by Mary Balogh
She sat back in her chair, sipped her tea, enjoyed the company, and longed for the evening. When the drawing room door opened and she saw Alexander, her heart lifted. But he did not close the door behind him or advance far into the room as he greeted everyone.
“Wren,” he said, “will you come down to the library with me? There is someone I would like you to meet.”
Again? Who now? she wondered in some dismay. Had she not met enough strangers in the last week or so to last a lifetime? He was surely being unfair.
“Of course,” she said, getting to her feet. She would not reproach him in front of everyone else. She almost asked him who it was when they were on their way downstairs, but she would soon see for herself.
He was a young man, tall and slender, smartly dressed, blond haired, and very handsome. He was turning from a bookcase when they entered the library, and he was looking as ill at ease as Wren was feeling. She was feeling something else too—dread? His eyes were riveted upon her from the first moment.
“Roe?” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
Only one person had ever called her that—one little mop-haired blond child with his toys and his books and his healing kisses. This man—
“Colin?” Her fingers curled into her palms at her sides.
His eyes stilled on the left side of her face and then focused on her own eyes. “Roe,” he said again. “It is you. It is you?”
Wren felt as though the blood were draining from her head. She felt as though she were gazing down a long tunnel. A warm hand grasped her firmly by the elbow.
“I have brought Lord Hodges to meet you, Wren,” Alexander said.
Lord Hodges? He was not Papa. He was not—no, surely he was not Justin.
“Yes, I am Colin,” he said, crossing the room toward her in a few long strides and taking both her hands in a bruising clasp. “Roe. Oh, good God, Roe. I thought you were dead. I thought you died twenty years ago.”
A little six-year-old. A happy little boy with his toys and books and get-better kisses who always seemed to skip happily wherever he went. The only person who had loved her during her own childhood.
“Oh, God,” he said, “they told me you were dead.”
If he squeezed her hands any more tightly, he was going to break a few fingers. “You used to kiss my face to make it better,” she said. “Do you remember, Colin? You did make it better. See? It never did go quite away, but it is better. And everything else got better too. Except that you were lost to me. And I have always wondered . . . My heart has always ached.”
“I survived too,” he said, and when he smiled, she could see—oh, surely she could see that radiant little boy, though she had to look up an inch or two at him now. “I still cannot believe it, Roe. You are alive. All these years . . .”
I survived too . . . A strange choice of words.
“Perhaps we should all sit down,” Alexander suggested.
He poured them each a glass of wine while Wren sat with Colin on the deep leather sofa that faced the fireplace. He took both her hands in his again as soon as they were seated, as though he feared she would disappear if he did not hold on to her. Alexander sat in one of the armchairs flanking the hearth.
“No, it never did go quite away,” Colin said, tipping his head to look at the side of her face, “but it does not matter, Roe. Riverdale was right. You are beautiful. And you were the fortunate one. If you had not been blemished, she would have kept you. Did Aunt Megan treat you well? Riverdale says she did.”
“She was an angel,” Wren said. “And I use the word with all sincerity. So was Uncle Reggie, whom she married. But, Colin—Lord Hodges?”
“Were you cut off from all knowledge of us, then?” he asked her. “Papa died seven years ago of a weak heart. Justin died three years before him. There is an official story of the cause, but the truth is that he drank himself to death. You probably do not know anything else about us either, do you? Blanche married Sir Nelson Elwood. They live with our mother. There are no children. Ruby married Sean Murphy when she was seventeen and went to Ireland with him. She never comes back, but I have been there a few times. I have—you and I have three nephews and a niece. I have rooms here in London, where I live year-round.”
“Not with . . . Mother?” she asked.
“No.” He released her hands and reached for his glass of wine. “I suppose you were not sickly as a child, were you? That was not why you rarely came out of your room.”
“No,” she said.
“I suppose you were kept there,” he said, “because you were a blemish upon her beautiful world. Young children are very gullible. They believe everything they are told. I suppose that is natural. They have to grow gradually into discernment—and cynicism. I was proud of myself when I learned to turn that key. I can remember turning it so that I could come and play with you. I never thought to question why a sickly sister had to be locked into her room. But, Wren, you were able to escape when you were still young. If you had not had that strawberry blemish, you would have been sucked up like the rest of us, for you are beautiful and probably were even as a child. But forgive me. Nothing must have seemed like a blessing in those days.”
“Oh, you did,” she told him.
Both he and Alexander smiled at her, and she looked from one to the other of them and felt a great welling of love.
“The rest of us had identity only as her beautiful offspring,” Colin said. “I had a bit of a lisp as a child. I was not allowed to grow out of it until I almost was unable to do so. And I was not allowed to cut my hair in what I considered a decently boyish style because it was blond and curly and people used to pat me on the head and coo over me. And I was told you had died. I can remember going to your room the night after I heard and tucking my favorite cloth tiger beneath your bedcovers to keep you warm and putting the book you most liked me to read on your pillow to keep you company. But it seems I stayed there to do both myself. I believe I fell asleep crying. There was a bit of a hue and cry the next morning when I was not in my own bed.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Even though I did not know it, thank you, Colin.”
