrugged. “It is what he believes. I wanted to know if it was true.”
Matthew shook his head. “Of course it’s not true. How could he think that? My father—our father, for in truth he was more Ewan’s father than his own—he loved Ewan. I never heard even a whisper that he was embarrassed by Ewan’s inability to speak. Angry that others treated him differently, yes. Frustrated that he couldn’t make things easier for Ewan, of course. But embarrassed? Never. Never once.”
She sighed. “That is what I thought. I even told him the same. But in the end, that is our problem.”
“That he thinks my father didn’t wholly support him?” Matthew snapped as he moved toward the house. “Well, I can disabuse him of that notion right now.”
“No.” Charlotte caught his arm and kept him where he stood. “Not that. My problem is that Ewan believes such a thing could be true. That even if someone professes their love and acceptance, there is a small part of them waiting to be humiliated. Waiting to turn against him.”
Matthew deflated as her words sank in. “Have you told him you love him?”
She flinched. Of course she’d known that her feelings were obvious to some. But to hear Matthew state them so casually made her cheeks burn even hotter than they had when he asked about her physical relationship with Ewan.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I tried once before I married. He wouldn’t let me. And I’ve told him now, as well. There is nothing else I can do. When I go back to London, I’ll reenter the marriage mart. I must. So if Ewan does not wish to have a future with me, then all he must do is wait and at some point the potential for our future will vanish on its own.”
Matthew turned toward her. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. The circumstances are very different, but the pain is real. If I could shake some sense into him, I would.”
“But you can’t,” she said. “Now it is up to him, isn’t it? To love or not to love. That is the question.”
“And a question he must answer on his own.” Matthew sighed and glanced over his shoulder. “It looks like my mother has coaxed him back to the fold.”
Charlotte faced the parlor windows and caught her breath. Aunt Mary and Ewan were back, and he and Baldwin had begun to shift the parlor furniture so they could display their shadow animals on the wall across from the bright yule log.
Life, it seemed, would go on. Aching heart or not.
“We should go in then,” she said.
Matthew nodded and motioned for her to lead the way. “Charlotte,” he said as she grasped the handle to the door to return to the others.
She faced him. “Yes?”
“He’s a fool if he lets you go.”
“Thank you, Matthew.”
Then she went back inside, a false smile plastered on her face and her heart heavy as lead.