Before the Scarlet Dawn: Daughters of the Potomac, Book 1 Page 21

  “Lord, how can I keep this a secret any longer?”

  She listened to his footsteps mount the staircase and sat up. The door swung open, and he stood in a shaft of candlelight. His eyes were dark and wild, his face flushed. A muscle in his cheek jerked, and her heart sunk.

  She could not recall a moment when his eyes were filled with such unrestrained resentment. Her heart ached with knowing, and she gathered her courage to answer.

  He moved his hand behind him and pushed the door closed. Rain rippled down the windowpanes. At first, it murmured. Then it rushed, and forced its way through the tangle of branches alongside the house. The air drummed with it, whipped up the scent of mud and decay. The rain invaded her, chilled her, snatched warmth from her, from the room, from Hayward. He remained where he was, his stare cutting into her.

  “You have not eaten dinner. I will have Fiona bring something upstairs, and we can sit here together.” She lowered herself in front of him. “Let me take off your boots.”

  He did not move, and when she glanced up at him, she saw a heated anguish in his eyes. She stood and slipped her arms around his waist. His hands grazed her arms and tightened around her wrists.

  “God help me, Eliza, if you were not born to plague my heart.” He stepped away.

  Eliza bent her head. “I would never do that. I am your wife, and I love you.”

  “Yes, you are my wife.” He clenched his teeth together hard as he spat out the words.

  “Yours as long as I have breath in my body. Nothing will change that.”

  He let out a bitter laugh. “Nothing, you say? Do you know what you’ve done? You have been lying to me all this time.” He then began to pace the floor. “I want the truth. I demand the truth.” He forced her down into the chair near the cold hearth. “Now tell me yourself, or I shall find a way to get it out of Fiona and Sarah.”

  She lifted teary eyes and trembled. “I cannot live a lie any longer. You are right, I have hidden the truth from you.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You best tell me now, before I lose my mind, Eliza.” She waited a moment and looked into his eyes with her soul quaking. Her whole body shook. What would he do to her, say to her?

  “Sarah is not Ilene’s mother. Forgive me, my love.”

  “Forgive you?” he breathed out painfully. “Then Ilene was your child.”

  She stretched her arms out to him. “I never meant for it to happen. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you.”

  “Your love was not enough to keep you from . . . I cannot say it.”

  Eliza stood and threw her arms around him, buried her head against his chest, and sobbed. “I made a terrible mistake. But it is over. We can begin again as if it never happened.”

  He grabbed her wrists and pried her away. “That is not possible.”

  “Hayward . . . please . . . I thought you were dead. I told you all about it, how it broke my heart. I still have the letter.” She rushed to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and took out the letter from William Breese. Her hand shook when she handed it to him.

  “William told me you had died on a prison ship— remember?”

  He took it from her hand and opened it.

  “I was crushed, my pain unbearable. Out of my mind with grief, I went out and wandered the road until I came to Halston’s house.”

  Hayward swept his arm across her dressing table, topping her perfume bottle, powder box, and mirror to the floor. Eliza backed up in fear that he might strike her.

  “Halston? That’s the man? If he were alive, I would kill him!”

  She wept. “Neither of us ever meant for anything to happen. But I was weak, broken. I wanted to die.” She collapsed into the chair and covered her face in her arms.

  Hayward moaned, and the depth of his pain pierced through her. “If you loved me, you would have never given in.” Dropping his hands, he stared at her. “What kind of woman falls into the arms of another man as soon as she hears her husband has died? You are an insult and a shame to me.”

  “I know, and I have lived with that shame every minute of every hour. I confess my sin and beg for your forgiveness.”

  “God punished you. You are the reason that child died.”

  At his words, Eliza’s heart shattered. She stared up at her husband as if he had plunged a knife into her breast. Tears fell from her eyes. Her sobs choked her. Panicked she had lost him, she fell to her knees, and threw her arms around his legs. She clung to him, begged, and pleaded.

  “Please, Hayward, forgive me.”

  “Never.”

