Page 33

Chapter 32

The torment of drawing breath, already breathing death .

Cormac stared down at the words of despair written in Oliver’s elegant hand. He had discovered the young man’s notebook of poems tucked away in a desk drawer in the study several months after the family had moved into Bewley Hall. Lord and Lady Bewley had kept it all those years, and they must have pored over it hundreds of times, judging from the worn edges of its navy cloth cover. Now, he toyed with a corner of the page and let his mind stray back to his encounter with Oliver that had begun when they met on the deck of a ship and ended when he consigned Oliver’s body to the sea.

Lost in his bleak thoughts, he jumped at the sudden sound of Bridget’s voice.

‘Cormac? Did you not hear me knocking?’

Looking up swiftly, he found her standing in the open doorway of his study, a letter in her grasp.

‘No, I didn’t,’ he said guiltily, closing the slim notebook and slipping it back into the drawer.

She let it pass without prying; he had shown her the book of poems before, and she was aware that Oliver had frequently preyed on his mind since October. However, it was now the new year, so he resolved to put last year’s melancholy behind him.

‘Do you have a moment?’ she asked, coming further into the room.

He registered her troubled expression and frowned from her to the letter. ‘What’s that?’

She sighed. ‘A remarkable coincidence, and a grave disappointment.’

His skin prickled with dread. Had there been further complications with the divorce? But she held out the page to him across his desk and, taking it, he saw that it was signed by a clergyman from St George’s Church in west Bedfordshire.

She crossed her arms. ‘That’s one of the three churches I wrote to seeking support for victims of the blight, and the only one that responded. Reverend Procter and I had been discussing how best to collect the donations from his congregation…until now.’

‘What changed?’ Cormac started to scan the letter and discerned the words ‘inconceivable deception’.

‘A connection I couldn’t have foreseen,’ she said despondently. ‘Reverend Procter happens to be an acquaintance of Reverend Hartley. They met recently at a theological assembly and he mentioned the relief efforts of St George’s in the course of their conversation. Hartley’s mistrust was raised by the fact that the anonymous letters were coming from “a concerned lady” and he asked to see them. Unfortunately, he recognised my handwriting.’

Cormac swore under his breath. ‘And he warned Procter off.’

She nodded. ‘His letter makes it plain—he and his church will have no further dealings with me, thanks to Hartley’s intervention. It seems that the stain of scandal is always ready to resurface, no matter how hard I try to scrub it away.’

Cormac set the letter down with disgust. ‘Is there any way to convince him? Appeal to his supposed Christian goodness?’

She shook her head. ‘It would be no use. Even if he were inclined to forgive the folly of my heart, he now sees me as possessing a deceitful character for having concealed my identity on account of an immoral reason rather than a humble one.’

They exchanged a look of quiet resignation.

‘We’ll shift the focus of our endeavours elsewhere, then,’ he said. ‘The churches in Dublin?’

‘I do believe we might find a more sympathetic response from those with influence in Ireland,’ she agreed. ‘They are much closer to the suffering than anyone here in England.’ Her countenance lifted with hope. ‘Ought we to consider travelling back there soon? I would very much like to go back for our own sakes as well. We’ve remained at Bewley Hall longer than we intended yet again.’

Jack was the main reason for that; Cormac had been reluctant to leave the country in case they received a plea from their son begging for his swift rescue from school. And yet, no such plea had ever come. In all his letters, Jack had made no mention of Jasper, nor had he expressed any misery or regret. When he returned home for a brief visit at Christmas, he had spoken of his experiences at Balfour with enthusiasm. Cormac was astonished and relieved by how well he had settled, and it had been much easier to see him off in January than it had been in September. It appeared that there was nothing to fear after all, and whether they were at Oakleigh or Bewley Hall hardly mattered while Jack was far away in Scotland, thriving rather than in need of saving.

‘Maybe we should consider it,’ he said at last.

‘Ahem.’

Cormac glanced past Bridget and spotted Sheppard in the open doorway.

‘Apologies for disturbing you, sir, my lady,’ said the butler. ‘Mr Carruthers has arrived and requests an audience with you both at your earliest convenience.’

Bridget stiffened. ‘We’ll see him right away. Won’t we?’ she added quickly to Cormac.

‘Yes,’ he said, his prickle of dread returning. ‘Please send him in, Sheppard.’

By the time Mr Carruthers entered the study, Cormac had paced the length of the room ten times, while Bridget had chewed at least two of her fingernails. They both whirled towards the lawyer as he came in carrying a leather case similar to the one Emily liked to store her important artwork in.

‘Do you have news for us?’ Cormac asked without preamble.

‘I do,’ Mr Carruthers replied, betraying no hint of whether that news was good or bad. He pointed to the desk. ‘May I?’

Cormac motioned his assent and Mr Carruthers strode across the room to place his leather case on the desk’s surface. Opening it, he withdrew a document of stiff parchment and turned to Bridget, presenting it to her with a courteous bow.

‘Official confirmation of your divorce, my lady.’

She didn’t say a word. Neither did she reach out to take the document. She just stared at it, her chest rising and falling with rapid, soundless breaths. Cormac approached warily, half expecting the parchment to disintegrate into a pile of dust.

‘It’s real?’ he asked.

‘Yes. The original Act must be kept in Parliament’s records but this is a certified copy. It verifies that the dissolution of the marriage between Lord and Lady Wyndham was passed by the House of Lords and the House of Commons, and subsequently received royal assent. It also explicitly states that both parties are at liberty to remarry.’

Cormac’s heart pounded against his ribs.

‘There’s more,’ Mr Carruthers said, turning to retrieve another document from his case, this one made of ordinary paper. ‘Here is a signed declaration by Lord Wyndham, conferring the ownership of the Oakleigh Estate irrevocably upon Lady Courcey as part of the divorce settlement. He no longer retains any claim to the property or its assets.’

