Page 87 of The Lovers
Elise tried to focus on the words of the reverend, but her mind wandered as she gazed around the beautiful church. Bright winter sunshine filtered through the stained-glass windows behind the altar, and rays of colored light streamed down, casting colorful shadows on the stone floor. The voice of the reverend seemed to carry all the way to the vaulted ceiling, traveling the length of the nearly empty church and disturbing the unnatural hush.
Lord and Lady Fillmore stood next to Edward and Elise, having been invited by Edward to act as godparents to little Charles Edward. Lady Fillmore was pleasant enough and expressed an interest in the baby and Elise’s health post-delivery, but Phineas Fillmore barely glanced at her, his eyes searching the church instead, as if he expected an ambush at any moment. Elise met the couple briefly at the wedding feast, but she hadn’t had an opportunity then to speak with them or observe them. She had been too absorbed by her own worries and expectations. Now that she had nothing to do but stand quietly, Elise studied the people who would be her son’s godparents. She wasn’t sure why, but she feared Lord Fillmore. His shifty eyes and prizefighter physique put her on guard. He held a noble title and dressed like a gentleman, but Elise knew a thug when she saw one. Beneath the elaborate wig and richly embroidered coat was not a man of refinement.
Elise turned her attention to Lady Fillmore. She was a few years older than Elise and very beautiful, with tresses of honey-blonde hair and wide blue eyes that constantly strayed to herhusband, their expression watchful and at times even fearful. What bound Edward to this coarse man, and why did he choose him to be their son’s godfather? Elise hoped that they wouldn’t stay long and would return to Oxford—where the court had moved in September after cases of plague were reported in Salisbury—to the side of their king.
It was bitterly cold when they stepped out of the church. An icy wind picked up and blew with gale-like force off the North Sea. Shutters banged on houses, and brown, shriveled leaves cascaded from trees before being blown away like specs of dust. Elise held Charles close and covered his face with her cloak to keep the chill wind from freezing his little face. Her own face felt numb with cold, and tears formed in her eyes from the force of the wind. Several carriages waited outside, ready to take everyone back to the house, where a christening luncheon would be served. Elise looked around as she was handed into the waiting carriage, hoping for a glimpse of James, but he wasn’t there. Edward might fly into a rage if he spotted him, so James wisely stayed away. She wondered where he’d taken Mercy. What a shame it was that Edward was so rigid that he had no desire to even meet his granddaughter. Surely, he wouldn’t even care if Molly and her family perished. They were of no interest to him.
As the carriage drew up to the manor, Elise squared her shoulders against the gale and followed Edward into the house, where she reluctantly surrendered Charles to Peg. Mistress Benford had been cooking and baking since the previous day, and a mouthwatering aroma permeated the first floor. Lord Fillmore rubbed his hands together in anticipation, ready to enjoy a hearty meal and Edward’s fine claret. Elise wished that she could escape directly after luncheon, but it was her duty to play hostess and look after Lady Fillmore, who’d be left to her own devices as soon as the men’s drinking turned serious. It would be a long afternoon, particularly since all Elise wished for was to be alone with her lovely boy. She pasted on a smile and invited their guests into the dining room.
SIXTY-FIVE
DECEMBER 2013
London, England
Quinn sat across from Rhys in his office. He was going over some notes, so she forced her face into an expression of complacency as she looked at him. A part of her wished to confront him about Sylvia and everything Quinn had learned over the past weeks, but common sense told her to remain quiet. There was nothing to gain by confronting Rhys. Gabe was right: This wasn’t her fight. Sylvia had made her choice, and Quinn had to respect that. But her anger was too close to the surface, and Quinn was afraid it would boil over if she remained in his presence.
“So, the child was born in Southwold, Suffolk, and was baptized in St. Edmund’s Church on December fourteenth. This explains why we never found any reference to him in the London archives,” Rhys said with an air of great satisfaction. That was one mystery solved, as far as he was concerned. Rhys pushed aside his papers and looked at her, his expression thoughtful. “But what happened to him? There is no trace of this boy anywhere. We know when he was born. We know his name. And we know who his parents were, but there’s no record of this child anywhere after the baptism.”
