For once, the spaniels had not come out to greet Francis. They were in the kitchen, most likely, for this was not his usual visiting day. Though if Marcus had returned, they were possibly with him. Had he returned?
‘Is Mr Ibsen expected home from his travels soon?’ he asked the maid who took his hat.
Her eyes slid away from his as she said evasively, ‘I can’t rightly say, sir.’
Of course, her evasion could have been his imagination. He was not his usual perceptive self at the moment.
‘I’ll run up and tell the nursery maids you are here, for they won’t be expecting thee, it not being your regular day.’
The relief he experienced as she quickly skittered up the stairs made him feel light-headed and he was thankful he hadn’t made fool of himself by asking if his wife was in residence. He’d soon find out, for signs of occupancy couldn’t be concealed.
There were no gloves on the hall table, no lace-edged handkerchiefs left about. No hints of feminine pursuits, such as embroidery frames or sewing boxes, were in evidence. The furniture in the main living rooms he walked through were shrouded in dust sheets.
He could not, though, search the chambers in another man’s house. Such behaviour would be erratic in the extreme and would draw notice. Yet, any one of those closed doors could hide his wife from sight, for some of the guest chambers had private sitting rooms attached.
He went up the stairs quietly, his ears alert for a sigh, a feminine laugh, the rustle of taffeta skirts or just the flutter of her heartbeat, for he was sure he’d recognize it if he heard it.
He stood on the top landing outside the nursery door, the blood pumping against his ear drums, his elation plummeting when he thought miserably: She is probably still in Van Diemen’s Land.
Inside, the children were giggling and the nursery maids were laughing about something.
‘Hush now, my bonny,’ one of them said. ‘I’ll take you through to the other room so you can rest. If you’re good and go to sleep, I’ll sing you a pretty song when you wake.’
His mind sifted through the familiar sounds and discovered an odd note, a giggle which didn’t quite fit. Was it a different voice? His mouth dry, he pushed the door open.
‘Ganfer!’ With squeals and giggles Jane Louise and Alexander swarmed over him, lifting their arms to be cuddled.
One nursery maid was folding clothing. The younger one smiled as she stepped through from the room the children slept in, which was curtained off. She looked ill at ease when she said brightly, ‘Good day, Dr Matheson. You’re just in time to have some tea with us. Cook has made us some oatmeal biscuits today, and there is some gooseberry conserve to spread on them. Though I daresay you’d prefer tea to milk. Cook will bring some up directly, now she knows you’re here.’
‘Thank you.’ Preoccupied as he was with his grandchildren, it was some time before he noticed the smallness of the garments being folded. He gazed at them for a moment, then said, ‘Surely they don’t fit these two now?’
‘No, sir. It’s quite amazing how fast children grow, isn’t it?’ The clothes were quickly bundled back into the basket and set aside.
A soft noise took his glance to the curtain separating the room, and under it he saw a small pair of chubby bare feet. As he watched, a face peered at him from the side. The child was standing there, holding on to the door jamb. When he smiled at her, she let go, staggered like a drunken sailor towards him, then folded heavily on to her rear. Jane and Alexander clapped their hands and the three of them dissolved into paroxysms of giggles as she struggled to stand and rolled over on her back with her legs in the air.
One of the nursery maids hurried forward to pick the child up, gazing awkwardly at him. ‘Francine should be resting.’
Francine! Something familiar about the child drew his eye. ‘Is that your child?’
‘No, sir.’
He placed the other two down on the floor and his heart leaped as his memory was triggered. Siana had told him she was expecting a child and he hadn’t believed her. ‘Bring her here to me. I want to take a look at her.’
The child didn’t protest at being picked up by a strange man. She scrutinized him intently through eyes as dark as pines. Her hair was dark, curling in a riotous cap over her head. Little fingers came to explore his face. She did it in a deliberate manner, cupping her palms over his nose then pressing them flat against his lips, as if to mould them. She made a face when she stroked against the grain of his whiskers and, after gently exploring his eyes she placed her hands over her own eyes.
‘Boo!’ she shouted, flinging her hands away from her.
He laughed and so did she, a hearty giggle which made her whole body jiggle like that of a plump little puppy. It was love at first sight for him, for she was the very image of Siana.
‘Where’s her mother?’ he growled at one of the nursery maids.
‘Out walking, sir.’
‘Has she been gone long?’
