Chapter 19 #2
The carriage lurched forward so suddenly that Edmond lost balance on his seat and stumbled forward.
He tried to catch himself by bracing his left hand on the carriage door, but he must have forgotten it was in a sling.
His other hand flailed in front of him and grazed the length of my thigh.
I froze, and he immediately pulled his hand back as if he had been burned by fire.
“My apologies!” he yelped. “Please forgive me, Miss Weston. I didn’t mean to—the carriage—” He ran his good hand through his wet hair, and I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
It was then our gazes fully met. For a moment, it was as if the chasm between us had been mended, as if he was not keeping secrets from me, and as if I had not punished him for it. I clenched my skirt, my stomach twisting with the bitter ache that came anytime I had to apologize.
“Edmond, I really must—”
“Miss Weston, I apologize for—”
We paused, laughing awkwardly.
“Let me go first,” I said quickly. “Please.”
He hesitated, but conceded with a nod.
I sucked in a breath. “I was angry with you for not telling me the truth about Mr. Fletcher. And yet, despite my poor behavior, you still came to my rescue. You protected my reputation by putting your own at risk. I have been too harsh with you, and I—I apologize.”
He studied me. “You have done nothing wrong, Miss Weston. No apology is necessary.”
“Well, you have it nonetheless.” I clapped my hands together. “There. That’s done. Now it’s your turn.”
Edmond fiddled with the rim of his hat. “I want to apologize for a few things, actually.”
“I’m listening.”
“First, I should not have made an underhanded deal with your father. I overstepped, and I apologize.”
I laced my hands together in my lap. “Go on.”
“Secondly, I’m sorry for asking you to not tell anyone about how rubbish I am on horseback. That was selfish, and I put you in a terrible position.”
“You did. Anything else?”
This time, he couldn’t quite meet my eye. He looked out the window, where the storm railed against the carriage.
“Lastly, I apologize for not telling you about Mr. Fletcher. I said I would and then purposefully didn’t, hoping you would forget or lose interest. But that was foolish of me.”
“Does this particular apology also come with the truth?”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”
I held my breath, worried that if I moved even an inch, Edmond would change his mind.
“Before I say anything,” he began, his tone guarded, “I should warn you that once you hear this, you won’t see me the same way. In fact, you may wish to never see me again. But I will tell you, if you still wish me to.”
“I do,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure why I whispered, but anything louder felt like it would break whatever fragile truce we had just built.
He straightened in his seat and looked at me with his brow drawn.
“Amos Fletcher is my father by marriage. My real father—” He swallowed, as if this was the first time he had ever voiced this out loud.
“My real father was a man named Richard Hawke. He was a common soldier who died in the West Indies eight months before I was born.”
My chest tightened, and I leaned forward. “Your mother remarried then?”
He set his jaw. “No. Amos Fletcher is her first husband.”
“But—” My lips parted as realization dawned and my worst fears were confirmed. “Oh.”
My reaction seemed to pierce Edmond like a knife, for he winced and pulled back, not looking me in the eye as he continued.
“Amos Fletcher didn’t know my mother was already with child when they married. To be fair, she didn’t know either. She conceived before they even met, and once they did, the wedding happened quickly. Eight months later, I was born.
“She only knew the truth as I grew older and my appearance made it clear I was not a Fletcher by birth. Amos didn’t figure out the truth until I was ten years old.
When he did, he was furious. He left my mother and me that very same day.
It didn’t matter to him that I was legally his, since I was born while they were married.
He still took every coin we had and left us with nothing. ”
I covered my mouth. To have one father leave and another father taken was more than anyone should have to bear.
“How did you manage?” I asked quietly.
Edmond’s shoulders relaxed, as if the worst of it was over. “It wasn’t easy at first. Mother worked in a factory, and I scraped together whatever job I could. But it was never enough to fill our stomachs. The day I turned twelve, I considered joining the army.”
“As a child?” I gasped.
His darkened gaze flickered toward me. “At least I would be a fed child.”
