Dare To Love (32 page)

The long ride to Yorkshire was serviceable
for Thomas. He not only experienced the beautiful countryside on
the way towards Kettlewell, he was also able to mend his broken
spirit. The past few months were tedious to say the least, arriving
to this point was nerve-wracking and getting over her was slow. The
one he loved…loved someone else and he just couldn’t bear the
separation. All he craved for was an answer, just to hear her
explain her selection. Their close history warranted an
explanation. This time was a catastrophe of emotions because she
was alive and she discarded him willingly. She played her part
perfectly, showing him interest, loving him through the night only
to take some other path and live with another man? What did he
contain that Thomas lacked? Was she not impressed by the success of
her father’s company or the wealth he managed to maintain? She
would rather live in squalor with her livestock breeder, than be by
his side in riches and comfort?

Thomas threw himself into work, trying to
erase those images of her and him inside his head and occasionally
it would ease, most of the time, it would not. Nighttime was the
worst and closing his eyes was sheer torture. Rolling up into a
ball, clinging to his pillows, his blankets, wishing she were there
lying beside him. He would wake up listless, tired, sickened by the
sun bringing on a new day, and then eventually, ending his
monotonous evenings.

One eventide, Thomas was so distraught, the
breaking point to a juncture of no return when Constance found him
on his hands and knees in his bedroom, dripping wet and sobbing. He
had purposefully sat outside in the storm and tried to get himself
sick. He was shivering and drenched and Constance aided him to his
bed.

“She…she does not want me,” he cried, “Why
doesn’t she want me?”

Constance pulled off his saturated coat,
cravat and boots. Picking up his legs, she tucked him under the
heated blankets. “Shush now…no more nonsense, let’s get you warm,”
she said sympathetically, rubbing his cold hands and wiping off the
dankness from around his forehead and face. “Now, just hold onto
me, I am going to use my body to get you warm.”

Thomas closed his eyes and experienced
instant comfort from within her motherly embrace. She showed him
love and compassion, and his heart cried out for even more. He had
to speak to someone and his housekeeper’s presence served her
purpose well. “I do not want live without her. Just let me
die…leave me be…let me just end it.”

Constance tsked at him, “Shush now…you are
sputtering nonsense. Now, Your Grace—Thomas now, I have known you
since you were a born and I have never seen you in so much
torment.”

Thomas laid his head on her bosom and
continued to cry, “But I do not understand it, she was mine…she was
always mine, she came back into my life for a reason, only this
time, she does not want me?”

“Shush now, you are still shivering, now try
and calm down, let me tell you a story,” she voiced tenderly,
running her fingers through his dampened hair. “I once knew a
girl…my best friend in fact, worked with her for many, many years.
I watched her cry in her room as you are doing now. For years, she
was in love with the lord of the manor and every time he would go
out for the evening, she would run to her room and bawl. He was a
disreputable rogue and occasionally dallied with her fondness. I
wasn’t surprised when she fled to the country to give birth to his
son. The lord was so troubled when he found out that she had
abandoned his estate, he could not eat, and he definitely could not
sleep and finally chased after her. As soon as she saw him at her
door she expressed her devotion, and wouldn’t you know it, the lord
returned her affections and Millicent was married the following
day.”

“My mother,” Thomas voiced quietly. “…And
father.”

“Yes son, your mother and father. They loved
you so. You were their baby; your mother’s sweet little boy and she
showered you with affection. You remind me so much of her and I
promised her I would look after you when she was away, and that’s
just what I am going to do. You mustn’t give up hope, Thomas. There
is a greater reason behind all this anguish.”

“But my hands are tied, Constance…there is
nothing more that I can do. This time she did not choose me.”

Constance continued massaging his shoulders.
“I believe in my heart Thomas, that she is still yours. No one, not
even Satan himself would ever make me believe otherwise. That girl
loves you. You were created just for her, and vice versa. She was
always next to you, even when you were toddlers. Why, I remember
when she used to make sure to push everyone aside, her brother and
yours, just to make room for you at family picnics. She was always
making sure you were right beside her. Why, I don’t think Gwendolyn
felt comfortable without you in the room.”

