He ran for the house.
He didn’t stop running until he reached his dressing room. There, he stood, panting, in front of his long mirror. Gripping the sides, he stepped closer, so that he could see only himself. For he suddenly wasn’t certain what he looked like without a background. Who was he all on his own—with nothing behind him?
He searched himself with his own dark gaze.
Who and what are you, Matthew Morgan Hawkmore?
Paint your own background.
He suddenly had a vision from his childhood. He was standing in front of a long mirror and he was carefully mimicking the man behind him, who was shaving himself. George Hawkmore always shaved himself. The tall man would stand there with his blade and quietly make amusing and exaggerated faces, all of which Matthew would imitate. They never spoke, only shaved.
We can only deal with what is, not what might have been.
He was a bastard, yes. But not like Benchley who’d been castigated for it from birth. No, from George Hawkmore he’d received praise and affection. While the man may not have made him, he’d helped form him.
Matthew watched his own tears fall down his face. He didn’t brush them away or try to prevent them, for they were in gratitude for
what was
, not what might have been.
And suddenly everything was simple and clear. His heart surged with happiness and his spirit felt light.
He knew what to do.
For he knew who and what he was.
He was George Hawkmore’s
son
, and he was an honorable man.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
PARADISE RECLAIMED
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it . . .
SONG OF SOLOMON 8:7
One month later ~
“Shall we go in soon and have a little tea?” Prim asked.
Patience folded the letter from Passion that she’d been reading before looking up at her younger sister. Prim was reclining against a broad tree stump, and Patience was reclining, on her side, against her. The day was unseasonably warm, so they’d come to the large pond that had been their retreat since childhood and laid a blanket on the shore. “Must we?”
“No.” Prim smiled and continued to stroke her fingers through Patience’s curls. “We can stay here as long as you like.”
Patience sighed and snuggled against her younger sister—something she’d never let herself do before. She’d held Prim often, but only to
give
comfort, never to
take
it.
She was a different woman now.
Closing her eyes, she let the warmth of her sister’s body and the slight warmth of the winter sun comfort her. And as always, the moment her eyes closed memories of Matthew filled her head—and heart.
“My beauty.”
“Yes, Matthew?”
She felt his lips touch hers. “Wake.”
She opened her eyes and stared into his dark gaze. Sunshine streamed through a bay of mullioned windows, illuminating his gold-tipped hair. He smiled then turned toward the light. His back was smooth and perfect. His wings fanned the air.
“Matthew,” she called.
He looked over his shoulder. “Wake, my love.”
“Wake, Patience. Wake.”
Patience felt Prim squeeze her shoulder. She forced her eyes open. “What is it?”
Prim smiled softly. “Someone is here to see you.”
“What?” Patience frowned sleepily as she sat up. “Who?” Turning, she squinted as the sunlight reflected off the pond. Lifting her hand, she shaded her eyes.
Matthew!
“Oh, God.” Her back straightened and her heart began to pound.
His attention was fixed on them as he walked the path that led around the pond. She feasted on the sight of him, tall and graceful. He carried his jacket slung over his shoulder and his fitted waistcoat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist. He wore no hat, and the longer strands of his gold-tipped hair had fallen against his temples in the way that she loved.
Prim got to her feet. It took Patience a moment longer, for her legs were shaking. And as Matthew neared, his beautiful eyes fixed upon her, her whole body began to tremble.
Prim stepped forward with a smile. “Hello, Matthew.” She gave him a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek, as if she greeted him all the time. “It’s so good to see you.”
His mouth turned up. “Hello, Primrose. Thank you.” He lifted his gaze back to Patience. “It’s good to be here.”
Prim turned and picked up her bonnet from the blanket. She paused by Patience and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I think I’ll go see to that tea now.”
Patience nodded as Prim kissed her cheek. Then her sister walked off toward the path, giving Matthew a farewell smile as she left.
Separated by five or six paces, they stood there quietly. Matthew’s eyes seemed to move over every inch of her, and she drank her fill of him as well. But finally, Patience lowered her gaze; for the more she looked at him, the harder it was not to cry. All she could think of was the hope and happiness that they had shared—and the love. But that was broken.
