Chapter Twenty-Five

The Boundaries, The Choices

In Adam’s carriage, I couldn’t get comfortable, not with the fact that this man had misled me, but that the same people who’d hurt us were still after us.

We’d left the theater, but I kept looking out the window to see if we were being followed.

I couldn’t look at him, not while I decided how hard to slap him.

He nudged my hand and gave me Papa’s knife. “This thing is too small to be effective.” He sighed. “Ruth, I don’t want to take you back to the Croomes, not like this.”

“Go ahead and decide. It’s not as if I need to know, when you decide things.”

“Your opinion matters.”

“Does it? I told you I heard the men that killed Adam at the theater. They said they are going to kill you.”

“My uncle and cousin are upset. They want me dead, but I’ve outplayed them. They won’t win.” He brought his thumbs to his lips. “You’re sure Nicholas was at the attack? You don’t know his voice from Madame Talease’s?”

“You are the worst.”

“What?”

“So caring and kind. My champion. Lies.”

“Ruth, I care so much I ache for you.”

“Why not just call me a liar, Liar? Ruth can’t be reliable because of her vision. Ruth can’t be trusted because she suffers from fits.”

“Your vision is poor, and you do have moments, but I believe what you are saying. Nickie is more involved than I thought.”

“More involved? I was there, Wycliff. I know what happened, but everyone makes up an excuse as to why Ruthy be lying. The girly is a lying.” I mocked him like I was Mrs. Carter with her condescending voice, daring him to admit the truth.

My tears wouldn’t quit. Adam was alive, sitting across from me, lying to me, thinking me capable of falsehoods.

“I believe you. If you say my cousin was there, that he directly sought to kill me, then yes, he did.”

“Kill me? That’s what you said.”

“Yes, Ruth that’s what I said.”

“Now you admit it, just so you won’t lose an argument.”

“Ruth, I am Chatsworth Adoniram Wilkinson. I hate that name. I shortened it to Adam, then shortened it again to Adam Wilky.”

“Why? Why did you do this to me?”

He took my hands and put them to his face. My fingers sank into his silky beard. “It’s me. We lay in bed that morning until the innkeeper kicked us out. I wanted to go back to Scotland, you wanted to go home to see your parents.”

“I remember.”

“I remember your birthmark to the right of your delicious bosom that looks like a date. We joked about it, and I promised to feed you a mound of sugared dates while we lay in my bed. I know you are ticklish—”

“You should have told right away. You are so cruel. So manipulative.”

“Look at me.” He knelt in front of me and picked up the lantern. Positioning it close to his face, he caught and held my gaze. “Look at me, Ruthy. Look past age and the changes that nearly dying caused. I know I aged centuries thinking you were killed by my enemies. My voice, Ruth, because of the ropes they bound me with, I’ll never sing a melody to you, never as I once did. But my heart is the same, still stupidly yours. Does a name matter?”

“I saw you die. I watched those men wrap a rope about your neck. I saw them beat you to death. You should’ve told me this miracle. Or is this a last manipulation?”

He set down the lantern and ripped off his cravat. “Undo the buttons to my shirt. See the scars.”

I poked at the top button as if it would bite, but then undid the rest with a hunger to know every inch of him.

There were the scars. Horrid scars ringing his neck.

A gasp left me.

The flesh at his neck looked so pained. I trailed a finger over the roughened skin that had scabbed over the burns. The rings seemed so dark against his light skin. “Adam?”

“Yes, Ruth.”

I fingered his birthmark on the breastbone below the gullet of his neck.

“I’ve been wrestling with how to tell you. Agonizing every day. I’ve thrown so many clues into your path, I’ve lost count. Then it dawned on me. You didn’t want to remember, and I couldn’t blame you. I, as Adam, caused you so much pain.”

My eyes stung. Tears flooded my face. “I’m another pawn for you to push about.”

He took my hands from his throat. “No scheme. No pawn. We’re a miracle. When I regained consciousness, Uncle’s men had me. I kept repeating I was a son of a peer and the verses of judgement over and over. The wages of sin are death… So many verses.”

He swallowed, and I saw it pained him. “Those men didn’t want to take any chances that they were indeed killing a white man, a peer’s son, or maybe it was the thought of hell’s fires. They kept me in a pen a week but were going to let me go when Nickie arrived. He gave me over to a ship captain and impressed me into the Royal Navy. I was there four years, thinking you were dead, plotting my revenge.”

