By the time Thomas had escorted Ruth Dawson the short distance to the inn, he was feeling the very thing he’d been longing to feel ever since his return: purpose and meaning. Perhaps it was simply being able to help this woman and her child in a way that would spare them both from a life of misery. He told himself that’s all it was, while at the same time he felt so keenly aware of her that he had to focus on his breathing enough to remember to exhale.
As they approached the door to the inn, she stopped walking and put a hand over her mouth.
“Are you ill?” he asked, having heard that pregnancy could affect a woman adversely in many ways.
“Truthfully . . . I just need a little something to eat. They serve meals here, do they not?”
“They do, but . . . I thought they’d given you a good supper at the manor.”
“Oh, they did,” she said. “Thank you. I just . . . perhaps if I could just get some bread to take to my room, I’ll be fine. There’s no need for concern.” She moved toward the door and away from him as if to imply that he’d done his duty in escorting her safely to her destination, but he opened the door and followed her in, which seemed to surprise her. He insisted that she sit down at one of the tables across the room from the few remaining customers. He arranged for her room and asked that some bread and cheese and milk be brought for the lady. He sat down across the table from her, which also seemed to surprise her, but when she looked at him he saw that hint of terror again. Whoever it was that he strongly resembled was not someone she liked; of that he was certain.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked in little more than a whisper before she glanced around the room as if someone might be watching. “Aren’t you afraid that someone will see you, that scandal will come from this?”
“I have never cared what people think of me, Miss Dawson.”
“But . . . surely . . . you don’t want to be seen at an inn with . . . a woman like me.”
“Like you?” he countered, perhaps wanting to test her true feelings on such matters.
“You can’t be so naive, Mr. Fitzbatten. It only takes a glance to see from the way I’m dressed that I do not belong in the company of a gentleman. You have been so kind. I don’t want to cause further trouble for you. I assure you that I will be fine.”
“Your manner of speaking is rather refined for a woman like you,” he finished with light sarcasm.
“The lady I’ve been working for helped me with that so that I could get better positions.”
“And you left that job?”
“I had no choice.”
“Did this lady who employed you not care enough about you to help?”
“She would have thrown me out. At least leaving on my own allowed me to leave with some dignity.”
“And do you think that I would be like her? Like the people you worked for? Just because of my wealth? My name?” She said nothing, and he couldn’t help sounding mildly snide. “You can’t answer that because you would have to admit that you have assumed all people of my class are arrogant and selfish. Truthfully, I didn’t notice how you’re dressed, because I was looking at you. And again . . . I don’t care what anyone thinks, or what they say. It is your reputation and your safety that concern me. I will leave when I know that you are well and have all that you need. That’s what a gentleman does. It has nothing to do with social class.” She looked mildly stunned, and he couldn’t resist adding, “I can’t help wondering which social class begat the man who treated you so cruelly.”
“Does it matter?” she asked with shame in her eyes.
“Not to me, it doesn’t. Any man who treats any woman with such disrespect should be held responsible. And yet he walks away and you are left to suffer the consequences.”
He saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes before she looked down abruptly to hide them.
“Forgive me if I’m being insensitive,” he said.
“What makes you think you’re being insensitive?” she asked with no hint of defensiveness, but she still wouldn’t look at him.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he admitted.
“You weren’t insensitive,” she stated firmly, and he decided he liked her straightforward manner. “I just hate to think of my child being a distasteful consequence. It’s a child . . . a human being. And however ill-begotten it might be, it deserves a good chance at life.”
“I agree,” he said, and she met his eyes briefly, then looked down again.
“And thanks to you it will have that.”
Thomas tried to think of an appropriate comment, but he couldn’t. He was thinking of the sacrifice she would be making to give her child a chance at a good life. What little money he was giving to aid her cause was nothing compared to what a woman must experience in giving up a child. He’d never thought too deeply on the matter before, but he was thinking of it now. Looking at this dear, sweet young woman, it was tempting to let his heart break on her behalf. She seemed to represent the very feelings he’d been struggling with. His anger and confusion over the injustices of the world. His inability to do anything about them. This opportunity to help her made him feel better about himself than he’d felt in a very long time, but it still felt so tiny and minuscule, so insignificant in contrast to what she yet had to face.
A serving maid set the food Thomas had ordered on the table, and Ruth looked pleasantly surprised. “A little bread would have sufficed.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “I’m certain you have plenty to be concerned about without having to feel ill. If a little food will remedy that, so be it. I recommend taking what you don’t eat now to your room so that you’ll have something should you need it before breakfast is served.”
“Your thoughtfulness is . . .”
“What?” he asked, not certain if her hesitation was due to chewing the bread she’d just taken a bite of.
After she had chewed and swallowed she said, “Surprising.”
“And what if I told you it was for purely selfish reasons?”
“What do you mean?” she asked with alarm, as if she feared he might expect something unsavory in return. After what she’d been through, he couldn’t blame her.