“God, but I’ve missed you,” he said, longingly.
Patience drew a steadying breath before lifting her gaze back to his. “I’ve missed you, too,” she managed calmly.
His eyes were shining. “Have you been playing?”
Back at Angel’s Manor, he’d given her his Guiseppe Guarneri—the golden red orange instrument she’d seen at Gwyn Hall. When she’d left him, she left the instrument as well. But he had sent it, with a note saying:
This is yours
. She loved playing it. “Yes, I adore the Guarneri. Thank you for sending it. I play it every day.” She pressed her hands against her skirts. “You?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid the Montagnana has been silent of late. I’ve been very busy.”
Patience raised her brows. “Have you been?”
“Yes.” His eyes moved slowly over her features. “That’s why I couldn’t come to you sooner.”
Patience nodded as she folded her arms over her chest. “And how is your scheme progressing? I’ve yet to see any of the letters in the paper.”
“I had Mickey return the letters, Patience.”
She slowly unfolded her arms. “You did?”
Matthew nodded. “Yes, all of them.”
Happy shock shivered down her spine. “But what of GWR? How will you hold it without destroying Benchley?”
“I won’t. I sold all my shares in GWR to Lord Wollby.”
Patience shook her head to clear it. Had he really just said he’d sold his shares? “I—I don’t understand.”
A smile flickered at the corner of Matthew’s mouth as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I informed Lord Wollby of Benchley’s plan to take over GWR, so that he could implement a plan of his own, and then I resigned from the board. Grand West Railway is no longer my concern.” Matthew shrugged.
“And with me out of the picture, Benchley will have a difficult time convincing the other mine owners to keep standing by him. Refusing to sell to the bastard son of a gardener is one thing. Refusing to sell to one of the most powerful lords of the realm is quite another.”
Patience tried to calm her racing heart. “But I thought GWR meant everything to you.”
“So did I.” Matthew held her in his gaze, and it was so tender. “But as it turns out, it doesn’t even run a close second to what means everything to me.” He took a step closer to her and then another. His lashes fluttered. “Shall I tell you what means everything?”
Patience drew shallow breaths as hope filled her and pressed against her lungs. “Yes.”
“Being worthy of you.”
Patience drew a shuddering breath.
Matthew took another step toward her. “And being worthy of myself.”
Patience’s eyes filled. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but she couldn’t seem to move. She was afraid if she did, that the spell would be broken—that she’d wake from the dream this must surely be.
He covered her hand with his. “I sold Angel’s Manor, Patience—the furnishings, the art, everything. I’ve convinced Mark, Fitz Roy, and Rivers to invest in Gwenellyn with me. We’re going to dig out from the explosion. It’ll take months, but once we get it back up, it should begin to turn a profit fairly quickly.”
Patience’s tears slipped down her cheeks as she stared into his dove’s eyes.
Lifting her hand, he touched her fingers gently. “Your Father Dafydd has agreed to stay. He and Mickey Wilkes have already emptied the old church. Mickey’s working in exchange for learning to read, which, it turns out, he’s always wanted to do. Farnsby and Asher are funding our school. Apparently, all those bets they place with each other are real. They’ve been putting the money away since childhood, so we should be able to build a separate school, rather than use the church. And, finally, I want you to tell Aunt Matty that the general store is stocked with a full assortment of candies—particularly licorice and lemon drops. So she must come and have some. Oh, and I bought Gwyn Hall from Mark, Patience.”
Patience began to sob.
Matthew pressed his handkerchief into her hand and then dropped onto his knees. “Miss Patience Emmalina Dare. I am madly and unequivocally in love with you. I cannot live my life without you, and even if it takes a lifetime, I will court you and no other.” He pulled her hand to his cheek. “You give me hope and joy, and I love just being in your presence. I admire you for your strength of character, your loyalty and your intellect.” He kissed her fingers. “You make my heart pound and my breath quicken. And when I am with you, I feel like I have wings.”
His eyes were swimming with tears. “Marry me, Patience. I have much less to offer you materially. But I offer you a good man. An honorable man. A man who will love you forever.”
