Cecilia said as she looked at her son, “I think he couldn’t bear to end the legacy of mistrust. It was such a part of him, after a while, perhaps it was the main part, the only part he understood and accepted. It made him what he was, I suppose. And to be shown wrong in front of his son, I suppose it was too much for him. I felt sorry for him for a little while. Then I came to hate him and your father, Frederic. Oh, I’m sorry. It’s North. I shall have to adjust my thinking. During the past twenty years, you’ve always been Frederic to me, always. Oh, dear.” She lowered her face into her hands and began to cry.
Marie gave her brother a vicious look, then pulled her mother into her arms. She patted her mother’s shoulder, light little taps that brought Cecilia’s head back up. She sniffed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—”
North rose and walked to her. He held out his hand. To his surprise, his sister pushed his hand away. She rose, standing in front of their mother, and then pushed at his chest. She looked fierce and strangely confused and quite ready to kill him to protect her mother.
“No, Marie,” Cecilia Nightingale said very calmly, drawing her daughter’s hand away. “No, little love. It’s not North’s fault. Look at me, that’s right. I never lie to you, you know that, don’t you? Of course you do. It’s not his fault. Do you understand?”
Marie looked perplexed, very worried, really, then suddenly she turned away and sat down, her hands in her lap, her eyes on her hands.
“What’s wrong with her?” North said.
“When she was born, the local doctor was nowhere to be found. The midwife, an old, half-blind woman, did her best, but she hurt Marie’s head. Marie was damaged. She is simple, North, but ever so sweet and, as you just saw, very protective of me. All of this is strange to her, indeed, she doesn’t really understand what is happening. Actually, I believe that is the second reason your grandfather didn’t want to recognize her. She was defective, and you weren’t. You were the Nightingale heir. You were whole. She would have just been an embarrassment to him. Also, if your father had ever seen her, he would have known your grandfather had lied to him. Perhaps your grandfather would have lost him. I don’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter by then. Maybe your father would have detested her for her simpleness. They’re dead so we’ll never know the truth.”
“That god-awful bastard,” North said. “Oh Jesus, and now I’ve frightened her as well.” He dropped to his haunches in front of his sister. Very slowly, very gently, he laid his hand atop her folded ones. “Marie,” he said. “Won’t you look at me??
?
Slowly she raised her head and he stared into his own dark eyes, his nose that was sculpted more delicately, his firm jaw that was softer and more rounded. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re my sister and you’re beautiful.”
She cocked her head to one side, as if considering what he’d said, then, suddenly, without warning, she smiled, a wide dazzling smile that made North suck in his breath.
Cecilia said quietly, “No man has ever before told her that. She does know the word, as you can see. Actually, she’s learned a lot. I’m very proud of her.”
North remained on his knees, holding his sister’s hands, and said, looking up at his mother, “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? It’s been nearly two years since my father died. Why didn’t you come?”
“I had no idea that you were any different. When no money came I just assumed that you felt as your father had. I knew they began to fill you with hate from the moment you came to Mount Hawke. Your grandfather didn’t die until you were nearly twelve. I didn’t know until Coombe told me that you’d run away and joined the army.”
“I hated both my grandfather and my father,” North said simply. “I couldn’t bear my father’s venom, his bitterness, his rages. It is odd, though. When I was nineteen, he bought my commission. I became a captain, eventually a major. I sold out just last July. I never wrote to him, never thanked him, never acknowledged what he’d done.”
Caroline said loudly, “North, you know the man who is coming to restore all the paintings? I shall write him today and ask for his recommendation for the most prominent portrait painter in London so that your mother’s portrait can be done quickly. Yes, I’ll do that right now.” She jumped to her feet, then stopped suddenly at North’s burst of laughter. He rose and walked leisurely to her. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her against him. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Caroline Nightingale, come and sit down. Now that Mother and Marie are here, we have all the time in the world.”
“North, can she be my mother too?”
“I don’t know. Let’s ask her.” The two of them turned to face Cecilia Nightingale.
Her face was careworn; there were deep lines about her eyes and mouth. There were streaks of gray in her light brown hair. Then, quite suddenly, she smiled, a smile as beautiful as her daughter’s. She looked young again and happy.
“Can she, Mother? Can you accept another daughter? I must warn you that she can occasionally get herself into devilish fixes, but she makes me laugh and she loves me.”
Cecilia said, “I cannot imagine a woman not loving you. And to hear you laugh, North—ah, once your father laughed, but it didn’t last long. Now I’m being foolish. Another daughter. It is a wonderful notion. And soon I will be a grandmother. But I must ask you, Freder—North. What is it you wish to do?”
“I want you to live here at Mount Hawke because it is your home. I want you and Marie to be a part of this family again. I want my mother back.”
Marie sat on the blanket surrounded by the three babes in front of the drawing-room fireplace. She was holding Eleanor, then tossing her very carefully into the air, cooing to her, shrieking with laughter when the baby yelled happily.
Cecilia said, “Marie adores the babes and she is so careful with them.”
“Yes, she is,” Miss Mary Patricia said as she set another stitch in a small woolen shirt for Little North. “I hadn’t believed his lordship could be happier than he was with Miss Caroline, but he is, my lady, now that you’re here. He is lit up with happiness. Mr. Tregeagle told me once that his lordship wasn’t meant for laughter and jests, that he was a Nightingale man and he was to brood and think deeply and never, never smile immoderately.”
Cecilia laughed and clapped her hands, making Marie turn quickly. “No, no, love, I was just enjoying Miss Mary Patricia’s conversation. Ah, here you are, Caroline. You’re looking very well, my dear. How do you feel?”
“Wonderful, ma’am. Did you know that our three male martinets knew you were still alive, or at least they assumed you were? Evidently North’s grandfather told them and gave them strict orders never to tell North. He was to grow up believing you were dead.”
“And a harlot and slut and goodness knows what else,” Cecilia said, the bitterness faded now, and soon it just might be gone altogether.
“True. Actually the three martinets believed you had betrayed North’s father. Goodness, you wouldn’t believe how they ran Mount Hawke.”
Miss Mary Patricia chuckled as she smoothed out Little North’s shirt on her lap. “You should have seen the look on their collective faces when three pregnant girls arrived on Mount Hawke’s doorstep the day after Miss Caroline and his lordship were married.”