Мэри Бэлоу - Someone to Wed

“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.

“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.