Chapter 19

After leaving Tamsin, Isaac had gone to his study, where he'd found an old bottle of whisky that had belonged to his uncle. He'd poured a large glass and drank about half of it before he realized he didn't particularly care for it. Which was too bad because he'd been hoping to obliterate all the terrible thoughts pelting his brain.

He'd never meant for Tamsin to know the truth. But he'd apparently been talking about Mary in his sleep. How long had that been going on? No one would know since he always slept alone.

The look in Tamsin's eyes when she'd asked him about her had torn him apart. He'd already been a broken mess after learning that Mary had died. But to see Tamsin's hurt had compounded everything.

Despite that, she'd supported him. She'd given him solace and understanding. And love. She'd said she loved him.

He'd barely slept, and now he felt tired and unkempt. He was still wearing his shirt and breeches from yesterday. The rest of his clothing sat in a pile near the settee where he had tried to sleep. He didn't even fit on the piece of furniture. He either had to sit up or rest the back of his knees on the other end so his feet dangled.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he stood. Perhaps he could steal up the servant stairs. Except he'd probably be more likely to encounter someone in the household going that way. Best to just keep his head down and make his way to the apartment.

Would he encounter Tamsin? He didn't want to. He couldn't face her, not after what he'd revealed. She had to think him the worst sort of person, even if she'd proclaimed she loved him. He'd abandoned his son and the boy's mother when they'd needed him most. How could Tamsin not fault him?

She'd said it wasn't the same as her mother leaving her. He suddenly recalled what she'd said—he'd heard it in the moment, then let his emotions overtake him.

Tamsin had said that at least he hadn't left his family after deciding they weren't good enough. Something like that. Did she believe that was why her mother left? Because Tamsin wasn't good enough?

And now he'd left her when she'd been trying to help him. She'd wanted to support him, to love him, and he'd walked away. Abandoning her.

Isaac scooped up his clothing. He needed to find her.

Rushing from the study, he practically ran toward the stairs. Oddly, he encountered no one. He took the stairs two at a time and dropped something, but he didn't stop to fetch it. He continued upward and on to the apartment. Once inside, he tossed his things down. The sitting room was empty, but the door to her room was ajar.

"Tamsin? Are you here?" He realized there could be someone in her bedchamber repairing the bed. She'd said she was going to make sure it was fixed first thing.

Isaac went into her chamber, but it was also empty. And the bed was indeed fixed. He realized he'd slept late, and apparently it had been long enough for someone to complete the repair.

But where was Tamsin?

At that moment, she walked into the chamber from the small dressing room. She wore a simple day dress of ivory muslin with blue flowers and a blue sash. Her hair was pulled back from her face, but she hadn't put it up. She looked simple and heartachingly beautiful.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her expression tentative, her gaze wary.

"No."

"Where are the rest of your clothes?"

"In the sitting room. I slept in my study. Actually, I didn't really sleep."

"I didn't either," she said softly. "I did ascertain that you were in your study. Blunt said he heard you within."

"I came to apologize." His throat was thick, his eyes stinging with emotion. Blinking, he added, "I need you to know that I would never leave you—not permanently."

A faint smile flickered over her features but was quickly gone. "I'm glad to hear that."

He shook his head. "No, not even temporarily." Driven by regret and the need to get this absolutely right, he stepped toward her. "I won't leave you. Ever. You were right—I have a family. I have you."

She pressed her lips together and nodded. "Thank you for saying so. I hope you believe it."

He wanted to say he did, but he decided he needed to be honest with her from now on. "I'm trying to. I just need you to know that I see that you were abandoned, that your mother left you. I can only imagine how that felt." He moved closer until they were nearly touching. He looked into her eyes, desperate that she felt he understood. "You were good enough. You are good enough. Please tell me you know that."

She nodded twice. "I do, but it's nice to hear. But don't spend any more time trying to convince me. My optimism will win out. It always does."

"I am in awe of it," he whispered. "How can you always find the bright side?"

"Because I don't know how to do anything else." She smiled, but it didn't hold her usual cheer. "I have used positivity to bury my feelings as surely as you've worked to hide yours. I focused on my father and his grief instead of thinking of myself. I realize now what drew me to you in Weston. You had a way of making me feel special, protected, as if I mattered."

