Page 17

Chapter 16

Bridget stood in the doorway to Oakleigh’s main bedchamber, gazing around at the room within. Transformed since its previous occupants had left, every trace of their straw mattresses had been removed and it now contained a mahogany four-poster bed that matched the mahogany mantelpiece above the fireplace, as well as a wardrobe and washstand. The bed was dressed in crisp linen and boasted two pillows, while new drapes framed the windows, although the walls and floor were still missing mirrors and rugs, leaving the room unfinished for now – practicality had taken precedence over luxury. She recalled the cosy sheepskin rug that had once adorned the floorboards of her old bedchamber and thought it would please her to obtain something similar in the future, when she could acquire more discretionary furnishings.

She stepped inside. Despite its bareness, she felt a sense of satisfaction in claiming the space. This bedchamber, the domain of the lady of the manor, was connected to the master’s chamber next door in much the same manner as the suite of rooms at Bewley Hall. The next time she and Cormac stayed at Oakleigh, this would be their private sanctuary.

With a small sigh, she acknowledged the ache of his absence, while taking comfort in the fact that she would be seeing him again very soon. The past three months had been a whirlwind of activity, involving several trips to furniture makers in Dublin in her quest to fill the manor with essential items. Though it was a long way from resembling its former glory, she had made very reasonable progress. But now the end of November was fast approaching and she had begun formulating her plans to return to England. She wanted to get back in time for Christmastide and, before that, Gus’s birthday.

She heard the light tread of footsteps behind her and turned to find Polly on the threshold.

‘Are you pleased with it, my lady?’ she asked, glancing about the room.

‘Very much. Part of me wishes I had a bit longer to enjoy it, but I do believe it is time for us to go back to Bewley Hall.’

Polly’s face lit up at the news. Bridget experienced a dart of unease.

‘Oh, my dear Polly, have you been unhappy at Oakleigh?’ she asked in concern. ‘You ought to have said—’

‘No, not at all,’ Polly hastened to assure her. ‘We’ve been doing valuable work here. I suppose I’m just eager at the thought of going home, and of seeing…everyone.’

Of course, her mother and uncle worked in the Bewley household, which meant that Bridget and Polly would both be returning to their families.

‘It will be splendid for us all to be reunited for the Christmas season,’ Bridget said with a smile. ‘John Corbett has promised to accompany us, so we shall be quite safe on the journey.’

Another set of footsteps sounded out in the corridor and this time Denis appeared in the doorway. Since his promotion to butler, he had started wearing a black tailcoat with a charcoal waistcoat and a crisp white shirt, dark trousers and polished shoes, all of which he had acquired at a tailor’s in Tullow, the nearest town. Bridget would not have objected if Denis had chosen to wear less formal attire, but he earnestly wished to live up to the honour that had been bestowed upon him and so she had provided him with the funds to do so, although he had begged for the final sum to be taken out of his wages in partial payments until it had been repaid in full. As Ellen had predicted, he had embraced his new role with a fervent sense of pride.

The one aspect where they had eschewed formality was his name. Bridget would continue to call him Denis – as was her wont when her fondness transcended the typical employer-servant boundary – though the staff would now refer to him as Mr Nolan.

Polly stepped aside to allow him to enter the bedchamber and he came forwards, holding out a sealed note to Bridget. ‘A letter has arrived for you, my lady.’

She accepted it and saw that it had originated from Ashbrook Lodge. That gladdened her – Patrick had been silent for so very long. Then she turned the note over and registered the wax seal with surprise: Wyndham. She flipped it back, examined the handwriting on the address more closely and recognised its owner.

Garrett was in Ireland?

Mystified, she broke the seal and unfolded the page. In three terse sentences, Garrett enquired after her health, requested an audience at her earliest convenience, and confirmed his readiness to call upon her at Oakleigh as soon as he received her reply.

‘My lady?’ Polly said, her tone nervous. ‘It’s not bad news, is it?’

Bridget frowned and gave an unconvincing shake of her head. In a daze, she wandered over to the mahogany bed and lowered herself onto the edge of it, gaping down at the page.

Her mind whirled with so many questions that she could hardly pin them all down. What had brought Garrett to Ireland? Had he pursued Patrick when his son hadn’t returned to England? If Garrett was now at Ashbrook Lodge, had Patrick deserted the place, unwilling to remain in the presence of his disappointing father? Or could Garrett and Patrick possibly have reconciled? What did Garrett wish to speak to her about and with such urgency?