“I mean that I’ve been . . . rather out of sorts since I’ve returned from the war. I have felt terribly useless. Doing this for you is the first thing I’ve done in a very long while that has actually seemed truly worthwhile. But in truth, all I’m giving up is a little money I won’t miss; therefore, it’s certainly no personal sacrifice.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and from the glow of the lamp on the table, he believed them to be a dark hazel. Average in color, perhaps. But not at all in their expressiveness. “You are not just giving of your money, sir. You have personally escorted me here, provided me with a room for the night and food to eat, and you are sitting here with me for reasons I cannot begin to understand. I’m certain you could be having a far better time down the road at the pub . . . doing whatever it is men do at pubs.”
“I think I far prefer the company here as opposed to a bunch of men drinking too much and laughing uproariously at ridiculous jokes. And yes, that would be a fair description of what men generally do at pubs.”
“You are a rare breed, Mr. Fitzbatten,” she said and continued to eat while she seemed to be assessing him—or perhaps assessing him again now that they’d actually shared some honest conversation.
“Am I?” he asked. “If by that you mean I’m different than most of the people of my class, I will take it as the highest compliment. I am very blessed to have wealth and privilege, but I do consider it a blessing. Beyond that I rather loathe the society I am supposed to fit into. I far prefer associating with . . . real people; people like your uncle. Hardworking, honest people who have no reason to put on airs and snub their noses at others.”
Ruth nodded with her mouth full. The silence provoked him to say, “Forgive me for my vehemence. I’m likely talking far too much.”
“Not at all,” she said and kept eating. He was rather amazed at how much a woman so small could eat, especially since she’d had a large supper not so many hours ago. But he supposed that must be the way of pregnancy. “I’m enjoying your company,” she said. “May I say that I didn’t expect to?”
“You may say anything you like.”
“Then I will also say that this is the first time I haven’t felt completely alone for weeks now. I don’t know why you’re so easy to talk to, but you are.”
Thomas felt taken aback all over again. The sensations he’d felt earlier in the carriage rushed over him again as she admitted to sharing his own feelings of being completely alone. She wasn’t talking about the absence of any people around her; it was rather the feeling of being unable to speak openly of emotions, a dilemma that left a person standing in a crowded room and feeling completely isolated. He wanted to explain all of that verbally but reminded himself they had only known each other for about an hour—even if it didn’t feel that way.
Instead he asked, “How long has it been?”
“About a month now,” she said, shame clouding her countenance again, “since I realized I was pregnant. And that was the same week he unexpectedly left his job at the same manor where I was working . . . with rumors about his reason for leaving being another woman.”
“I’m so very sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I was not apologizing; rather expressing . . . my sorrow on your behalf.”
“And why should you feel sorrow on my behalf?” she asked and quickly wiped a hand over both cheeks before he even realized that tears were falling. “We are practically strangers.”
“Practically,” he repeated. “And yet I do . . . feel sorrow.”
Silence fell while she stopped eating quite so voraciously but continued to pick at the bread and cheese in front of her. Reason told him he should leave now. She was surely tired and needed her rest. There was no logical reason for him to linger. He could insist on escorting her to the door of her room to know that she was safe, and beyond that the situation was simply none of his business. Giving her money had not given him any rights or privileges in regard to her personal life. But he felt as if he’d turned to stone—a statue with its gaze permanently fixed on her. He couldn’t look away, and he couldn’t brush off the overwhelming sense he had that this was not chance or coincidence. Her needing help and his ability to give it felt to him like fate or destiny somehow. But he didn’t believe that fate or destiny existed as some kind of abstract force in the universe. If they did exist, they were simply words used to explain the hand of God in people’s lives when no other explanation was possible. Thomas had many times sought to question his belief in God when he’d been assaulted by the horrors of the world. But he’d never been able to let go of something deep within his spirit that intrinsically knew He existed, even if he couldn’t begin to comprehend. And now, his gaze fixed like stone upon Ruth Dawson, contemplating her plight, his belief in God felt renewed and strengthened. This was no coincidence, and he knew it with all his soul. But what could that possibly mean? He had given her uncle the money to send her away until she gave birth to her baby. He considered it a possibility that he could find her in a year when this was behind her. He knew her uncle well; he would always know where to find her. Wouldn’t he? But that solution felt so out of his control, so subject to chance. And wrong somehow.
While Thomas sat like carved marble and Ruth randomly picked at the bread and cheese, putting little pieces into her mouth and looking everywhere but at him, he silently uttered a prayer. He wanted to know what God would have him do with this moment of divine destiny. He felt himself at a crossroads. He could let her go, or . . .
Before his next thought could fully articulate itself in his mind, he heard himself asking, “Do you want to give away your baby, Ruth?”
She looked astonished, then upset, but he still couldn’t regret asking it. He needed to know how she would respond to such a question.
“No, sir,” she said and made no effort this time to wipe away the tears that oozed from her eyes in great abundance. “However wrong the existence of this baby might be, it is growing inside of me. It is a part of me. I will do whatever I can to give it the best possible chance at a good life, and for your help in that I am grateful. But I would never choose to give away my baby.”