He took her hands. "Of course you do. You are special. I will always protect you. And not just from overzealous, older would-be suitors."

She cracked a small smile. "Is that humor?"

"I think I should try to have more of that." He searched her face. "Does this mean you aren't going to be eternally optimistic anymore?"

"I don't think I can help that—it's who I am. But I need to learn to let even the darker emotions in sometimes. Perhaps you can help me with that."

He laughed. "I will gladly give you lessons in brooding and sulking. And you must teach me how not to dwell on the pain of the past."

"I can do that. In fact, we can start that right now. You should look through that trunk in the sitting room."

"Have you?" he asked.

"I did not. But I saw Aunt Sophia earlier, and she asked me if you'd reviewed the contents. When I said I didn't think you had, she was incredibly disappointed. She is adamant you will be thrilled."

"Will you look at it with me?"

She blinked in surprise. "If you want me to."

"Please." He gestured for her to precede him back to the sitting room.

Tamsin moved past him, her skirts brushing his leg. A wave of desire—sweet and lingering—swept over him. How had he been so fortunate to marry this amazing, caring woman?

He followed her into the sitting room and joined her in front of the trunk. "I remember now that this was sent here. I said I didn't care what was in it, so my aunt stored it away."

"I'm glad she found it." She looked at him, her gaze hopeful. "What if there is something wonderful inside?"

Her optimism was like a beacon, directing him through the dark in a storm. His destination was unclear, but with her guiding him, he didn't think he could end up anywhere bad.

She took his hand and knelt, drawing him down with her. "You open it."

Isaac unlatched the lid and pushed it open. Sitting on top was a book he remembered from his youth. He picked it up and smelled the spine. The scent reminded him of the rectory, of stiffness and propriety. But the book itself recalled escape and if not joy, then a fleeting rapture. "Books were one of the few things my father allowed me to possess."

"What is it?"

He opened the cover and read the title: "The Life and Perambulation of a Mouse."

She smiled. "I remember this book. I loved it."

"I did too. It made me happy." When had things stopped making him happy?

After Mary. He could not blame his father for his lack of contentment, not entirely.

"Did it?" She sounded surprised, gleefully so. "That makes me happy."

Isaac set the book outside the trunk and plucked out several more books, all of them triggering a time and place where he'd gone to feel safe and warm. Then he found something truly shocking. Something he didn't recognize.

Tamsin picked up a painting. "Is this you?"

The portrait depicted a woman with a child sitting on her lap. She looked at him with utter adoration, and he smiled at a stuffed dog that he held. The woman had dark blonde hair, most of which was piled onto her head. However, a cluster of curls fell against one side of her neck. She wore a necklace with a small gold cross set with garnets. Isaac remembered that necklace. He could feel it between his thumb and forefinger even now.

His breath halted. "That's my mother."

"I recognize her from the portrait in your office," Tamsin said. "She was very beautiful."

This painting was much larger than the one on his desk. It could be hung, perhaps in the portrait gallery. He would find a place for it—somewhere he would see it every day.

"Do you want to hang this in your study?" Tamsin asked. "That way you will see it every day."

She'd read his mind and offered a reasonable solution. Except he hated that she saw him as being in his office every day. "You should know that I was avoiding you," he confessed. "While it's true that I tend to work hard and enjoy doing so, I was trying to keep myself from you. I knew I needed to tell you the truth about my past, but I didn't have the courage. I told you I was a rogue."

Her eyes were dark and fierce. "Loving her and trying to do the right thing does not make you a rogue. Nor does trying to protect me—though I do not need that. On the contrary, you are a man who cares deeply and would never knowingly cause anyone harm."

He wasn't sure he believed that, but he would try. For Tamsin. She deserved a family and the man she'd just described. "You make me want to be that man."

"To me, you already are." She brushed her lips against his then looked back at the portrait.

"As for the painting, I think I'd rather have it in our sitting room, if you don't mind."

Her features softened as she set the painting down against the side of the trunk. "I don't mind at all. Then I can talk to her and get to know her."

