Cachet (37 page)

Wiping at her eyes, she glimpsed the signet on her left hand. Her symbolic wedding ring. She'd been wrong about that, too. The cachet never represented the past and his family roots. His family had abandoned him. It was a symbol of honor, yes, because Morgan could swear a promise for the future and control whether that came true.

The signet wasn't revered because of his past. It represented the little he had left besides a hated cottage and a proud name. His desperate hopes for warmth and family. Prayers for a future happiness he was terrified would never be his.

She helped him back to bed and sat down beside him. "I wish you'd told me about your mother before. I understand things now that had confused me. I'm glad you finally divulged that bit of your past, because it's made me realize there are things you don't understand. I'd like to help you see what's in my heart."

"What?" he mumbled, embarrassed to look at her now that she'd seen him reduced to unmanly tears.

"When I first came to this village, I simply needed somewhere to hide. You wondered why a rich girl with a good education would come here and clerk for you. The truth is, it seemed an ideal place for an American widow to lose herself. I came knowing I'd be an outsider. I didn't expect the villagers to welcome me. I didn't want any of you to. I was determined to keep to myself and fade into insignificance. When your name and likeness appear on posters and in newspapers, it's startling how quickly you come to desire anonymity."

She knew he digested her words. Perhaps he was seeing her reasoning for the first time. "The peculiar thing is that I
wasn't
insignificant," she emphasized. "Here in Crowshaven, I wasn't Jeremiah Hardwick's daughter, Sheila's cousin, or anyone's wife. I wasn't even
Richelle
. Out of place in the midst of you English country folk. Yet in some strange way I came to belong. And I met the most incredible man I'll ever know in my life."

She took both of his hands in hers. "A man I couldn't help but fall in love with."

"When I first arrived, I asked Boyd and then Chrissandra what you were like. I wanted to develop a mental image of the man who owned this house. Their answers made absolutely no sense."

"What could either of them have said about me that would make no sense? They're my two dearest friends."

Her smile widened. "That you were a man who was very like his peers, but unique among them. That you joked and drank and chased women, yet lived and breathed trade and business. I couldn't understand how one person could be all those things: a driven yet playful scoundrel, a somber jester, a royal commoner, an understanding beast. But you see, I didn't know you then. You
are
all of those things."

He gave her a look of reproach. "What an absolute load of rubbish!" Then he seemed to reconsider. "Did live for trade, though. Before you, women never really mattered. I can't think straight for loving you, Richelle. I'm petrified I won't be a good father to our child. I always had visions of a wife and children some day, but they were like museum paintings one admires from a polite distance. I thought it would feel like that, be like that."

"I see. But it's not." He shook his head. "And it doesn't feel like that," she supplied. "How
does
it feel to you?"

"Like my intestines are knotted in your fist. Like being lost, muddled, half besotted all the time. Not Morgan—at least not
just
Morgan anymore."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I suppose there's some truth to that. Together we're more, or different than we were separately. But it's false, too. You're still Morgan. Capable, smart, handsome, and distinctly your own person. Different from everyone else in this wide world. Still strong and still proud."

So much of the wonders between a man and woman she had learned from him. This she could finally give back.

"You're on the same path, but you're no longer walking it alone. What you feel is my shadow. It's not stronger than you are, but it's constant. Whichever way you turn, whatever murky grove or bright clearing you pass through along your path, it's always there, just beside you." His pewter eyes burned with a strange intensity as he studied her face. "I'll never feel the way your mother did about this house or the village. Now I see why my father's money and the manor upset you so."

His Adam's apple bobbed. "What woman in her right mind would trade that palace for this?" He waved his hand to indicate their bedchamber.

"I don't recall ever boasting about being in my right mind," she teased, caressing his unshaven cheek. "Morgan, this cottage is my home. Chrissy and Boyd have become my close friends, too. My heart is here in Crowshaven because
you're
here! I
choose
to walk beside you. I still have a healthy portion of my inheritance in a London bank. I decided to let the money grow until our son is a few years old, then offer it to the council for the schoolhouse you've always wanted. I even thought I might accept your offer to be schoolmistress, if the rest of the council members agree."

"You're serious about this." It wasn't a question.

She nodded. "I meant to discuss it with you later, when you were feeling better. I intend to live the rest of my natural life here. I'll give you whatever years I have remaining, Bargainer—but at a very steep price." She wagged her finger in his face. "And we'll not negotiate. This time it's you who must pledge to me."

Morgan's eyes clouded. "What do you want from me? You know this is all I have." He glanced again about the room.

She turned his chin back to face her. "In return for my life and my love, I want the one thing you have in shortest supply—therefore, the most valuable commodity you can offer.
Faith
. You must trust me now, and let me be your tutor in this. You can learn to make your heart strong, just as I learned to let my body respond freely. But you must trust me as I've trusted you."

Morgan felt something that had always been constricted inside loosen a fraction. Richelle's eyes said she meant every word. "It strikes terror in my soul to know you're keeping something from me," he whispered. He squeezed her fingers. "Please be honest with me, Richelle. I've been painfully honest with you."

"All right."

His fingers nearly crushed hers. "I'm not going to walk again, am I?"

She didn't flinch. "The doctor can't predict with certainty either way yet. There is a chance you may not."

He squeezed his eyes shut again. "Another truthful answer, please. If not—" The gray eyes opened and peered closely into hers. "Would it matter? Don't say it doesn't alter your feelings. It must, on some level. I want to know if...if you could feel as you did before my accident."