Given that they’d had no interaction with each other since the conclusion of the charity event in London, she could probably assume that his demand for a meeting concerned Patrick in some way. After all, Patrick had been under her and Cormac’s supervision when Gus had let slip the truth about his illegitimate origins. Did Garrett mean to rage to her about this blunder that had led to an estrangement with his son? If so, she would defend Gus to the hilt. The failings in that scenario belonged to Garrett and no one else.

Perhaps, if Patrick was refusing all contact with his father, Garrett wanted to visit Oakleigh to seek her and Cormac’s intercession in the matter. He had written to Bridget but it could well be Cormac’s assistance he desired, considering the past success Cormac had achieved with his wayward nephew. Although there were ways and means for Garrett to have established that the mistress of Oakleigh was in residence before he’d sent his correspondence, it was less likely that he would have been able to determine if any of the rest of the family were also present. Thus, upon his discovery that Cormac was actually in England, Garrett might deem this a wasted trip.

Should she grant his request to visit nonetheless? There was no justifiable reason not to – they did share a tentative accord at present in the sense that no outright antagonism currently existed between them, and if there was something she could do to benefit Patrick’s welfare, then of course she would wish to do it. She would have to make it clear, however, that Cormac would not be available to offer his help, and that, as Oakleigh transitioned from a sanctuary for tenants back to a manor home, Garrett must be prepared for a humble reception.

She looked up from the letter to find both Polly and Denis gazing at her with troubled expressions.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ she said, waving the page as she gave them a wan smile. ‘But we shall be obliged to delay our departure for Bewley Hall a little longer.’

Three days later, she sat in the drawing room, awaiting Garrett’s arrival. There was no sofa yet as the upholstered furniture she had ordered in Dublin would take a while to be sourced and delivered. Instead, she had arranged for two wooden chairs with arms to be positioned in front of the crackling hearth and she had cushioned them with the pillows from her bedchamber. A low table stood between the chairs, appropriated from the housekeeper’s room below stairs. There was nothing grand about these circumstances, but they would have to make do; she had not expected to receive visitors in a formal capacity so soon. If Garrett found fault with the room’s current state, the inconvenience was his to bear.

He had still arranged to come, even though her reply to his letter had conveyed Cormac’s absence. What did he want with her in particular? Patrick had always been polite with her but they possessed no special bond – she doubted whether she would be able to exert any great influence in a situation where Garrett aspired to reconnect with his alienated son. She shifted the low table an inch to the right and continued to wait, absorbed in her misgivings and hating that Garrett could still inspire such unease in her.

A knock sounded on the door and Denis entered.

‘Lord Wyndham to see you, my lady,’ he announced with a solemn bow and stepped aside, revealing Garrett in the doorway, dressed immaculately from head to foot.

He strode into the room and bowed as Bridget rose and came forwards to meet him.

‘Lady Courcey,’ he said stiffly. His hand twitched and, realising the gesture he wished to make, she offered him her own. He took it and kissed the air above her knuckles.

‘Lord Wyndham,’ she greeted in return and curtseyed, marvelling at their mutual civility. A casual spectator would not be able to tell that they shared such a turbulent history. Without warning, she recalled the attraction that had bubbled up inside her the first time she caught sight of him across a crowded ballroom. In the next instant, she remembered his merciless grip on her shoulders the day he had burned the wooden bird. Firmly, she banished both memories from her mind.

She turned her gaze to Denis. ‘Please tell Ellen we will take refreshment whenever it is ready.’

He bowed once more and retreated from the room. Bridget indicated the two chairs and Garrett settled his long frame into one, making no remark on the unsophisticated nature of them. She took the opposite chair. For several moments, the only sound came from the flames crackling in the fireplace. The fire was well set, and yet she found that its warmth couldn’t reach her on this chilly November afternoon.

Garrett cleared his throat. ‘Allow me to offer my felicitations on your recent birthday.’

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Indeed, he was correct. She had left behind her thirties this month, as Cormac had the previous month. Though they had been apart for both occasions, they had each written to the other, with expressions of passion that would have left her scarlet had any eyes bar theirs read them.

But it had been twelve years since she and Garrett had lived under the same roof. How had he even remembered? ‘I—thank you,’ she stuttered.

‘A not insignificant milestone,’ he added.