I wanted to lunge at him, fall from the seat into his arms, but I kept still. “You misled me.”

“I wanted to tell you, Ruth. Then I just wanted to love you. I wanted you to love me without all the pain. To admit to being Adam would bring back all the memories, all the bad.”

“You thought me too weak.”

“Ruth, you hated Adam for what you suffered. I hated me, too.”

Part of me wanted to wring his neck, part wanted to hold on to him, so I gripped him by the collar. “The men at Blaren House and at Drury Lane, all were involved with the attack. I know Nickie was at Blaren and the theater. I’ll never forget his voice. I hear his voice sometimes.”

“What are you not saying, Ruth?”

“I need proof. You won’t believe me if I say.” I released him and rubbed my temples. My headache was so strong. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I waited for you to recognize me, but you didn’t want to see Adam. I wasn’t going to force you. But you love me as Wycliff. I know that, Ruth, I know it—”

“Like you know your own name? Here is my plan. Take me to the door, Adam-Wycliff. We will not tell a soul of this. I’m tired of bringing lies home to the Croomes.”

“Ruth, what happened after I died? They dragged me away. What happened to you? Did they sell you to Madame Talease?”

I was shaking with anger. Wycliff had lied and now wanted my truth. He wanted to make me guilty to justify him.

“We need to go to Madame Talease. We’ll get proof of my story. You need proof, just like everyone else.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. No more danger for you, Ruth.”

He helped me from the carriage and took me to the Croomes’ front door.

“You want danger, Ruth. Marry me again, marry your husband and commit to building a life with me. Do it. It’s wild and crazy. It’s us.”

His breath was on my neck, his arms about my waist. Adam, the only man I’d ever loved was alive and a liar.

But I still felt that draw, that craving for his embrace, for his furry beard on my face, for his love to surround me, consume me, and burn away the past. “This is too much, Wycliff.”

“You have two days. No more living without you. That’s all I can do. You’re my wife. I want you and Christopher to be with me. It takes two days to secure a signature from the archbishop. I’ll come for you in two days.”

“What of your revenge plot? Will that be done?”

“Uncle Soulden is destined for debtors’ prison. My war will be done.”

“What of Nicholas? Will he pay, too?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“No, you won’t. You can’t give him what he deserves. Not until I have proof.”

I needed to write to Madame Talease to get her testimony. I needed to give it to Wycliff.

He tried to kiss me, but I made myself stiff in his arms. I couldn’t pretend that his deception hadn’t hurt me. I had thought Wycliff was truth.

“Ruth, send for me.”

“I’ll think on this.” I couldn’t use the name Adam. Adam was dead. He could not be the man who’d made me feel so alive these past weeks.

I ducked into the house and watched him storm away.

Only one person knew the truth. She was my proof. I’d write Madame Talease right away.

…

It rained two days straight. Mama had the windows open, and the perfume of dampness, mud, and rosewater surrounded me in her parlor.

I sat, knitting an ebony scarf. I wanted to give it to Wycliff to cover his horrid scars, but I also wanted to tie it around his throat and strangle him. Strangle him and his secrets.

He was Adam. He was Wycliff.

Mad at the two men who’d claimed to love me, I knitted. Stupid me. The first time in a long time I’d trusted myself, and I’d been cheated again.

And I ached.

Wycliff had heard how much I hated Adam, but I had never mentioned how much I’d loved him.

I had. Those feelings had been forgotten. I should’ve remembered them before Wycliff thought there was nothing good in my memories.

The parlor chairs were in place as if it was Knitting Tuesday, but it was Thursday. All the seats were empty, except Mama’s.

The woman looked unbothered. I must look terrible, falling to pieces.

Clancy brought in the silver service, but only two cups were on it.

“Mama, are Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Daly not coming? What about Mrs. Johnson?”

White mobcap in place, delicate lace shawl slipping down her active arms, my mother shook her head “I didn’t invite them. Just us two.”

Uh oh, that means she wants to talk.

An excuse, where’s an excuse when I need one? Chris running down the stairs, the house is on fire. Ester wanting to hear theater nonsense. Nothing.

Resigned, I bent my head, my glasses slipping to my nose, “Yes, Mama.”

“Ruth, tell me about Lord Wycliff.”

That was one of those blanket statements—to allow me to inflict my own wounds.

I smoothed my poppy-pink gown. It was bright, no way to hide on the sofa or between its pillows. “Nice, Mama.” I made my tone easy and light. “He’s nice.”

