Chapter Twenty-Five
M ary Fisher climbed down from the top of the mail coach, then stretched to work out her sore muscles and joints from riding all cramped up for the past several hours. The journey had been hard and tiring, but she couldn’t give up. She had to save her boy. And now, they were just one more stage ride from Wolverhampton and her sister’s cottage. They would rest there for a few days and decide what to do next. But returning to the coast was not an option, not as long as Davie was in danger of being taken from her. Her husband would simply have to join her in the north when she’d finally found a place for them to safely settle into a new life.
“Don’t run off!” she called out as Davie jumped down from the coach.
He was still as full of energy as ever and needed to burn it off. But the posting inn was busy in the hour just before sunset, with travelers arriving for the night and the last coaches and rigs heading out for the evening, and she didn’t want him to cause trouble or get underfoot.
So she waved him back to her. “Stay by my side.”
He rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders at being denied a bit of fun. Despite dragging his feet, he obediently did as she ordered and went to her side, but his wide eyes were frantically taking in all the activity around them in the busy inn yard. She knew if she only gave the word, he would be off like a shot to watch the hostlers harnessing and unharnessing the horses, moving around the coaches and rigs, and hauling barrels and crates from wagon to wagon and into the barns surrounding the yard. Perhaps Davie and she could find a quiet spot somewhere in the back of the inn where he could run and play for a bit before the next coach left for Wolverhampton, where they would most likely arrive before supper.
“We’ll rest a bit here before we go on, but we’ll see Aunt Catherine this evening. Won’t that be lovely? She has her own boys just about your age.” She took his hand to lead him into the inn where she could buy passage for the last leg of the journey. “How about we see if the inn has any sticky buns? You deserve a reward for being such a good boy.”
He bounced with excitement at the possibility, not releasing her hand but dancing around wildly at her side. “Sticky buns! Sticky buns!” Then he halted suddenly as a thought struck him, his round eyes lighting up. “Cinnamon?”
“Perhaps.” She gave him a tired smile. “We’ll have to see what they have. They might have maple if—”
She froze as her gaze landed on a man standing near the door of the inn. Her heart bolted up into her throat as she recognized him—the man who had come to the cottage. The one who claimed he was Davie’s true father.
He leaned casually against the inn’s stone facade and fussed with his gloves, as if merely taking a rest between travel stages. But Mary knew he’d been watching the arriving coaches, noting the passengers who descended from them, waiting…
She grabbed Davie’s shoulder and pulled him around in a circle. “This way.” She started him toward the far end of the inn yard. “Hurry.”
She hoped against hope that the man hadn’t seen her, her heart pounding so hard that its beat echoed in her ears and burned her chest. So hard she couldn’t hear Davie as he protested about not getting his sticky bun and kept glancing over his shoulder toward the inn. She hurried as fast as she could go without calling attention to herself, sending up a constant stream of prayers—
“Ma’am!” a deep voice called out to her from across the inn yard. “A moment of your time, please.”
Dear God, no. She couldn’t lose her boy, not again—she wouldn’t survive it! Fear seized her, and she grabbed Davie’s hand and broke into a run. Not thinking, not rationalizing, she fled as fast as her skirted legs could carry her toward the far end of the yard and the dirt road and fields beyond.
“Ma’am, stop!”
But Mary ran on, pulling Davie behind in her wake. Her hand held so tightly to his that he cried out as she crushed his fingers in hers. But she didn’t dare stop.
She heard running footsteps behind her. From the corner of her eye, she saw two more tall, broad men start toward her. Panic seized her, and she darted toward a small one-horse gig waiting by the barn. The ribbons were tied off on its seat, its owner standing several feet away, laughing with one of the hostlers.
“Quickly!” She grabbed Davie, tossed him up onto the seat, and scrambled up after him. She untied the driving reins. “Hang on.”
Ignoring the bewildered shouts from the owner and the increasing calls from the three men, she flipped the lines. The horse jumped in its harness and jerked forward, setting the rig in motion. She steered it toward the road, frantically whipping the ribbons to make the horse hurry as they sped away.
*
Chase ran across the yard to his saddle horse. He yanked the slip knot free from the post and jumped onto the gelding’s back even as it launched into a gallop. Riding low in the saddle, he pursued the little rig as it disappeared over a small hill. He pressed his heels hard into the horse’s sides to urge it faster, and the mount broke into a full-out run.