She tensed. While it was ungallant of him to draw attention to her actual age, she was more perturbed by the implication of his words. It reminded her horribly of the day she turned twenty-one and he had forced her to sign a contract conferring guardianship of Oakleigh onto her mother in perpetuity. Was forty consequential for some legal reason of which she was not aware? Was this why he had come? She pressed her cold hands into the folds of her skirts.

To her surprise, however, he didn’t pursue the subject any further. Instead, he rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and said, ‘I had the opportunity to survey conditions in the countryside along my journey here. Oakleigh appears to be faring better than most.’

She nodded. ‘It’s been a long road to get to this point—the situation was a great deal grimmer a year and a half ago. We’ve done our utmost to support the tenants, and it’s a relief to see the estate beginning to recover.’

He glanced around the bare drawing room. ‘And the manor? I’m impressed by the quality of the reconstruction. It would be a shame if this new building didn’t get to fulfil its proper purpose.’

‘Steps are being taken in that direction, now that the tenants have returned to their own dwellings, but furnishing the entire house will take time.’

He steepled his fingertips together. ‘I imagine all of this is stretching the estate’s finances to an extreme degree?’

And there it was. As the legal owner of Oakleigh, he had a stake in its prosperity. Naturally, the matter of how its money was being expended would be of chief importance to him.

Her teeth clamped down on the tip of her tongue. ‘Charitable donations have helped to provide sustenance to the tenants, as you know. I sold Courcey House on Merrion Square last year, which was an enormous help in obtaining resources. Oakleigh’s overall income has admittedly been depleted by the suspension in collecting rents, but those are resuming in increments, and in the meantime Cormac can alleviate the deficit from Bewley Hall as needed.’

‘Too munificent for your own good.’ He shook his head. ‘You might both be paupers before this crisis is through.’

‘Would you have us stand idly by while the tenants starve?’ she demanded. ‘Our efforts pale in the face of what still needs to be done. The country as a whole continues to suffer.’ A hopeful thought occurred to her. ‘I wonder would you be willing to make another petition to Parliament?’

He didn’t answer right away. ‘I’m afraid it wouldn’t do any good,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve already exercised all the power I have in that regard, and Parliament has domestic concerns that it deems to be of higher priority. Pity. It might otherwise have been an expedient solution.’

His expression turned meditative and she frowned. Just then, there was another knock on the door and Ellen came in, a ring of keys jangling at her waist. Her face was inscrutable as she set a tea tray down on the table between Bridget and Garrett.

‘Is there anything else you need, my lady?’ she asked.

A crystal ball would be helpful to divine the thoughts of the man brooding opposite her. ‘Not for now, Ellen, thank you.’

Ellen exited the room and Bridget leaned forwards to pour the tea. She pushed a cup and saucer across the table towards Garrett but he didn’t take it, his mouth pressed to his steepled fingers as he gazed absent-mindedly into the fire. Lifting her own cup to her lips, she sipped and waited. As the silence stretched between them, she began to wonder what on earth was happening. He had instigated this meeting, and yet now he sat like a statue opposite her as though he didn’t intend to say anything else.

Her patience grew thin. She set down her cup. ‘You wrote from Ashbrook Lodge,’ she said. ‘Can I assume then that you have seen Patrick?’

His hazel eyes shot to hers before skittering away again.

‘Come now,’ she said, her tone on the verge of complaining. ‘You didn’t come all this way for no purpose. If it’s not about the estate’s finances, surely it must be about Patrick? When he stayed with us this past summer, he made an unpleasant discovery about the circumstances of his birth. I presume you know this?’

Garrett scowled. ‘I do.’

‘I hope you don’t place any blame upon my son for his inadvertent disclosure,’ she said hotly. ‘He wasn’t to know that you had concealed the truth from yours.’

Garrett’s jaw tightened. ‘I’m thoroughly aware that I was the one at fault. I absolve your son of any guilt.’

She faltered, snapping her mouth closed. She had expected a more fiery altercation than that.

Garrett sat back in his chair with a frustrated exhalation of breath. ‘However, I would have appreciated an alert from you after the disclosure occurred. I didn’t realise anything was amiss with Patrick for quite some time.’

She winced. Yes, perhaps that would have been the considerate thing to do. But she had been so preoccupied with fleeing Dublin following the riot, and helping the tenants upon reaching Oakleigh, that the notion hadn’t even occurred to her.

‘How did you find out?’ she asked guiltily.

‘Blanchard, the land agent at Ashbrook Lodge, wrote to me. He said that Patrick had shown up at the estate without any prior warning and declared that he intended to take up residence there “until further notice”. Blanchard treated him with all due courtesy but felt it was his duty to inform me of the situation, as he got the distinct impression that my son desired to keep me ignorant of his whereabouts.’

