Gideon sat at the kitchen table while Mrs. Sparrow bustled about, making tea. He wasn't sure how he'd come to be here. He had some vague memory of her helping him to his feet after his confession and leading him down to the kitchen. He was still shaken from his discovery. For his father to have spent most of the Chesterton fortune on that memorial, was inconceivable.
"Here we are." A porcelain cup and saucer were placed before him as the widow took her seat at his side. "I wish we had some bread and butter to go with it but Kitty hasn't had time to bake any."
"Thank you." He reached for the cup and took a hesitant sip.
"A nice hot cup of tea can cure a thousand ills." She smiled, sipping from her own cup.
He set the cup back in the saucer and slowly turned it in place. It did help him find some balance. But the discovery of his father's devotion haunted him. He saw again that cave filled to the brim with treasures, both the purely nostalgic and the extremely valuable. How could Father have spent all that money on something so sentimental? It was so completely out of character. His strict, overbaring father had built a shrine to memorialize a son he rarely ever interacted with. It was simply unfathomable.
"Would you like to talk about it?" She asked quietly.
Gideon shook his head slowly. He didn't want to discuss it. He didn't even want to think about it. He'd had no inkling of his father's sentimental nature. That had been well hidden in life. If only Father could have found some means of expressing those sentiments during their time together. Now it was too late. There were fences that could never be mended and Gideon was left with only regrets.
"My father always said, 'We can't stay bound to the past. We have to forge our own future.'" Her smile took on a nostalgic glow as she relived fond memories.
Gideon gratefully accepted the olive branch she offered. He realized she was trying to distract him from his dismay.
"He must have been a very innovative, forward thinking gentleman."
She nodded, smiling fondly, caught up in her own memories.
"He was. He loved tinkering with just about any contrivance. He spent hours down in his workshop constantly inventing and building devices intended to make our lives easier."
Gideon hesitantly returned her smile, although his was tinged with sorrow.
"I was often his assistant in the shop," she chuckled softly. "Four sons and I was the one who worked with Papa. He tried to teach me the workings of his machines, but I could never seem to grasp the concept."
"A very modern thinking gentleman, to teach a daughter such technical matters."
He took another sip of his tea and discovered he was slowly recovering his equanimity.
"I was the oldest." She shrugged in a nonchalant manner, and then sadness darkened her round features. Her eyes remained focused on the teacup as she set the cup back into its saucer. "He died when I was eighteen."
"A very young age to lose one's parent." He commiserated.
She nodded with a regretful sigh and several locks hair slid down over her face. Absently, she brushed at the wayward curls. He watched the move with renewed interest. It was an endearing habit. For the first time, he noticed that her glorious copper hair was braided in one long plait down her back. The housedress she wore was wrinkled and misshapen. No doubt she had been in bed. It was very late. And here she sat, selflessly offering her company, her compassion.
Humbled, he reached out and covered her small hand with his. She stared down at their joined hands for a moment and he watched her closely as she slowly lifted her gaze to meet his own. There was sadness still in those warm brown depths, but there was also something else. Loss and loneliness and yet strength. She had faced the same torment and weathered the storm. He felt a closeness with her that he had never experienced before.
A spark of arousal began to smolder in his core. He would never know which one of them moved first, but slowly they both leaned closer until their lips met. At first the kiss was soft, sweet and comforting. A sharing of two souls offering and receiving comfort from each other. But it slowly began to deepen as ardor crept over them both.
Gideon reached for her waist as he shoved his chair back and got to his feet. She also moved to stand, her arms sliding up to wrap around his neck as she strove to close the gap between them. He had to bend slightly to accommodate their difference in height, even as she leaned into him, raising up on her toes. He was aware of all this peripherally but his focus was on the kiss. The feel of her lips, soft and full as she yielded to his passionate assault. The warm, fresh lavender scent of her delicate skin filled his head. He licked the seam of her lips and she opened for him like a flower to the sun. He dove in and found her tongue, delighting in her skill as she dueled with him. It was a heady feeling. He wanted more.
His hands roamed over her rounded curves, pressing her into the cradle of his thighs. He rocked against her, delighting in the feel of her softness. She was more than willing, leaning into his strength. A contented sigh passed her lips as he slid his mouth along her jaw, to nibble at her neck.
He was on fire. His need for this woman was blazing through him and he was desperate to bring her level of excitement up to meet his own. He clenched his hands over her buttocks and squeezed. Her squeak of surprise brought a pleased grin to his lips as he continued to kiss her throat. He felt her shift, her thighs moving restlessly. The musky odor of her desire filled his head with scintillating ideas. He wanted her. But he knew he couldn't simply take. She needed to know that she was fully in control here. His body protested but his mind refused to yield.
Gently he released her from his embrace. He placed his hands on her shouders and urged her back, setting her at a short distance. They were both panting heavily. The heat they had generated with their passion still blazed. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with passion and he groaned, castigating himself for a sentimental fool. Obviously she was as lost to their mutual desire as he was. He was a fool to refuse to finish what they both wanted. But he was determined to give her the option. He couldn't accept her passion unless she agreed with the consequences. He stared into her eyes, parting his lips to speak her name, but then a sheepish grin tugged at his cheeks as he realized he didn't know what to call her.
