Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine (35 page)

She knew the vicar had finished with his prayers and the rest had echoed his amen. But she had no inclination to raise her head. Let them wonder, if they would. She felt a welling up inside her, a force so strong she could not be drawn away from this encounter with the Almighty.

I have not been the person I should. I have remained determined to live life utterly on my own. Perhaps love has been offered me in the past. But I was too proud and too defensive to see it. Perhaps thou hast sought me out. Perhaps thou mightest even have protected me when I was a hurt and frightened child. But I would neither heed nor accept thy presence. Yet I do so now. I ask, please guide me and share with me the wisdom and the comfort that is thine alone to offer. If I am to be on my own for the rest of my days, lost from the world I know and the man I have come to love, let me draw ever nearer to thee. Let me learn to call thee friend
.

It was not seemly to cry at the dinner table, but the burning sensation behind her eyes was such that she was forced to raise one hand and press hard against them. Yet it was not from sorrow. Instead, her heart seemed afire. There was such great strength to the moment now. Such a sense of love, yes, and
welcome
.

Lillian knew the moment was ended then. She could open her eyes and raise her head because she felt an absolute certainty that there would be many more such moments to come.

The vicar responded to her upraised head with an almost imperceptible smile, then turned his attention to where Franklin Harrow was standing to carve the turkey at the end of the table. “Are you still intent upon making the move to Boston next spring?”

“The new house should be ready by the time the thaws arrive that far north,” Franklin confirmed.

“What about next year’s planting and harvest?”

“We have two excellent overseers, men I would trust with my life.”

“You will be sorely missed here,” the vicar said.

“We shall be back from time to time, of that you can rest assured.”

“It shall not be the same, as you well know.”

From his place alongside the vicar, Reginald held Lillian with his gaze. She knew he was wondering about her, and she gave a hint of a nod.

Sylvia Harrow interjected, “Unless we can find a means of entering Boston’s social world, I fear my dear husband might insist upon a more permanent return.”

“That would put an end to our commercial quest,” Franklin responded. “My goal has been to move onward from Boston to Europe, becoming a supplier of hardwoods from our forests and coal from our hills.”

“But Franklin is a man who loves good company and warm welcomes,” his wife amplified, as seemed to be her pattern. “Which we have yet to find in Boston.”

Lillian was struck with an idea. Before she had time to consider it, she said, “Sir, what you said earlier about a title perhaps helping your entry into society. Is that true?”

“There is no ‘perhaps’ about it,” he replied instantly. “They might be firmly bound to the rest of America, but they also lay claim to British aristocracy. And take great pride in the fact.”

She hesitated only a moment further. It was a logical move. Everyone from the ship’s captain to these newfound friends gathered about this table had warned her that titles held no value in the interior of the country. And other than her title, what else did she hold of value?

Lillian sensed she had an opportunity here to set aside both the source of scandals and many of her past falsehoods. This act seemed a natural response to her prayer.

She drew the table back into focus. “Sir, I have a title you might secure. That is, if you truly think it might be of some use to you and your family.”

The table fell to utter silence. Franklin Harrow’s mouth worked a moment to form the words. “Please, I don’t understand—”

“I am the Dowager Countess Lillian Houghton, widow of Grantlyn Houghton, fifth lord of Wantage and one-time equerry to His Royal Highness, the former Prince Regent and now King George the Fourth.”

Franklin had gone absolutely still, his fork frozen in place.

“At the end of his life, my late husband made a series of disastrous business decisions which left me with ruinous debts. I am here to attempt to begin anew and carve out a place for my son and myself.” She opened her hands. “The titles reside with me. I must warn you, sir, that a scandal now envelopes my reputation. But this does not affect my titles, unless the king himself withdraws them. Until that time, I have every right to do with them as I please. Were I to sell them, the scandal would not pass to you. It is a personal matter and would not affect your own station.”

“Y-you would do this?” He stared down the long table to where his wife sat, equally stunned. “You would sell us your titles?”

“They shall do me little good, particularly with the risk of scandal, as I said.”

“Wh-what do you wish in return?”

No one touched their food while she mulled this over. Lillian decided, “I should ask that you pay off the portion of my late husband’s debts so that I might retain ownership of my London townhouse. It would not be for me. I have no interest in ever living in England again. But I would like my son to have this possibility, if he so wished. Until then we could rent it out and apply the income to his future. I would also ask for a sum of money sufficient to buy land here in America.”

It was Sylvia Harrow who asked, “What are the legal requirements?”

“Any transfer of titles must be approved by the royal equerry. With England’s current king, this can be assured with a proper gift.”

“You mean I am to bribe the king?” Franklin had regained his equanimity, and there were some smiles around the table at his small jest.

“You are to offer the gift to his aide,” Lillian corrected carefully. “This regime is constantly in debt. The king gambles, you see. The Parliament has refused to meet his personal expenses. The royal household is strapped for cash. All this works in your favor.”

“This practice, it’s been done before?”

“Rest assured, sir, in recent years any number of highborn families have been brought to penury. The disastrous harvests have beggared many. They have sold their titles in an attempt to keep their land. In my case, this is not possible. But if I can at least offer my son a London residence and grant myself new land free of debt, then it is a worthy exchange. That is, if you are interested.”

“Am I interested?” Franklin clapped his hands to his lap. “Am I interested? Why, I would call your arrival in this house a godsend, my lady.”

Lillian risked a glance across the table. Reginald observed her with equal measures of joy and pain. She forced herself to turn away and rose from her chair to meet Franklin Harrow’s approach. Even in the midst of such commotion, Reginald managed to share her innermost feelings. Even now, as the hour of their final separation approached.