‘Since early, an hour, perhaps.’
Siana could walk for hours, so he could afford to spend some time with the children. He played with them until they tired, and were taken off to rest, though his mind was elsewhere.
‘Have my wife’s and daughter’s things packed and taken to Rivervale House. We’ll be back for our daughter,’ he instructed as he left.
The two maids exchanged a grin. ‘Didn’t take ’e long to run her to earth, did it?’ one of them said. ‘Lord, but his eyes lit up when he saw the little un.’
As Francis strode towards the hills, his mind was filled with a vision of Siana standing on the cliff top, her hair tumbling about her, her skirt blowing in the wind and her feet bare to the grass beneath her feet.
And thus it was when she came into sight. Her bronze taffeta skirt had a hint of cream petticoat beneath, and was teamed with bodice the colour of toasted almonds. Transfixed, he gazed upon her stillness and was drawn into the relationship his woman had with the elements surrounding her. He had no doubt that the pagan part of her had pulled him to her side.
‘You complete me,’ she’d said to him once, and he knew with absolute certainty that it was the other way round. Siana completed him. So he stood there to watch and wait, feeling his love reach out to surround and protect her.
He waited – waited for her to feel his presence and to allow her heart to accept him again.
That morning it had been much the same kind of sky as on the day Maryse died, only less violent. ‘Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning,’ Siana had murmured.
As the morning progressed the red sky had become a stipple of apricot clouds banding across to the horizon, then a race of ragged rain clouds had appeared to soak her through.
The day was warmer than that fateful day nearly two years before, the breeze was as kind as a caress. The difference between that awful winter and the summer of Siana’s return was marked by hope, not by the loss of it.
Maryse’s sky would have been just as glorious as today’s early red sky, with its same warning. Her eyes would have absorbed it as a last beautiful memory as she’d fallen to her death into the shadowy rocks concealed in the surging tides below. It would have filled her heart and mind and remained with her as she’d stepped forward into the light.
She would not have thought of the children she’d born for Marcus, nor the horrible shaming of her at the christening. Maryse would not have felt fear. She would have felt nothing but the most fleeting, exquisite pain.
Time had become meaningless to Siana. The wind blew her hair about her face and shoulders in damp strands. She didn’t mind. Up here on the cliff with the turbulent summer sea stretching into the sky, she knew her place within the landscape. Her heart was too open to the elements for her body to feel uncomfortable.
She could feel Francis and her children, so close and yet so far. She had contacted nobody since her return, yet those who mattered to her would suspect she was home.
From the poppy-covered grass on the hill above Rivervale House, where she’d once laid with her love, she had watched Goldie and Daisy at play, ignoring the need to reach out and hold them close. The earth had warmed beneath her body when she’d caught a glimpse of Francis leaving the house. There had been no sign of Bryn, and she’d been heartsick over his absence, for she’d hoped Francis had softened towards him.
Francis would know she was here now. She could feel the uncertainty of him, the need he had in him to retain his pride. He was close to her, this love of hers, and she must guard her instincts, for the need to punish him was strong in her, too.
But the conflict between them must be resolved. Her mind reached out to his, connecting with the love he held for her. Feeling his heart beating, her own picked up its rhythm. The measure of his tread trembled in the grass beneath her bare feet and the voice of her great-grandmother Lewis came to her like a sigh on the wind.
He is come to you, cariad. Your one true love.
‘Don’t come any closer, Francis,’ she said, keeping him at arm’s length, as he approached her from behind.
His voice was filled with the male gruffness of him. ‘I thought I’d find you here. You’ll catch cold standing in the rain.’
‘It makes me feel alive in a way you’d never understand.’ She turned, her heart churning at the sight of him, for his grief over Maryse’s death and the aftermath was written indelibly on the gauntness of his face. His hair had silvered more too, but fire burnt in the grey of his eyes. Tears filled her eyes as she closed the gap between them and gently touched his cheek. Her resolve to punish him weakened. ‘You’ve suffered greatly.’
‘I shouldn’t have sent you away.’
She drew in a breath, drawing strength from the bracing saltiness coming off the ocean. There was a need in her to tell him, to redeem herself in his eyes.
‘We nearly lost Maryse once before. Here, in this very spot. It was when she first knew of the burden she must bear. There was a storm, and lightning struck the earth. Without my intervention Maryse would have died then, and her infant would not have been born. Marcus came upon us and it was as if he had been sent as part of the storm. That’s how we met, and the events that followed afterwards seemed fated. I must bear responsibility for Bryn, for I made myself the guardian of his life back then, when I saved the life of his mother.’