I sank back in my chair, trying my best to swallow the thick lump in my throat. “But you didn’t join?”
He shook his head. “Mother forbade me. She miraculously secured both of us a position working for a prominent family in town, and suddenly there was food again. But that didn’t last long.”
“Why not?”
He set his jaw. “There is much injustice in this world, Helena.”
His words caused a chill to run along my spine. I knew so little about this dark side of the world.
Edmond continued, “But everything changed when a man by the name of MacMillan found me and learned I had a decent memory and a penchant for numbers. The old Scot was more a father to me than anyone. He hired me on the spot and sponsored my education in Edinburgh. With that new start, I changed my name from Edmond Fletcher to Edmond Hawke, after my true father—and now here I am.”
Now one of the wealthiest, most eligible men in England, I thought. It was hard to believe that Edmond was not born and raised a gentleman. He likely grew up in a slum just like this one and somehow broke free. Such stories were mere fantasy. But the proof of it sat right before me.
I put the incredible pieces of Edmond’s story together and recalled Mr. Fletcher’s awful threats.
“Let me guess,” I said, “when Mr. Fletcher caught wind of your newfound success, he wanted a part of it.”
Edmond nodded. “One day, he appeared on my doorstep, claiming he had been wronged and demanded compensation for the years he cared for his unfaithful wife and child of another man.”
“But your mother wasn’t unfaithful,” I said, anger slipping into my words. “It happened before they even met.”
“Amos didn’t see it that way. When I told him I wouldn’t give him anything, he went to my mother and demanded that she provide him the compensation. I couldn’t allow him to torment her, of course. So I paid him off. I thought that’d be the end of it.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No.” Edmond flipped his hat between his fingers. “He keeps coming back, and every time he does, I play the fool and pay him off.”
“Is that what you did a few weeks ago? Paid him to leave?”
“No. This time I told him I was done letting him crawl back into our lives every few years. I took him to an inn and gave him enough money for one night’s stay, a warm meal, and a ticket to America.” He paused, eyeing me. “I don’t want him anywhere near the people I care about.”
His words settled over me. From the day I met Edmond, I’d always seen him as a self-assured and competent gentleman—if not arrogantly so. But now, through his revelations, he was reduced to the illegitimate son of a penniless commoner. It was worse than I had imagined.
No wonder Edmond had been so guarded about his family’s past. If society learned of his origin—whether by accident or by his own actions in denouncing Mr. Fletcher publicly—they would cast him out.
The investors of his mines would almost certainly withdraw their support, not wanting to be associated with his name.
He was one secret away from financial ruin.
We had more in common than I’d thought.
And yet, despite it all, I couldn’t help but admire Edmond. He had grown a beautiful life for himself from hardly more than a seed. He had planted his own fate and nurtured it into reality.
It was all I hoped to achieve for myself.
I straightened in my seat and looked Edmond directly in the eye. “Is that all?”
Edmond lowered his head, his mouth drawn into a flat, grim line. “That’s the truth. And you have every right to judge me for it.” He rapped his knuckles against the coachman’s window. “I’ll get out here,” he said through the opening.
“Belay that order, Stevens.” I gave Edmond the same glare a governess would give a naughty child. “I have two things to say. First of all, you must call me Helena, not Miss Weston.”
Surprise flickered across his features. “And the second?”
I cleared my throat, as if preparing to say something quite severe. “Mr. Fletcher sounds like a despicable person, and I, for one, am glad that you hold no relation to him biologically.”
“You’re—you’re glad?” He coughed. “That I’m illegitimate?”
“That man has unfortunate physical features, and it’s a blessing you did not inherit them.” Edmond chuckled at that, and I continued, “I am also glad that you told the scoundrel off. He has caused you enough pain for a lifetime, and I hope the worst for him.”
A disbelieving breath escaped Edmond’s throat, and a boyish smile spread on his lips. “You do not think less of me? Truly?”
“We do not choose who we are born to, only what we do with what we have.” I looked out the window, unable to meet Edmond’s eye. “Parents can be… difficult.”