He didn’t spare a glance behind to see if Lucien and Devlin were chasing after them, too. He couldn’t —his eyes were glued to the narrow dirt road in front of him as his horse’s long strides ate up the distance, desperate for any glimpse of the gig and Thomas’s shock of blond hair. His horse topped the hill and rushed out into a crossroads, and he reined it to a sliding halt to glance frantically in all directions.
Movement to his left caught his attention, and he urged the horse down from the hill at a dead run toward the bouncing gig. But as he drew closer, fresh panic engulfed him. Mrs. Fisher had lost control. The horse darted wildly back and forth across the narrow road as if trying desperately to outrun the rig trailing noisily behind it. She yanked hard at the ribbons to control the horse, but the frightened beast ignored her pulls and ran on.
Beside her, Thomas fiercely gripped the seat to keep from being tossed about. When the gig hit a hard bump in the road, its left wheel soared high off the ground, only to land with a bone-jolting thud that lifted the little boy completely off the seat. Terror gripped Chase that his son would be thrown completely from the gig or crushed beneath its wheels.
Chase guided his horse alongside the frightened beast pulling the gig, leaned low from the saddle, and grabbed the left ribbon. Even now the panicked woman kept flipping the reins to make the horse run away, but there was no way in hell Chase would let go. This was no longer about finding his son; it was about saving his life.
With a grimace and a curse at the exertion and pain shooting up his arm, he held fast like a vise and pulled back on the reins to bring his own mount to a stop, forcing the harnessed horse to slow with him.
When the cart horse finally stopped, Chase dropped to the ground and rushed back to the gig. He yanked the ribbons from Mrs. Fisher’s shaking hands. “Give me those!”
The woman let out a shattering wail of defeat and slumped back against the seat, as if broken. In one last frantic, desperate act, her arms went around Thomas, and she drew him tightly against her.
“I won’t let you take him from me!” She shook violently. “I won’t lose another child!”
Chase’s shoulders slumped, his heart breaking for her. He murmured quietly, “Neither will I.”
*
“You’re… a duke ?” Mrs. Fisher’s tear-filled eyes blinked in stunned confusion as she stared at Chase.
“Yes, ma’am.” Then he added beneath his breath, “Although not a very grand one, I’ll admit.”
The woman reached out to steady herself against the round gaming table in the private parlor of the posting inn where raucous card games, gambling, drinking, and all other kinds of vices usually occurred. But even though the sun was now slipping behind the horizon, the room hadn’t yet been reserved, and so served as the only place in the inn where they could speak in private and relative quiet. If Chase had his way, they would be long gone from the place before the local gamblers and drinkers descended like locusts, although Lucien and Devlin were both posted outside to ensure they weren’t interrupted. The two men were also entertaining Thomas, whom Chase didn’t want to overhear this conversation.
“I don’t think there is such thing as a duke who isn’t grand,” she whispered back.
“You’d be surprised.” He helped himself to the bottle of port and one of the glasses stacked on a wooden tray on the table. “Thomas is my son, and you know that because you overheard me talking to Father Blaine,” he said slowly and as evenly as possible. “You know he has the same birthmark that I described to the rector.” He splashed in a pour of the plum-colored liquid. “That’s why you took him and came north.” He held the glass out to her as if it were a peace offering, the gesture as full of compassion as he could muster. “I understand exactly why you did that. You didn’t want to lose your son.”
Not taking the glass, she bit her bottom lip to keep her tears from flowing and nodded curtly.
“But he’s my son, too,” he said gently. “I love him as much as you do, and I can’t bear to be without him either.”
Staring into the glass, Chase told her the story of his marriage, the shipwreck, his self-exile to Spain…and his return, to divest the estate of all its property and find a future for himself away from England, only to end up in Salterton. The place where God, for some reason he would never know, felt merciful enough to give him his son back from the dead.
“I couldn’t believe it myself,” he confided, “until I saw his eyes and his chin. The resemblance was too close to his mother’s to be mere coincidence.” He took a slow swallow of port and relished the soothing warmth that cascaded down his throat, where a knot of emotion had lodged itself. “The birthmark would have simply been the last bit of proof of his identity, but I knew in my heart he was mine.” He raised his eyes slowly to hers and said quietly, “His name is Thomas, named after my grandfather. Your son who died…what was his name?”
