Chapter Two − A New Beginning
England, January 1807
A Few Months Later
Leaning on the cane Derek had fashioned for her, Meagan hobbled through the snow toward the remnants of her cottage. Six-year-old Matthew and 3-year-old Erin ran ahead, throwing snowballs at each other and squealing in delight whenever one of them found its mark. “Don’t aim too high,” Meagan counselled them, “or ye might lose an eye.”
As the children continued to play, Meagan’s eyes slid over the caved-in cottage. Only a fortnight ago, a terrible storm had uprooted an old tree by the side of their home, bringing it crashing down onto the cottage’s roof. It had collapsed as though made of paper, burying her and Erin inside. Matthew, though, had been able to find a way out and had gone to Huntington House for help.
With her foot stuck under a heavy beam, Meagan had waited in the dark, unable to reach her unconscious daughter across the room. Those moments had been the worst of her life, and even remembering them now brought tears to her eyes.
Glancing over at her children, Meagan found her son standing by the uprooted tree, sadness in his dark brown eyes. When he caught her looking, he stepped closer, his gaze returning to the fallen tree. “It was the perfect tree,” he mumbled, sighing with regret. “There is none other like it.”
Placing a hand on her son’s shoulder, Meagan smiled down at him. “Ye’ll find another. Just ye wait. It may not be the same, but it will be a new challenge, a new adventure, and with time, ye’ll figure out how to climb it.”
Matthew nodded as his little sister came strolling over, her big blue eyes gliding over the fallen tree. “Can I climb, too?”
“Ye’re too young,” Matthew said with all the wisdom and life experience a six-year-old could muster. “Climbin’ trees is dangerous.”
Erin frowned. “Why?”
“What happens if ye fall?”
“I won’t fall,” Erin said, a stern look coming to her eyes as she held her brother’s gaze. “I’ll hold tight.”
Leaving her children to discuss the art of tree climbing, Meagan hobbled back to the collapsed structure, and once again, the night of the storm resurfaced in her mind.
Vividly, she remembered the howling wind and the creaking beams as she had sat waiting in the dark, fear clawing at her heart. It had been a terrifying night, and yet, it had also shown Meagan that she had been wrong to live her life separate from others.
After the loss of her husband, a part of Meagan had reasoned that loss could be avoided if one did not allow oneself to love. At the time, it had been sound reasoning, and Meagan had found herself obeying it without conscious thought. Without her husband, she was suddenly alone in dealing with life’s challenges as the thought to remarry seemed as preposterous as the sun rising in the west. In simple terms, life had kept her busy, kept her from forging relationships with her neighbours.
And yet, when she had needed them, they had come to save her.
In all fairness, it had been Lady Ainsworth, Derek’s high-born wife, who had not hesitated. Since her husband had been taken ill, she had sent word to her neighbours for help before rushing to the cabin herself, saving little Erin and injuring herself in the process.
As Huntington House was still in a sad condition after the last baron had gambled away its wealth, Derek and his family were forced to do most of the work necessary themselves. However, as people of the working class, they had never expected or hoped for riches. More than once, Meagan had seen pride in their eyes as they went about restoring the old estate. As a man true to his word, Derek had not hesitated to roll up his sleeves and assist his tenants in repairing their ramshackle homes. Thus, he had gained their respect and loyalty, bringing them all closer together.
Only Meagan had not expected that their loyalty would extend to her.
But it had, and she had come to understand that a life lived alone was a sad existence. She did not want that for her children.
After they had been taken in at Huntington House, Meagan had come to realise the comfort of companionship, of family. Not only was Derek’s mother Bessy a mother to all living under her roof, but Meagan had found close friends in Derek’s wife Madeline and sister Kara. Social standing did not matter at Huntington House, and although his tenants referred to him as my lord, Meagan had seen him cringe at the address more than once. Tonight, everyone was invited to the grand house for a Christmas Eve supper, and for the first time since her husband’s death, Meagan was looking forward to the holidays.
Edward’s loss still made her heart ache, but by now she had come to realise that her children’s joy possessed the power to heal it.
A little bit every day.
“Will we live at the big house now?” Matthew asked, coming to stand beside her.
Patting his head, Meagan smiled. “For a little while. But our neighbours have promised to help us rebuild, remember? Before spring is out, ye will sleep in your own bed again.”
Grinning, Matthew looked up at her. “Will there be a tree right next to the house?”
Meagan laughed, “Do ye see a tree?”
Shaking his head, Matthew’s gaze darkened.
“Fine,” Meagan sighed. “Maybe we can plant a tree.” A deep smile came to Matthew’s face. “But only a small one.”
“Thank ye, Mother,” Matthew exclaimed, throwing his arms around her.
“I want a tree, too!” Little Erin stated, pulling on Meagan’s skirts to get her attention. “I want a tree, too.”
Meagan smiled. “We’ll see.” For now, she was grateful for the people in her life, for a wonderful Christmas with her family and a new home come spring.
Never again would she allow herself to retreat from the world. It had been a mistake. She knew that now. And she would never do so again.