"Perhaps not. A man can look most debonair with a cane. He can get around with a crutch under his arm and still outsmart a whole crew of pirates or the next clever merchant. If your mind healed but not your leg, I would love you more deeply than I do now. I'd have all the more reason to look up to you."

"How the hell could you be proud of me, hobbling about on a damned wooden crutch? You Colonials speak in riddles!"

"I make perfect sense, sir, if you listen with your heart. You told me once you hoped your wife would respect and admire you. Look into my eyes, Morgan. Don't you see pride there, even now that you're bedridden? When have I ever refused to take your arm or stand at your side?"

"Only when you were my insolent clerk," he replied with chagrin. "But I've been
whole
, Richelle. We were speaking of the consequences if that's no longer the case."

"I'll love you no matter what becomes of your leg. But if your heart and mind don't mend, you'll cheat us both of what we might have had together. You've taught me what love is between man and wife. You've earned the affection and passion I feel for you. You've earned my respect. Don't let a wagon take that from you."

He was silent for a long time before he responded to her words.

"My heart is
not
broken, for the wife I adore with every fiber of my being speaks of respect and admiration for me. This has astonished me since she was only my lowly office clerk, for I've no experience that could prepare me for such immense charity of spirit. She freely gives me her esteem, even as she gave me her money, though I commanded her not to. And she's amazing in her persistence."

She grinned. "I see we Colonials are not so mysterious, after all."

He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them. "My beautiful wife carries my child, despite her past struggles with pregnancy and motherhood. She speaks of my home and my life as also being hers. I've bullied her, wounded her pride, behaved like a drunken idiot, and blackened men's eyes just for speaking to her—yet the wench steadfastly claims to be proud of me. She's my wellspring of love and hope. Before you, Richelle, my heart was empty. Now it overflows."

He kissed her softly. "I can't be a merchant or the Bargainer or the village mayor without you, Richelle. But I can be a cripple with you, if that's God's will."

"The mayor?"

"When I went to Entwistle's to get the cradle, several local gentlemen arrived to meet with us. I'm to be nominated at the next council meeting. Vote's due any day. I told them I'd consider it, but I'd like to have your blessing. Or your thoughts, if you disagree with the notion."

"Of course you have my blessing! I think it's a wonderful idea." She gave him a tight squeeze.

"You may not think so when you hear the stipulation. As you just pointed out, everything has its price. You know the council meetings are held at the inn. They produce significant sales. I'd have to sell the inn to take the mayor's office."

"You've owned it since you were eighteen, Morgan. Is that what you want?"

"I don't know," he admitted truthfully. "I'm flattered to be their choice, of course. We could build the schoolhouse that much sooner. Certainly as mayor, I'd finally have more influence in such matters. It's a chance to leave my mark."

"Yes," she nodded, watching and waiting.

"Please don't look at me like that," he groaned. "It should be a simple decision, but it's the most difficult I've ever faced. Selling my granary to have you was easy by comparison. You've just restored my assets and salvaged the inn. Wouldn't you now be dismayed to see me abandon it?"

"You fought Cameron and Elaine to help me obtain my father's estate. You weren't distressed when I was forced to liquidate. You were angry I wasn't more anxious to do it!" Suddenly her teasing manner was gone. "Oh Morgan, you're so pale and tired. You should rest."

She ordered Lorella to fix a supper tray and they retired early that evening. Richelle sensed that Morgan only feigned sleep, but she wasn't disturbed or particularly surprised. He was considering all he'd learned—about her, about himself, and their future. He needed time with his private thoughts.

But she noted hours later when she stirred in her sleep that his arm wasn't wrapped around her. Yet his steady, even breathing told her he slumbered soundly.

He never felt the brush of her lips on his face or heard the desperation in her whispered prayers.

Richelle cracked open the door just after nine the following morning. Morgan was in his robe, seated in the armchair. "You're up! I was going to let you sleep. You look much better."

"I got the best night's sleep I've had in ages." She crossed behind him and went to the windows, opening the lacy curtains to admit the pale sunshine.

"You didn't toss and turn with indecision about the inn."

"Nay, I didn't. I was genuinely exhausted after yesterday's ordeal. I came very close to losing the dearest person in my life. Yet having said that, I've never felt the powerful kinship I feel towards her today. It's odd, isn't it? Even odder that she's offered no preference about the inn."

"You openly admitted you wanted a son, but would have taken precautions against ever having one if I'd asked. You observed, quite correctly, that pregnancy and labor are the woman's risk. You allowed me to reach my own conclusion whether the risk was worth taking."

"You made the choice I hoped you would, though. I admire your courage, Richelle."

"And I've always admired yours, sir. After all, you're the one who knowingly married Richelle Nash—accused murderess from the wild and woolly frontier."

"You know, it's really quite remarkable that I did that. I've always been known for a cool head and rational judgment. Whatever could I have been thinking?"

She folded her arms. "That I'm very much like you, Morgan."

"Ha! You're a Colonial!" he scoffed.

"An
American
," she corrected. "By accident of birth. My blood's as English as yours."

His expression grew stern. "You're far too outspoken for a female."

"And you need to match wits with someone of intelligence," she shot back.

"Absolutely brazen in your displays of affection."

She gave him a sultry look. "Are you saying that's a flaw, Sir Lion?"

"Not as long as I'm the sole recipient of those displays. The elders expect a certain decorum from the mayor. It would help if my wife maintained a bit more reserve."

They glared at each until they both burst into rollicking laughter. Morgan sobered first. "Please come here a moment, Richelle."