Bridget shifted uneasily in her chair, feeling the pillow slip at her back.

‘I was perplexed by Patrick’s subterfuge as I wouldn’t have opposed his inhabiting the Lodge for a time, if that had been his preference. In fact, it would have pleased me to grant it as a reward for completing his education at Eton. So I wrote to him. And I received no reply.’ Garrett paused. ‘I wrote again. Silence.’

Bridget read the hurt in his slumped shoulders.

‘I corresponded further with Blanchard but he could offer no illumination. He said the boy was tight-lipped about everything bar the management of the estate, in which he had started to take a keen interest, especially in addressing the effects of the blight. When two more of my letters went unanswered, I concluded that I must speak with my son in person. Hence, I travelled to Ireland.’

‘And?’ Bridget said cautiously.

‘And he flatly refused to see me.’

She swallowed. Garrett rubbed his forehead, and she wondered if it was an attempt to obscure the stain of humiliation on his cheeks. Seizing her cup, she gulped another mouthful of tea. This development certainly indicated that he was here to seek help in bridging the rift between him and his defiant son. She wasn’t the most ideal person for that, but maybe he would ask her to relay his plea to Cormac.

Garrett let his hand drop. ‘Being a parent is quite the humbling experience, is it not? One thinks one has mastered the challenges of this world, and then one’s child demonstrates the capacity to reduce one to less than nothing.’ He shook his head, his countenance bleak. ‘I couldn’t deduce how I had let him down on this occasion, but my sense of worthlessness was all-encompassing. Men who long to be fathers cannot conceive of the pain to which they are laying their future selves bare.’

She was startled by his frankness. Why would he reveal such vulnerability to her? ‘Do you regret bringing him into your life?’

‘No,’ he said vehemently. ‘I have always desired this bond. If anything, I yearn for it even more, the harder he pushes me away.’ He sighed. ‘I was utterly desperate for him to open up to me at Ashbrook Lodge. If I could only learn what I had done to offend him, then I would do whatever I could to remedy it. So I refused to leave, effectively trapping him in his bedchamber until he was prepared to come out and face me.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘I know—my tactics have never been deserving of glory, and this ploy was just as unsavoury. Even when my intentions are well-meaning, I still manage to be a failure of a father.’

She hesitated. ‘Not a failure, in this instance. Misguided, perhaps.’

He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You are being generous. Of all people, you have the most right to cut me down.’

A hum of dissent vibrated in her throat; Cormac’s sister Mary would arguably lay greater claim to that entitlement, if only she were still alive. ‘What good would it achieve for me to cut you down? I don’t have the stomach for it today, and it would certainly be of no practical use to Patrick, who is our primary concern at this juncture.’

They exchanged a long, lingering look, and she sensed the memories crowding in again. Was it generosity, or foolishness, that compelled her to seek out the better parts buried inside this mercurial man? There was no denying that he had played a substantial role in her and Polly’s rescue from Sycamore Farm, at what had turned out to be an immense risk to his own person. Moreover, she knew without a flicker of doubt that he had adored James for the duration of their baby’s tragically brief life.

But with Garrett the scales always ended up tipping back. She couldn’t forget how he had inveigled Emily into running away to London with his deceitful letter. How he had testified as a witness against Cormac in his trial at the Old Bailey. How he had spurned Mary when Patrick had been a newborn in her arms.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Did he eventually come out of his bedchamber?’

‘He did, issuing a tirade of vitriol that still haunts me. In truth, even though I had cravenly shied away from telling him, I hadn’t anticipated that he would react with so much revulsion to the knowledge of his illegitimacy. After all, he has no need to worry that it will be exposed—those who know have either been paid off or are trustworthy enough to keep the secret. But it appears that his level of integrity is more elevated than mine.’

Garrett had accused Bridget of na?veté in the past, but for once she could say the same of him. He ought to have foreseen that Patrick’s sense of identity was already too fragile to suffer a blow like this without consequence.

‘What exactly did he say?’ she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

‘He said that he was ashamed of me. I felt it like a physical strike to my chest. It seems to ache even now.’

She didn’t scoff at his hyperbole; she suspected he really meant it. ‘Does it make you ashamed of yourself, too?’

Garrett gritted his teeth. ‘Yes. I’d much rather not. It’s an abominable feeling.’