“It is my habit to seal such agreements with the shaking of hands,” their host said. “I hope you will not think me forward if I ask this of you, my lady.”

Despite the moment’s deep distress, she felt as right about this as anything she had ever done. She offered Franklin Harrow her hand and said, “Perhaps you should address me simply as Mrs. Houghton.”

Chapter 27

Lillian’s offer dismissed any prospect of her singing that evening. She thought Abe might be somewhat disappointed, but she was grateful for the reprieve. The longer the evening wore on, the more despondent she became. Sylvia and Franklin Harrow continued to query her about the title, its heritage, and the royal court. She did not object. At least she was saved from mulling over worries for which she had no answers.

The next morning, though it was the Sabbath, was hardly different. Abigail had sought out the vicar before he had departed the previous evening and spoken to him about Lillian’s singing ability. As soon as Lillian was awake and had taken her morning tea, she found herself in the back room practicing a new hymn with Abe. Once again, remaining active held her only sense of solace. As Abe began the song’s introduction, Sylvia appeared in the doorway. A few minutes later, Sylvia was joined by her husband, as well as Erica and Abigail. Reginald was nowhere to be seen.

Sylvia’s stiff manner evaporated as the music filled the room. “That is most beautiful,” she commented when the practice was over. “Mr. Langston should have been here to hear it.”

“The gentleman decided to take one of my horses for an early morning run,” Franklin explained.

Lillian lowered her gaze so that none could see her sorrow. Reginald was no doubt aware of the permanence of their coming farewell. He was easing his way into it. As should she.

Midway on the long ride to the town and church, a horse and rider cantered up alongside their carriage. Reginald tipped his hat to one and all, then fell in behind without once meeting Lillian’s eye. As they disembarked in the church forecourt and started up the walk, Reginald was intently conversing with an iron-jawed gentleman burned dark by the sun and a second burly man in a wide-brimmed leather hat. Lillian could not help but inquire, “Who, may I ask, is Reginald speaking with there?”

“The slender fellow is one of my overseers. A most capable gentleman.”

She felt her host’s hand grip her elbow and guide her forward. “And the other man?”

“Ah, that would be the sheriff of Farmington. A friend of my overseer, by all accounts.” He led her up the church’s front stairs. “Of course you remember the good reverend.”

The vicar greeted everyone, then said to Lillian, “Thank you for your willingness to participate in our service this morning. You are ready?”

“I know the song,” she confirmed. “But I fear . . .” She could not finish.

In his Sunday robes, the man looked even larger than in his suit the previous evening. Yet his jollity was now replaced with a dignified aura. “Then we shall join together in asking the Lord to aid you in accomplishing what none of us can do alone.”

“Please, Reverend Stout, I’m not sure what you mean.”

The vicar replied simply, “What all of us should be at the altar. An example, a beacon, a worthy servant.” He turned to the next arrivals.

As Lillian entered the pew, Reginald hastened up the aisle and seated himself on Franklin’s other side. She quailed at the thought of rising and stepping forward and facing this packed chamber. And Reginald. She glanced over at him. He still did not meet her eye.

The vicar pronounced the opening benediction, led the congregation through a first hymn, and then said, “We have with us this day travelers from afar, guests in the home of our friends and church elder, Franklin and Sylvia Harrow. Two of their guests have kindly agreed to grace us with song. I could not think of a more appropriate message for us to hear than the words of this next hymn. For we are, all of us, travelers upon this weary road of life.”

The vicar motioned the two forward.

Lillian followed Abe around the altar. He seated himself at the organ, and she took up a station where she could both see the music on the stand and watch his lead. Thankfully, now that she was standing and facing the church, there was a sense of peace and focus on the task at hand. The nervousness she felt was merely a part of the moment’s intensity.

Reginald continued to examine the hands in his lap and not look up at her, yet even so she felt a small thrill. Her talents and experience were finally being put to a worthy use. Not even her worries over Reginald and the lonely days ahead could erase this sense of finding purpose for her gift.

Abe watched for her signal. When she nodded, he played the introduction he had rehearsed. She sang,

“Our God, our help in ages past,

Our hope for years to come,

Our shelter from the stormy blast,

And our eternal home.”

Reginald had lifted his gaze. They locked eyes, and it was hard for Lillian to tear herself away long enough to find her place in the song. There was such tenderness in his gaze, such yearning. And such grief. She scarcely heard herself sing.

“Before the hills in order stood,

Or earth received her frame,

From everlasting Thou art God,

To endless years the same.”

She lifted her voice to soar, singing now not to the rafters nor to the congregation, but to her Lord. Life may dictate that she and Reginald would remain apart. God in His infinite wisdom knew what was best for both of them. Yet she would love this man with her dying breath.

“Our God, our help in ages past,

Our hope for years to come,

Be Thou our guard while troubles last,

And our eternal home.”

Their departure from the Harrow manor was put off a day. Early Monday, Franklin Harrow brought his solicitor up from Farmington. Together they drew up the appropriate papers. Any remaining hesitations the Harrows might have felt about Lillian’s offer were dissolved by her insistence that no payment be made until the titles were officially transferred. Letters of introduction to Lavinia and Samuel Aldridge were prepared with requests for their help. The solicitor’s eager aide was thrilled beyond words to find himself appointed emissary. The young man was sent off that very day upon Franklin’s fastest steed, aimed for the New York ports and the first clipper leaving for England.