She swiped her hand at her eyes and whispered, “My boy’s name was John. He was just a wee little thing, always sickly.” Her voice quavered as much as her bottom lip. “But I loved him with all my heart, and when the fever took him—” She choked off, unable to finish the sentence.
“It felt like your own life had ended,” he finished for her.
She nodded and whispered, barely more than a breath, “Yes.”
“I felt the same,” he admitted in the same low whisper. He cleared his throat and continued, “So when Thomas was found and needed a home and a family, you gave him room in your cottage…and in your heart.”
She gave a jerking nod and turned her face away, unable to speak at all.
“And I am more grateful for that than I will ever be able to express.”
Another jerking nod. Then she asked in a quavering voice, still not able to bring herself to look at him, “Does my husband know?”
“Yes.”
“He must be furious,” she whispered.
“More worried than angry, actually. He was simply beside himself with concern when you didn’t come home from the market. He loves you.”
A sob tore from her. “I’ll never be able to give him another child.”
“There are lots of children who need loving parents,” he assured her. “I’m certain Father Blaine can help you find one.”
She twisted her hand in her skirt, unable to nod this time. “But it won’t be the same.”
“No, it won’t be. No two children are ever the same, and you’ll love each one differently.” He set the glass aside, no longer wanting it. “But the point is, Mrs. Fisher, that you will love one of them again, one who needs you just as much as you need him.”
She swiped at her eyes, and her nod turned into a shake of her head. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done,” she whispered. “I’ve caused so much worry and trouble.”
“I don’t blame you.” The dubious glance she sent him at that obvious lie made him bite back a smile, the first true one he’d felt pulling at his lips in days. “Perhaps just a little. But everything is all right now. I’ve sent a message to your husband to let him know that both you and Thomas are safe, and I’ve paid the owner of the gig for any damage that might have been done to it.”
Damage? Bloody hell. He’d paid the man enough to buy a whole new rig and horse to make amends and to guarantee his silence. But Chase would have given every ha’penny he possessed to have Thomas back, safe and sound, and part of that was making certain the transition went as smoothly as possible.
He’d protected his son’s life today, which was something he thought he’d never be able to do.
Now it was time to protect the boy’s heart.
“I’ve been separated from him for far too long.” The awareness that he was echoing Tessa’s words overcame him like a whirlwind, so did his belief in them, when he added, “He’s my son, and he belongs with me.”
A tear broke free and rolled down her plump cheek, “I know.”
“But he’s also your son, too,” he continued. “In his heart, he will always know that. So I want you to know that you’ll be able to remain in contact with Thomas. In fact, I insist upon it, as long as you refer to you and your husband as Mr. and Mrs. Fisher and not as Papa and Mama.” Those endearments belonged to others, and Chase didn’t want to confuse Thomas any more than necessary, the way he himself had been when he suddenly became Greysmere as a boy and had no idea who he truly was. Perhaps Tessa was right about him in that regard, too—he could be a good father by not repeating his own parents’ mistakes. “Letters, presents—whatever you’d like to send—will be just fine. So will visits to Cuillin.” He added protectively, “With proper advance notice.”
Her lips parted in disbelief. “Truly.”
“Truly.”
“Oh, thank you, Your Grace! Thank you so much!”
For a moment, Chase worried the woman might hug him, so he added, “And I don’t see any need to contact the authorities about bringing him north as you did.”
That comment sobered her again, and she clasped her hands behind her back, all fleeting thoughts of hugs mercifully gone. “Thank you.”
“You were headed to your sister’s cottage in Wolverhampton.” When she confirmed that with a nod, he continued, “I can arrange for you to be taken there if you’d like. My friend Devlin would be pleased to escort you.”
“I think, if you don’t mind, I’d rather return home to Salterton.”
Chase let out a silent breath of relief, having hoped she would say that. While he wanted no misunderstanding that he was taking Thomas into his care, he also knew that forcing Thomas away from the only mother he could remember wouldn’t be good for any of them. Returning with them in the carriage to Salterton would give him several days to come to know his son again, and for Thomas to come to know him. Having Mrs. Fisher with them would help ease that transition.
“I would be happy to escort you home,” he agreed. And so would Lucien and Devlin, who trusted this woman no further than they could throw her, although Chase didn’t blame them, given what she’d done. “So why don’t we let Thomas into the room now so you can properly introduce us?”