An incredulous laugh cracked out of her. He threw her a glare.

‘I’m glad my humiliation amuses you,’ he retorted. ‘In all honesty, I don’t understand what changed his attitude. He had always admired my guile before.’ Letting out a huff, he added in a mutter, ‘I suppose being around your saintly family might have rubbed off on him.’

‘I do apologise if you believe our morals are contagious,’ she said tightly. ‘How dreadful of us to exert such an unwelcome influence, even though it was precisely what you begged Cormac to do when you came to him at Bewley Hall. May I infer from your delivery of that insult that you are not in fact here to seek our help with regard to Patrick?’

He pressed his lips together. ‘Allow me to express my regret for my thoughtless remark. It was undeserved.’

Taken aback by his immediate contrition, she realised that his desperation must be even greater than she had first guessed. ‘So you do seek our help?’

He cleared his throat, unable to meet her gaze. After a lengthy pause, he said, ‘Might I suggest we take a walk outdoors? It’s cold but dry. It would be refreshing.’

She blinked. What was there to gain from prevaricating?

‘Very well,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I must warn you, though, that the grounds are not what they used to be. Pretty gardens were no one’s priority once the blight came. However, I’ve begun the task of hiring additional staff, both indoor and outdoor, so I do hope that the gardeners will be able to bring the grounds back to life in the spring.’

‘The state of the grounds will not trouble me,’ he said indifferently.

She put down her teacup. His own was still untouched. They both rose and made for the drawing room door, which he opened for her. Out in the entrance hall, they heard the brisk tapping of shoes on the floor and Denis appeared, standing to attention before them, not unlike his long-ago predecessor, Mr Buttimer. A few minutes later, they stepped out the front door into the biting November air, Bridget in her cloak and bonnet, Garrett in his overcoat and hat, and both of them wearing gloves. She shivered as the wind tried to sneak between the folds of her cloak. To her relief, he did not offer his arm for her to lean on.

She had not mentioned the orchard because she had no intention of leading him anywhere near it, even though it was the one place on the grounds that had continued to thrive – the apples it had produced this autumn had been a triumph amid the rest of the neglect. Instead, she steered him directly towards Oakleigh’s gardens, which had been unscathed by the blaze that had burned the manor down but had still suffered from several subsequent years of abandonment.

They passed underneath the arch that marked the entrance to the gardens, ducking around the vines that had been left to drape untamed over it. The way ahead was lined with hedges whose untrimmed foliage protruded on either side, and weeds had overtaken the once-pristine flowerbeds that bordered the gravel path. Bridget recognised the tall spires of foxglove stalks among them and was pleased that the wildflowers had taken root here, just like on the avenue, even if there was no colour or life in them at this time of the year. She would ask the gardeners to retain the foxgloves if possible when they revived the beds.

Keeping a few inches of distance between each other, she and Garrett followed the pathway. She waited for him to elucidate exactly how he expected her and Cormac to aid him in his predicament with Patrick, but he remained taciturn. By the time they reached the sculpture of Venus perched on a wide plinth, lichen and bird droppings blemishing the limestone body, she realised he would need some encouragement to coax it out of him. The man was too proud by half.

‘Do you want to tell me what happened after Patrick’s outburst?’ she asked, striving for a gentle approach.

Garrett made no response at first. It must have been quite the harrowing encounter for him to have such difficulty talking about it. For a long minute, the only sound was the crunch of the gravel beneath their feet.

‘He stormed off,’ he said at length, his voice strained. ‘I gave him a few hours to calm down and then I sought him out again, but his scorching anger had merely hardened into cold contempt.’

Garrett’s posture sagged. Against her will, Bridget felt a dart of pity for him. He had brought this shame upon himself, true, and yet to be so roundly rejected by one’s child was a painful experience that no parent could easily bear. Regrettably, she knew just how it felt. Although Emily had not vilified Bridget and Cormac to their faces, her actions had conveyed clearly enough that she had been unhappy with the life they had built for her in Boston when she ran away to London in desperate pursuit of a better one. That they had so thoroughly failed their daughter had been an appalling realisation.

Thus, she was not surprised when Garrett continued, ‘It truly left me nauseated. I implored him to tell me what I needed to do to regain his trust. He said that such an aspiration was futile as he could finally see that I always placed my own desires before every other consideration, including him. I swore that I would do whatever it took to prove to him that he was more important to me than anything else.’ Garrett heaved a sigh, his breath puffing out in the chilly air. ‘And so he set me a challenge. One that he fully believes I cannot rise to.’