“I don’t know,” Quinn replied. The logical answer would be that the child died in infancy, and his death was never recorded, but Quinn hoped that wasn’t so. She saw the baby in her visions, and he was as sweet and precious as only a newborn could be. To think that little Charles died shortly after the birth left Quinnfeeling sad and weepy. Perhaps she would learn something of him once she got to the end of Elise’s story. Quinn still had no idea when Elise actually died, or how, but the skeleton had been that of a young woman, and it stood to reason that Elise had only a few years left to live. Quinn almost wished that she could stop herself from finding out. She’d grown fond of Elise and hated to see her suffer. Elise was headstrong, and probably too naïve in some instances, but she was a young, vulnerable girl who’d been an innocent pawn in the game grown men played. Quinn sighed.
“You care what happened to her, don’t you?” Rhys asked as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “She’s long gone, Quinn. Her story ended many years ago. Don’t take it to heart. The past is the past.”
“Is it?” Quinn asked pointedly. “Sometimes the past has a way of catching up with you.”
Rhys leaned back forward and gave her a hard look. “Are you referring to anything in particular?”
“I am, actually. Perhaps you haven’t given it a thought since, but thirty-one years ago, you went to a Christmas party at the home of a friend. There was a girl…” Quinn let the sentence trail off, eager to see Rhys’s reaction. She was gratified to see him go pale as his eyes widened in shock. She’d hit a nerve.
“How do you know about that?” he breathed, eyeing her with suspicion born of fear.
“That doesn’t matter. Tell me, Rhys, was that the only time you raped someone?”
She hadn’t meant to let that slip out, but now that the words were out, she was glad. She needed to know. She couldn’t continue working with Rhys with this two-thousand-pound elephant casually lounging between them. He seemed like a good, kindman, but there was another side to him, and she needed to expose it, at least to herself.
Rhys got to his feet and turned his back to her, staring out the window at the gray London morning. Somewhere below, people went about their business, and cars moved at a glacial pace down the congested street. The London Eye stood still, not yet open to the public for the day. It was like any other weekday morning, except that it wasn’t. Rhys finally turned around. His face was white, his eyes shadowed by either grief or guilt, Quinn couldn’t quite tell. She thought he might lash out at her, accuse her of slander or deny it all, but Rhys simply nodded as if acknowledging her question.
“Quinn, I don’t know what your connection is to what happened that night, but I have lived with what we did these past three decades. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of that girl. Robert made me swear not to say anything to the police, especially if she pressed charges, but I promised myself that I would never hurt or disrespect a woman again as long as I lived.”
Quinn exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. At least Sylvia’s story checked out, and it meant the world to Quinn to know that her mother hadn’t lied to her to cover up her own mistake. Quinn wished that young Sylvia could have been spared that awful night, but at least now they could move forward with a little more trust between them.
“Why, Rhys? Why did you do it?” Quinn asked, needing to understand why someone she found so likable would have stooped to something so base and violent.
“I was young, foolish, and easily intimidated. Robert and Seth pressured me into participating. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t resist. I was a virgin, and the opportunity to finally lose my virginity to a girl who was half-conscious and wouldn’t laughat me was more than I could refuse. Robert and Seth were so drunk, they’d barely remember if I made a fool of myself, and they’d already taken their turn, so one more wouldn’t really matter. We didn’t hurt her, Quinn.”
“Do you honestly believe that?” Even after all these years he couldn’t own up to the truth.
“Well, not physically anyway. There was no brutality, just persuasion. She never said no. She never even tried to push any of us away. She went along with it.”
“She was drunk,” Quinn spat out, amazed by the man’s propensity for self-delusion.
“I know. There’s no excuse for what we did.” Rhys suddenly grew silent, his eyes opening wide. “Is one of them dead? Is that it? Have you found something that belonged to them and saw what happened?”
“No, Rhys. I was approached by Sylvia. That was her name, in case you couldn’t remember. Sylvia.”
“Why did she approach you?” Rhys asked, suddenly nervous. He looked like a cornered fox, desperate to escape the hounds that were closing in.
“Because she’s my birth mother, and you could have been my father, but you are off the hook. Your DNA didn’t match mine.”