“Why Wren?” he asked her.
She smiled. “It is what Uncle Reggie called me the first time he saw me,” she said. “He said I was all thin and big-eyed and looked like a little bird. Soon Aunt Megan was calling me Wren too and I liked it. When they adopted me, I became Wren Heyden, the name I bore until three days ago, when I became Wren Westcott.” She glanced at Alexander and smiled again.
“I do not believe I could get used to saying it,” Colin said, “though it is pretty.”
“Oh no,” she said. “You must always call me Roe. Only you have ever done so, and I associate it with brightness and comfort and love.”
He sighed and looked from her to Alexander. “I want to know so much,” he said. “I want to know everything. And I suppose I want to tell you everything. There are so many missing years. But I must not take up more of your time today. Riverdale, I owe you a debt of gratitude I may never be able to repay. I would never have known. I read your marriage announcement, but the name Wren Heyden meant nothing to me. I would not have known even if I had seen her, for her face is different now from the way I remember it. I would have gone through the rest of my life believing my sister to be dead.”
“But you must stay,” Wren said, forgetting her earlier longing to be alone with Alexander for the evening. “Stay for dinner. Meet my mother- and sister-in-law and cousins. I daresay you know some of them already.”
“Alas, I cannot,” he said. “I have an engagement I cannot break. A friend of mine has a sister who needs an escort to Vauxhall, and I am he. She is a shy girl and has not taken well with the ton so far this year.”
“Then you certainly must go,” Wren said as he got to his feet and offered both his hands to draw her up before him.
&n
bsp; “Roe,” he said, tightening his grip, “stay away from her. She is my mother—our mother—and I would not utter one disloyal word about her to anyone outside the family. I said the same thing to Riverdale earlier about staying away from her, but only after he convinced me that he was indeed my brother-in-law. She is poison, Roe. There is only one person in her world—herself. Everyone else is part of a stage set about her or the audience to gaze upon her with wonder and awe. She can be vicious to anyone who will not play his or her appointed part. I am almost choking on such disloyal words about my own mother, but she is your mother too and she will not be happy if she comes face-to-face with you. She will fear exposure as someone who is not quite perfect after all. Stay away from her. Forget about her. But I daresay you already intend to do just that.”
“Colin.” She smiled at him. “Something in me has healed today. There was goodness in those years.”
“I am sure I will be waking up tonight imagining this is all a dream,” he said. “And for once I will enjoy waking all the way up to realize it is not. You are alive.”
“Yes,” she said. “Enjoy Vauxhall.”
“Oh, I will.” He grinned. “Miss Parmiter may be shy, with the result that the ton has taken little notice of her. But I have. Roe, may I kiss it better again?”
“Oh yes, please.” She laughed as he kissed her left cheek and then pulled her into a tight hug. She hugged him back and thought that darkness was never quite dark. Her first ten years had come very close, so close that she had almost forgotten the one thin thread of light that had made all the difference—the bright-faced little boy who had grown into this handsome young man. Her brother.
They saw him on his way, she and Alexander, after he had agreed to return the following day. Then they returned to the library. He had her hand in his, she realized, their fingers laced. He drew her down onto the sofa and wrapped one arm about her. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She felt his free hand wipe her cheeks gently with a handkerchief.
“If he had turned out to be the other brother,” he said, “I would not have told him.”
“Justin?” she said. “I suppose he suffered too. One does not drink oneself to death for the pleasure of it.”
“He was cruel to you,” he said.
“He was just a boy,” she told him. “Blanche and Ruby were just girls. I have to forgive, Alexander, even if only in my own mind. If one of them had looked as I did and I had looked as one of them did and been under the influence of my mother, who is to say I would not have behaved in just the way they did?”
He bent his head and kissed her.
“I am going to go and see her,” she said.
The arm about her shoulders tightened. “Your mother?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Why?” he asked. “Wren, there is no need for that. Your brother advises against it, and he ought to know. He was quite adamant about it, in fact. You do not need to do this. Let me take you home. I am longing to go myself. Let’s go home.”
“Do you know where she lives?” she asked.
“No.” He sighed. “But it should not be hard to find out.”
“Will you do that, please?” she asked him. “I am going.”
He did not ask why again, which was just as well. She did not know why. Except that her past had been opened up at last, beginning with the visit to the theater and the outpouring of her story later. And now this. She had to finish what had been started or it would forever fester inside her. She was not looking for healing. She was not sure that was possible—just as perhaps it was not for Colin and her sisters. She just wanted to face her memories, including those that were too deep to be dragged up into her conscious mind. That was all. That was why.
“Wren.” Both his arms were about her. His cheek was resting against her head. “What am I going to do with you? No, don’t answer. I know what I am going to be doing with you within the next day or two. I am going to be going with you to call upon Lady Hodges.”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. And soon, Alexander. Then I want to go home with you.”
