Authors: Heart of the Storm
Rexanne Becnel (33 page)
He’d been obsessed with his own father and his hatred of the man for so many years that he’d been blind to everything else. But now he saw himself in the role of father—
really
saw himself, not just as being better at it than Lloyd Haberton, but as finding happiness in it. Enjoying fatherhood for itself, not as another sort of revenge.
really
saw himself, not just as being better at it than Lloyd Haberton, but as finding happiness in it. Enjoying fatherhood for itself, not as another sort of revenge.
He wanted to be a father, he realized, as he watched the villager and his son make their way home. He
wanted to share an afternoon with his son—or daughter —then return home, cold yet cheerful, to his warm home and welcoming wife.
wanted to share an afternoon with his son—or daughter —then return home, cold yet cheerful, to his warm home and welcoming wife.
To Eliza.
As if an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders, Cyprian suddenly felt buoyed up. The very thought of her bearing his children gladdened the deepest recesses of his heart. He’d never wanted that from another woman, and he never would. Eliza was everything to him, he saw with welcome clarity. She was love and home and happiness. She was his future, just waiting for him. But he had to reach out and grasp hold of that future if he truly wanted it.
The very thought of doing that, and of having to deal with his father, enraged him. But a life with Eliza …
He took a deep breath of the icy air and shook off his doubts. Down the hill, the woodcutter and his son were out of sight. But as Cyprian turned and started back to the cottage, the image of the pair stayed with him. By now they were home, welcomed in by a smiling woman who steered them nearer the fire and brought them bowls of hearty stew and asked them about their day. A simple enough pleasure, to dine in the presence of the ones you loved.
Suddenly Cyprian could hardly wait for the dinner hour.
“
I
see no reason to primp for this … this … this hooligan bastard your sister’s husband has turned loose on our family!”
I
see no reason to primp for this … this … this hooligan bastard your sister’s husband has turned loose on our family!”
Eliza’s jaw set to hear her father’s angry shouts. Her mother made some reply, but Eliza could hear little enough through the door that separated her room from her parents, only perhaps the phrase “prodigal son” and something about “to err is human.”
“If that were a biblical quote instead of the simpering words of some long-dead poet, perhaps I’d take it to heart—”
The rest of his tirade ended when Eliza rapped angrily on the door. “May I enter?” she called. Then she twisted the door handle and strode in, not waiting for an answer.
Her father stood, trousers and braces on, his linen shirt fastened properly with jasper studs and his shoes already on. He was frowning as his wife helped him tie his burgundy silk neck cloth prior to him donning his striped waistcoat and black frock coat. Eliza’s mother was already dressed in a gown of dove gray with crisp white cuffs and collars, and rich purple braid on the bodice. A sheer purple scarf draped her shoulders and was tied in a wide graceful bow at her chest. Though it
was a far cry from the frilly sort of gowns she wore to entertain at Diamond Hall, given the circumstances, she still managed to look as lovely as ever. All in all, the pair of them were every inch the well-to-do couple. Somehow that only added to Eliza’s simmering anger.
was a far cry from the frilly sort of gowns she wore to entertain at Diamond Hall, given the circumstances, she still managed to look as lovely as ever. All in all, the pair of them were every inch the well-to-do couple. Somehow that only added to Eliza’s simmering anger.
“Never call him ‘bastard’ again,” she snapped, glaring at her father. “Not if you intend to dandle any children of mine upon your knee.”
Where that threat came from she could not say, but it had the desired effect of silencing her father, though his mouth gaped open wide in shock.
“Eliza,” her mother breathed in an equally shocked tone. She glanced surreptitiously at Eliza’s stomach, then raised her fearful glance to her daughter’s face.
“No, Mother. I do not bear a child of Cyprian’s. But I intend to. I intend to fill his home and his heart with the joy of children. Your grandchildren,” she added as a tide of softer emotions drowned her anger. The very thought of Cyprian cradling a child of theirs filled her with such strange and intense feelings that she felt she might dissolve with the strength of her love for him—for him and his yet-to-be-conceived children. Their children.
She sighed and sent her parents a trembling smile. “Please be nice to him, Papa.”
He shut his mouth finally, then cleared his throat and turned away. This was so hard on him, she realized as he fumbled into his waistcoat and did up the buttons. After all, it was not even two months ago that he’d reluctantly seen her off, his ailing daughter, to heal on foreign shores. Now she was back, changed in ways he did not understand, stronger both physically and emotionally. She’d never shouted at him once in her entire life, nor questioned his will either, except in the matter of her betrothal to Michael. But now she fussed like a fishwife, no longer suffered any malady of the lungs, and was throwing herself at a man he considered of no consequence,
less reputation, and absent of any honor whatsoever.
less reputation, and absent of any honor whatsoever.