“Is that it? You’ve spent quite a lot of time with him. You should know more of him.”

Know him?

Everything and nothing. He was my husband, the man I’d had my firsts with—the first kiss, the first time enjoying the comfort of a man who loved me.

Knit one. Purl one.

The man who’d held me tenderly, singing my name when the pain and pleasure of his love had overcome me. The man who’d caressed me when I’d had a nightmare about my uncle, when I’d cried for my parents’ fears.

Adam had seen me bare, and bold, and now as Wycliff, broken then reborn, remembering the diamond that was me.

Knit one. Knit one. Purl one.

My palms were damp. My needles were slipping. “I know a lot of his character, some of his business.”

“Ruth, what of his parents?”

“His father recently passed. He doesn’t say much about his mother. Wait, he did tell me. She was a poet from America.”

“Has he mentioned anything of his people?”

“He has an uncle who hates him. Why do you ask?”

“Ruth, he has a choice, as did I, to live one way or the other. But he’s not mentioned that other family. He’s told your father he wants to marry you. Will you be his wife in secret?”

“I don’t think so. We’ve been very public at the parks, the theater.” I poured two cups of tea and sipped mine dry. “He asked me last night. I’ve not accepted him.”

“Ruth, I know why you considered the barrister. Many men answered your advertisement. You chose the busiest one. One who looks at you with nothing in his eyes.”

“Marks was not disrespectful. He’s a nice man.”

“Yes, he is. He’ll make a good public husband. You serve his political needs. Your father’s money serves his monetary ones, but what of your needs? You deserve to be treasured, not just possessed.”

“It was a marriage of convenience.” I wanted to say everyone was entering into them, but that was juvenile.

“Wycliff wants a full marriage. He looks at you with everything in him.”

“He’s made no secret of wanting me.”

“This has the makings of being right.” Mama moved from her throne and sat beside me. “Ruth, are you ready to be married again?”

I was married and a widow and just confused. I couldn’t down another cup of the burning hot tea. “Why talk of this now? Not with Mr. Marks.”

“Marks, bless his soul, will let you be. You can wander about his house, run his staff, and sleep in your separate bedrooms. He may want to share upon occasion, but he’ll let you alone and keep on with his mistresses.”

I felt my eyes popping wide, maybe flying from my face. “You didn’t mention this when I told you of Mr. Marks’s intentions.”

“I was very angry when you ran off with Mr. Wilky. I was furious that you were at a brothel and stayed there instead of coming home. Then you had a baby in that tummy. I was enraged, that you’d put yourself into that position.”

I jumped up and moved away. “Must we talk about this? I forgave you. You forgave me.”

“Ruth, I accused you of being a harlot. That was wrong. I didn’t listen to you about what truly happened. I couldn’t accept what had happened.”

“Please. Don’t say any more.”

“Ruth, you told me many things when your papa brought you back from the brothel. Then you healed up and said nothing. I did think you lied. I sent you away to have the baby, but I’m guilty of so much wrong.”

“Mama, please don’t repeat what I said.”

“For you to be married, then all the rest is true. All of it.”

My eyes leaked. They were wet and sticky.

“Baby, it’s one thing to give away your sugar in the throes of young love. It’s another to sell it of your own free will. It’s a horror, a terrible, terrible thing, for the sugar to be taken. That’s what happened to you.”

Mama wasn’t talking about baking or sweets but soul ties and abuse.

She remembered what I’d said had happened when Adam had died. His killers had had at me.

I’d been told to sit back and take it. Then my family told me to forget.

My mother held me in her arms. She cried. We were both hot, sticky knitters.

“Ruth. Ruth, baby. You need to tell Wycliff. He needs to know.”

“I need proof. I’ll tell him when I have proof.”

Mama held me tighter. “You need nothing, no proof when a man loves you. None, when you believe in yourself.”

“How is that? You didn’t believe me. Madame Talease can verify my truth.”

“You’ve been tried, Ruth. You’ve kept living. You’ve raised a beautiful son. You didn’t give over anything to despair, especially not your baby.”

“Chris is all mine. He’s none of them.”

“Memories have power. I had to tell your father what happened to me, what happened in my home, by my own father.”

I squinted and saw the heavy tears in Mama’s eyes. I didn’t want her to see me as weak. I didn’t want that legacy.

But then I looked at Mama, really looked at her. I saw a survivor’s face. I saw the beauty that had come through the fire. I wanted to be Mama—to have her strength, her grace.

