It Happened in the Highlands(28)

"Is it true," he asked instead, "that his new wife arrived at Baronsford in a crate?"

Relief reflected in her eyes and in the smile that suddenly graced her  lips. "Who are your spies, Captain Melfort? How could you know this?"

"My brother, John, and his wife purchased Highfield Hall near Baronsford  not long ago," he explained. "They are not among the Penningtons'  circle of friends, justifiably, but there is very little news of you and  your family that doesn't reach me through their letters."

"Then you must know about Gregory's marriage too?"

"That must be fairly recent, for I hadn't heard it. I only learned of it  when you told the Squire and Mrs. McKendry that your younger brother  now lives in Sutherland."

Perhaps he wouldn't mention this in his letters. His sister-in-law was  well aware of the history between the Melforts and Penningtons. She  understood why they were the only family in that part of the Borders who  were not invited to Baronsford's summer and Christmas balls.  Nonetheless, her disappointment at being excluded from the more public  celebrations of the viscount's wedding in the village of Melrose came  through clearly in her letter. It wouldn't be very kind to tweak her  nose about this wedding as well.

The carriage rolled on, climbing higher into the hills above the Don  river valley, and Jo appeared preoccupied with her thoughts as she gazed  out at the rugged forests and gorse-covered countryside. Still thinking  of his brother, John, and his wife, Wynne now pondered their repeated  invitations to bring Cuffe south to Highfield Hall. They wanted him to  meet the rest of his family. They had a son who was twelve, or  thereabouts, and a nine-year-old daughter. A fortnight ago, he would  never have seriously considered bringing them all together. Now he was  actually feeling quite sanguine about it.                       
       
           



       

And all because of the woman seated across from him.

"If I may ask, Jo, how are your parents?" During the time when they'd  thought Wynne would soon be joining their family, the earl and the  countess had shown him only kindness.

Her eyes lit with pleasure. "My father pretends to be hard of hearing to  get more attention, but my mother is a master at the game. Their  arguments and their affection for each other still provide a great  source of entertainment for the family."

As a young man, Wynne had considered the Penningtons the model of a happy family. So different from the Melforts.

Her voice was solicitous when she continued. "I know it has been years  since you lost your own parents, but I was sorry to hear of their  passing."

He tipped his head in acknowledgment, but all he felt in his heart for the old baronet and his wife was pity.

"I had been estranged from them for a number of years by the time they  died. He went first, my mother a year later. It sounds harsh for me to  say it, I know, but they were lonely and bitter people to the end."

She didn't press him for more, but Wynne felt she deserved to know the truth about them.

"You're very kind to mention them, but you must have known that they  were against us. It was less at first; slighting your family has its  perils. But their opposition only became worse, privately, as the talk  became more poisonous."

He recalled so clearly the arguments, the threats, the daily torment of  repeating whatever malicious gossip had been circulating in one social  circle or another. Jo's dowry had been enticing, but they'd changed  their minds faced with the talk regarding her past.

Wynne studied Jo in silence. She'd been too generous to complain back  then about their subtle slights, and she was too polite to acknowledge  now what they both knew to be the truth.

"After I recovered from my wound and went to sea, my brother fell in  love with a minister's daughter from Cornwall. She was a young woman of  no social consequence and very little dowry. As you can imagine, their  disapproval was fierce. They threatened to strip him of his inheritance,  but John was much stronger than I. He spurned their efforts to  intimidate him and called their bluff. He married the woman he still  loves."

"I'm glad that Sir John has found happiness."

Wynne nodded. "Two lively children and a good life."

Gazing across at her, he wondered how she must have felt when she  learned that he'd been married and had a son. She didn't want to speak  of the past, but these were the events that had steered both of their  lives to this place. And time was running out to tell her the things he  needed to share.

"After my father died, my mother wrote to me and told me that my  marriage to Fiba, Cuffe's mother, had been the cause of his demise."

"Oh no," she murmured, touching his knee.

He shrugged. "At the time her words wounded me, but I'd been burned by  them before. I had no regrets about marrying Fiba. My plan had been to  leave the navy and establish myself in Jamaica. I didn't think I'd ever  return to England. In my mind they'd ceased to exist a long time ago."

"I am sorry."

Wynne understood how deeply heartfelt Jo's words were. She had spent her  entire life in search of her true parents. He had celebrated the day he  could finally turn his back to his own, free and unencumbered.

"I still have my brother," he told her. "And our friendship gives me great pleasure."

"Pray accept my sincere apology," she said. "My family and I have  treated your brother and his wife unfairly. You can be certain I shall  call on her and introduce her to Grace, my sister-in-law, when I return  to Baronsford."

Wynne watched her closely. The blush blooming on her cheeks, the dark  eyes swimming with compassion, the kindness that he knew permeated the  very fabric of her existence.

He'd mentioned Cuffe's mother by name. He'd admitted that he readily  walked away from his family to marry her, even though he'd been too weak  only a few years earlier to face Jo and let her be a part of any  decision regarding their future. He'd robbed her of a life. He'd taken  away her voice. He'd done what he thought was best without thinking  through how his choice would affect her life.                       
       
           



       

And yet she was apologizing to him.

"I couldn't protect you," he said, speaking the words in his heart. "I  was going away to war. I knew how monstrous my parents would behave  toward you. In marrying you, I would be throwing you into a den of  lions."

"Please, Wynne. Let's not-"

"We must," he interrupted, watching a single tear escape the corner of her glistening eye and slide down her cheek.

"You kept yourself aloof and removed from the lies while I wanted to  tear to pieces anyone who said a wrong word about you. You were kind and  forgiving while I raged inwardly at those smiling vipers who were not  worthy enough to buckle your slipper. But I was not worthy either. I was  helpless, Jo. I was helpless in shielding you from the sadness that you  so courageously hid in the face of each assault."

"Wynne, stop," she whispered. "I pray you-"

"I can't. You must hear me out." More than anything else, he wanted to  move across and sit beside her. Take her in his arms and ask for her  forgiveness. But he couldn't. Not when there was more that needed to be  said.

"My youth, my pride, my assumption that you wouldn't be able to survive  unless I was there to act as your protector led me to the selfish act of  walking away. I decided for both of us that you'd be much better off  without me, without our marriage. And I did it poorly. I allowed myself  to be rushed by my parents' cold arrogance and their opposition. But I  can't lay the blame at their door. I bear the blame. In the end I was  really only thinking of my own well-being. I wanted to be done with it  all, to walk away and lick my wounds in private. As if I were the one  injured by all that happened. The way I left you, Jo, was wrong and  hurtful. I know I caused you more heartache than you ever deserved."

* * *

Since the day she'd arrived at the Abbey, Jo thought her heart would  break if they spoke of their past. But she'd been wrong. Two hearts were  at stake here.

As he spoke, raw emotion was laced into each word. His frustration over  the situation they had been facing was still so alive to him. She saw it  in the set of his shoulders, in the turn of his head, in the searching  gaze that constantly returned to her face. He'd carried the blame for so  many years, and she knew she could not allow that to continue.

"Two young people were involved, Wynne. Two," she repeated, forcing the  words past the knot in her throat. She paused, summoning her strength  and willing herself to continue.