An inappropriate giggle bubbled up inside her. All in all, she supposed her parents were actually taking things rather well.
She stared at the two of them and suddenly saw them as they truly were: not two people intent on preventing her from finding the love and happiness she sought, but as parents who loved her in the same way she would love her own children someday, parents who wanted her secure and happy. That was all. She knew that only Cyprian could give her those things. Only with him could she find that security and happiness they wanted for her. It remained now for her to convince them of it.
A rush of love for them filled her heart and with a glad cry she flew across the room and into their startled embraces. “I love you both so much,” she whispered though fierce emotion choked her. “You’ve been such good parents to me, though I’ve always been a most difficult child—”
“You were never difficult,” her mother softly crooned, circling her with welcoming arms and smoothing her hair with a gentle hand.
“I was always sick.”
“But you’re well now,” her father replied, kissing her brow and patting her shoulder with a warm but awkward hand.
Eliza gave him a damp but heartfelt smile. “Yes, I’m well now, and I’m grown up enough to know where my heart lies. Wait,” she said before he could interrupt. “I know you think I’m making a terrible mistake with Cyprian. But you forget the example that you have set for me and LeClere and Perry. It’s obvious to all of us—to everyone who knows you—that the two of you adore each other. It’s only natural that your children want the same sort of rock solid love in their own lives. Well, that’s how I feel about Cyprian.”
She met her mother’s wide, luminous gaze and saw in that instant that she’d won her mother over. Love was an emotion that women seemed to recognize instinctively. It was men who seemed to struggle against it, just as her father’s frown showed he struggled against it now.
“You may love him. I do not doubt the sincerity of your emotions, daughter. But as for him—” He broke off and pulled away from their embrace.
But Eliza would not relent. “He loves me too, Father. The only impediment for him is my family—mainly Uncle Lloyd,” she hastened to add.
“Yes, well I’m afraid your uncle Lloyd is not going to go away. He will remain your uncle and a part of this family whether this … this sea captain of yours likes it or not.”
Eliza crossed to her father’s side and took his hand in hers. “Cyprian will come around, Father. He just needs time.”
“Hmph. You say that because you wish to believe it. For all you know, he may not even show up tonight.”
With that one exasperated comment he struck at her deepest fear. What
if
Cyprian did not show? What if she were wrong and their love was not sufficient to counteract his lifelong hatred of his father?
if
Cyprian did not show? What if she were wrong and their love was not sufficient to counteract his lifelong hatred of his father?
Eliza could not bear the thought, so she did the only thing she could. She smothered her fears with optimism, giving her father a brave smile. “He’ll be here. You’ll see. Before this night is out, we will begin to mend the rifts in our family and you’ll understand why I love Cyprian so much.”
Her father did not respond. He only turned toward the plain oak-framed mirror that hung on the wall and began once more to fiddle with his cravat. Her mother sighed and gave Eliza a warm and hopeful smile. Then a sharp rap upon the hall door brought their heads swivelling about.
“He’s here,” Eliza breathed, and her heart began to pound a happy rhythm.
But the message brought by her youngest brother, Perry, was far less promising than that. “Uncle Lloyd says he accepts your invitation after all, Father. He shall dine with you tonight.”
“Papa, no!” Eliza exclaimed. “If his father is there—”
“What will happen? His true nature will out? Better to know now how this man you would wed will deal with your family.
All
of your family.”
All
of your family.”
“But that’s not fair,” Eliza protested. “Mother, please. You understand, don’t you?”
“Oh, Eliza. Yes, of course I understand. But I also agree with your father. If your Cyprian loves you as dearly as you love him, he will bury his anger. His love will snuff it out and the two of you will be able to begin a life together free of any impure motives.”
“But Mother …”
Eliza trailed off in the face of their unrelenting expressions. It was clear they had decided; it was up to Cyprian now, completely up to him. A lifetime of hatred versus the promise of a lifetime of love.
Though she tried to convince herself that love must always triumph over hate, as she followed her parents down the dimly lit hall toward the private dining room they’d reserved, Eliza was suddenly afraid. Cyprian was a man of intense emotions. He loved and hated with a fierceness that could be terrifying. Though she’d come to love that intensity, it now filled her with dread, for Cyprian was nothing if not unpredictable. Soon she would know the direction of the rest of her life. Soon she will be filled with indescribable joy, or else unutterable misery.
As she took her seat at the well-laid table, Eliza’s heart beat a frightened and irregular pattern. Please come, she prayed, not to God but to Cyprian.
Please
hurry to my side and please, please, tell me you’ll stay forever.
Please
hurry to my side and please, please, tell me you’ll stay forever.
