After a long moment, William’s mother said something Charlotte had not expected. “You appear to understand my son quite well.”
“Perhaps. Likely not as well as you.” Charlotte did not want to talk about her and William. “This will depend on you being able to mask the source of the funds successfully. Can you do that?”
Ruth snorted. “He still does not know why I put up with his father’s drinking all these years. I am confident I could manage that aspect, if I accepted.”
Charlotte’s curiosity was peaked. “Since you raised the subject, may I ask why you did?”
The new widow sighed, her back bowing as her head lowered to look at her lap. “That is a long story, and not well done of me. But given your generosity and care with my family, I shall share the short version. William’s sister is more than three years younger than him. It took us that long to have a second child, although we both would have liked her sooner. Then, three years after her, I became pregnant again. It only lasted three months, and I nearly died when I lost the baby. The physician said any more pregnancies were dangerous. Fred had always wanted as many children as possible. He was devastated. That and almost losing me put him over the edge. He was always more sensitive than me…For the first few years, I thought he would get over it. He’d drink until he didn’t need to any longer. But he never reached that point. By then, William was older, and it just did not seem right to make William grieve our loss as well.”
“Do you believe that now?”
“No, not at all. William is like me. Strong enough to do what he must. To shoulder the needs of the family and ensure they are met. Too, I saw their previous father-son relationship fall apart. And more recently, I’ve come to realize that without understanding the reason behind it, Fred choosing drink over him hurt him terribly. I regret not telling him.”
“’Tis never too late, Ruth.” Charlotte leaned over and held her friend’s hand.
“I know. I will, soon, now. Better late than never, I suppose. But I digress.” Ruth pulled herself up and looked straight at Charlotte. “You made me a very generous offer, one I never could have imagined, and I have not even addressed it to offer my gratitude. I cannot thank you enough…I am not even sure I have words.”
She sounded choked up, and Charlotte rushed to spare her further discomfort. “Please consider it. I really do mean it, and I really do have enough to do it comfortably.”
“Very well, I shall consider it. May I call on you in a few days then?”
“’Twould be my pleasure, Ruth.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
William flung the book of Catullus’s naughty poems across the room. He could not even concentrate enough to find something fitting. Poetry was fine as a method of wooing when he was miles away at university. Now he could not stand being close yet unable to see his Mistress in person, even if it was to debate the merits of their relationship.
He needed her. Not the stress relief that she brought. He was learning to handle that. The essence of her—her smell, her fingers in his hair, her wit and raised brows and teasing. The little frown when she was beleaguered by a Latin verb. The smile of satisfaction when she’d helped more women start businesses. All of her felt as essential to him as air, and he was gasping for lack of her.
He glared at the book lying spread-eagled on the floor. Even Catullus did not have the words, so what would William manage to say if she did permit him entrance? More to the point, how would he even get an audience? Her doors and windows were locked to him.
And what response would he get from a poem? He was Penelope in Ovid’sHeroides: “This your Penelope sends to you, too-slow Ulysses; A letter in return does me no good; come yourself!”
No. Whatever else I am, I am a man, and I must fight for her like a man. How do I balance fighting and giving her control, as I have in the past?
He stared blindly at the wall, the idea of marriage circling. A servant’s knock interrupted his musings. At his question, the butler called out, “Your mother requests you in the library, sir.”
“Right. I shall be down momentarily.”
He found his mother in the seating area by the fireplace, and settled across from her as she poured him tea. “William, I need to tell you something that is long overdue. I’ve been remiss in sharing information with you that was pertinent to your relationship with your father.”
“I don’t understand, Mama. And why now?”
“Because you deserve to know, and it may help you understand my actions as well as his.”
Ruth shared with him the loss of her third child, his father’s reaction, and her attempts to wait it out, manage it, and finally accept that she’d lost her husband in addition to her baby.
He sat back, tears in his eyes, as his mother held both his hands in hers. “I beg your pardon, William. There was just never a good time, but that is not an excuse. I was a coward.”
Leaning in, he hugged her. “Mama. Never a coward. You simply had too much to deal with and had to prioritize. I am sorry for the loss of the babe.” He shuddered at the thought. “To be devastated and not have a partner to turn to, the person you thought would be your mainstay through thick and thin.”
His mother nodded and clutched his hands. “Thank you for understanding, William.”
He straightened, the connection made. His parents’ bond is what he wanted—nay,had, with Charlotte. They were partners, in every sense of the word. He could not care less if they never had children, although he realized that his mother would. It did not matter. He needed his Mistress. He would not have children without her, because he would never wed someone else. No one else would be his safe harbor in times of trouble as well as the first person he turned to when he had something to celebrate. Without her,hewould be a ship lost at sea, never mind the finances.
There was no time like the present to start his battle for his Mistress. “I never understood how you could still love him. I mean, I assumed you stayed with him because there are not many choices for women, but I saw your patience with him, and struggled.”
Ruth snorted. “You know me better than that. I could have made my own arrangements if I wanted to live separately from your father. ’Twas not lack of choices, or even responsibility to those depending on us. ’Twas an actual choice. I was lucky enough to wed someone I loved, and whilst not everyone can be as strong as you and I are, I understood why he did what he did. He felt too much sometimes.”
