Chapter 24 #2
Even when the last echo of boots against floorboards vanished, his mother continued peering at the empty doorway.
“Alex is going to be all right,” she said, voice contemplative.
“I know we decided, many years ago, that it would be best for you boys to go away for school, but he never seemed happy at Cambridge. The move back to London will be good for him, I think.”
Ben blew out a long exhale, allowing his taut shoulders to loosen. “Yes. I see that now.”
“And you, Ben?” She turned to him abruptly, giving him the type of stare that seemed to permeate far below the surface. “Are you all right?”
Several days ago, he would have been hard-pressed to answer that question with anything favorable.
However, so much had changed since then.
Old pieces of him crumbled away. New ones went up in their place.
Brightness appeared where it hadn’t before.
Which was why he could reply, confidently, “I am. Truly.”
His assurance seemed to satisfy her, for she nodded, her expression softening.
“Given the circumstances, I was worried about you when you went off to Wiltshire. I grew significantly more worried when I learned of your hasty marriage plans. However, now that you’re here and I’ve seen you with Violet—I believe she’s good for you. ”
“She is,” he replied without preamble. Without hesitation.
Perhaps he’d suspected it back at Aldercombe, but the profundity of the statement had solidified itself here in London in a way he could neither forget nor deny.
Which led to another truth, equally glaring.
“I … I care for her. The way a true husband cares for a wife.”
“I know. I can see that quite plainly.” His mother’s eyes danced, filled with the wisdom of one who’d married not once, but twice, for love. “And you’re both happy at Aldercombe?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Because while they’d had their share of trials with the estate—and no doubt had more to come—they suddenly all felt surmountable if he had Violet beside him.
He remembered whirling her around the village green.
Kissing her beneath the beech on Skylark Ridge.
Laying her across the desk in his study.
Moments that connected them to the place and made it all seem right.
“It’s starting to feel like our home,” he answered honestly. “Almost as if it were meant to be.”
The words rolled off his tongue so easily, but once they did, he hesitated, a knot forming in his chest. Meant to be. His father wouldn’t have seen it that way. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”
Yet his mother only gave her head a small shake. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
He peered at the woman who’d fought to provide for him and Alex after she’d been left widowed and destitute.
Who’d been fiercely protective, raising them, with Jeremy’s help, far away from Rockliffe House.
All until the day—not so long after his uncle had been in an accident that nearly cost him his life—that she’d sat down with him and told him the truth of his inheritance.
A fact that had always hovered in the distance, but her words had turned a possibility into a certainty: no other heir would come before him.
Thus taking everything his father had sought to avoid and casting it into his lap.
The doubt that Violet had helped put at bay simmered back to life. “It’s not what Father would have wanted.” His voice was shallow. Strained.
“Oh, my darling.” Her hand gripped his where it lay on the bed, fingers clasping tightly.
“Your father had many sentiments about the peerage, but none so strong as his love for you. He’d want you to be happy, however that happiness came about.
And I know he’d be so proud of the integrity, determination, and strength you display no matter what twists and turns come your way. I certainly am.”
Her eyes glittered with moisture; he could see that even through the blur in his own. The views she expressed were a close echo of Violet’s. Did that mean he could truly let himself believe them? That he could embrace his desires, his future—his position as heir—without compunction?
“Thank you.” He leaned into her, wrapping her in a firm hug and feeling her arms encircle him in return.
Throughout his lifetime, they’d shared such gestures on far too many occasions to count.
This time, though, it felt monumental. Like love and acceptance.
Like permission to let go. Like the cusp of a new beginning.
“I hope you, Jeremy, and the boys will come visit us at Aldercombe even though my recklessness and lack of communication are no longer forcing you there,” he said when they finally pulled apart, giving her a rueful half-smile.
“You can depend upon it.” She pursed her lips, one brow quirking. “Although perhaps not right away. You and your new wife are still in the period where you likely require much time alone.”
His mouth opened and closed, heat flooding the back of his neck.
He hadn’t anticipated having that sort of conversation with his mother.
Meanwhile, it brought to light a topic that had been increasingly on his mind as he lay alone in bed each night, sorting through memories and waiting for his ribs to heal. He missed Violet—physically.
He’d been given small tastes of how wonderful intimacy with her could feel. And while circumstances—along with his own reservations—had kept interfering with any sort of lasting closeness, it didn’t have to remain that way forever.
When they returned to Aldercombe, and were back in the privacy and comfort of their own home, he wanted to make her his wife. In every sense of the word.
“Not right away,” he agreed, standing quickly so she wouldn’t detect the flush spreading to his cheeks.
With his mother one step behind him, he crossed the small room, reaching back to give her hand a final squeeze—the wordless conclusion to their discussion.
The origins of his trip to London had been nothing short of disastrous. Who would have thought it could end up being so productive? So revelatory. So cathartic.
In satisfied silence, they approached the stairs.
It was time to enjoy one last night with his family before he and Violet got in the carriage at first light. And then, it was time to enjoy a future with his wife.