Chapter 29
What makes a portrait take so long? An entire day to record a single moment. We venture farther up the path to a high knoll blocked from the beach by boulders. It’s so hidden that there’s no chance of anyone finding us here. Not for a while, anyway.
We talk more—I close my eyes and lay back on a rock, allowing his smooth, warm voice to fall upon me.
He explains how to mix paint as he does it.
He tells of his parents back in Grosvenor Square, chiding and doubting him.
Did I know all of this once? Did we speak of it?
We must have, because it feels so ordinary.
So natural. We pause and share more of his food, and he continues painting and talking.
This. This feels so familiar.
I’m lounging on cliffs overlooking Newlyn as he cleans and dries his brushes, and he tells me a story of smugglers.
Meanwhile my own shadowed story is pressing in against my mind.
The tightness of a headache begins to form at the base of my head and I rub my neck.
We’ve skimmed the surface, dancing about the truth, but now it’s time to dive in.
To ask him questions about my past…and reveal more of my present.
When the pause is sufficiently long, the question slips out: “Was I happy here?”
“Brilliantly so.” The sun is sinking. “You couldn’t have enough of the beaches, the lighthouse, that castle across the way. At times I had to go and fetch you out of the rain.”
My eyes slide closed. I watch it like a magic lantern show—being carried over the bricked causeway from St. Michael’s Mount, rain pouring down, and I’m shivering in someone’s arms, a bundle of emotions. “You rescued me.”
“A time or two.” His smile is affectionate. “No one could tell you what to do.”
That much, at least, is the same. “How long have we been married?”
“It seems forever. I cannot remember life before you.”
“No children?”
A hitch, then, “No.”
When he crouches to pack up the brushes, I blurt out the question buried in the base of my headache. “Rupert…why did I leave?”
A short laugh. “You truly don’t remember, do you?”
I watch his face, awaiting his answer.
“Come, let’s take you inside and tell everyone you’ve returned.
I cannot keep you to myself forever.” He pulls me close in the gathering dark and runs his fingertips along my face, down my neck.
His thumb traces the loose neckline of my gown.
“Oh, Merryn.” He touches his forehead to mine, closing his eyes.
A shout sounds from the building below. “One more thing.” The ball of dread hardens.
“Hm?” He moves back, taking in the sight of my face with a contented smile.
I take a breath, then I tell him about the snare into which I’ve fallen. The asylum, Sabine, the sanity hearings. And finally…the brief marriage to a hustler who seems unwilling to part with me.
He goes rigid. “So is it…are you…married now? To him?” He unlaces our hands and takes a step back.
My heart fractures. “A marriage of convenience, but one that isn’t even valid, it seems. I am already married…to you.”
This does not make his expression relax. Why would it? His wife married another man.
“I can make this right,” I whisper. “I need to go to Cheltenham.”
His brow furrows. “For what?”
“There’s a solicitor there who knows everything. He’s the one who told me—well, it hardly matters. He will help. And I have money there—a fortune, actually.”
“I care not for your fortune, dear Merryn,” breathes Rupert, caressing my cheek, loosening my hair with eager fingers. “I only want you.”
His simple statement cools AJ’s deception deep in my core. It left jagged scars through my soul, and I didn’t even realize until Rupert’s words begin to mend the edges. I place a hand on his chest. “I shall return, then, once the matter’s settled, fortune or no.”
He casts a longing glance over me. “I cannot let you go again. Please.” He closes his eyes and breathes deep. “Run away with me, Merryn. Let me whisk you away from here. From him. We’ll vanish into oblivion and live out our days in peace.”
I reach up and touch his face, his earnest, loving face that is focused on me. I’ve learned from AJ, though. Betrayal whips through me as I think of the man. “Let’s start with Cheltenham.”
“As long as I can accompany you.” He mounts his horse, pulls me astride, and guides the animal back down the path toward town. “I must return for my things. I haven’t any money and the food is gone. A change of clothes is in order. Shall I fetch a few of your old things?”
“You’ve kept them?”
A warm smile over his shoulder. “Of course.”
I resist melting, but it’s growing harder. It would be easy to fall for this man, I think. Easy to be swept up in his protective nature and this romantic notion of running away together.
“What do you think of Italy?”
Italy, where the poet-lovers ran away, living out their days in romantic bliss. “I think you’re making it terribly hard to say no.”