A tiny gasp escaped Bridget’s lips and her dark brown eyes began to glisten.

‘I will leave you to absorb the news,’ Mr Carruthers said, the corners of his mouth curving upwards. He set the two documents carefully on the desk and departed from the study.

Cormac felt so overwhelmed that he could hardly look at Bridget. He didn’t know what to say – no words seemed big enough. He just took one stumbling step towards her and then she was in his arms, her cheek pressing against his torso, his fingers sinking deeply into her hair. They clung to each other as the path towards their future became crystal clear.

Eventually, she mumbled something into his chest and he coaxed her back a few inches to tilt her head up.

‘Come again?’ he said with an affectionate grin.

Her eyes crinkled. ‘I said, I could hear your heartbeat. It was going at an extraordinary gallop.’

‘Can you blame it after the news we just received?’ He winked.

‘No,’ she said breathily. She blinked in wonderment. ‘It’s as though shackles have fallen away from my ankles. I feel like I am light enough to float. Has this truly happened?’

‘It has, unless Carruthers is playing a cruel and elaborate prank on us that would guarantee his immediate unemployment.’ He said that loud enough for the lawyer’s benefit, in case he was still within the vicinity to hear it.

‘He wouldn’t do such a thing,’ she said with a bubble of laughter. ‘This really is happening.’ She peeked up at him eagerly. ‘The wedding should take place at Oakleigh, don’t you think?’

‘What wedding?’ he said innocently.

She gave him a mock glare.

‘I haven’t proposed yet,’ he reminded her.

‘Well, you’d better hurry up and do it.’

‘You hardly expect an old man in his forties to get down on one knee, do you?’

‘At this rate, I’ll be an old woman in my eighties by the time you get around to it.’

‘Are you sure you’d prefer not to be fettered with another set of shackles?’

Her humour transformed into solemnity in an instant. ‘Not shackles. An anchor.’

His heart skipped a beat. What an honour it was that this woman had such faith in him. He would do anything and everything in the world to make her happy.

Grasping both of her hands and keeping his eyes locked on hers, he lowered himself to one knee and gazed up at her.

‘ A rún mo chroí ,’ he said. ‘ An bpósfaidh tú mé ?’

‘ Cinnte ,’ she replied, the Irish word reflecting the certainty in her voice.

He surged back to his feet and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her thoroughly. She returned the kiss with fervour, her tongue meeting his in an act of passion that was so familiar and yet suddenly seemed brand new again. They had shared their first kiss as lovers at the age of nineteen; now, after all these years, they could finally marry. Elation streamed through him and he felt like he might burst apart with the joyful force of it.

When they eventually separated, she beamed up at him, her lips rosy from his attentions.

‘So now that we’ve established that a wedding will indeed occur,’ she said, ‘do you agree that Oakleigh is the right place for it?’

‘Absolutely.’ He hesitated. ‘We won’t be able to get married in St Mary’s, though.’

Her expression dimmed a fraction. ‘No, that door is closed to us.’

The Roman Catholic church would not recognise her divorce – according to its doctrine, she was still bound by marriage and would not be free to marry again until Garrett’s death made her a widow.

‘What about St Canice’s?’ she asked. ‘Would they permit you to wed there?’

‘I’ve already made some enquiries regarding that,’ he admitted. ‘A Catholic may marry in a Church of Ireland establishment if the bishop of the diocese grants a dispensation.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do,’ she said firmly. ‘How long might it take?’

‘Weeks or months, depending on the bishop’s cooperation.’

She deflated a little. ‘I hoped it might happen sooner than that.’

‘Let’s look at it from a positive angle,’ he urged. ‘If we plan for a summer wedding, that means Jack can complete his year at Balfour before we travel as a family to Ireland.’

‘Yes, true,’ she said, brightening again. ‘And it will give us more time to make the arrangements.’ Then she paused, biting the tip of her tongue. ‘However, it will mean lingering in England in the immediate wake of the divorce. Once the newspapers report that it has been finalised, that will no doubt prompt a fresh wave of scorn.’

‘It will,’ he said, for there was no point in denying it. Society’s contempt would grow even more vociferous once they learned that the wanton woman at the centre of the scandal had managed to accomplish her disgraceful objective, conveniently ignoring the fact that Garrett had been the one to instigate the proceedings. ‘I suppose there are two different paths we could take in response.’

She cocked her head to the side. ‘Which are?’

‘We could seclude ourselves here, retreating indefinitely from all public life. Or we could confront the situation in a direct manner.’

‘Would I be correct in guessing that your preference would be the latter?’ she asked wryly.

He nodded. ‘But only if you are also in agreement.’

‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘The Grand National is taking place next month at Aintree, just outside Liverpool,’ he said, the idea forming quickly in his mind. ‘Lord Sinclair has recommended to me on a number of occasions that I should make the trip. If we attend as a couple, it would be an ideal setting to test the waters of public opinion.’

‘That is quite a daring move,’ she said. ‘There’s a risk that they will run us out of there for showing our faces.’

‘And in that case we will know where we stand,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But the onus will be on them to abandon civility. We’ll merely be indulging in a legitimate interest in horse racing.’

The more he thought about it, the more certain he felt that this was the better path to choose, even if it wasn’t the most prudent. Rather than creeping timidly around the fringes of society, it would be simpler to make a decisive appearance, showing that they were unshaken by the gossip and using the opportunity to gauge who their allies were. The result would set the tone for their future place within, or outside of, respectable circles.

‘Let’s go for it,’ Bridget said, lifting her chin.

He couldn’t wait to call this courageous woman his wife.