She froze, reminding him of a doe caught by hounds. Then she let out a long, deep breath, her shoulders slumping beneath her brown coat, and gave a jerky nod.
Chase turned toward the door before she could see a visible wave of relief cross his face. When he opened the door, he saw Thomas sitting on the floor in the hallway, smiling and laughing as a black-and-white puppy crawled onto his lap to lick his face.
Chase slid a narrowed glance at Lucien and Devlin as the two men leaned against the wall, watching. “You gave my son a puppy?”
“It was the perfect way to keep him entertained,” Devlin explained.
Lucien added with a grin, “And cause you consternation.”
“Fine. But you’re keeping it until it’s house-trained.” Chase pulled in a deep breath and turned toward his son. “Thomas—Davie—would you come in? Mrs. Fisher would like to speak with you.”
The boy looked up pleadingly at Chase through eyes identical to his own. “Can I bring the puppy?”
“Why don’t you leave it with Lucien and Devlin? They’d love to take it outside for a walk.”
Devlin chuckled under his breath and scooped up the wiggly puppy, then handed it off to Lucien. “Don’t let it bite you.”
It crawled up Lucien’s chest and smothered him with puppy kisses, its little tail wagging so fast it blurred. “Stop that!”
“I thought you liked being smothered with female kisses,” Devlin baited.
Lucien scowled and pulled the puppy away from his face. “Yes, but not kisses from this kind of a bit—”
“Uncle Lucien,” Chase warned sharply with a nod toward Thomas.
“This kind of a biter ,” he amended quickly and put the puppy down onto the floor, where it promptly peed a yellow puddle on the toe of Lucien’s boot. All three men stared down at the puppy, their lips twitching.
Without another word for fear he might laugh at Lucien, Chase took Thomas’s shoulder and steered him away from the puppy and into the parlor. The boy ran across the room to fling his arms around Mrs. Fisher, who stiffly swiped at her eyes and then returned the hug before setting him away.
“Mama! There’s a puppy out there. It has white on its chest and a black nose. It’s so funny!” Thomas poured out in an excited rush. He took her hand to pull her toward the door. “Come on! I’ll show you!”
But the woman didn’t move except to cast an anguished glance across the room at Chase. “In a moment.” She cleared her throat to dislodge the emotion roughening her voice. “I want you to meet someone.” She took Thomas’s shoulders and turned him around to face Chase. “This is…” She trailed off, at a complete loss for words.
Chase lowered himself onto his heels to bring his face level with Thomas’s and gave a friendly, reassuring smile despite the way his voice choked when he said, “I’m your father.”
The boy stared at him, his smooth little brow furrowing with confusion, and took a step back toward Mrs. Fisher’s skirts.
“We met the other day at the cottage with Father Blaine and Mr. Fisher, remember? I’ve been away for three years, and you’ve been living with Mr. and Mrs. Fisher while I was gone.” God would forgive him for hiding the truth. When Thomas was older, Chase would tell him what had really happened. But for now, it was best to keep everything simple. “They’ve been your mama and papa while I was away, and they’ve taken good care of you.” He didn’t dare let his smile falter. “It’s good to see you again, Thomas.”
The child screwed up his nose. “My name’s not Thomas. It’s Davie.”
Chase thought quickly. “It’s both. Your full name is Thomas Hartley Stephen David Maddox.”
He cringed inwardly at the lie. Thomas’s last middle name wasn’t David—he didn’t have a fourth Christian name at all, but Chase would forge every birth record for Thomas under Christendom if he had to in order to protect his son. God would forgive him for that, too. Tessa was right. Healing started with forgiveness, and he was finally learning to forgive himself.
“They called you Davie for short. May I call you Thomas, after your great-grandfather?”
The boy stared at him with narrowed eyes, uncertain.
Chase forced a chuckle to break the tension. “Your full name is bigger than you are.”
But that only resulted in a further narrowing of Thomas’s eyes with suspicion. “My name is Davie Fisher.”
“Yes,” Chase corrected carefully. “Davie…who lives with the Fishers. But your true name is Thomas Maddox.”
The confused boy darted a glance over his shoulder at the woman he’d known as his mother. But she stood with her face turned completely away, Chase knew, to fight back open sobs.
