Call Down the Moon (34 page)
“How did you ever become so wise?” he said, pressing his mouth to her forehead. “Meggie, my blessing from God.”
“We have both been blessed by God,” she said. “I think that was His great lesson to me, that faith must guide us, faith and trust that He gives us what we need. It is up to us to open our arms to His gifts and His grace. I forgot that yesterday when I left London.”
“Forgive me, my love,” he said, running his hands over his face. “Forgive me for that, for all manner of things, but at this moment forgive me for being such a pathetic excuse for a man. I came to try to make things right between us, and all I seem to be able to do is show you what a weak character I really am.”
“No, Hugo. There is nothing weak about you—you are fine and strong, a survivor despite the difficulties of your childhood. I do think you are too harsh on yourself.”
He shook his head against hers. “Look what I’ve done to you, you, who had a far more difficult childhood. I saddled you with a marriage contracted under pretense, swore that I loved you before I actually did, I lied to you about your inheritance. I pretended complete innocence about it when Gostrain came calling—when it was Gostrain whom I inadvertently heard talking about the inheritance in his office when he was looking for the missing heir. That was what led me to you. I already knew your name and a few details of your life from Sister Agnes, enough to make me certain you were the person he sought.” He sighed heavily. “I’m sure I’ve left out a large number of my other sins, but no matter just now. You have no reason to forgive me for anything, and yet you think I’m being harsh on myself. My generous Meggie.
Meggie hiccupped against his neck, her heart bursting with love for him. “I have no reason not to forgive you,” she said, struggling for coherent speech herself and not making a very good job of it. “I have every reason to ask for your own forgiveness.”
“My
forgiveness?” he said, raising his head with a choked attempt at a laugh. “Pray tell, my love. What do you imagine I have to forgive you for?”
Meggie sucked in a deep breath and summoned up every last ounce of courage she had. “I haven’t told you the truth about me. About a part of me.” She scrunched up her face and forced the words out. “About my aberration.”
He burst into laughter so unrestrained that Meggie did have to wonder if he was in his right mind. His entire body shook with hilarity. “Do—do you mean about your … about your B.G.?” he gasped, wiping at his tears, this time ones of laughter.
Meggie stared at him, appalled. How could he possibly know about it—unless … unless Ottoline and Dorelia had told him? Who else used that expression?
She saw it all in a flash, Hugo going back to Lyden to find her, the sisters spilling the truth in a misguided attempt to smooth things over. “Oh, those wicked, wicked aunties—they
did
tell you,” she said accusingly. “I really will murder them!”
“What, murder those adorable aunties? Over my dead body,” he said, taking her face between his hands. “We need them, Meggie. Or at least, we will if you agree to come back to me. Will you, sweetheart? Will you come home?”
“I was never
not
coming home, I only needed some time with Sister Agnes to clear my thoughts and gain some perspective.”
He smiled. “Do you mean I really didn’t have to come chasing after you in a horrific panic that I’d lost you forever?”
“No, but I’m, amazed you did after what the aunties told you about me. Are you
sure
you really don’t mind about my being a freak?” she said, smiling back at him.
“A freak? Heavens, no. Look what good use you’ve already put your talents to, uncovering Foxlane’s nefarious deeds and saving us two hundred thousand pounds in the bargain. I call that a boon. Anyway, since I understand from the aunties that you find me entirely inscrutable, why should I have anything to fear from your gift?”
“I do love you,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I will love you forever. And yes, I will come home.”
“‘Flesh of flesh, bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe,’” he murmured against her cheek.
“John Milton,
Paradise Lost,”
she said happily, reaching up to kiss him.
He returned her kiss in full measure, and Meggie could feel all the love in his heart pouring into hers, filling her, completing her, making her finally whole. He loved her just as she was, just as God had made her, complete with strengths and flaws, and she loved him in the same way.
God really had blessed them with each other.
“Come, sweetheart,” he said when he eventually stopped kissing her. “Let’s you, Hadrian, and I go home. I promised the aunties that I’d return you safe and sound.”
He stood, reaching down a hand to help her up, then whistled for Hadrian, who had taken up a watchful position under a nearby gorse bush. Hadrian immediately jumped to his feet and padded over to Hugo’s side as if he’d always belonged there.
Meggie smiled to herself. More than one issue had been resolved that day.
“By the by,” Hugo said casually, his arm wrapped around her waist, “I was thinking … between your B.G. and the aunties’, we really could make a killing on the ‘Change, don’t you think?”
“Hugo!” Meggie said, looking over at him in mock horror.
He laughed. “Don’t worry, my love, my gambling days really are over. You are the rest and the best of my life…”
Thanks go to a myriad of people who aided and abetted during the course of this book:
In Suffolk, England, thanks to Sarah and Roger Pinfold, John and Doris Fulford, and in particular, to Mandy Radice who many years ago first introduced me to Woodbridge and the glorious coastal waters. Also thanks to Tom and Jill Standon, for allowing me to use their home in Orford as my base for the two happy months that I spent researching. I would be amiss if I didn’t mention Peter Hill of the Lighthouse Restaurant in Aldeburgh who provided true delight and a deep love for Suffolk through brilliant food and company.
Back at home, thanks as always to Jan Hiland, Francie Stark, and my husband Bruce for patiently reading mountains of manuscript and commenting vociferously.
Thanks to Marshelle Joseph, less formally known to me as Tis, who kept my body upright and in working order when I was ready to retire it to the glue factory. She was—is—a true saving grace.
Finally, thanks to the most wonderful and inspirational Clarissa Pinkola Estes who not only wrote the brilliant book
Women Who Run with the Wolves
, but who first taught me how to howl without reservation. I haven’t stopped since. This book owes much to her insights.
To you, the readers, I love to hear your comments. Please visit my web page and blog at
katherinekingsley.com
and my Facebook page under
Katherine Kingsley
. Share your thoughts, read some of the background on the books, join in the ongoing adventure!
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