‘A challenge?’ Bridget repeated, intrigued.

The path widened to accommodate a bench to the side, its wooden seat discoloured with moss. As they passed it by, he muttered, ‘I must demonstrate that I am capable of acting selflessly, that I can do something for the benefit of another that brings me no personal gain. If it’s to my obvious detriment, so much the better. Should I find myself unable to do that, then I’ll have proven that selfishness is the most fundamental trait of my existence.’

She frowned, as doubtful as Patrick that Garrett could pass such a test. ‘And what is this miraculous deed?’

‘He didn’t specify. I must determine it for myself.’

Now she was powerfully curious. How could a man as self-centred as him even envisage the type of endeavour that would meet Patrick’s criterion? ‘And have you settled upon your course of action, or are you still contemplating your options?’

He gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes narrowed as though he could discern her scepticism. ‘I have spent much time grappling with it,’ he said, without answering her question. ‘After our second confrontation, Patrick permitted me to temporarily stay at the Lodge on the proviso that our paths could not cross. Thus, we take our meals separately, we ride out on the estate at different times, and he even instructed the housekeeper to accommodate me in the opposite wing from his own bedchamber. It’s been quite a headache for the staff, but I haven’t disputed the matter with him, not in his current volatile state.’

Garrett paused at a gap in the hedge which afforded a view of the neglected lawn in the centre of the gardens, the grass overgrown and choked by weeds. She halted too and stared at him as he gazed out across the wild expanse, his gloved hands clasped behind his back. Though still remarkably handsome, he seemed older than his forty-six years, his shoulders bowed as if weighed down by the gravity of fatherhood.

‘A petition to Parliament might have been a neat way to resolve this quandary,’ he said, almost to himself, ‘but on balance I don’t believe it would be acceptable in Patrick’s view, not when I have already undertaken it on a prior occasion.’

She didn’t comment, but she agreed with his reasoning – there would be a pall of insincerity over such a repeated act.

Garrett grunted and then straightened, turning to her. ‘I wish to grant you a divorce.’

She looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Pardon?’

He pursed his mouth. ‘You heard me correctly.’

She took an uncertain step backwards. ‘You cannot mean it.’

‘I do.’

‘But—’ Her mind flailed as she tried to grasp the implications of his declaration. ‘But why would you? There would be absolutely no—’

‘No benefit to myself,’ he finished for her. ‘Isn’t that precisely the point?’

She gaped at him. Surely he did not mean to answer Patrick’s challenge with the most immense response imaginable? There had to be myriad other manoeuvres he could make on a smaller scale that would demonstrate unselfishness to his son without relinquishing so much power.

‘You would lose Oakleigh,’ she said. Although the estate had been in dire straits these past few years, it was still a hugely valuable property.

‘I would,’ he said.

‘You would face enormous stigma in society,’ she said, baffled. So would she, of course, but she didn’t move in the same elevated circles he did.

‘Yes,’ he said. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

‘You would forsake your control over me.’ The words came out in barely more than a whisper.

Shame crossed his face. ‘I suspect the way I have held onto that so tenaciously is one of the things Patrick despises most about me.’

She shook her head in disbelief. ‘I cannot accept that you would be willing to follow through with this. You must know what I would immediately do with my freedom.’

‘You would marry again,’ he said without inflection. ‘And I would have facilitated the happiness of a pair whom I believe truly command Patrick’s respect.’

Her legs shook. Fearing they would not support her for much longer, she stumbled back along the path the way they had come until she reached the moss-covered bench and collapsed onto it, heedless of the stains it would leave on her cloak. Garrett did not follow her at once, giving her a few moments to hunch over her knees and process the enormity of what he had just offered her.

It had to be a trick. This was no different to the insidious letter he had sent to Emily in Boston – it was merely a lie cloaked in temptation, a promise that concealed a trap. If he really meant to do it, which she highly doubted, then there must be some advantage in it for him, despite what he claimed to the contrary.

The gravel crunched nearby. She sat bolt upright.

‘ You wish to remarry!’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s why you’re doing this.’

Garrett came to a halt several paces away from her. He raised his arms in a gesture of innocence. ‘Most assuredly not. I can guarantee you that I have no ambitions whatsoever in that regard.’

She squinted at him with distrust. To her surprise, the hazel gaze that met hers was unguarded and, as far as she could tell, sincere.