“Good.”
We reach the hitching post behind the lodge and there are people at the windows, many of whom probably despise me the way that publican had. I tug his arm. “Must we go in?”
“Wait here if you like. I shall be quick.” With a squeeze of my hands, he slips inside.
I lean against the wall and sigh, trying to summon the peace I felt walking into Dunn Cottage.
Just as I’m beginning to wonder where he’s gone, footsteps sound. I rush out to meet him, arms out. “Oh Rupert, I—”
But it’s a stranger. A tall, elegant woman with arms crossed and an icy air. “Merryn?”
“Yes,” I breathe. Should I run or stay?
She looks me over, hollow to hem. “After all these years. I truly believed you were gone.”
“Actually, I’ve—”
“Lost your memory. So I’ve heard. Rupert is quite elated.”
“He’ll be back soon.”
“I’ve no doubt of that—you’re his treasure. He won’t let you out of his sight.” Her lips turn down and I once again sense I ought to apologize. “I’m Laura, by the way. You won’t remember me, but I’ve been tending to Rupert through his…” She twirls her hand.
“I took out an advert in the papers,” I say, crossing my arms. “I did try to return.”
She gives a short laugh. “You think any of the papers come down Newlyn way? We’re a closed-off lot.”
I open my mouth, defenses piling up behind one another, but she interrupts.
“I think perhaps you ought to know your mind this time. His heart has already been dashed into a million pieces. You returning only to leave again a year later will turn it to dust.” She approaches, her face close to mine.
“Either come back for good or leave now and never show your face again.”
I meet her glare. “Pardon me, I believe I’ll see what’s keeping him.
” I slip through the door and inside is a great meeting hall, a beamed ceiling, wide-open spaces filled to the brim with music, laughter, and chatter.
Artists moving here and there, lounging on couches, clinking glasses and exclaiming at high volume.
“There you are!”
Shock and panic assails me as an arm slides around my shoulders and anchors me close.
His voice is cheerful, but his smile is tight. “You’re awfully hard to trace, Merryn Winthrop.” AJ.
My soul withers. Laura watches me through slitted eyes from across the room. How I’ve bungled things.
AJ’s grip is hard. “Always going off without me. It’s a terrible habit.” He’s guiding me toward the door, his grasp firm, allowing me no escape.
I pull away. “I’m staying here.”
He leans near. “We haven’t time, Merryn. There’s trouble brewing in Cheltenham.”
Just then Rupert charges across the hall, bag in hand. “What do you think you’re doing? Unhand her!” He swings the bag, but AJ dodges it. Rupert grabs for my arm. AJ pulls me away.
“She isn’t yours, mate.”
“Stop it! Both of you.” I twist away and force my body between them, a palm on each of their chests.
Laura is perched on a stool, watching with a drink in hand, eyebrows raised.
I turn to AJ, steeled by all I know about him and his past. His intentions with me.
“I am his. Before I even met you. So yes, I’m leaving here—but not with you. ”
His face pales. “You…married him?”
I glance at Rupert for strength, then forge ahead. “This is Rupert Covington. My husband.”
Rupert slides his arm around me, underscoring the statement, and both men go perfectly still. It’s like a volcano taking a breath before it blows. What have I done? My headache tightens, spiraling farther up my scalp, eclipsing logic.
AJ’s voice is distant. Muffled. “I’m afraid that isn’t the case,” AJ is saying. “You see, she’s married to me.”
My vows to him ring in my ears. I take thee. Until death do us part.
How can I promise two men the same thing? I only have one lifetime to offer. I squeeze my eyes shut and hear Henry Gould’s voice over the telephone.
He married a young heiress and then he killed her. Got off on a technicality. What might he do to keep me?
I can’t breathe. I lean against Rupert.
Brutal death, it was…
But I have one single saving grace tucked in my pocket.
Which marriage would be valid? The first or the second?
A pause. Well, the first one.
I open my eyes. “I’m not married to you, AJ.” I stand taller. “You see, I’ve spoken to Mr. Gould. Even though I’ve lost my memory, my first husband is the only one with a claim on me.”
I brace myself for accusations of bigamy, threats of lawsuits.
Instead, he quirks a crooked smile and the floor falls away with his next words. “Afraid that’s me, my lady.”