Francis said nothing.
‘I must have him back, Francis! Even if you can’t accept him as a son you can be his grandfather and love and guide him. Already, I’ve lost two children. My heart is aching for them, but it’s aching more for Bryn, because he’s alive and needful of me. The circumstance of his birth was not his fault and I won’t let you punish him for it. You’ve experienced first-hand what that does to the innocent.’
He made a gesture of defeat with his hands.
‘You once loved Bryn, but what price do you place on love when you can send those you love away?’ She forgot to be strong and pleaded with him. ‘You cannot love people one moment and hate them the next. I tried it with you, tried to hate you so your coldness didn’t hurt so much. I discovered that love is stronger than my will, and to love you is a burden as well as a blessing. There can be nobody else held so close to my heart. Even as you spurned me, I still loved you. But for pity’s sake, Francis, return Bryn to my keeping, for the child was nurtured at my breast, and without him I feel bereft.’
There was a noise deep in his throat. A sob. ‘Don’t condemn me for that, Siana, not when I feel so wretched.’
‘I know I don’t deserve your love. Would you have me beg on my knees for the life of the boy? I will, if you ask it of me.’
‘I love you. I want you to come home.’
Her heart gave a leap, but her smile was uncertain, for she couldn’t abandon Bryn. The child was within her heart and she could feel his uncertainty and his need to be loved. ‘I cannot return without Bryn. He’s part of me now.’
Francis took a step towards her, his eyes searching her face. He said, ‘I knew you would not, for I wounded you too much when I took him from you. But in doing so, I hurt myself more.’ A faint wintry smile touched his lips. ‘You brought me a gift in Francine.’
When her chin lifted a fraction he knew she would fight for her children without giving him any quarter. ‘Remember what you said to me when I told you I was with child? That you would never father any child of mine. Francine is my daughter.’
The air between them quivered with tension, for his past remark had wounded her badly. Yet she had the feeling she’d gone too far, for his face tightened as he gazed at her. ‘It was something said in the heat of the moment and immediately regretted.’
‘You forgot to tell me you regretted saying it. A letter would have sufficed. You could have sent one with Marcus Ibsen.’
‘There is much to regret. My lack of communication is one of them.’ He gave her a tight smile. ‘Isn’t it time we stopped playing games?’
She stared silently at him. This wasn’t going exactly as she’d planned. ‘You’re a surgeon as well as a physician, Francis. Tell me, how many times can a person be stabbed in the heart without bleeding the death?’
‘You’re being overly dramatic. We’re talking about the paternity of a child.’
‘Francine is part of my heart. All the children are.’
He made a soft, exasperated noise in his throat. ‘Let me put my question thus. If I’m not Francine’s father, who is? The fact that you’ve chosen to conceal from me that you’ve returned to England and are living in another man’s house, could give rise to speculation.’
Blood rushed to her face. ‘Hah! I thought your eyesight was adequate enough to see past the end of your nose.’ Picking up her skirts she pushed past him and began to run.
He grabbed her wrist when he caught her up, swinging her round to face him. ‘I love you,’ he said, his voice breaking with the emotion he usually found so hard to express. ‘I know Francine is my child. I know you’re my wife and I’m aware I’ve treated you badly.’
‘Francis, can I just say—’
He placed a finger across her mouth. ‘Hush, it is me who is begging now, in the best way I know how. There will be no more recriminations and no more apologies, for it will only prolong the hell of living without you. You and Francine will come home with me now. Much has happened in your absence that you need to be made aware of, and we will talk of it later. The children need you, and we need each other.’
In an instant she was in his arms, her head against his chest, reluctant to mention Bryn again, for although she’d pleaded the boy’s case with all that was in her, Siana knew she would learn to live without Bryn rather than lose Francis, despite her resolve to the contrary.
She couldn’t resist one last try. ‘I shouldn’t have given you the impression I would choose Bryn over you, even though my heart is breaking into a thousand pieces at the thought of losing him. I will bend to your will, but only if I have to.’
He chuckled at that. ‘Your heart is stronger than you could possibly imagine, and Bryn is waiting for you at home.’ Tipping up her chin he gently kissed her, chasing all thoughts of Bryn out of her head. They stood for what seemed an eternity just holding each other tight, then, hands joined, slowly walked back to Cheverton Manor together.