  “Please. I do not want to lose you. I cannot lose you. We are bound to one another, you and I. You must forgive me . . . love me again . . .”

  He flung her from him. “You disgust me. You are not fit to be my wife. I am the one who made the mistake in marrying you. I should have known better.” Glowering, he walked toward the door. She scrambled to stand and follow him.

  “Please, do not go, my love.”

  “You betrayed me. You lied. You concealed the truth. You drew our servants into your secret. You have ruined everything.”

  When she crumbled against him, he stood stiff as stone, his arms at his sides.

  “I do not want to see you anymore tonight. Stay in your room. I’ve already told Fiona and Sarah they are not to see you. I should send them both packing, but I cannot blame them totally. Women are more loyal to their mistresses in these cases. I think they meant to protect us both.”

  Her breathing convulsed. “Darcy. I want to see Darcy.”

  “No,” he said, and stepped out of the room.

  She could no longer cry or speak. A cruel silence seized her while she listened to the floorboards outside her door creak under his footsteps. In despair, she curled up in her bed and hugged his pillow. In tears, she resigned to obey him in hopes of keeping him.

  Downstairs Hayward shut the door to his study. He raked his hands through his hair. She had killed all feeling he had had for her, and he struggled with the idea of ever forgiving her.

  He slumped into a chair and stared at the empty hearth. Crushed, he pounded his fist into his palm. At that moment he wondered what kind of man he had become—hard, bitter, and as much a sinner as the next. He had picked up the first stone and flung it at the adulteress. But he was justified, he thought. It was his right to seek revenge, wasn’t it? How could he turn the other cheek?

  By the striking of the hour, he fell asleep in the chair, a wine glass empty in his hand. At dawn, the chirping of birds outside the window woke him. The orange glow of morning shone through the glass. Fiona was in the kitchen knocking pots about, as she prepared breakfast. The scent of coffee filled the room, and he wished for some, but his mood kept him away. Instead, he went out to the stable, where he saddled his horse and brought it out to the front. Looping the reins through the iron ring, he hesitated, then went back inside and up the stairs.

  Curled up with her doll, Darcy rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “My darling, you must get up,” Hayward told her. “It is a beautiful morning and I’m going to take you for a ride. You like my horse, don’t you?”

  She nodded and pushed herself up on her elbows. “Yes, Papa. But can I have something to eat first?”

  “I will take you to the inn down the road, and we shall eat there.”

  He pulled clothes from the wardrobe, unsure which were right, but decided what he had would do for now.

  The door down the hallway opened. Eliza came and stood in the doorway. Her eyes were swollen and red, and she looked as if she had not slept. She looked at her daughter and smiled weakly. “You are awake, Darcy. Here, let Mama help you dress.”

  Hayward flung out his arm and moved her back. “Do not touch her.”

  Eliza looked startled. “I must help,” she said, her eyes filling.

  “No,” Hayward said.

  Eliza glanced at the pile of clothes on the bed. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking her away—away from you.”

 
She grabbed his arm. “No, Hayward.”

  “You have no say in it.”

  She began to weep. “But why?”

  “You are unfit. I will not have her raised by you.”

  Frantic, she pulled at him. “You mustn’t. Darcy is mine.”

  “Mama, what’s wrong?” Darcy said, her eyes wide.

  Hayward pushed Eliza away, and she tumbled to the floor. Darcy let out a cry. At that moment, Fiona rushed inside, and Eliza reached up to her. Fiona drew Eliza into her arms and stared angrily at Hayward.

  “Put Darcy’s clothes in my saddlebag,” Hayward said. “Do as I say, Fiona.”

  “No, Hayward!” Eliza cried. “I beg you. Do not take her from me!”

  “You do not deserve to be her mother.”

  “She is my child.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “You cannot do this. Please, Hayward . . .”

  Hayward lifted his daughter into his arms to carry her out.

  “Darcy! Darcy!”

  “Mama!”

  Eliza scrambled to her feet and reached out to grab her daughter. Hayward pushed her back, and she fell against the wall. The panic and the noise caused Darcy to cry, as her hands too reached out to take Eliza’s.