After all, she had never been one to go quietly in the night. No, deep down, Meagan knew she was a fighter, and she would do whatever necessary to see her children happy.
Was not that what a mother did?
Chapter Three − Returning Home
After the rain, the roads were soaked, littered with puddles that were slowly turning the dry earth into mud. Water dripped off branches, swirling through the air, travelling on the strong wind that seemed to howl like a wild beast.
After spending the past few months scraping together every coin he came by, Edward had finally been able to find passage on a ship back home. Back to England.
And this was his welcome.
Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling him that he, in fact, was no longer welcome. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe he ought to turn back.
But he could not.
Dragging himself onward, Edward cursed as his left foot splashed through yet another puddle, soaking his pant leg higher. He inhaled a deep breath and glanced ahead at the small road winding its way through the country.
Never had he been in these parts before. Not since he had left for the war. And yet, it all felt familiar. The landscape. The sound of incessant raindrops drumming down onto the earth. The smell of rain and mud and dirt in the air.
Edward’s whole body hummed with a sense of recognition, of being back home.
Again, he cursed. He should never have come.
And yet, he continued onward, forcing one foot in front of the other, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach, trying his best to forget that it had been three days since he had last eaten. Pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders to keep in what little warmth he possessed, he absentmindedly ran a hand over his chin, feeling the wild growth of his beard. If he were to come upon his family, would they even recognise him?
As the landscape began to change and Edward found himself remembering certain twists and turns of the road as well as the skyline before his eyes, he wondered how to best avoid such an unfortunate encounter. For if he were to stumble upon his family and they did not recognise him, Edward was certain it would tear his heart into a million pieces.
For the hundredth tim
e, he cursed himself for embarking on such a foolish endeavour. He ought to have flung himself off the cliff when he had still had the chance.
When the first few puffs of smoke came into view, Edward stopped, taking a deep breath as his heart hammered in his chest the same way it had on the day he had first laid eyes on his wife. They had been children then, and still, he had known her to be the one.
As though Fortune had willed it.
After glancing around, Edward ventured off the path that led into the small village. Instead, he turned east, dragging his useless leg through soaked meadows and up a small slope. Panting under his breath, he continued upward, feeling a slight dizziness engulf his senses. His grip on his cane tightened, and he willed himself not to stop. If he did, he was not certain he would find the strength to start walking again.
Then the top came into view, and Edward gritted his teeth, taking the last few final steps before his gaze dropped, following the slight slope downward to the village snuggled into the small valley. Smoke rose from the chimneys, and here and there, Edward spotted a few brave souls bracing the outdoors. A few boys ran across the market square, and a farmer or two tended to their livestock.
Squinting his eyes, Edward shifted his gaze to the west. At the sight of his old home, the breath caught in his throat and he stumbled backward a pace as though someone had punched him in the stomach.
All these years, he had spent envisioning his family, his home. And now, it was only a short walk away.
Tears streamed down his face as his one good knee gave out and he sank down into the wet grass. For how long, Edward sat there, staring at his former home, he did not know.
As evening fell, he found himself jarred out of his trance when the door to his cottage opened and a little boy came running out, followed by a large dog.
“Matthew,” Edward whispered, staring wide-eyed at the brown-haired boy.
Slowly, he dragged himself to his feet, his gaze unwavering, as his body leaned forward, unable to tear himself from the allure before him. How tall his son had grown? He mused for a moment before a burly man came hurtling through the door, yelling something unintelligible and pointing toward the barn.
Once again, Edward felt as though the air was knocked from his lungs as he stared at the man who had replaced him.
Although he had spent the better part of the journey across the channel convincing himself that his wife had remarried, Edward now knew all his preparations had done him little good. Now faced with the life he had given up, the life that had been claimed by another man, Edward felt a wild rage surging through his body. Gripping his cane, he began staggering down the small slope.
Then he once more stopped in his tracks as the door to the cottage opened, revealing a tall woman with dark-brown hair. For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze sweeping across her surroundings before she finally stepped outside…followed by two half-grown girls.
“’Tis not Meagan,” Edward whispered before his gaze once more travelled to the little boy. Squinting his eyes, he tried to make out his features. “’Tis not him.” Shaking his head, Edward felt his breath come in ragged gasps as his heart filled with a mixture of relief and fear. “’Tis not them,” he mumbled, still staggering toward the family that quite obviously now lived in his old home. “Where are they?”
As he approached the small homestead, the burly man caught sight of him and stepped forward, his shoulders squared and a tense expression on his features. Then he gestured for his family to head inside before he took a step toward Edward. “Can I help ye?”
Blinking, Edward realised how close he had come to the family without offering a greeting. “I apologise,” he said to the burly man, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m lookin’ for…the Dunning family. They used to live here.”
The burly man’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed Edward, taking in his bedraggled appearance. “What is it to ye?” he demanded, arms crossed in front of his body.