Thomas considered that while he handed her a clean handkerchief from his pocket, since her own handkerchief already looked well used.
“Thank you,” she said and dabbed at her tears. “Forgive me . . . for getting so upset.”
“No apology necessary,” he said. “I asked a question; I appreciate an honest answer.”
“I’m feeling very tired.” She gathered the remaining bread and cheese into a napkin and folded it into a little bundle before she stood and he did the same. Looking down at the table, she picked up the key to her room, then looked back up at him. “Thank you . . . for everything. I will never forget what you’ve done for me.”
“It’s been a pleasure,” Thomas said, and she moved toward the stairs. He didn’t want to let her go, but now even the idea of walking her to her room felt awkward and unnecessary. He felt almost panicked to let her out of his sight and blurted, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Ruth turned back, surprised. “You will?”
Thomas stepped closer so they wouldn’t be overheard, even though no one was nearby. “I want to discuss with your uncle the best possible options for your care, and see what I can do to help see you settled.” Knowing he needed to leave, he repeated, “I’ll see you in the morning,” and hurried out of the inn and down the street, wondering why it felt literally painful to leave her behind. Had he gone mad? Had he lost his mind since suppertime? Or had his madness been slowly coming on? He thought about how he had poured himself a drink earlier this evening in the library, and he felt like a different man entirely.
Thomas found Gib in the pub, leaning against the bar with a tankard of ale in front of him, exchanging some light banter with the man at his side.
“We can go whenever you’re ready,” Thomas said to him.
Gib replied, “You won’t be wanting a drink first?”
“No,” was all Thomas said, and Gib looked surprised. Thomas didn’t have to wonder why. He quickly added, “I just . . . don’t feel the need for one. If you would like some more time, I’ll wait in the carriage.”
“I’m ready when you are,” Gib said, and they walked together toward the door. “I appreciate your kindness, sir, but don’t be forgetting who’s the master and who’s the servant.”
“Can we not just be friends?” Thomas asked, wondering why he felt so agitated.
“Friends, yes,” Gib said as they walked up the street at a brisk pace. “But I still work for you, and we both know that a ship needs a captain.”
“What do you mean by that?” Thomas demanded.
“Now, don’t go getting all high and mighty on me just because I remind you of something I know your father taught you well. The serving folk at Brownlie are surely the most blessed in all the world, but we need to know that someone’s in charge and that there’s order in the way things are done.”
Thomas took a deep breath. “Yes, of course.” His father had taught him that, and he knew it well. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t share a drink at the pub once in a while.”
“But you didn’t have a drink,” Gib said lightly.
“And I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation.”
“That weren’t no conversation; that were passing the time,” Gib said as they arrived at the carriage. Gib opened the door and Thomas stepped in.
“Thank you, Gib,” Thomas said before the door was closed, “for everything.”
“A pleasure, sir,” Gib said, and they were quickly on their way home.
During the drive, Thomas’s thoughts swirled and danced and gained volition. They raced like a horse galloping at full speed and crashed like ocean waves against the rocks at high tide. Again he prayed, as if God and only God could lift him up out of this ceaseless internal roiling enough to see clearly and discern madness from reason. Before the carriage halted in front of Brownlie Manor, his prayer had been answered. He knew what he had to do, and he knew it was right. He only needed the courage—and a certain amount of craftiness—to move forward.
Thomas opened the carriage door himself before Gib even had a chance to get to it.
“Thank you,” Thomas called and hurried into the house. At such times when he wanted to find someone or get to a certain place in the manor quickly, he sorely disliked how wretchedly enormous the place was. He felt as if he’d walked a mile before he crept quietly, holding a lamp, down the hall where the single male servants of the household had their rooms. He knew well which room belonged to Dawson, but he didn’t want anyone else in nearby rooms to overhear him knocking at the door, so he took the risk of simply going in and closing the door quietly behind him.
“Dawson,” he whispered loudly. “Dawson, wake up.”
He heard Dawson mutter some mild cursing under his breath as he sat up, looking rather startled and dazed. “What in the name of heaven and earth are you doing?” Dawson growled in a low whisper. Thomas chuckled. There was no distinction of servant and master in that comment.
“I need to speak with you,” Thomas said, “and it can’t wait until morning.”
“Very well,” Dawson said a bit begrudgingly—likely because he was still half asleep. Thomas knew well enough that Dawson was generally up and busy very early in the mornings. “Is Ruthie all right?”
“She is for now,” Thomas said and set the lamp on a table before he sat down in one of the two chairs available.
Dawson grabbed a robe and pulled it on over his nightshirt before he sat in the other chair and waited for Thomas to speak. Thomas hesitated a long moment, silently recounting his decision, his plan, the steps he needed to take. As soon as he allowed the words out of his mouth, there would be no turning back. He had to be absolutely certain. And it only took him a long moment to know that he was. With confidence, he said, “You told me that when your brother died, you promised his wife you would look after the family if the need arose. That’s why she sent Ruth to you.”