Isaac felt himself smile. "I think she would like that." He had no way of knowing that of course, but it felt right.

Tamsin's eyes glowed. "You're smiling."

"You seem to have a way of making me do that."

Shaking her head, Tamsin said, "No, this is entirely your mother. As it should be. I am so happy she makes you smile. What else is in here?" she wondered, turning back to the trunk and reaching inside. "More books. And some papers. These look like a child's drawings." Pulling them out, she showed them to him. "Did you draw these?"

"I might have. I find it strange my father would have kept them."

"Perhaps someone else did. Your housekeeper?"

Isaac had mentioned Mrs. Wilkes in passing to Tamsin, but he wasn't sure he'd shared anything that would have given her that impression. "I suppose she could have."

"It seems to me that she looked after you as best she could. It makes sense that she may have tucked some things away. Look and see if there's more." She nodded toward the trunk.

He peered inside and moved some books around. His gaze fell on a stack of folded parchment tied with string. Taking them from the trunk, he sat back and loosened the packet. The string fell to the floor. He opened the first piece of paper.

The air completely left his lungs.

The handwriting was unrecognizable, of course, but he saw that it was addressed to him, then scanned to the bottom and saw, "Love, Mama." Tears stung his eyes. He could not have hoped for such a treasure.

He looked over at Tamsin who was watching him in wide-eyed trepidation. "They are letters. To me. From my mother."

"How wonderful," she said with a tender smile. "I'll leave you alone to read them."

Isaac was already reading the first letter but glanced over at her as she was standing. "Thank you."

She gave him a nod and quietly left.

* * *

Isaac didn't remember the last time he'd slept during the day. Perhaps never. But after reading the letters from his mother, he'd collapsed into bed, overcome by a bone-deep exhaustion.

When he'd awakened, it was late afternoon. He'd rung for his valet and taken a wonderfully hot and somehow healing bath. He could hardly believe how much better he felt compared with yesterday after he'd heard the truth about Mary from Aunt Sophia.

His insides still clenched when he thought of her dying, and perhaps they always would. He could only hope that Aunt Sophia was right, that his son was well and, hopefully, happy.

He realized now that telling Tamsin had been necessary. How could he ever have wanted to keep the truth from her? How could their marriage have had a chance without honesty and trust? Had he really thought he could keep her at arm's length both physically and emotionally? A woman with whom he'd become obsessed and had probably fallen in love with the moment she'd said she didn't want to go on the boat to Steep Holm.

And she hadn't been angry with him. She'd been supportive and understanding, and she'd given him her unconditional love. Perhaps that was the difference in how he felt today. He was loved.

Again, he needed to find her. He went in search of her downstairs, to her sitting room. They'd have just enough time to speak before dinner.

He encountered Aunt Sophia in Tamsin's sitting room, where he'd first gone to look for his wife. She sat at the desk writing and looked up when he entered.

"Good evening, Isaac," she said hesitantly.

Moving into the room, he tried to decide what to say first. He owed her an apology. What must she think of him after his reaction yesterday regarding Mary?

Aunt Sophia rose. She smoothed her hands down the front of her skirts before her arms fell stiffly to her sides. Her entire frame appeared taut, including her features. "I need to apologize for our conversation yesterday. I should have realized you didn't know of my involvement with Mary and your son. Your uncle wanted to protect you from all of it. He believed it was most important for you to move on and not dwell on your mis—" She stopped herself. "On what happened."

"You were going to say mistake," he said quietly. "It's all right. It was a mistake. If I had not surrendered to my primal needs, Mary would be alive today."

Walking toward him, her forehead creasing with deep furrows, Aunt Sophia lifted her hand. "You mustn't think that. How could loving someone ever be a mistake?"

She sounded like Tamsin. Still, he would perhaps always feel responsible for the way in which Mary's life had turned and then ended. "I owe you an apology for how I reacted. I should not have walked out."

She shook her head. "You were overcome—understandably. The blame lies with me. I should not have told you, not in that way. I suppose I thought that you'd moved past what happened after all this time, but I can see it was an indelible period in your life."

"It is, in large part, the reason for my cloudiness." He used her description on purpose. "But I do think the sun has finally broken through."