As they drove up to Rivervale House, Siana felt she had truly come home.
Suddenly, there were Daisy and Goldie, sitting on the step together, grown older now, though Goldie had a frail look to her. Their smiles crumpled into tears at the sight of her. ‘Mamma!’
She left her daughter with Francis, almost leaping from the rig in her haste to cuddle them close. Soon they were all damp-eyed.
‘Look how you’ve grown, Daisy. Goldie, have you been ill, my love? Oh, I’ve missed you all so much. I’m so glad I’m home.’
She sensed rather than saw someone in the shadows of the hall beyond. Standing, she gazed into the darkness, her body tensing when her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. She saw a forlorn little figure gazing at her through the banisters of the stairs. This was not the outgoing child she had last seen. Sadness emanated from him, and loneliness too.
‘Oh God! . . . Francis, look how much he’s grown, but what has happened to him?’ She went went to where he sat, and drew his stiff little body against hers. ‘Do you remember me, my dearest Bryn?’
‘Mamma,’ he whispered.
He needed a very special kind of loving from her now. ‘My sweet boy, I love you so much and I’ve missed you so.’
When Bryn began to tremble and weep she pulled him onto his lap and hugged him tight, rocking him back and forth. ‘You need a very special kind of loving, my little cuckoo, and that you will have.’
His smile came at the mention of her pet name for him, uncertain, like the sun lurking behind the tragic cloud of his face. His eyes were a mixture of excitement and shyness.
‘I’ve missed you so much, my Bryn. So much,’ and she grazed kisses over his face and head.
‘You stayed away a long time and I had to go away, then Grandpa came for me,’ he said, sounding all forlorn.
Grandpa, now, was it? She gave Francis a speculative glance and, noting the smile on his face, thought perhaps it was the best compromise, after all. Lying did not sit easily on him.
‘My darling boy, I’ll never leave you again,’ she promised. Francine had climbed the stairs with Goldie and Daisy in close attendance. ‘See, I have brought you a baby sister to look after. Her name is Francine.’
Francine produced her most winning smile for Bryn. Seeming not to mind in the slightest that her mother’s sole attention had been removed from her and she was cuddling a stranger in her lap, her daughter climbed up and hugged him too.
Her children crowded in on her then, smiling and touching her, loving Bryn and bringing another smile to his face. Floating in their love, although she stretched her arms as far as they would reach, Siana couldn’t encompass them all until Francis joined them, taking her hands in his so they were all reunited.
‘Thank you for bringing me home,’ she whispered, choking on her own emotion.
Then later, it was the turn of Pansy who came in with Josh, the pair of them shining with happiness so the whole world could see they were in love, rendering the wonderful news they had for her superfluous.
After dinner she and Francis talked. Francis held nothing back, telling her of Goldie’s misadventure, and not sparing himself in the process. ‘I should have gone to London and checked that all was well instead of trusting to those letters. I should have known it was not Goldie’s way of saying things.’
‘What of Betty Groves and her daughter? Were they punished for their crime?’
‘I heard from Beckwith just two days ago on the matter. The pair are awaiting transportation. He’s in the process of settling Sebastian Groves’s estate. An offer has been made for the business, including the machinery. I thought I might ask Josh to find a suitable property to buy on Goldie’s behalf, one which can be rented out until she comes of age.’
‘And Bryn? Have you decided what his future will be?’
‘He knows me as his grandfather now. I’ll tell him the truth of his birth when he’s old enough to understand, for he must be trained in a profession to provide for himself in the future. Reverend White left Bryn a legacy, which will carry him through university. And my brothers will help in any way they can.’
‘That’s good of them.’
‘They bear some responsibility for what happened to Bryn in your absence, for I followed their advice. But, no more recriminations, Siana. We must live for the future, not in the past. Go and say goodnight to your children. I’ll be up later to do the same.’
But when he went upstairs he found the children’s rooms empty. He found the children asleep on Siana’s bed. Daisy and Goldie were propped on pillows at the foot, looking like a pair of angels with their golden hair spread all around them. Francine was lying between them. His daughter’s thumb was jammed firmly in her mouth, her plump fingers curved over her nose. The three of them were tucked under a blue and white quilt. He recognized it as the one the Welsh woman had left behind for Siana, and wondered fleetingly what had happened to her.