  Hayward hurried down the stairs to the front door. He flung it open, and it smacked the wall with a loud thud. Fiona followed behind him with an armload of clothes. Then she paused and tossed them down. “I cannot do it.”

  “You are to obey me, woman.” Then he saw Sarah peer around the edge of the door. “You. Get out here, and pick up these clothes and put them in my saddlebag. If you do not, I will take my whip to you, girl.”

  Sarah stepped outside, lifted her head, and narrowed her eyes. “Why must you be so cruel, sir?” She bent down and gathered up Darcy’s clothing. “Can you not see you are hurting your own child by how you treat her mother?”

  “Silence your tongue, Sarah. Or I will silence it for you.” He set Darcy astride his horse, then climbed up behind her. Sarah stepped back and looked up at him with a mix of pity and scorn. Hayward leaned down to her and said, “I have plans for you as well.”

  Sarah folded her arms and turned back to the house. Eliza twisted out of Fiona’s arms and rushed down the steps past her. “No, Hayward. Do not leave me. Do not take her away.”

  He moved his horse so she could not reach the child. “I will be overnight at the inn. Then in the morning, I will . . .” he could not finish.

  She stood shaking in her despair, pale and ashen, shivering in her snowy white chemise and bare feet. He kicked his horse’s sides, and it trotted down the long tree-lined lane. With her servants close beside her, Eliza watched Hayward and Darcy disappear into the morning fog.

  29

  An inn stood alongside the river road, where a good woman lived with her children and her innkeeper husband. Hayward put Darcy in her charge, while he drowned his sorrow—over pints of ale—for two days.

  He sat in a corner of the room, sunlight warming his flesh but not his soul. If only he could strike something, to expel the pain. The first time he had seen Eliza after his return to Havendale, she had stole his heart and soul. He could finally admit it. He’d resisted her, shunned her, and driven his feelings deep. But her willingness to give up everything for him caused his love for her to grow. He had given up his inheritance for her, had left England to begin a new life with her in the Colonies. When war had separated them, he had been in agony, but strong enough to keep her from knowing it.

  They had been swept away by love, vowed to live and die for it. Never in his widest imaginings had he ever thought anything like this could happen. He wished he had seen the possibility when he saw the way Halston looked at his wife.

  Though he still loved her, he could not shake the hatred he now felt. How could he forgive and forget, and move on without looking back? Rage flooded his being, and he steeled himself. He wrestled with God all that day and into the night.

  He that is without sin let him cast the first stone. Forgive and you will be forgiven.

  “How can I forgive her?” He buried his head in his hands.

  Later, when all were abed, the innkeeper knocked upon Hayward’s door and handed him a letter. His hands shook as he opened it; there he saw his wife’s name, and stains from her teardrops. She said she loved him, begged his forgiveness, and pleaded for him to return with Darcy. If he did not come home, she promised her broken heart would be the death of her.

  “A woman waits outside on the porch, Mr. Morgan,” said the innkeeper. “I expect she needs an answer from you.”

  Hayward nodded and went to pull on his boots. He looked over at his daughter as she slept soundly beneath the window. He convinced himself he was in the right for separating her from Eliza. What had Darcy done to deserve such a mother? How could he allow Eliza near her again, and risk her growing up tainted by her mother’s immorality?

  Outside, he found Fiona sitting on the top step with her chin cupped in her hand and her foot tapping away on the wood plank. She looked up at him, and her aging eyes caught the light from the lamp that hung near the door. His shadow fell over her, and she stood.

  “You were not afraid to travel the road at night, I see.”

  “Only when the owls hooted at me and I saw their eyes within the trees. The moon is strong and the road well marked. I had to come. It was my duty.”

  He shrugged. “To me or to Eliza?”

  “To my girl, of course. It is urgent I speak with you.”

  “You should have sent Sarah.”

  “No. I am closest to Eliza, and you need to hear this from me.”