"I need to ask you something very important."
He watched her struggle with the fog of passion, trying to make sense of what he said. Disappointment cooled some of her ardor and her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment. Then with a deep sigh, she shifted her shoulders as if bracing herself and opened her eyes.
Her gaze was direct, as she demanded, "Ask it."
"What is your Christian name?"
Sudden, startled laughter erupted from her and she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her amusement. He grinned, enjoying her hilarity. It took her several moments to regain control of herself but she continued to smile as she answered.
"I was christened Bathsheba Rose Ellen Dunmore." A little giggle crept out.
No doubt she was amused by the surprised look on his face as he processed what she'd told him.
"Really?" He watched her nod soberly, even as her eyes twinkled with continued mirth.
"My mother was very fond of choosing names by randomly flipping open the family bible to a page and reading the first passage she saw."
"And are you actually called Bathsheba?" He widened his eyes in mock-horror.
"No," she chuckled. "Papa said it was too much of a mouthful for him to handle. He dubbed me Sheila instead."
"Thank goodness for your father's sensibility." He sighed with exaggerated relief, causing her to giggle once more. "And your brothers? What are they called?"
"Oh, they were fortunate. Mother chose their names from the songs of the apostles." She began counting them off on her fingers. "Michael is the oldest after me. Gabriel is next. Then there are the twins, Daniel and Andrew." She giggled again and at his confused look she added, "Mother often gets confused between the twins so they are often referred to conjointly as 'Dandrew'."
He chuckled softly, but then asked curiously, "And they don't object to sharing the moniker?"
"They are born imps and seem to revel in causing mayhem." She answered with a fond smile. "Not that they are mean-spirited, simply impulsive and far too inquisitive at times."
"Typical young boys then." He savored the momentary humor a little longer.
She really was the woman for him. Even in the face of his shock and distress, she found a way to cheer him and shake him from his trauma. He was even more determined to prove that she would be his perfect life-partner. He slid his hands from her shoulders to cup her face lovingly. Tipping forward, he pressed his forehead to hers as he searched for the words to explain.
"I would still like to court you."
Her mirth fell away and she opened her mouth to protest but he quickly interrupted.
"I know you said you don't wish to marry again. I don't want to pressure you into something you might regret, but I wouldn't feel right, taking you to my bed without some sort of promise between us." He waited quietly, patiently as she pondered his words.
Her eyes darted to the floor for a moment before returning steadfastly to meet his own.
"I would be happy to be your mistress, but I cannot be your wife." She insisted quietly.
Gideon was surprised. He had not even considered her as his mistress.
"Why?" he asked softly, caressing her shoulders as he watched her face darken with sorrow.
She released her hold on him and stepped back, beyond his reach. Reluctantly he allowed her the space. Apparently, what she wanted to say was very important.
"I am barren." She announced suddenly, watching him closely, waiting. She probably expected him to be shocked and voice some kind of denial. And he was surprised, but more confused really.
"I see." He drawled. "But why would that stop you from accepting my proposal?"
Her jaw dropped and she stared back at him in blatant shock. Obviously she had expected a completely different reaction.
"I can't give you an heir. Isn't that what most men want? Isn't it imperative to have a son to carry on the line of succession?"
"Perhaps, but how do you know that you can't produce an heir?"
"I," she swallowed hard, closing her eyes as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. "I haven't had a flow since I was a young girl."
He felt a pang of regret, but it paled in comparison with her obvious pain. He wanted to soothe her, reassure her that being unable to produce a child did not make her any less a woman. She was all that was kind and sweet and compassionate and he desperately needed to convince her of that. But he was at a loss to know how. Before he could think what to say she continued.
"I was always a bit of a hoyden growing up. And my parents allowed it, up until shortly after I began my menses. I tried to climb one of the old oaks. A weak branch broke out from under me and I fell."
He felt his heart leap with frightened concern, but he remained silent as she went on.
"I bled heavily. Mother was frantic. I was bedridden for weeks. I have never bled since." She opened her eyes then, gazing intently into his own. "So now you see why we can never marry."
Slowly he shook his head in denial of her assertion.
"You're wrong, Sheila. We can and will marry."
Her eyes widened with shock and denial. She was so convinced that her barren state made her unworthy of his consideration. He had to convince her somehow.
"But, don't you want children? Don'tyou need an heir to continue the line?"
"I already have two heirs." He reminded her quietly.
"Yes, but they are not your issue."
He hesitated for an instant. Then he admitted, "Roddy isn't."
She frowned, seeming even more confused. He allowed her time to process his confession. She was an intelligent woman. It would only take a moment's contemplation to arrive at the proper conclusion.
"Are you telling me that Mary is not your sister?"
He wanted to smile with pride at her quick deduction, but the topic was too serious. After all he was trusting her with a secret that could destroy an innocent little girl's future.
"Mary is my daughter."