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Chapter Twelve
December 1817
Ayear hadmade such a difference to Charles Mason’s life. He was married—by habitandin the legal sense—he was now a merchant, and he was more thankful for this coming new year than he had been for any other.
Ullinn House was warm, now in good repair, and teeming with life. They did not live here regularly, but Florence suggested they visit to mark the year’s end.
Nigel would join them soon. Mother and Mr. Maclean, to no one’s surprise, would not.
As he sat in the library, a fire in the hearth before him, he remembered his last conversation with his uncle, whom he had avoided since arriving two days ago. They had not seen each other for a year.
This room, though pleasant enough now, made him think back to the man’s confession.
Mr. Lester, a Mason. Once he revealed that fact, similarities between them were made plain. Charles could never call himself observant again, that was for certain.
The commonalities were only in some of their features. Both of them were solid and tall, both of them were darker in coloring.
Still, it was as though the name held the power, and once he knew the truth, he saw it. The man had tearfully explained all, and Charles believed his spirit of repentance.
That did not mean he had to accept him with open arms. Lester, truly James Mason, frightened his mother so badly that she broke her marriage despite having a child. As James had said, the association was regarded as a marriage “by habit”—something that would not have legally held in England, should she have gone there.
His father apparently thought she would return. He remained in constant contact, or tried to, but she refused his letters and support.
Then she met Mr. Maclean.
Charles had new respect for the man: he must have truly loved Mother, for there were probably few who would marry a woman with a very young son without love’s motivation. Their marriage was, as Charles already knew, customary and regular.
He mourned the dark opinion he’d formed about his father from an early age. It was clear that he’d been wrong, but he could see why Mother had never spoken of him highly.
From time to time, he did wonder why she’d never tried to tell him the truth but understood that some truths were too painful to discuss.
Shehadkept his name for Charles, at least.
In all, it was James whom he blamed most. A feeling that they shared.
“I knew immediately,” James said. “I knew when she declared she wished to leave Ullinn House without Roderick, that I had ruined more than myself.”
Over the years, he’d put aside money for his nephew in the hope they might meet again. He’d given it to Charles the morning after they spoke in the library.
But there was no amount that could amend the pain his parents experienced.
A permanent rift had formed between the brothers. They existed in the village as acquaintances, with the younger brother even taking a new surname in practice. In time, the villagers grew accustomed to it. James Mason became James Lester, and his wife and child were Lesters.
He had certainly not been killed in a duel, but Roderick would not own to starting any rumor.
Charles thought James was right in his assessment. Someone likely spun the yarn as his father’s health declined and Ullinn House looked more neglected.
“Are you brooding?” Florence came to him where he sat in the sturdy old chair. She, like Nigel, knew everything. Dear Nigel had taken it all with gentle surprise.
Dear Florence had taken it with less gentleness. His wife was not prone to excessive delicacy of expression and he loved her for it.
“Only a little.”
“What a shame,” she said, settling directly upon his lap. “I thought that if you were, I could distract you.”
He smiled into the back of her neck and put his arms about her waist, letting his hands linger on the tops of her thighs.This dress will have to be dealt with,he thought.
They’d been wed for over three months and he was still singularly interested in getting her alone wherever he could manage it. Now that he was no longer Lord Valencourt’s valet, it was easier to find the moments. When he’d given his notice, the duke accepted with true regrets but complete understanding. He’d even provided Charles with a sum that he was uncomfortable accepting and could not decline. Lord Valencourt would not hear of it.