“That’s right.”
“Since you have assumed that responsibility, it is you I must speak to if I wish to marry her.”
Dawson gasped. He stared at Thomas as if he’d broken out with the pox. In what could only be described as a shouting whisper, he finally said, “Have you taken complete and utter leave of your senses?”
“Am I not good enough for her?” Thomas asked, keeping his voice low.
“Good enough?” Dawson echoed. “In my opinion you are one of the finest men in England, which is the very reason you should not be impulsively wedding yourself to a servant girl who has gotten herself into trouble. The trouble is temporary. Marriage is for life.”
“The child is a life, Dawson. And giving up that child will leave a hole in Ruth’s heart that will never heal.”
“And . . . so . . . what?” Dawson motioned elaborately with his hand. “Her plight gives you some kind of . . . purpose? Some chance to be a hero? Your feeling lost and disconnected right now is something that will pass. Don’t be fool enough to think that doing such a thing will magically solve what’s not right in your life. Don’t be a fool at all.”
“For this, Dawson, I will be a fool if that’s what it takes.” Dawson looked as if he were about to explode and the need to not be overheard might actually cause his eyes to burst out of his head. Thomas prevented him from being able to speak by forging ahead with all that he needed to say, “Listen to me, and listen well. Arranged marriages and marriages of convenience happen all around us all the time. It sickens me to see the reasons why some people will marry each other. Do you honestly think I would want to marry any one of the women who have thrown themselves into my path simply because I have the wealth to maintain their audacious and pretentious lifestyle? Never! So, call this marriage arranged. Call it convenient. Fine.”
Dawson sighed but appeared more calm. “The two of you do not even know each other. How can you possibly have any idea if you would not drive each other mad?”
“A great deal can be learned about a person through an hour of honest conversation.”
Dawson’s countenance was softening, and his eyes betrayed mild intrigue. He was thinking about it.
“She’s your niece. I honestly don’t know how often you’ve been in contact with your brother’s family. How well do you know her?”
“I keep in touch as much as I can, and my time off has been spent visiting them. She’s a good girl with a good heart. She’s kind and honest and knows how to work hard.”
Thomas breathed that in, feeling it assuage him with added validation that his instincts were not out of tune. “That’s all I need to know,” Thomas said firmly. “As I see it, anything else can be worked out.”
Dawson leaned closer and gave Thomas a piercing gaze. “And what of love, my boy?” He asked the question just as Thomas imagined his own father would have asked it if he were here.
“Is it mad to say that I could feel love—or at least the spark of it—in so short a time? I’m not naive enough to believe that feeling drawn to her now—or perhaps drawn to the desire to help her—will carry a relationship for long. But you know my parents better than anyone; you know the example with which I was raised. Trust, respect, and commitment—that’s what my father told me are the makings of a good marriage. He told me more than once that love can grow out of those elements and it will die in the absence of them. Do you not believe I am capable of that? Do you not believe Ruth capable of that? I’ve only known her a few hours and I believe her capable of that. Is it so wrong of me to want to devote my life to the care of a good woman and a child who needs a father and a name? If it’s a mistake, then it’s a mistake I am willing to make, and I will always know that my intentions were from the heart.”
Dawson was quiet for many minutes, and Thomas had nothing more to say. Dawson finally sighed loudly and muttered, “You make a strong case, young man. I cannot fault your thinking. I just . . . never dreamed . . . When I came to you for advice, I did not expect financial assistance, and yet you gave it so generously. But this . . . this . . . I never dreamed . . .”
“Well, I can assure you it was not in my plans when I left here with her earlier. But I know it’s right, Dawson. It feels more right to me than anything ever has.”
Dawson took hold of Thomas’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Then I give you my blessing and my gratitude.”
Thomas smiled, then chuckled, feeling deeply relieved and even happy. There were many details to work out in order to avoid any cause for scandal. He didn’t want people ever speculating or wondering about their first child being born far too soon after the wedding. That could be a taint for the child—and for Ruth—in and of itself. And there was also one other very big thing to consider.
“I haven’t actually asked her,” Thomas said. “I feel like I should make arrangements quickly, and I need to come up with a believable story right away. But should I be doing that without talking to her first? Maybe she wouldn’t want to marry me?”
“If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here convincing me it’s the right thing to do,” Dawson said. “Given the choice of marriage to a fine man and giving up her baby, which do you think she’d choose?”
Thomas didn’t even have to think about it. He knew the answer. He knew it was right. And it seemed a gesture of faith to go boldly forward with his plans. If she was angry with him for not consulting her first, then their first order of business as husband and wife would be his begging her forgiveness.
Thomas talked with Dawson for a long while, coming up with a detailed plan on how to go about this. It would require some deception and some fairly good acting on their part, but they agreed it was all for a good cause and it was certainly feasible.
When Thomas finally rose to leave, Dawson stood as well and offered Thomas a fatherly embrace. He took Thomas’s shoulders into his hands, saying with a tenderness that rarely showed, “You’ve always felt like family to me, my boy. I never imagined it could actually happen.”
