Page 29 of Hearts at Home

8

“D o you know about the boy called Sam?” Gwen asked Jack as he escorted her home. “The one from France who is staying at the vicar’s?” She was sitting as close to him as she could get on the gig’s bench, her hand tucked into the elbow of his disabled arm. When he had arrived in the drawing room with the rest of the gentlemen, she and Lady Wright had been alone in a corner, heads close together, talking earnestly. He was, he assumed, about to find out why.

“Yes. His mother came from this village, or so those who brought him here claim.”

“Lady Wright thinks he may be Yvette’s son. Hers and Evan’s. Jack, she had a letter from Yvette a year ago, saying they were with the army near Toulouse, and Yvette was about to give birth.”

“Sam was found near Toulouse,” Jack mused.

“True, but it was an army, Jack. I do not know how many women who followed the drum might have given birth, but what are the chances that a random pair of English tourists might come across my nephew? And know to bring him here?”

Jack shrugged. “What does Lady Wright want to do?”

“Visit. See him. She thinks she will be able to recognize her sister in him. I have seen him, Jack, walking with Charité, who cares for him. Fair-haired with blue eyes, which Yvette had, but he is a baby. Just eighteen months old, I understand. Babies look like babies.”

“Eighteen months,” Jack mused. “The siege of Toulouse. What do you want to do?”

She was quiet for a moment, but he could tell the strength of her feelings by how tightly she held his arm. “If he is Evan’s—he would be a piece of my brother. I could not walk away. But Jack, how would we manage? We are about to be married. We have Da to care for and the farrier business will fail if I cannot attend to it. It matters even more if I am to save it for Evan’s son. But I am not ready to be a mother. I want children, Jack. But not yet.”

“Family is family,” Jack reminded her. “We shall work it out.

* * *

The child was the son of Gwen’s brother. They were in the middle of the marketplace when Gwen told Jack about it, Griffith being distracted by a Punch and Judy puppet show.

Gwen had recognized the chain on the amulet that had been discovered among Sam’s mother’s possessions—the Harvest Festival amulet that was given to all Reabridge maidens when they reached the age of sixteen.

She had tears in the eyes she lifted to Jack, and he yearned to hold her, though it would cause a scandal if he did so right here in Reabridge’s market square, in full sight of all the townsfolk and half the countryside.

“I made that chain, Jack. It was a triple link, very fiddly, and each link was flattened on the long side. I couldn’t mistake it. Oh, Jack. Yvette died giving birth to him. To Sam. Those who sheltered her found the amulet and kept it for the child.”

Gwen shook her head, as if doing so would dislodge the tears. “Vicky wants him. She has the money and the home. She made a promise to her sister. But we will be in his life, will we not, Jack? We will be uncle and aunt to him? A boy needs his uncle and aunts.”

“He does,” Jack agreed, “and we shall be there for him. Lady Wright plans to stay in Reabridge?”

“I don’t know her plans,” Gwen commented. “But if the way Lord Barlow is looking at her means anything, I think she might.”

“Whatever happens,” Jack said, “We will make it work.”

“Family is family,” Gwen commented, returning his own words to him. “Write to Truth Bridgeman, Jack. Invite him to our wedding.”

Jack stared at her for a moment. He had always been afraid Tabby and his sisters would reject him, or write back to abuse him for his choices. But Gwen had said it, and she was right. Perhaps they worried about him. Perhaps they wanted to hear from him. He owed it to them to find out. Hell. He owed it to himself.

“Yes,” he said. “I will.”

Gwen looked up at him, so happy that she glowed, and Jack couldn’t resist. He threw propriety and discretion to the wind, and kissed the woman he loved, and to the devil with what people thought.

It was a glorious and mindful while later that the pair of them were distracted from their kiss by the sound of applause. Their friends and stood around them, clapping and laughing.

“Just as well you are getting married next week,” grumbled one of Evan’s friends, and the woman with him, who must be his wife, nudged him none to gently in the side.

“We are so happy for you, Gwen,” she said.

“Here!” Griffith Hughes shouted, pushing through the crowd. “Who is that you are kissing, Jack?”

“The love of my life, Griffith,” Jack replied. “The love of my life.”

“Well done,” Griffith approved. “She has the look of my Ellen, the finest woman who ever lived. Well done, my friend. Does she like fidget pie? They sell a good fidget pie here at the market.”

“Good idea, Griffith,” Jack agreed, wrapping his good arm around Gwen. “Will you watch the forge?” he asked Evan’s friend. “Griffith, let me buy you and Gwen a fidget pie and an ale.”

He cast an anxious glance at Gwen, knowing that it upset her when Griffith forgot who she was, but she smiled up at him. “And you, Jack Wrath,” she said, “are the love of mine.”