“Ruth, I’m four years late in comforting you, of telling you it wasn’t your fault, that you are lucky you lived.”

Four years too late, but better late than never believed.

“Tell Wycliff. He wants all of you, the good and the bad. There’s heat in the air about you two.” She put my hand in hers. “Tell him, so he can be sweet to you. Then he’ll be gentle. He’ll understand. Your father understood. My attacker was my own father. At least you don’t have to recover from that.”

No, it was Adam’s cousin. He’d led them in it. Someone who Adam had once trusted.

I was an all-or-nothing person. If I faced the truth, I needed all of it. I’d written to Madame Talease yesterday. I needed her to answer soon.

She was the proof I needed for Wycliff.

Mama and I poured new cups of tea. “What if he can’t look at me? What if I can’t make myself please him? What if he can’t please me because I see the others and not him?”

“Not every man or every mother can be strong. But you are gold, pure gold. You deserve gold. We’re not soft when it comes to our worth. We’re strong. Uncage your spirit. Be wild, my wild child. Be free. Then accept Wycliff’s love, if he is for you. Or toss him away. Know your worth. You’re gold.”

I believed Mama, but my head was stuck on proving my truth. I sipped my tea, taking my time, enjoying the citrus taste of the chamomile. “I’m glad you didn’t have the knitters here today.”

“The ladies?” Mama laughed. “My friends, they are vipers. I set them on you these past two years to toughen you, for you to regain your fire. You didn’t get it back until Wycliff. I think that means something.”

“A man did it, Mama. Is that your answer? Is it an extra benefit that he’s a peer?”

“A respected barrister or baron, both are worthy of you. But I like Wycliff. He made my child remember to live. Whatever you choose, your place is here, if you want it.”

I watched Mama sit in her chair. “I need my own. I’ll send for Wycliff. I’ll tell him everything.”

I went to the closet and pulled out stationery, a blotter, and ink. Flopping on the sofa, I curled my feet under me and began writing a short note.

My hands shook, I smeared things terribly, but the words, ‘Come. Please come.,’ made it on the page.

I thought about going to him, getting in a carriage. Did I have enough courage for that and to spill my secret? I did. “I’m going to get Jonesy to take me.”

“You can do it, Ruth. Do you need me or Ester to come with you?”

I wanted to go by myself, but I couldn’t afford to fail. “I’ll send this to him. He said he’d come. Thank you, Mama.”

I opened the door to the parlor, but Ester was there with her hand poised to knock. “Ruth. This came for you.”

It wasn’t a ribbon-wrapped note.

I took this one and savored the jasmine scent of the paper. It was from Madame Talease. It was an answer, the proof I needed.

I had to read this, to see if it said what I remembered.

I took my note to Wycliff and handed it to Ester. “Help me get this to a groom. I need this to go to Lord Wycliff as soon as possible.”

She took the folded note. “The more I try to stop you, the more it’s driving you to Wycliff. I give up. I’ll get this to him right away.”

“This is a new tactic? The loving little sister indulging her older, daft one?”

“No, this is the loving little sister trying to love you right. Ruth, if you want him, I’m with you.”

“And if I am a fool, and this is nothing but something reckless, will you gloat?”

“No. I don’t stick my tongue out anymore. I wish you happiness. You deserve that, but I’ll be here to wipe your tears. Then we’ll plot how to bludgeon the whip-ferrying goat with a poker.”

I reached out and hugged Ester, truly hugged her. “I love you, Sis.”

“Let me get this to Jonesy. He is the fastest in getting notes delivered to Bex.”

Ester dashed away.

A little spent, I decided to go upstairs with my letter. I needed my wits for when Wycliff came.

Halfway up the stairs, I heard Clancy open the door.

Mrs. Johnson slid inside. She wore mourning black, head to toe, with a veil.

She ran and clasped the newel post of the stairs. “Ruth, I need to see you. I haven’t been a good friend.”

I glared at this woman. “No friend at all. You need to go.”

“I have to see you now. It is of the upmost urgency.”

“There’s nothing to hear.”

I came back downstairs, went to the door, and opened it. “Please leave.”

“It’s Madame Talease. She’s ill. She’s dying.”

I stopped and grasped the thick paper in my pocket. My heart hurt. Madame Talease was my friend. “To the study. We can talk in private.”

Madame Talease had been good to me. I hoped Mrs. Johnson was wrong, dead wrong.