  “Go home. Tell her no amount of begging will change my mind.” He turned to leave.

  “She’s been crying since you left. Refuses to eat or drink.”

  Arrested by the urgency in Fiona’s voice, he hesitated. “I imagine so, but that is to be expected. Still, it won’t change what has happened.”

  Fiona dared to touch his sleeve with her fingertips. “She loves you, and her heart is crushed. I saw how broken she was the day Reverend Hopewell came to River Run with news you were dead. She was out of her mind with grief. If anyone is to blame, it is the man who told your half brother you had been hung. Such a lie forged out of greed for a few coins and hate for the Patriots has caused many to suffer. And then there is Darcy. You cannot take Darcy away from her mother. You must consider how much that will hurt the child, and what it may do to her future.”

  Hayward felt his jaw tighten, along with his fists. “I can do as I wish. It is not your place to give me your opinion on anything.”

  Instantly, Fiona set her mouth and put her hands firmly on her hips. “Is that so?”

  “Yes that is so, and you will mind your tongue, woman.”

  She shot him a fiery glare. “I will, but you know what is in my mind to say. You just don’t want to hear it because it convicts you.” She lifted her chin and swung away from him. “She will be dead in a day or so, then you will be rid of her like you want.” She walked down the steps to the mare.

  Hayward followed her. Gritting his teeth, he turned her around to meet him. “Do you believe that? Most likely it is all a pretense to bring me back.”

  “When a woman’s heart has been broken, it can lead to her end. Will you forgive her?” A cloud passed over the moon, and the night deepened. The wind rose and thrashed through the trees, causing Fiona to shiver.

  Hayward stood firm, unmoved by her entreaty. “Do not ask that of me again.”

  Fiona’s eyes filled. “Have compassion. Come back to River Run. You know it is the right thing to do. She would never have fallen into such temptation if she had known you were alive.”

  He turned away and stood in silence, thinking of what to do. In his breast pocket was Eliza’s letter. He laid his palm over it, as an idea formed in his mind, along with the steps he needed to take.

  “All right. I will come back, and I will bring Darcy with me. River Run is mine. I do not know what I
was thinking to take Darcy away from her home. Go inside and wake her, put on her shoes and gather her things.”

  A smile sprung onto Fiona’s face, and she hurried inside the inn. Darcy rubbed her eyes when she woke her. Hastily, Fiona slipped on her small leather shoes and fastened the buckles.

  “I’ll tell Mama about the hoot owl that was outside the window, Papa. It called and called, and I thought it was telling me to go home.”

  Hayward strode to the door. He waited for her to scamper to him, take his hand, and walk out with him to his horse. He lifted her into the saddle, and decided to walk alongside while Fiona rode the mare.

  No words were spoken the entire way.

  Reaching the house a half hour later, Hayward halted his horse and brought Darcy down. He glanced up at the window that belonged to his bedchamber. The curtains were open, and a single candle glimmered in the broad casement.

  Before he mounted the steps, Sarah hurried out the front door, her face drawn and haggard with worry. Her dress was torn and the hem muddy. He had no time to question why. In silence, Hayward passed her and carried Darcy inside. He set her down, pulled off his coat and hat, and yanked off his gloves.

  His house had changed. It seemed somber and dim. No streams of moonlight flowed through the windows as before. The house smelled old, and a musty odor hung in the air.

  At the foot of the staircase he paused, then took Darcy’s hand and proceeded upstairs. Ahead of him, Fiona opened the door, and he stepped over the threshold. He tugged at his neckcloth to ease the knot in his throat. A grim pall lay over his wife’s face, which he knew would haunt him the remainder of his life.

  The embroidered coverlet over her hadn’t a single crease upon it. A stump of a candle burned on the table beside the bed, the tiny flame shimmering over a glass bottle of water and a drinking glass. On the dressing table were her brush, comb, and powder box, the lid of the box cracked. He had done that—in a moment of rage. He should not have dashed them to the floor the way he did, but he justified his action. Anger and pain had driven him to do it—it was Eliza’s fault.