“Nor did I.” Thomas chuckled. “With any luck, she’ll have me.”
They agreed that they both needed to try to get some rest. Tomorrow would be a big day. Thomas quietly crept the lengthy distance to his own room, where it took far too long to relax enough to sleep, but he awoke with a shock to his heart. He was getting married today! But before that happened, he would be putting on an elaborate charade and he had to face convincing the potential bride.
Thomas had everything under control and a bag packed for travel before he went down to the kitchen, knowing the majority of the servants would be gathered there. He didn’t have to wonder if Dawson would have efficiently done his part in all of this scheming. Dawson had never fallen short of a task in his entire life.
Thomas stopped partway down the stairs and took a deep breath, rehearsing again in his mind what he intended to say. Brief and to the point. No over-the-top explaining. He could do this and be convincing.
Stepping into the kitchen, he found most of his staff seated around the huge table, eating their breakfast. They all stood when they saw him.
“No, no, please sit down,” he said but remained on his feet.
“Would you like to join us, sir?” Mrs. Darby asked.
“Thank you, no. But I’ll take a little something for the road. Gib is harnessing the carriage as we speak. I’m going to the cottage to stay for a while; I’m not sure how long. Dawson has sent word to Barclay there to let them know to expect me. And now—” he took a deep breath and put a smile on his face that didn’t feel at all fake—“I have some news to share with you all that I have been keeping a secret. You have all seen me moping about since I’ve returned, and perhaps this will help explain my reasons. You see . . . I wanted my parents to be the first to know, so I didn’t say anything. But now . . . before I go, I think it’s only proper for you all to know that I was recently married, and . . .” He paused while the small crowd muttered their surprise, but they all seemed pleased. So far so good. “My wife was needed at her family home, and I thought it wise to come back and tell my parents the good news before bringing her here. I’ve missed her terribly, and I’ve had a devil of a time trying to keep quiet about it, but I received word just yesterday evening that her obligations at home are taken care of, and we will be going to the cottage for a long-overdue honeymoon. I’ve left a letter for my parents explaining everything. I would ask that no one break the news to them until they’ve had a chance to read it upon their return. Well,” he chuckled, “that’s all. I’ll look forward to bringing the new Mrs. Fitzbatten here to meet you all.”
His news was well received, and he graciously accepted offers of congratulations and well wishes, trying to imagine that it was all deserved if only a little ahead of its time. As the flurry was winding down, Thomas said casually to Dawson, “Since I’m taking the carriage and you’re off today to visit family, why don’t you ride along? Unless you prefer to leave later as you’d planned.”
“I can be ready quickly, sir,” Dawson said as if their going together had not occurred to him until that moment. “Thank you.”
Once both men were seated in the carriage, Thomas looked across the way at Dawson and asked, “So, how do you think that went?”
“I didn’t sense even a smidgen of doubt,” Dawson said proudly. “As if they would ever doubt your honesty.”
Thomas sighed and looked out the window. “All for a good cause,” he said. “Now let’s hope Ruth doesn’t make a true liar out of me.”
* * *
Ruth finally gave up attempting to sleep when the room began to grow lighter with the coming of day. She was glad for the bread and cheese left from her late-evening snack, but eating it reminded her of the time she’d spent with Thomas Fitzbatten, and she’d spent all night trying not to think about him. She had told herself a hundred times at least that it was his kindness and generosity that had drawn her to him. No man beyond her own father and uncle had ever treated her as he had. And with her father such behavior had been rare. Surely that was reason enough for Thomas’s behavior to have left an impression. But a woman would have to be blind to look at a man like Thomas and not see how remarkably handsome he was. Even now she could close her eyes and his image became clear in her mind. The dark stubble on his face suggested he hadn’t shaved for two or three days. His curly hair had a windblown look, as if the thick waves refused to be controlled. His dark brows would furrow closer together when he became thoughtful, and the corners of his full lips would turn down at the same time. She believed his eyes to be a grayish blue, but she couldn’t be certain given the dim lighting of the inn. But she remembered how tall and strong he felt as she’d walked beside him, her hand on his arm.
Ruth groaned and pushed her hands through her rumpled hair as the most likely possibility for her obsession with Thomas Fitzbatten forced its way into her mind. His uncanny resemblance to Lucius was haunting at best. In reality, it was nearly frightening. How could it be possible for two men, unrelated and unknown to each other, to look so much alike? And how could it be probable that one of those men was guilty of taking advantage of her and then fleeing, while the other had offered nothing but kindness and concern?