She is right, he realized. Thomas leaned up
and stopped crying. He instantly recalled his own mother saying
nearly the same thing to him. “If she was so attentive back when,
then why is she so evasive now? Why did she marry that farmer?”

“That I do not know, but you can ask her,”
she remarked simply. “I know it is highly inappropriate for you to
be seen together with your former wife, but I say buck convention.
You were invited to your daughter’s birthday celebration and I
think that’s a wonderful opportunity for you to shed some light on
your doubt. You two have always been friends, and links you shall
remain.”

“Mary,” he conveyed, “…Yes, we still have
that connection.”

“Be strong Thomas, you have to be convincing
in your happiness for her. I am sure she will explain her choice if
you ask her.”

“Yes, you are absolutely right. She would…I
know she would.”

“See now, you are chills have ceased. Now,
let’s get you some more blankets and I will go warm up some tea and
broth for you to eat.”

Thomas watched her walk around the bed before
saying, “You are a good friend, Constance…and…and, I love you.”

Constance bit down on her lower lip and
fought back her tears. “Oh I know, child…I know.”

After stopping at a nearby watering hole to
soak his horses, Thomas had asked for the location of the McMillen
farm. Some of the villagers knew exactly what he was looking for;
most of them had not. When one villager spoke up unannounced, she
offered Thomas information he did not quite count on.

“Gwendolyn does not reside at the McMillen
farm,” the woman spoke with evident assurance. “They live at
Crestwood Square, in the Drummond cottage, up the hill…keep
following the path, and you’ll see it, atop the bluff.”

Thomas thanked the woman and handed her a
shilling. She was so elated by his gesture, she nearly fainted.

I have to be convincing in my happiness for
her, Thomas thought while winding along the dirt path towards
Gwendolyn’s home. This was Gwendolyn’s choice. The only role he
would play in her life from now on would be the sketch of father.
It would be a routine he was willing to perform in order to stay
involved in his daughter’s life. His daughter, his
seedling…unexpected to be known as someone’s parent. He was so
careful in the past not to father any children out of wedlock, he
never wanted offspring by any other woman, but with Gwendolyn, he
wanted several. On that night he made love to her he tried to get
her pregnant. Oh, he knew it was self-seeking, knew it was
manipulative, but he did not care. Staying inside her longer than
need be, he wanted her without end. All that concerned him was that
Gwendolyn was his, under his charge, heavy with child once more.
She would have no option, no decision to make; her fate would be
mapped out for her. She would have to remain his wife, stay with
him indefinitely. However, his undertaking failed; there would be
no second chance. With Constance’s reminder, there was opportunity
now where there once was none, through their daughter. He could
remain on pleasant terms with Gwendolyn in order to see his child.
He was determined to know his descendant. Mary was not
illegitimate; therefore, she did not deserve to be swept under the
rug like most of the bastard children of England and Mary would
grow up with dignity and purpose, pride and his future legal heir;
her children would secure his title and he would never deny her
that.

As soon as he arrived at Gwendolyn’s home,
his heart began to thump. Outside, across the lawn, children were
laughing, jumping and playing. There were chairs and blankets
sprawled out over the grasses, tables with food, pastries and
drink. He eyed Phyllis first; who had been serving biscuits at the
buffet.

“How are you Miss Tallymen?” Thomas asked
arriving on foot around the many guests.

“Oh Your Grace, I am so very glad you decided
to attend,” Phyllis gushed, grabbing the back of her husband’s
shirt. “But I am no longer Miss Tallymen; it is Mrs. Archwald…Mrs.
Stewart Archwald.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,”
Stewart said, with a courtly bow.

“Father! Father! You came! You came!” Mary
screamed, running towards him and jumping into his arms.