"Tamsin?" Aunt Sophia asked with a smile.

He nodded. "It is good that you told me what really happened. I'm glad my son has been well cared for. You're sure of that?"

"Positively," she said firmly.

He realized he could probably ask for his son's location. It seemed his aunt knew precisely where he was and with whom. But he wouldn't ask. The most important thing was that his son had a family and was loved. Isaac didn't need anything else. He would not disrupt the boy's life.

"I hope you won't have regrets," Aunt Sophia said gently. "Especially about your behavior. You did not act poorly. Plenty of young men have navigated the same or similar circumstances."

"That doesn't make it right." Isaac would always regret his behavior. He'd known better than to behave like a rogue. His entire upbringing had been centered on his father's expectation that Isaac behaved with propriety, righteousness, and responsibility. He'd utterly failed on all counts with Mary, and he would take that to his grave.

"Perhaps not," Aunt Sophia said, looking down. After a moment, she lifted her gaze, and he saw that her eyes were damp. "I am sorry for my part in things. I truly was just trying to help and settle everyone as best we could." She dashed a finger beneath one eye.

"You did your best, and I am gladder than I can say that you were with Mary when she left this world. I am confident you made her feel safe, and, more importantly, you ensured she knew her son would be well. There is no greater gift you could have given her."

Aunt Sophia sniffed as she wiped her other eye. "Thank you for saying that." She swallowed and tilted her head back. "Goodness, I'm an absolute watering pot. I don't suppose you managed to look through the trunk yet?"

"Actually, I did." The letters from his mother had brought him back from the darkness. She'd saved him. "You were right about the contents. They are immeasurably valuable to me. I can't thank you enough for finding it."

"I'm so pleased." Aunt Sophia beamed. "I saw that there were books and a portrait. Do you know where you want to hang it?"

"I do. There were letters too—from my mother."

Aunt Sophia sucked in a breath. "That is astonishing. I'm especially glad I found it."

Isaac went back to the reason he'd come in the first place. "Do you know where I can find Tamsin?"

"Oh, yes. She is at the Bowmans' assisting with the delivery of their child. She's been there several hours now. Perhaps you should go check on things?"

He couldn't help thinking of Mary and how she hadn't survived giving birth. And his mother. "I confess the notion of going near a birth fills me with dread."

"It's normal that you should feel that way, given your experience." Aunt Sophia gave him a sympathetic smile. "However, only look at me, and your cousins. We have all survived birthing children—most women do."

"I will go." He would not give Tamsin reason to think he wasn't there for her, not after the way he'd behaved since they'd arrived at Wood End.

"Good." Aunt Sophia gave him an encouraging nod. "I am not entirely sure how your marriage began, but I am confident it is carrying on with a great deal of promise. I can see how well the two of you fit together, even if you don't know it yet."

Isaac narrowed his eyes at her. "Why did it take so long for Tamsin's bed to be repaired?"

Her eyes rounded, and she shrugged. "Did it take a long time?"

He now doubted the bed's disrepair in the first place. And his aunt's inability to escort Tamsin to the vacant cottage. The picnic gave the motivation away, but Isaac hadn't realized the lengths to which his aunt might have meddled. Would she have sawed through the ropes on Tamsin's bed? He wasn't going to ask.

In any case, he ought to be grateful. Without Aunt Sophia's gentle nudging, he and Tamsin might not be where they were today.

Or where he hoped they might be.

"Go on, then," Aunt Sophia said. "I'll let Mrs. Corwin know that you and Tamsin will dine later—assuming she returns this evening. As this is Mrs. Bowman's first child, it could take all night and even into tomorrow. Geoffrey took nearly a day. But he was worth every pain," she added with a smile before looking intently at Isaac. "I hope you know that you are very much a part of this family, and you've become most dear to me. You are loved, and I hope you will never doubt it or forget it."

Emotion welled in Isaac's chest, rising to clog his throat. He had to clear it to speak. "Thank you. I realize that now, and I won't forget it." He kissed her cheek, then turned and left the sitting room, hastening his steps to get to the stables.

He needed to be with his wife. Now and forever.