Twenty-one
Viola left the following morning after breakfast, with Harry and Abigail. All was noise and bustle for a while and hugs and kisses and even a few tears.
“I say, Wren,” Harry said when he was taking his leave of her. “I do hope you will not hold the first day or so of our acquaintance against me. I seem to remember asking rudely who you were and demanding Mama and bumbling on about walking furniture. And I dread to think what I must have looked like—and smelled like.”
“All is forgotten except the joy of realizing who you were,” she said, laughing as she patted his good arm. “Enjoy your relaxation time in the country.” She somehow doubted he would relax as much as his mother and sister hoped. Already he was looking wiry and restless and altogether more healthy than he had looked a week ago.
“Thank you for all you have done for me,” he said, catching her up in a tight hug, “and for inviting Mama and Abby here. I understand it was your idea to use your wedding as an extra inducement. Thank you, Wren.”
Abigail hugged her too. “Yes, thank you,” she said. “It was important I come for poor Jess’s sake. She has taken the changes in my fortune very much to heart. I have been able to spend our few days here explaining that I am at peace with it all, that I am not a tragic figure for whom she should sacrifice her own hopes and happiness. It has been easier to convince her person-to-person than by letter. And it has been lovely seeing everyone again and meeting you. I think you are quite perfect for Alex. For one thing, you are almost as tall as he is.” She laughed. “Thank you, Wren, for everything.”
Viola took one of her hands between both of her own. “Thank you,” she said, “for the tender care you lavished upon my son. Thank you for giving Abby and Jessica the chance to spend some time together. In many ways they are more like sisters than cousins and the events of the past year or so have been hard on them. And thank you, Wren, for . . . friendship. I feel that I have found a friend in you, and that is not something I say to many people. You have inspired me with your quiet courage.”
“That,” Wren told her, “is one of the loveliest things anyone could possibly say to me. And please know how happy I am to be able to call you friend as well. Enjoy your month or two with Harry. I will write, and hope to see you again soon.”
“I shall you as well.” And they hugged each other amid the noise and fuss of general farewells.
Harry had drawn Alexander into a hug too, Wren noticed, and was slapping his back. She even overheard what he said. “I don’t resent you, Alex,” he said, “despite what I know you half believe. When I see you going off to the Lords, I think how dreary it would be if that were me. Give me a battleground instead any day of the week.”
Then everyone was moving out onto the pavement and Alexander was handing the ladies into their waiting carriage and Harry was climbing in after them. Two minutes later the carriage disappeared along South Audley Street, and those who remained stood gazing after it.
“Viola has changed,” Wren’s mother-in-law said. “I was always very fond of her. She was so elegant and dignified and gracious, as she still is, but there used to be a certain aloofness about her too. She seems a little warmer now.”
“I believe the aloofness could be attributed to the wretchedness of her marriage, Mama,” Elizabeth said. “You did not miss anything in not knowing Cousin Humphrey, Wren.”
“I like her very well indeed,” Wren said as they entered the house again. “And Abigail is very sweet. She is mature beyond her years.”
“I would wager Harry will be back in the Peninsula before his two months are up if he has any say in the matter,” Alexander said. “He told me the life of an officer suits him better than that of an earl. Perhaps he even believes it.”
“Wren?” Elizabeth linked an arm through
hers as they climbed the stairs. “Lord Hodges is your brother?”
Alexander had told his mother and sister about the relationship. “Yes,” Wren said. “Colin was six when I left home. I adored him. He was told I had died.”
Her mother-in-law, coming up behind them on Alexander’s arm, drew in a sharp breath, though she did not say anything.
“His shock was greater than mine yesterday,” Wren said. “My greatest shock was knowing he is Lord Hodges. My father was alive when I left home. So was my elder brother.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said.
“I am going to see her,” Wren said as they entered the drawing room.
“Lady Hodges?” Her mother-in-law looked shocked. “Oh, my dear. You are going with your brother?”
“No,” Wren said. “He has no dealings with her and has strongly advised me to stay away.”
“But you are going anyway?” her mother-in-law said. “Wren, is it wise?”
Elizabeth released her arm before they sat down. “I can understand that she must go, Mama,” she said. “I do not know your story, Wren, but I can perhaps imagine some of it, for I do know a bit about— But she is your mother and the least said the better. Yes, of course, you must go, and I applaud your courage. Alex is going with you?”
“Kicking and screaming,” he said, looking from one to the other of them, a frown on his face. He had not sat down. “This must be a woman’s logic at work. To both Hodges and me it is madness. And I do know Wren’s story, Lizzie—or some of it anyway. I daresay there is far more. Yes, I am going with her. Tomorrow morning if the lady is at home. And then I am going to miss what remains of the parliamentary session. I am going to take Wren home. No, correction. Wren and I will be going home together. To Brambledean.”