“I assume you speak from experience.”
I shrugged. “As a viscount, my father has a great deal of responsibility. Our family’s good name ranks first and foremost on his list. I suppose I rank somewhere below that, but at least I’m on the list.”
For a moment, the only sound was the rain pelting against the carriage windows.
“If that’s the case,” Edmond said softly, “perhaps someone ought to remind him just how important his daughter is to that good name.”
“Who do you propose should tell him that? You?”
Edmond made a show of adjusting his soaking-wet cravat. “Perhaps I’ll simply invest in more of his swamp land and add a secret clause in the contract that he must worship you above all else.” I glared, and Edmond paused, then asked with a wry grin, “Too soon for jokes?”
“If Father found out you had fooled him so thoroughly, he would punish you worse than he does when I play the pianoforte.”
The grin fell from Edmond’s lips. “He punishes you for playing the pianoforte? Why?”
My hand flew to cover my mouth. But I reminded myself that Edmond had told me his most guarded secret. This felt silly in comparison.
“You would punish me too if you heard me play.” I leaned in with a conspiring whisper. “The truth is, I’m terrible at the pianoforte.”
Edmond laughed. “I thought it was impossible for you to be terrible at anything.”
“I’m only human,” I said dryly.
“Could have fooled me.” He crossed his arms and leaned back to study me. “I’d love to hear you play sometime.”
“You are insufferable, Edmond Hawke.”
Something caught his eye outside, and he knocked on the coachman’s window again. “I’ll get off here, sir.”
I frowned and looked out the window. We had left the slums behind and had stopped in front of a shop. The wooden sign hanging above the door read T. Blackwell Glassworks. The display window glittered colorfully with bottles, beads, and bowls of all shapes and sizes.
“A glass shop?” I asked.
“Just a small errand.” He put his hat on and tipped it. “Thank you for the ride, Helena.”
He reached for the carriage door, but Stevens opened it for him first. Edmond gave me a wry shrug.
“Still getting the hang of all this, you see.” He nodded to the coachman, then stepped outside, pausing to say, “There’s an opera this weekend.
Le nozze di Figaro, I believe. Would you like to see it? With me, that is?”
Normally, in a situation like this, I would bide my time. Perhaps mutter that I needed to consult my schedule or move around a prior commitment. At the very least, I should have been concerned that Father would likely chain me up before allowing me to attend the opera.
But, instead, I said, “Yes. I’d like that very much. And—before you go, tell me your favorite color.”
“My favorite color?” He rubbed his jaw, as if in great thought. Then his eyes flickered to mine, and he smiled. “Blue.”
“Blue. I’ll remember that.”
“Oh, I should note that I received the tickets from Lord Cranford. We will be joining him in his box.”
The blood drained from my face. “The—the baron?”
“The very one.” Edmond stepped back and bowed, the rain pelting his coat and hat. “Thank you again, Helena,” he said softly, “and not just for the ride.”
All I could manage was a nod. Stevens closed the door, cutting off the rain, but the chill failed to leave me the entire ride back to Grosvenor Square.
I had entirely forgotten about the baron during the carriage ride with Edmond.
Thankfully, Edmond didn’t seem to know about Lord Cranford’s proposal, and I intended to keep it that way.
I knew that the truth of Edmond’s past should have settled the matter of the baron’s proposal once and for all. And yet…
And yet I had told Edmond I was terrible at the pianoforte. I had never told anyone that before. Surely that meant something.
There’s still time, I told myself. Lord Cranford was not pressing me for an answer, and Father couldn’t force him into anything, especially not when he depended on the baron’s funds.
I needed more time to figure out what exactly I wanted from marriage, just as Mrs. Sweete had advised. Perhaps a title wasn’t enough, nor a fortune. Perhaps what I wanted was something more intangible. Something I had only ever felt with Edmond.
In the back window, I watched the glass shop get smaller and smaller in the distance. It’s decided, I thought firmly. I would wait and see how the game played out a little longer before I made a move on either of my opponents.