“I promised you I would come, love…and I
never break a pledge,” Thomas said, receiving his daughter’s
welcoming hug.

“These are my friends,” Mary exclaimed, “And
this is my Father!” She hollered excitedly.

“Nice to meet you all,” Thomas freely smiled,
bowing to all the youngsters.

“Father, this is my best friend, Marcus,”
Mary gushed, yanking the boy’s shirt from within the circle.

Thomas was nearly knocked down with shock. A
boy? Her best friend was…a lad? “Nice to meet you, Marcus.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir,” Marcus
claimed, bowing as well.

Thomas then nodded to all her many friends
staring up at him. “Where is Whinny?” He asked, gazing around
him.

“He is over there,” Mary stated, pointing at
the corral. “Why?”

“Because I have a present for him.”

“A present? Why, it’s my birthday.”

“Yes, I know, it is your present too.”

Thomas whistled and Cherish comes trotting
over next to him. She is a magnificent buff Arabian and by her side
is a tiny foal. Black mane and tail, the filly is the spitting
image of its dam. “It is a girl…and she is yours.”

Mary’s eyes flew open wide and all the other
children gasped in awe. Mary runs towards the colt and grabs its
neck pulling it into her for a hug. “Oh she is beautiful Father,
thank you, thank you so very much,” Mary spurted, “I cannot wait to
show mother.”

Thomas ran his fingers nervously through his
hair, “By the way, where is your mother?”

Mary does not bother to look at him and
continued to gush at the foal. “She went back to the cottage.”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE

Gwendolyn was in the kitchen putting the last
of the frosting onto the birthday cake. Alone, and talking to
herself, she went to wipe the bottom of the wax paper and stuck a
finger of frosting into her mouth. “Oh darling…mother made you a
wonderful cake,” she voiced, gently picking up the block and
placing it onto a tray to take outside.

In the corner of the kitchen, Nathaniel
started to whine and Gwendolyn turned around to get him. “My—my,
what big lungs you have deary…mother is coming…mother is coming.”
She bent over the baby’s cradle and picked up her son. Within
hearing his mother’s comforting voice, the baby started to wail
even louder. Calming down her son, cuddling his head and tiny body
to her breast, Gwendolyn stood quietly shushing the baby and spun
around to gape into questioning green eyes.

Thomas leaned over and took a peek at the
bundle of joy. “Boy or girl?”

Gwendolyn could not breathe…she couldn’t even
speak; seeing Thomas authentically dashing, hurled her heart to the
pit of her stomach. “Boy,” she exhaled, peeping down at the
baby.

“Congratulations,” he gave to her
dismally.

Cradling the baby within her arms, Gwendolyn
tried to regain composure. “Th—thank you.”

“Nice home,” he said despondent, putting down
his hat and eyeing the décor. He walked around the open area; it
was a woman’s touch with feminine furnishings, where were her
husband’s possessions? He then closed his eyes. You have to be
convincing in your happiness for her. If this was going to work,
you have to display your acceptance of her choice. Only Thomas’
heartrending stare almost gave his heartbreak away. He stood there
like an idiot, gaping at her with that farmer’s baby in her arms. A
child—he wished to God—was his. She looked beautiful, absolutely
glowing and he wanted so much to hold her in his arms. But he knew
he could not and therefore would not. It was not right; this whole
situation was off the mark. His words were stuck inside his throat,
everything he was feeling displayed by way of his pitiful worship
of her. His heart pounded fierce, he wanted to ask her how, when
and why, but the only words that seemed to form on his lips were,
“…H—How are you”

Gwendolyn soaked in his sadness, he was
miserable; she could tell the moment he gave her his best wishes.
It was how he said it—it was in his tone. She could always tell
when there was something wrong with him and he looked as if he were
about to cry! She wanted to console his despair, wrap her arms
around his shoulders and hug him near to her heart. What was wrong
with him? What on earth happened? “We are doing well…we are all
doing well.”