Realizing she had no idea when her uncle might come for her, Ruth hurried to get cleaned up and dressed for the day—wishing she knew what this day would bring. Her uncle had told her they would travel out of the area before they inquired too much about the possible places where she could go to endure her confinement and childbirth, so as not to arouse local suspicion. Ruth didn’t care where she was going. She only wished she could somehow leap forward a year in time and have it all behind her. The very idea of nurturing this life inside of her—all the while knowing it would be taken away—already felt like too much to bear. But she had already debated this issue a thousand times, at least inside her mind. She had even written down lists of why she should or shouldn’t keep this child. The love she felt for her baby already was more than sufficient to make her choice clear. She would not have her child raised in derision and shame, and penniless as well. She could never hope to find a decent husband while caring for a child conceived in scandal, which meant she would always be working to provide whatever meager living she might manage. Ruth had seen beggars on the streets of London, and she’d seen how servants were treated when such a child was a part of their lives. Some respectable homes wouldn’t even consider hiring such a woman, and where would that leave this little one growing inside her? No, she could not keep it. The choice was simple. It was far from easy, and she believed her heart would be forever broken, but at least she would have the peace of knowing that someone, somewhere, was giving her child a better life.
While Ruth was eating breakfast in the dining room, at the same table where she’d sat the previous evening with Thomas, she kept expecting her uncle to show up and find her there. Then she remembered that Thomas had said he would see her. She felt almost panicked at having forgotten. Would he truly come with her uncle and add to her tumultuous thoughts and feelings? She couldn’t begrudge his help; she certainly was in no position to question that. But she was in no position to be distracted by a kind, handsome man. And even if she weren’t unwed and pregnant—the worst predicament a woman could find herself in—he was not the kind of man to ever seriously take an interest in someone like her.
As if to contradict her thought the moment it entered her mind, she immediately recalled Thomas saying, I didn’t notice how you’re dressed because I was looking at you.
Ruth sighed and hung her head, when all she really wanted was to scream and run away from there. If she had any more than a few coins in her possession, she might have seriously considered just walking away before her uncle arrived. As it was, she needed his help—and she also needed the funding that Thomas Fitzbatten had so generously donated on her behalf. But the turmoil associated with the situation felt as if it would devour her from the inside out.
Having eaten every bite of her breakfast and getting some extra biscuits to stow away for later, Ruth returned to her room, wishing she’d been given a specific time to anticipate her uncle’s arrival—and heaven forbid that of Thomas Fitzbatten, perhaps. They’d both said morning, but looking at the clock with hours of morning left to go, it felt far too long and too vague. She felt her life and her future hanging in the balance and couldn’t force herself to even sit still. With her bag packed and set near the door, she paced the room, looked out the window, which faced the opposite direction of the street, then paced some more. When there was finally a knock at the door it startled her. She took a deep breath, pressed her hands down the front of her dress, and opened the door, both thrilled and horrified to see Thomas standing there with her uncle.
“Good morning, my dear,” her uncle said and hugged her. “How are you this morning?”
“Nervous,” she admitted. “But I’m all right. At least I think I am.”
“Did you get some breakfast?” Thomas asked.
“Good morning, sir,” she replied, curtsying slightly as a habit she’d acquired working in a manor house. But a disapproving gaze from him made her think that he’d perhaps found the gesture somehow mocking.
“Good morning,” he said and repeated, “Did you get some breakfast?”
“I did, thank you. And I’ve got biscuits tucked away in my bag.”
“Good,” Thomas said with approval, and she wondered why he’d taken it upon himself to be concerned about her eating habits. Given the situation, his concern for her—albeit comforting in a way—was only adding to her growing turmoil.
“May we come in?” her uncle asked. “Thomas wanted to talk with you for a few minutes before we set out.”
“Of course,” she said and stepped aside for the men to enter the room. It was small and looked even smaller with two tall men now filling the space. There were only two chairs, so Ruth sat on the edge of the bed, fearing her knees might give out otherwise. She felt suddenly so nervous that she had to focus on keeping her breathing steady. The men moved the chairs and sat on them so that they were both facing her directly, and she wondered what could be so serious.
“Miss Dawson,” Thomas began, looking at her with a directness that was almost fierce, but in a caring way that didn’t at all frighten her—completely opposite of his look-alike. Even from his eyes she could tell immediately it was not the same man, in spite of the uncanny resemblance. “I have given a great deal of thought to your dilemma, and may I say that I have prayed?”
“Of course.”
“Do you believe in prayer? In God?”
“Very much, sir,” she said and heard him sigh. It seemed important to him, and she wondered why.
“We talked last evening of how limited your choices are in regard to this situation, and neither path before you is a good one. I would like to offer you a different option. It may sound strange . . . even shocking.” He glanced at her uncle. “Heaven knows Dawson was shocked when I first proposed it to him, but he’s come around, and I hope you will too.”
Ruth was surprised by the way he took her hand and leaned forward, but she was more distracted by her reaction to his touch and his nearness. “What is it?” she asked when he didn’t speak right away. “You’re making me terribly nervous.” She hoped that would explain the way her hand was trembling in his.
Thomas lifted his chin and drew back his shoulders as if to add strength to what he was about to say. “Miss Dawson . . . Ruth . . . I propose that you might do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
“What?” she gasped and pulled her hand from his. It was absolutely the last thing she’d expected to hear; she’d never even imagined such a possibility, and the very idea made her almost dizzy. “No!” she insisted. “No, no, no, no, no.”