“I know how strange this all is for you,” Chase told him, “and I know you don’t remember me. But before you went to live with the Fishers, you lived with me in a castle by the sea.” The curious flare of Thomas’s eyes gave Chase hope. “You were just a baby then, still in a baby’s gown, but you loved playing in the ocean and on the sand.”
He proudly stuck out his chest. “I’m not a baby anymore.”
“No, you’re not. You’re all grown now and in breeches.” A fleeting stab of pain pierced him that he had missed so many years with his son. He refused to lose a moment more. “It’s time we both went home, where we belong. Do you think you might like to live in a castle with me?”
“And you’ll be my papa?” Thomas asked, as if attempting to sort through all he’d just been told.
“Yes.”
“But…but what about Papa?”
He meant Mr. Fisher. Chase chose his words carefully. “I’ll be your papa at the castle, and Mr. Fisher will be your papa in Salterton.” Although the boy wouldn’t be visiting the couple there for many, many years. If ever.
Thomas gave a nod of understanding, then tilted his head curiously as a new thought struck him. “Who will be my castle mama?”
An invisible fist squeezed his heart, and he forced a wide smile as he deftly shifted the conversation. “There are no ponies at the castle right now, so I think we should buy a pony for you. What do you think about that?”
His little mouth fell open. “A pony?”
“A Shetland pony.” Chase felt not one whit of guilt for misleading his son’s thoughts away from mothers. “What color would you like—gray, black, white, or brown?”
When Thomas glanced up at Mrs. Fisher, Chase felt a sting of hot jealousy, but he couldn’t fault his son for seeking her opinion. He only prayed that one day soon Thomas would turn to him for help.
“You have a little stuffed horse in your room,” she reminded him with a loving smile. “It’s black. Maybe you’d like a black pony.”
Thomas nodded and took a step toward Chase. “Can I have a black one?”
“Yes, you can. As black as coal. What do you think of that—riding a black pony along the beach in the surf?” His voice cracked as he added, “With me.”
“I don’t know how to ride.”
“Then I’ll teach you.”
He nodded rapidly, his blond curls bouncing around his head. Chase’s heart swelled, and for the first time, he let himself believe that everything might just be all right.
Becoming suddenly overwhelmed by the introduction to Chase, Thomas spun around and threw his arms around Mary Fisher’s legs. But he took curious, if cautious, glances at Chase from behind the safety of Mrs. Fisher’s skirts.
Chase wasn’t upset that Thomas sought her out for protection. Chase would have been stunned if the boy had done anything else. But hopefully, Thomas would learn that the Fishers weren’t the only ones who could keep him safe.
He couldn’t protect his son from all the evils in the world, he realized that now. Some things were simply beyond control or reason. But he could protect him from everything else that life would throw at him. The way a true father should.
He drew himself up to his full height. “I think we should have dinner in the dining room, then find our way to our rooms for the night.” He’d already requested two private rooms from the innkeeper—one for Mrs. Fisher and Thomas and one for Lucien, Devlin, and him to share when they weren’t guarding Mrs. Fisher’s room in shifts to make certain the woman didn’t change her mind and flee again. “We’ll leave for Salterton first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Fisher whispered.
As she led Thomas from the room, the boy halted and wheeled around toward Chase. A grave expression darkened his young face.
“I have a question,” he said, his voice intense, as if he were about to ask the most important thing in the world.
Chase steeled himself. God help him if the boy’s mind had circled back to his missing mother or why Chase had been separated from him for so long. “Yes?”
“Can I keep the puppy in the castle?”
Chase’s shoulders eased down with a long, silent breath. “Of course.” A relieved smile tugged at his lips, despite knowing what chaos a puppy would unleash at Cuillin. And he simply didn’t care.
The boy grabbed Mrs. Fisher’s hand and bounced happily around her. “I have my own little puppy! I’ll feed him and play with him and sleep with him and…”
As Chase lingered behind, listening to Thomas chattering a mile a minute about his puppy, Devlin leaned against the doorframe to watch the boy skip away. “You’re going to be a great father,” his friend told him in a low voice. “The loving one the four of us never had.”
He rested his hand on Devlin’s shoulder for a moment and somehow managed to murmur past the knot in his throat, “Because I’ve found forgiveness.”
Lucien frowned, puzzled, but Chase didn’t stop to explain and walked on, following Thomas and Mrs. Fisher. He didn’t want to miss something even as painfully ordinary—something wholly miraculous and precious—as the first dinner with his son.