‘I don’t…understand…’ she said weakly, bewilderment sweeping over her. ‘The man I married would never…’

She trailed away, struck dumb as she once again read shame in his expression.

‘That man would never have been capable of this,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m not entirely sure if he’s the same man anymore.’

‘What changed him?’ she asked, pleading for some scrap of insight.

Garrett glanced away. ‘He nearly died.’

She opened her mouth but no words came out. Abashed, she realised that she had never given much consideration to how his experience at Sycamore Farm might have affected him in the long term. Dismay coursed through her that her antipathy towards him had led her to dehumanise him to such a degree. What had gone through his mind in those agonising, interminable seconds when the rope had constricted his windpipe and his lungs had struggled vainly for air? What regrets? What fear? It would be more astonishing if he had not been changed by it.

When he looked back at her, his countenance was pale. ‘I can no longer deny that the horror of that day left an indelible impression on me. I tried to pretend for a long time that I was merely furious at what had transpired, but eventually I had to admit that it had terrified me. Especially when I acknowledged to myself that I had quite possibly deserved such a brutal ending.’ His throat bobbed. ‘And if my death had occurred, what legacy would I have left behind? Who would have mourned me? Had I done enough for my only living child?’

Her pulse quickened at his confession. She had not anticipated such introspection from him. He lifted his shoulders self-consciously as though he could discern the trajectory of her thoughts.

‘Yes, it seems I’ve become something of a philosopher.’ He indicated the bench. ‘May I?’

She nodded mutely and he sat beside her, leaving space between them so that their elbows did not touch.

‘I have always wanted a son, you know that. But simply having him as my heir is no longer adequate. Now, I desire his esteem. Heavens, I even crave his filial love, though I doubt that will ever be within my reach. In its place, I would settle for the genuine regard he holds for his uncle.’

Startled, she peered at him askance.

‘Oh, he hasn’t said so in as many words. But I can tell. Somehow, the man has won the respect of my son in a handful of meetings and letters. He is even fashioning him into a better person by degrees, and thus is managing to succeed where I have repeatedly failed. It might be exactly what I requested of him, but that makes it no less difficult a reality to endure. Yet again, he has bested me.’ The bitterness was evident in Garrett’s voice.

‘It’s not a competition,’ she said, reining in her exasperation. ‘That’s the wonderful thing about love. The more it grows, the more room there is for it. It would be perfectly possible for Patrick to hold both his uncle and his father in high regard.’

‘I haven’t given him much reason to, though, have I?’ Garrett muttered.

She grimaced, unable to contradict him. ‘But you hope to change that fact with this divorce?’

He kept his gaze trained on the ragged hedge opposite them. ‘I think it would be a step in the right direction.’

Her heart fluttered madly against her ribs. Could she trust him? Was this truly a possibility?

He crossed his legs at the ankles, though the rigidity of his torso belied the casual gesture. ‘The spectre of death is a curious thing,’ he said, his tone falsely light. ‘It has the power to focus one’s mind in a manner which nothing else can.’ His expression became sober. ‘I have cogitated upon it at great length since Newby passed away. It was a struggle for me to accept the expiration of a man who had been my closest companion since I left my boyhood. I witnessed how it shattered his wife and daughters. I grieved in a way that I hadn’t since—’ He cut himself off, seemingly incapable of uttering their precious boy’s name. He shook his head. ‘It made me recognise the impermanence of life, though still at a somewhat remote distance—such a fate was surely a long way off for me, after all. Then, mere months later, the events on the farm occurred to give me a more concentrated viewpoint. For several ghastly moments, I believed my own time had run out.’

He declared this quite coolly but she detected that muscle twitching in his jaw again and knew his composed facade was a mask to cover deeper emotion.

‘It must have been petrifying,’ she murmured. She had brushed with death at the age of nineteen, when a fever had nearly taken her after she fell in the limestone quarry during that ferocious storm, but she had never had a rope coiled tightly around her neck with murderous intent.

He exhaled a shaky breath. ‘Would you believe me if I said all I could think about was Patrick?’

She bit the tip of her tongue. If truth be told, his stark candour throughout this conversation had made her more receptive to the notion than she might have been an hour ago.

His hand drifted up to his throat. ‘I was terrified that the men would string him up after they were done with me. What if my last act on this earth had been to deliver my son to the place of his death?’ His voice cracked along with his composure and he turned his face fully away from her, but not before she caught a glimpse of his rapidly blinking eyelids.