With a sob, Patience dropped onto her knees and threw herself into his arms. “Yes! Yes! Yes, my love!” The feel of his body against hers, the woodsy vetiver against the smell of his skin, and the softness of his hair under her hand all made her shake with need.
He kissed her urgently and deeply, then pulled back. “I have something for you,” he murmured against her lips.
He pulled a small box and an envelope from his coat pocket and placed both in her hand. “For you, Mrs. Matthew Morgan Hawkmore.”
Patience opened the box. Inside were her diamond combs wrapped in a cream-colored satin ribbon. Her heart lurched and she didn’t think she had more tears or more happiness.
“I sold the rest of the jewelry, Patience. The money is there in the envelope.”
Patience looked inside. It was several hundred pounds.
“That’s the money for your thatch, your whitewash, and your trees and flowers.”
Patience clutched the box and the envelope to her breast. Then she curved her hand against his cheek. “What took you so long, my love? I’ve been waiting for you.”
Matthew stared into her eyes and his own were wet. “I’m here now.” He slipped his hand into her hair and she felt it trembling. “Are you prepared to give me what I want?”
She smiled. “What is it you want?”
His tears fell, but the dominant light was in his eyes. “I want you, Patience, for you have lit my dark world.”
Patience leaned close and kissed his tears. “Then steal me away and hide me in your shadow, my love. Chain me to your side and demand my submission.” She kissed his sweet mouth. “Take everything from me and, in the doing, give me
everything
I desire.”
Matthew crushed her in his embrace. “Forever, my love—forever!”
Epilogue
January 16, 1852
My Dear Henrietta,
I told you to stay in England for the winter! Did I not? Did I not say, ‘Henrietta, stay in merry old England where you belong’? But did you listen? No! Honestly, in a thousand years I could not have invented a story so shocking as the truth that is unfolding.
I would ask you to guess at what that truth might be, but you never shall (guess), so I will tell you everything. Do be sure to have a cup of strong tea nearby in order to fortify yourself, for once you hear . . .
Well, this is it then: Lord Benchley has been arrested upon suspicion of conspiracy and murder!
It’s true, my dear! It’s really true! You remember the horrible accident at Mr. Hawkmore’s coal mine—the one in which poor young boys were killed? Well, it wasn’t an accident at all! It turns out Lord Benchley hired some villains to blow up the mine so that Mr. Hawkmore, without a source of coal for GWR, would be forced into bankruptcy and utter ruination. Apparently, Lord Benchley even intended on taking over GWR once he’d driven it completely into the gutter. Can you imagine such despicable machinations?
Of course, revenge is never a straight arrow, is it, my dear? Lord Benchley couldn’t have known his scheme would take the life of innocents. But he must have known that it was horribly dangerous—that someone could have been hurt, or killed. And what of all the poor people who depended upon that mine for their livelihoods? I tell you, Henrietta, we had a serpent in our midst in Lord Benchley.
By the way, you must be wondering how all this came to light. It seems Benchley admitted everything to his new son-in-law, Lord Danforth, who, unable to live with the thought of keeping such a villainous secret, went to the authorities. Alas, if only he’d known of it before it happened, he might have prevented the death of the boys. But at least he was able to provide certain details and even some of the names of the actual perpetrators hired by Benchley (who have also been arrested).
Though Lord Danforth is, of course, shocked and dismayed to find himself wed into a family tainted with such wickedness, it is opportune that, as Lady Rosalind’s husband, he is able to take over the administration of the Benchley estate and financial interests which now pass entirely into his control. Though, just between us, Henrietta, I can’t help but think it won’t be long before the Benchley fortune is greatly reduced by Lord Danforth’s regrettable tendency to gamble—and spend. Since Benchley’s arrest, he has already made all number of extravagant purchases, and the Lady Rosalind seems to be caught up in the same fervor. Just the other day, I heard tell she is sporting a whole new wardrobe, and that she is planning a sumptuous weeklong gala that is to be held at Benchley Hall this coming summer. Lord Tuttleworth and I are uncertain if we shall attend.