Edward drew in a steadying breath as impatience burnt in his veins. Still, he forced himself to remain calm. “I’ve just returned from the continent,” he spoke honestly before he switched to a lie. “I’m here to fulfil a promise I gave to Mr. Dunning. He died in the war, and he bade me speak to his family on his behalf.”
At his words, the expression in the man’s eyes softened. “I was told that the family who used to live here was called Dunning. A mother and two children.”
Edward sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his chest tighten. “Matthew and Erin?”
The other man nodded, the last sign of doubt leaving his face. “Aye.”
“Do ye know where they are? What happened to them?”
The burly man shrugged. “I was told they’d moved away. ‘Tis all I know.” Then he jerked his chin in the direction of the village in his back. “Go and ask Mr. Bradley at the tavern. If anyone knows, ‘tis him.”
Swallowing, Edward nodded. “Thank ye.” And without another word, he hobbled past his old home and toward the market square where the tavern was located.
Except for his own home, few things had changed. A handful of houses had risen from the ground to house new families, but apart from that, the village looked as it always had.
As though no time had passed.
And yet, nothing could be farther from the truth.
Pushing open the heavy door to the small establishment, Edward welcomed the slight warmth that engulfed him after sleeping out in the open for the past few weeks. Then he glanced around, remembering the regular-sized room with a few tables scattered around the fireplace in the back. Toward the side wall, a counter had been set up, behind which Trevor−Mr. Bradley−was polishing a glass to perfection, his small, beady eyes sizing Edward up.
For a moment, Edward held his breath, hoping the man would not recognise him. However, they had not known each other well, and after Edward had married Meagan, the other man had avoided him openly, begrudging Edward his beautiful bride.
“Can I help ye?” Trevor asked, his eyes still watchful.
Approaching, Edward kept his gaze down, grateful for the beard that hid the lower half of his face. “I’m lookin’ for the Dunning family,” he answered as before. “I was told they’d moved away.” Seeing Trevor’s suspicious gaze, Edward added, “I served in the war with Mrs. Dunning’s husband.”
“I see,” Trevor grumbled as though he even now begrudged Edward his wife when he surely thought him dead.
“Do ye know what happened?” Edward asked, sinking onto a barstool, his limbs sighing in relief.
Trevor took a deep breath and for a long moment said nothing. Then he shrugged, and an oddly familiar look of boredom settled on his features. “About a year after Mr. Dunning was reported dead, Derek McKnight returned.”
Derek! Edward sighed in relief. He would have looked after them. His friend would have made certain that−
“He’s been made a baron.” Shaking his head, Trevor chuckled; however, there was a hostile tone to his laughter. “Distinguished himself in the field, they say.” Again, he shook his head. “Was given an estate.” He snorted, setting down the glass with a loud bang. “Came to collect Meagan and the children to live at his fine estate with him.” A touch of anger came to his eyes. “If I’d known that’s all it took, I would’ve gone off to war as well as claim her for myself.”
“Claim her?” Edward echoed, staring at the man he had known and despised all his life.
Blinking, Trevor focused his gaze on him. “Why else would a man make such an offer? Why else would she accept it?” Shaking his head, Trevor leaned forward conspiratorially. “Mark my words: first, he left his friend for dead, and then he stole his wife.”
As the blood rushed in his ears, Edward gripped the side of the counter, doing his utmost to steady himself as his body began to sway with the blow of such a revelation. Had Derek truly come back to−?
Shaking his head, Edward tried to clear it of the images such thoughts brought forth. “Where?” he stammered. “Where??
?s the estate?”
“It’s got some mighty fine name,” Trevor scoffed, scratching his chin. “Huntington House, yeah, that’s it. South-east of here.”
“Thank ye,” Edward stammered before he fled back out into the fresh air, leaving behind the suffocating tavern with a sigh of relief. Outside, a mild drizzle fell, wetting his face and chilling his bones. Was it true? Had his best friend claimed his wife? Never had Derek shown any interest in Meagan. Neither had she shown any in him. But these things did happen, did they not? After all, they thought him dead.
Is this not what you wanted? A voice deep down whispered. Is this not the answer you sought?
Gritting his teeth, Edward knew that he ought to turn back. After all, no matter what had happened between his best friend and his wife, Edward was certain that Derek would take care of her and his children. Was it not good that Matthew and Erin had a father in their lives? A man who would put their well-being before his own? Deep down, Edward knew that Derek would have never left for the war had he had a wife and child. He would not have abandoned them, and he would not abandon Meagan and the children. They were safe with him.
And that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?
Still, Edward was powerless against the seething rage that gripped his heart as he contemplated the thought of his wife in the arms of his best friend. Although he had his answer, he could not simply bow out. He could not leave without…
Without what?
Drawing in a deep breath, Edward focused his eyes on the far horizon, almost invisible in the darkening sky. Then he turned toward the small chapel, hoping for sanctuary for the night, because tomorrow he would get on the road heading south-east.
Cursing under his breath, Edward knew that he should have thrown himself off the cliff when he had still had the chance. Now, it was too late.
Now, he had to see them.
Her.
And Heaven help him once he did.