She gave him a brief respite to gather himself before she said, ‘It was a most disturbing experience. I can understand how it might have altered your perspective on life since then.’

‘It altered Patrick too,’ he said gruffly, still not looking at her. ‘You may have noticed a difference in him when he resided with you this summer. He playacts the degenerate more often now than he embodies it. He does not squander his time or my money at Ashbrook Lodge—rather, he has insisted that Blanchard instruct him in its management. Moreover, I think you are aware that my speech about matching ticket sales with donations at your charity event in London was made upon his demand.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he told Cormac so when they met backstage. Putting aside his more dubious conduct, that admirable act reflected well on him. It reflected well on you too, in that you granted his request when you could have refused him.’

Garrett shrugged. ‘He badgered me into it. I would not otherwise have done it. I confess, I felt profoundly uncomfortable with the praise I subsequently received, as it hadn’t come from a place of generosity—or, at least, not mine.’ At last, he glanced back at her. ‘My son is a better man than I. That is as I would wish it, though it hardly leaves me feeling very proud of myself.’

She studied his face, searching for artifice and finding only chagrin in his downcast eyes and the tight lines around his mouth.

‘That may be true,’ she said hesitantly, ‘but there’s still time for you to become a better man as well.’

His lip curled wryly. ‘You don’t deem me to be a lost cause?’

‘I don’t know. Do you?’

‘I have my reservations.’ His forehead creased. ‘However, I do appreciate that you haven’t dismissed me as unsalvageable just yet. You would be well within your rights, given our history.’

‘Maybe so, but you now plan to make reparations regarding that, yes?’ She arched her brow, challenging him to renege on his promise.

‘Yes, I do.’ He inclined his head in a small bow.

Hope surged in her; she was actually beginning to believe him. ‘What are the steps involved in obtaining a divorce?’

‘I will have to petition Parliament to pass an act. It will take many months, perhaps much longer. The wheels of bureaucracy turn slowly, and there will be plenty of hurdles to overcome, not least the expense of it.’

‘How much could it cost?’ she asked in a quiet voice, thinking of the funds that were already strained from supporting the tenants and furnishing the manor.

‘I shall cover it.’ Before she could decide whether she ought to demur, he said, ‘I can’t imagine Patrick will count this as a selfless act if I charge you for your liberation.’

She nodded, privately relieved.

‘I must warn you,’ he added, ‘the proceedings will be held in open court and it will be a scandal in the papers. I shall be obliged to publicly accuse you of adultery in order to present reasonable grounds for divorce.’

She sighed. ‘Well, it’s what I’m guilty of, isn’t it?’

He emitted a humourless sound that could not be construed as a chuckle. ‘Quite. There’s also a point to be made in relation to your second marriage, whenever that may occur—you understand that it will not give your sons legal status? They will regrettably remain illegitimate.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Why do you say “regrettably”?’

‘Because children shouldn’t be punished for their parents’ misdeeds. I’m confident that this sentiment resonates with both of us.’

He was right. Regardless of the pain and hostility that had long existed between them, that was most certainly their common ground.

‘Indeed, we are in accord,’ she said.

‘What a remarkable rarity,’ he said dryly. He sat in pensive silence for a few beats before swivelling towards her. ‘Shall we shake hands on it?’

She faltered, then said, ‘I think we can manage that level of civility.’

The corner of his mouth twitched. He rose from the bench and removed his gloves, dropping them onto the seat. She stood too and did the same, the cold November air caressing her exposed skin. He extended his right hand; when she offered hers, he grasped it with a light pressure. His fingers were cool as he met her gaze.

‘Did you ever believe we would arrive at this point?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said, ‘and yet here we are.’

He placed his other palm over their joined hands. ‘I carry a lot of regrets in my life, Bridget, and many of them involve you. But I think, for once, I am making the right choice.’

Her breath caught and she didn’t say anything. He pressed gently and relinquished his hold, reaching for his gloves.

‘I’ll keep you informed of my progress. Will I write to you here or at Bewley Hall?’

‘Bewley Hall,’ she replied a little unsteadily. ‘I’m returning there for Christmas and expect to remain for at least a few months after that.’

‘Very well. Shall we go back to the house now? I judge our business to be concluded.’

His familiar curtness was almost a relief after such heartfelt honesty – she felt like she was regaining firmer ground. She donned her own gloves again and then took the arm he offered her with only the slightest hesitation.

They followed the path back through the neglected gardens, her heart racing as she envisioned the possibility that lay in her and Cormac’s future.