Page 21 of The Lovers (Echoes from the Past #1)

James didn’t know much of Edward’s politics, or politics in general, but assumed that his father was not a supporter of Oliver Cromwell and his ill-fated Commonwealth.

Master Dawson was a staunch Royalist who fought in the Civil War and had been severely wounded in the leg.

He would have died had he not been nursed back to health by a farmer’s daughter who came across him in a field.

Master Dawson rewarded his savior by marrying her, so the arrangement worked out nicely for them both.

He spoke to James often, especially when in his cups, of the people’s desire to restore the rightful king to the throne. Perhaps James’s father felt the same.

“Do you know how to wield a sword, James?” Edward asked. James didn’t, but he wasn’t about to say so. He’d learn. He was a quick study.

“You will be instructed in the art of swordplay. I think you’ll do quite well. What say you?”

“Thank you, your lordship. I’m happy to accept your offer,” James replied, feeling a surge of hope.

His father wanted him by his side, and if James proved himself, perhaps they might forge a relationship after all, and he and Molly would have someone to rely on besides themselves.

Their father paid the Dawsons to have them looked after, so perhaps now that they were nearing adulthood, he would finally treat them as his kin.

Edward must have guessed something of James’s thoughts, or maybe he’d anticipated the sense of hope that his offer would inspire in his bastard son.

He took James by the chin and forced the boy to meet his gaze.

“I am offering you a place in my household, but you must remember your place, James. No one is to know of your relationship to me, least of all my wife, and to ensure that, you must never speak of it. Servants gossip, and if you tell a single soul, and I discover your perfidy, you will be cast out. Make no mistake.”

Edward let go of James and stood back, head tilted to the side as if he were gazing at a painting, hard-pressed to decide whether it pleased him or not. “You do have the look of your mother about you,” he finally said. “She was a lovely girl. Taken too soon.”

That was the most personal thing his father ever said to him and probably the longest speech he ever directed at James.

He treated James the way he treated all the other men in his employ—with utter indifference.

Whatever hope James had harbored that he would be singled out because of his relationship to his father was squashed within the first few days, but despite his bitter disappointment, James still tried to win the approval of the man who sired him.

Perhaps it was a matter of pride or some stubborn need to prove that he was worthy of Edward’s notice, but he worked hard in the hope that he would become indispensable.

James learned not only to fight but also to read, write, and speak like a gentleman.

He had a desire to better himself, and this was his chance.

Much had been expected of him in those years before the Restoration.

Lord Asher schemed and plotted as the Commonwealth crumbled, and the people, who were tired of the tyranny of Oliver Cromwell, finally saw the wisdom of returning to a monarchy.

James had been called on to protect his master more than once and had the scars to prove it.

He took it all in stride, hoping that one day his father would realize his worth and see the value of his service.

Edward never asked about Molly, nor did he ever acknowledge James as his son, not even during the months after his riding accident when he’d relied solely on James.

Edward had lost the use of his legs, and James had been called upon to carry him up to bed, lift him off the chamber pot, and help him into his carriage.

James was always at his father’s side during that time, and their relationship evolved somewhat.

Bedbound, Edward had no one to talk to, and James, starved for affection and curious about his parents, took every opportunity to learn what he could .

In time, he’d even asked about his mother.

He had a mental image of her since he was a little boy.

She was gentle and kind, an angel with long golden curls and eyes of sky blue.

He liked to think that his mother watched over him, especially when he was ill or upset, and it made him feel slightly less miserable to believe that he wasn’t entirely alone.

He never shared his fantasy with Molly, who was the most practical person he’d ever known.

Molly would have ridiculed him and told him to stop being such a child.

Speaking to someone who’d actually known Jane Coleman was a gift he never expected to receive, and he soaked up the details like bread soaked up broth.

“Oh, she was something, your mother,” Edward said with a rueful smile, his gaze fixed on some distant spot beyond the window where the first buds of spring were just beginning to burst into leaf.

“Jane came to us just about the time I married Ellen. There was a girl I was in love with, Caroline, but she rejected me despite the life I could offer her and married a man who had neither title nor wealth. My mother was pleased, that I can tell you. Caroline came from good stock, but her family was impoverished, and my mother, romantic soul that she is, never put much stock in marrying for love. So, I married a woman of her choosing. Ellen was pretty enough, wealthy, and docile—the perfect wife, except that I couldn’t abide being in the same room with her.

She was meek, distant, and completely lacking in wit.

She was like a marble statue: pleasant to look at but just a hunk of stone on the inside. ”

Edward took a sip of wine and leaned back against the pillows.

“Jane wasn’t nearly as comely as my wife.

She was plump, with unruly black curls and eyes the color of a winter sea—deep gray, just like yours—but I was happy when I was with her; she made me laugh, and she made me feel.

” Edward sighed. “And she wasn’t afraid to love, despite the fact that she knew our relationship could never be more than it was.

She gave herself to me without reservation, and never asked for anything in return. She understood the rules.”

“Did your wife know?” James asked, shocked to learn that his father had actually felt something for Jane Coleman.

He might not have loved her, but he felt affection toward her, and clearly still thought of her fondly.

How could he be so indifferent to the children he’d had with her, especially Molly, who must be the spitting image of their mother?

But Edward wouldn’t know that; he hadn’t laid eyes on Molly since she was two.

“I think she did, but she didn’t care. The less time I spent in her bed, the happier she was. Once I got her with child, I never visited her bedchamber until it was time to try again. And try I did. I wanted a son. Ellen bore two stillborn boys. And Barbara,” he added bitterly. “I have no son.”

Edward didn’t notice the hurt in James’s face as he made that statement.

He was completely indifferent to his feelings, viewing James as just someone to unburden himself to in his hour of need.

He didn’t regard James as his flesh and blood, not even after all this time.

Lord Asher was a nobleman, a man who tailored his life to fit society’s expectations.

He might have enjoyed his relationship with Jane, but he had no use for her baseborn children; they were a burden and an inconvenience.

Had Jane not begged him to take care of her babies, he likely would have forgotten all about them.

It was that conversation that finally forced James to acknowledge that Edward saw him as nothing more than a servant, someone who was dispensable and utterly unimportant.

He meant to leave his father’s employ, but a few days turned into a week, weeks turned into months, and he was still at Asher Hall.

He supposed what made him stay was the fact that he had nowhere to go, and at Asher Hall he was close to Molly and her growing family .

It wasn’t until his father’s wedding night to Elise de Lesseps that Edward Asher finally called him “son” out loud, a fact that blinded James to what was being asked of him.

He’d lain awake half the night, remembering the look of fear on the girl’s face.

She’d been frightened enough at the thought of performing her wifely duties, but being defiled by a servant while her husband watched was more than any sheltered young girl could be expected to bear.

And now he had to do it again. He’d given his word.

He supposed there was some poetic justice to the situation.

Edward refused to acknowledge him, but he would acknowledge James’s child as his own.

It was payback of sorts, but was it worth the price to his soul?