She noted her uncle looking distraught as he said to Thomas, “I don’t think she meant that as an answer to the question.”
“I most certainly did!” Ruth said and shot to her feet. Thomas came to his feet to face her, but she began to pace even though she hardly took her eyes off of him. “You must be mad! This is taking kindness too far, Mr. Fitzbatten.”
“I ask that you hear me out,” he said, sounding calm but betraying his nervousness with the fidgeting of his hands.
“You cannot truly mean to create a . . . marriage between us simply for the sake of . . . of what?”
“I’ll tell you what if you’ll let me speak,” Thomas said.
“Ruthie,” Dawson said. “Let the man speak his piece.”
Ruth stopped pacing and folded her arms. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“To answer your question: for the sake of allowing you and your child to be able to stay together and to be cared for. I suspect you’re thinking I must have some kind of motive, so I’ll just tell you what my motives are so you can stop wondering. I’m not asking you to marry me as some great sacrifice on my part, Ruth. What I hope to gain is purpose and meaning in my life. I need to feel needed. And I’m tired of being alone. I want companionship. And I want to share my life with a woman whom I have come to see—in a very short time—is very much the kind of woman I would choose to spend my life with. That’s what I want, Ruth. If that makes me selfish, so be it. I also want to help you. I genuinely want to help you. And let me make it clear that if you do not desire to marry me I will not be offended, and I will still do everything in my power to make certain you and your child are cared for. However, last night I was thinking that perhaps in a year when this is over we might be able to see each other again, and perhaps something good might come of the spark of what I have come to feel for you already. And then I realized that it was ridiculous to wait when I already know in my heart that you and I both have what it takes to make a good marriage and a good life, and if I can give this child a name and a father, that is all the better. My condition would be that no one who doesn’t already know you’re pregnant will ever be told the truth. If you agree to marry me, this child will be mine, and it will never know differently. Never! You would never lack for anything, Ruth. I would care for you, provide for you, protect you. I would devote my life to your happiness. I realize you don’t know me well enough to know whether or not you can trust what I just said, and after what you’ve been through I can understand why it might be difficult for you to trust anything a man said to you. But as God is my witness, I am genuinely offering all that I have if you would consider being my wife.”
Ruth was stunned beyond belief and unable to speak. She looked up at this man standing before her—an aristocrat, no less—offering her everything that any right-minded woman would ever want. It was the answer to her every prayer in regard to the sorrow and dilemma she was facing. Yet it all seemed too good to be true. She finally found her voice enough to ask, “Why me, Thomas? Why would you choose me?”
He sighed as if the answer to her question had deep significance. “Sometimes,” he said, “something good comes to you at exactly the right moment. I believe we need each other. I feel it very deeply or I would not be standing here.”
Ruth felt weak and fumbled her way back to the edge of the bed. She’d be a fool not to accept such a proposal, and even though she was willing to pay a high price to be able to keep her child and live a comfortable life, there were certain matters she knew she could never live with. And she had to make those matters clear now, before any agreement was made.
Ruth looked up at Thomas and pulled together all of her courage enough to say, “I’ll not be living life with my husband treating me like a wretched sinner. That’s what my mother called me. A wretched sinner. I sinned, I know. But I carry enough guilt and remorse in my heart already; I’ll not have it be any part of my marriage—even if that means I never marry.”
“Ruth,” Thomas said in a gentle voice and sat back down, scooting his chair close enough to take her hand. “I don’t see you that way; I would never treat you that way. We are all human, and we all make mistakes. It’s what we learn from our mistakes and how we rectify them that determines our character. Heaven knows I’ve committed my own share of sins.”
At the mention of his confession, Ruth was startled to see regret, sorrow, turmoil, and grief all pass through his eyes in a matter of seconds. She wondered what his past might entail, and if it might ever come to haunt her if she chose to be his wife. But he was a man willing to take on another man’s child. He summed up her thoughts perfectly when he said, “I say that we work together to put the past behind us and create a new life.”
Ruth took a moment to ponder that. It all sounded so perfect; she wanted to weep with joy and relief and drop to her knees at his feet to express the depth of her gratitude. She managed to keep her emotions in check and turned to look at her uncle, who had been silently observing the drama.
“And what do you think of all this, Uncle? You must approve or you’d not have brought him here.”
“My dear girl,” he said, leaning more toward her. “Your life has been hard, but you’ve always handled it well for the most part. I’d say it’s about time something good came to you. In all honesty, if I were to arrange a marriage for you and I were given the option of choosing any man of all the men I know, I could not choose anyone better. I’ve known him since the day he was born, and he has his moods.” Her uncle winked at Thomas. “But he’s a good man, Ruthie. Mark my word.”
