Page 80 of Forever Her Bachelor

As he pecked the top of Pippa’s head, the words were on his lips. He wanted to confess his love for her, but he was afraid of failing another person.

Wanting to know more about his mother, he read on, glad that he knew how much she’d cared for him. As a boy, sometimes when he was alone at night, he had wished for his mother. As time went on, he fought the urge, reminding himself that he wasn’t a child, something his father often told him though he was only nine years old.

Reading about his mother’s life gave him a sense of peace that his parents had loved each other once.

Shifting, St. Clara turned to the next entry, reading that his mother was friends with the then Lady Heartford. Swallowing he willed himself to stop reading, but he couldn’t. He wanted to know the truth about his mother and the former Lord Heartford once and for all.

With a frantically beating heart, he quietly read on. Everything stopped. Rage clouding his vision, ruining his temporary happiness. His world was forever altered by the words on the page.

Not believing what was written in his mother’s own handwriting. St. Clara read the passages multiple times, before he fully comprehended what he was reading.

Dear God.

November 1799,

It has been a fortnight since it happened, yet I still do not know what to do. I’m not sure if I can tell anyone, if they would believe me, if he would pay for what he’s done to me and my family. I can’t bear for Ludlow to touch me, nor can I look him in the eyes, so afraid that he will see my shame, my weakness. I take no joy in anything, not even the laughter of my sweet Chauncey.

Heartford robbed me of something that was not his to take. I replay the decision to come and care for Caroline over and over. But how was I to know that he would come to my room when the rest of the house was asleep, including his wife who was bedridden from losing another child? He took advantage of me, and I let him. My feeble attempts at fighting back did nothing to protect what only belonged to my own husband.

I want to tell Ludlow, but the fear that he would call the marquess out is heavy on my heart. What would happen to Chauncey and me without him? I must remain silent and bear my pain alone.

January 1800

I am with child; my only prayer is that it is my husband’s.

St. Clara sat up abruptly, startling Pippa awake when he stood, trying to flee the room for a moment alone. His legs were weak, and he fell to his knees, the words he’d read making him sick to his stomach. “Dear God!” he yelled, not able to stop the mountain of grief running through him.

“What is it?” Pippa ran to him, kneeling beside him.

He couldn’t form words, could do nothing but sob like a babe. His mother had been violated and cast oute by everyone … including him.

Pippa held him as he cried for his mother, his beautiful, sweet mother who had loved him, had loved them all.

She had been treated abominably by everyone but especially St. Clara and his father. They’d turned her away as if she was nothing, never to be acknowledged again, all for a lie.

“Please tell me. What is the matter?” Pippa pleaded with him, cradling his face in her hands.

He shook his head, feeling like a small child who was inconsolable. He couldn’t speak the words; he would never be able to say them. “Read it … please, read it.” He waved a shaky hand to the fallen journal on the floor.

Pippa released him, going to pick up the discarded book. St. Clara tried to compose himself by taking several deep breaths before he finally felt able to stand on his own two feet. He paced back and forth like a caged animal that needed to be free, unable to stand still.

The words he’d read made him feel ill and helpless. He wanted to defend her honor, but he was over twenty years too late.

Pippa took an eternity to read the words. There were no sounds in the room but the turning of pages and the echoes of his bare footsteps against the wooden floor.

His mind tried to recall that time in his life, but he had been young. St. Clara did remember how his mother stayed abed frequently when she returned from visiting Lady Heartford.

He placed his hand over his mouth, the giant hole in his chest spreading to the size of America. St. Clara feared that he would never be the man his mother wanted him to be.

He believed every lie that was told about his mother. He turned his back on his sister, who had no choice in her parentage. St. Clara was no better than his father: cruel, heartless, selfish.

Pippa’s loud gasp was evidence that she had reached the passage. He turned, meeting his wife’s watery gaze.

“Chauncey, I’m so sorry.” Pippa covered her mouth, a sob escaping her as the tears began to fall.

Taking several steps back, he fell against the door. His hand found the knob. He couldn’t breathe, the walls of the rooms closing in on him, the past whispering to him that he was just like his father.

Opening the door, St. Clara fled the room, leaving his shocked wife standing alone in the moonlight. He couldn’t stay another second. He needed to breathe, to not be in a place so full of ghosts.