Bryn was snuggled up against Siana. All were asleep. Siana had been reading to them, for Robinson Crusoe was lying open on the bed.
As if they hadn’t had enough trauma, he thought, gazing wryly at the face of his sleeping wife. Stooping to gently kiss them all, he went through the dividing door to his own chamber.
Siana woke just before the candle guttered out. Being careful not to disturb the sleeping children she rose to light another candle from the stub.
A few moments later she was through the connecting door and gazing down at her husband. He looked more relaxed in repose. All she had ever felt for him was now a river of love in her veins. She kissed him until she felt the softening response of his mouth against hers, and knew he was awake.
‘Allow me to tell you about Marcus Ibsen, for I know you are wondering,’ she whispered, when she saw the glitter of his eyes in the candlelight.
‘Must you?’ he said painfully.
‘Marcus is not like other men I know. We are at ease with each other and he understand me as no other man does, not even you, my Francis.’
‘I have been torturing myself with the thought of him being alone with you in that house, so isolated from everyone.’
‘Ah . . .’ she said softly. ‘Then torture yourself no more. I have always loved you, and only you. Marcus slept in one of the cottages.’
Siana grinned to herself then, for Marcus had been so sure of himself. She had to admit his attention had been flattering when she’d been vulnerable, and she’d been sorely tempted. But becoming lovers would have been wrong for both of them and would have complicated matters. He’d looked like a small, lost dog when she’d banished him from the house. But he’d laughed at himself from then on and had accepted his defeat gracefully, except for taking advantage of her with a long, lingering parting kiss when her hands had been full. Oh, Marcus, she thought, thank goodness you didn’t kiss me like that back at the house.
‘Why did he go to Van Diemen’s Land at all?’
‘His sole purpose was to send me back to you. Before he placed me on the ship he told me to come home and take back that which is mine.’
‘You left him in Van Diemen’s Land?’
‘I understood there was a woman he’d travelled out with living there. Julia Hardy, she was called. Marcus expressed his admiration for her on many occasions and I believe he was considering proposing marriage to her. So don’t be surprised if he returns with a bride.’
‘What was his business in New South Wales, then?’
‘I considered it best not to pry too closely into what his business might be, for I suspect it involved those who dealt so badly with Maryse.’
When he gave a distressed sigh, she reminded him, ‘There were others who loved her too, Francis, and they were hurting just as much. Marcus doesn’t possess a nature that would allow her attackers to remain unavenged.’
‘Yet he married her, even knowing what he did about her.’
‘And would have taken her child under his roof too, had it been necessary. He loved her. Maryse was perfect in his eyes. She always will be, and he’ll always remember her young and in need of his protection. That’s not a bad memory to grow old with.’
He reached up to touch her face, his voice soft. ‘Aye, it’s not. You’re perfect.’
‘There’s no such thing as perfection. We all have blemishes.’ Pulling the covers from his body she slid in beside him and murmured, ‘Didn’t I promise you a son?’
‘You did, but my daughter was a unexpected gift and I’m content with her. For now, I’d just like to hold you, for I’ve missed the closeness we had.’
And hold her he did, but not for long. He’d forgotten the potency of her caresses, the teasing wanton movements of her body, the silky touch of her skin under his fingertips and mouth, and the seductive perfume of her. He lost himself as her caresses brought the man in him surging against her, so she took him into the fragrant moist depths where all was sensation until she cried out with the joy of him and captured him inside her with her thighs.
Then came the frenzy of his last frantic thrusts as she arched to meet him, and the swift, hot flood of him into her honeyed lair.
When he collapsed, hot and perspiring against her, she was loving as her fingers strayed to the welts on his back. ‘Tell me about these, my Francis.’
And since she’d unmanned him with her loving, he told her about the floggings he’d received. ‘It was as if I was inhuman, a man without without pride in himself.’
She cried a little, then stopped his words with her mouth over his. It was just a few moments before he was ready to love her all over again.
It was in the early hours of the morning when she fell asleep. He brushed the dark tangled hair back from her face and gazed at her. She looked as smug and as satisfied as a cat, and he had not felt so relaxed for a long time.
He kissed her mouth, already swollen from his kisses, and when she muttered his name in her sleep he smiled to himself, for he was filled with the contentment of just loving her, and he had been made whole. He would not lose her again.