Ruth turned to look again at Thomas, as if she could discern a firm answer by just observing him. Recalling how memories of his handsome face and kind words had kept her awake most of the night, she wondered if she would be so willing to consider his proposal if he were homely and gruff. As it was, she couldn’t think of a single reason to decline and figured she would forever regret turning him down if she were fool enough to do so. But there was one more question she needed to have answered. It took even more courage than the last one, but she needed to know exactly where they would stand on such an important matter.
“I assume,” she said, “that you are speaking of marriage in every respect . . . that you would expect to share a bed . . . to have more children and—”
“Ruthie!” her uncle interrupted, looking embarrassed. “It’s not proper to speak of—”
“No, it’s all right, Dawson,” Thomas said. “I admire the way she speaks her mind, the way she wants everything to be clear. And it’s certainly a valid question.” He tightened his gaze on her in a way that made her heart quicken. “Yes, Ruth, I would expect this to be a marriage in every respect. However, given that we barely know each other, I would think it wise to give that matter some time. When we are more comfortable with each other . . . when you feel ready. If we are going to be married, we should talk about such things. Far better than trying to ignore them, especially given that this is a . . . unique situation.”
Ruth stood again and walked to the window, which left her back turned toward the men. She needed a few moments to think and to feel what her heart might be trying to tell her. And she could think much more clearly without having to look at her uncle and her potential husband. Husband. It all felt like a dream. Until this conversation had begun it had all been a nightmare. And now it was a dream. She wasn’t fool enough to believe that taking this step would mean a life of ease and bliss. She had much to overcome, and he’d admitted to the same. She knew he had wealth and position, but she also knew that such things brought with them a different kind of challenge than what she’d been accustomed to. She wondered how she might fit into his world. Even though he clearly held no regard for social status, others from both classes certainly did, and they would likely have to face the reality of that for the rest of their lives. But in her heart she knew this was a good choice, the right choice. She had no reason to believe his proposal hadn’t been given for all the right reasons, and she needed to recognize answers to prayers when they were presented to her.
Ruth turned to look at Thomas. The expectancy in his countenance was as touching as the vulnerability in his eyes. She truly believed he would be devastated if she refused him. It was what every woman wanted to feel when she received a proposal of marriage. She took a deep breath, drew back her shoulders, and said, “I thank you for your honest and sincere proposal, sir.” She watched him closely and saw a trace of fear, as if he expected her to add a but to that sentence. She was glad to be able to say with full purpose of heart, “I will do everything I can to be a good wife to you.”
She saw more than heard him take a sharp breath before he let out a small laugh of relief and looked down as if to conceal his emotion. He looked back up and stepped toward her, taking her hand, which he pressed to his lips without taking his eyes from hers. “Oh, I am very glad to hear it,” he said without letting go of her hand.
“When?” she asked, looking away and removing her hand, fearing the physical weakness she was beginning to feel from all of this. A quick glance at her uncle let her know he was both pleased and relieved. She knew him to be a good man, and trustworthy. His endorsement of this marriage meant a great deal to her.
“Today,” he said. “If that is agreeable to you.”
“Of course,” she said, not wanting to have to wait and wonder if it would really happen.
She wondered exactly what his plans were and was glad when he told her. “Your uncle has discreetly made arrangements with the vicar in the next village, not far from here. Gib, my driver, will take us there and act as a second witness. We will be able to come and go unnoticed. The vicar is bound to confidentiality with his position and has assured your uncle that he will be discreet.”
“He’s a kind man,” her uncle said. “He assured me that this sort of thing happens far more than most people would imagine, and he was glad to help put things right. I’m certain he can be trusted.”
“After the marriage, your uncle will take a much-needed vacation, which will include a visit to your mother to inform her that you are well and very much married. Gib will return to Brownlie Manor, and you and I will take a hired coach to a cottage owned and kept by my family for a retreat. We should arrive before the sun goes down. We will remain there for as long as we choose, until we both feel comfortable returning to the manor without arousing any suspicion.”
An obvious problem occurred to Ruth. “But won’t everyone realize the baby was conceived many weeks before we were married?”
“I recently returned home after nearly three years’ absence,” Thomas explained. “This morning I told my household that I had been married before I’d returned and I’d not mentioned it because I had hoped to be able to tell my parents first—but they are traveling abroad. I told them my wife had been needed at home to take care of an obligation with her family, and she would be meeting me today, and we would be going to the cottage for a long-overdue honeymoon.” He bowed slightly and smiled, as if he were just the tiniest bit proud of his outlandish tale. “They were all overjoyed at my happiness.”
“Indeed they were,” her uncle added.
Ruth put her hands on her hips and said with a scolding tone, “And you told them all of this before you’d even asked me to marry you?”
Thomas was quick to say, “All the while praying you would accept my proposal and forgive me for being presumptuous.”
“I’ll have to think about that,” she said, trying to sound serious as she picked up her bag and opened the door.
“I’ll take this,” Thomas said and did, carrying the bag for her.
Walking down the stairs, Ruth felt Thomas take her arm, as if he wanted to be certain she descended safely. It is a dream, she thought again. A remarkable, miraculous dream.