Eliza paced. Her uncle was on his third glass of wine. Her mother kept folding and refolding a square linen napkin while her father pulled out his watch for what surely must have been the hundredth time.
The door creaked and Eliza whirled. But her hopes crashed into despair when it was only Mrs. Dooley, the innkeeper’s wife.
“Shall I send round the first course?”
“Yes—”
“No!” Eliza countered her uncle’s word. “No. We await another guest.”
“Who’s not coming,” Uncle Lloyd muttered.
“He is,” Eliza vowed. “Go on,” she ordered the puzzled woman. “And when he arrives, do not delay a moment in showing him in.”
The door closed with a discreet click. Silence reigned again in the modestly furnished dining room.
It occurred absurdly to Eliza that she seemed always to spend her most nerve-wracking moments in dining rooms, and all on account of suitors. At her birthday party in the dining room at Diamond Hall, she’d been sorely upset at the thought of marrying Michael. Dear, kind Michael who deserved a far better woman than her to love him. How she hoped he discovered such a life-mate soon.
But this wait here at the plain little inn at Lyme Regis was far, far worse than the hours she’d spent dreading marriage to Michael Johnstone. It was well into the dinner hour. Cyprian should be here by now, shouldn’t he? She kept her back to her parents and uncle. If only Aubrey were here, or her brothers. But they’d been given their dinner separately. It was to be only her parents, Cyprian’s father, her, and Cyprian.
If
he showed up.
If
he showed up.
Another quarter hour passed, though it felt like an hour or more. Eliza stood at a curtained window, staring off into the darkness at a grove of beech trees stripped bare by the winter winds. The gray silhouetted branches reached up as if in supplication to the dark and moody sky, praying for the return of warmth and light, she imagined. Just as she prayed for the warmth and light that only Cyprian could bring to her life.
A soft rap sounded on the door and Eliza started, then as quickly, she subsided in disappointment. Cyprian’s knock would never be so timid.
Sure enough, Mrs. Dooley’s peculiar west country drawl intruded on the somber silence of the room.
“Beggin’ yer pardons, but—”
“I’ll introduce myself, thank you.”
Eliza gasped and whirled. Cyprian!
He stood in the doorway, nearly brushing the door frame with the top of his head. Had any man ever looked so handsome and so virile? So dear? Eliza’s eyes misted with grateful tears as she stared at him unspeaking. He’d come for her. He loved her, and oh, how completely she loved him.
Their eyes met and held, and she saw in them both love and a raw vulnerability.
I’m here for you,
his gaze seemed to say. I’m here because I love you and need you.
I’m here for you,
his gaze seemed to say. I’m here because I love you and need you.
Then his eyes shifted to his father, and in a blink the vulnerability was replaced by a careful blankness that she knew covered a soul-deep anger. He stiffened, not stepping into the room, so she started toward him instead. But her mother caught her arm, staying her progress while her father went forward to greet Cyprian.
“Good evening, Captain Dare.” He put out his hand in greeting, and although Cyprian did not at once take it, her father held it there, steady. When Cyprian finally grasped Gerald Thoroughgood’s hand, Eliza could have kissed her father for the unwavering generosity of that
gesture. He wanted this to work, she realized, and that meant more to her than she could ever express. He wanted Cyprian to have the opportunity to come to terms with his own father as well as hers. The opportunity to marry her. It remained only for them to mend the wounds between Cyprian and Uncle Lloyd.
gesture. He wanted this to work, she realized, and that meant more to her than she could ever express. He wanted Cyprian to have the opportunity to come to terms with his own father as well as hers. The opportunity to marry her. It remained only for them to mend the wounds between Cyprian and Uncle Lloyd.
She took a shaky breath, afraid to be hopeful, but unable not to be. Her mother squeezed her arm in reassurance as her father drew Cyprian into the room. The door closed. Cyprian hung his hat and his heavy top coat on a wall hook. Then he turned to face them all.
This was not easy for him, she could tell, for although he looked tall and forbidding—unapproachable, in fact —she knew him well enough now to realize that he always appeared his most intimidating when he was actually most vulnerable. Oh, how right Xavier had been when he’d advised her that Cyprian’s anger hid a wounded heart. Though she’d scoffed then, now she knew it was true. But she intended to see that heart mended, and this night would see them take another step toward that healing.
“May I make the introductions, Father?” Eliza did not wait for his answer but crossed the room to stand beside Cyprian. She smiled encouragingly at him and tucked her hand in the crook of his stiffly held arm. “I would like to introduce all of you to Captain Cyprian Dare. My father, Sir Gerald Thoroughgood.” She tugged him toward her mother. “My mother, Lady Constance Thoroughgood.”
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