I have lived with that image of her lying still on the bed and you telling me she would not go to heaven. Did she deserve such condemnation from you? Did I deserve to have that planted in my mind?”
“As God is my witness, no. She was no harlot, no man’s mistress. She fell, and I should have forgiven her when she pleaded for forgiveness.” He hung his head. “I should have never said what I said to you. It was wrong—cruel.”
Darcy stared at him, wishing she could cry. But the pain cut so deep she could not. “Did I deserve to be torn from my mother?”
“I meant to hurt her, not you. I wanted to protect you.”
“But I was injured by it. To have lived all this time without her …”
“She wrote to you.”
“When?”
“You were little. I kept your letters along with the letters she wrote to me. When I arrived in Derbyshire, I had the misfortune of running into Langbourne. He threw me from Havendale, took the letters, and said he would kill me if I ever set foot here again.”
“Then he must have hidden them somewhere in the house—downstairs in his study.”
“Or burned them,” Mrs. Burke interjected. “I’ve seen him do that often enough. He has a mistress in Castleton, and whenever she sends him word to come to her, he burns her messages.”
So that is where he had been, instead of in Meadlow with Charlotte. How sad for her that her husband gave himself to another. She wondered if Charlotte felt abandoned. Did she know of Langbourne’s betrayal? She looked at her father, and realized he had been through the same thing as Charlotte, except it had not been when he was with Eliza, but away. Charlotte had no children, and only God knew if Langbourne had any. Her mother had brought a child into the world. It was a pity her father could not have forgiven her and had compassion for her.
Hayward called to her when she headed for the door. “The letters are lost to me, but her words are seared in my mind.”
She turned back. “Words that begged for forgiveness, no doubt.”
“Yes. In the wilderness, I prayed for you and for the wife I wronged. I met God there. He cast down my hard heart. I have repented, Darcy, of what I did to my mother here, to my wife, to you. You believe me, don’t you?”
Her heart swelled when she saw the sorrow within his eyes. “I do, Papa.”
“It has been my hope to return to River Run with your mother and begin our lives over again as a family.”
“How can you expect her to go back with you?”
Hard as the truth was to accept, the penance in her father’s gaze and the heartrending plea in his voice scored Darcy to the quick. Tears stung and the pain of being lied to, of secrets kept from her, crawled up her throat in a ragged sigh. She strode back to the door.
Hayward called to her, “Darcy, forgive your mother and me.” She turned and looked at him.
“I have many things to think about.” She walked out and closed the door behind her.
At the end of the corridor stood a latticed window. She hurried to it, shook and pulled at the latch until it opened. A rush of bitter air blew against her. She drew it into her lungs in deep gulps. Gripping the sill, she stared out at the land and saw veils of mist twist across the lawn, around the bases of trees. The rain had ended and a frigid line of purple clouds skimmed the horizon.
Did Ethan know that the woman living in his father’s house was her mother? Did her mother know she had come to England? Had Ethan told her? Darcy balled her fists. She stared forward, her breath heaving. On the moor, near the charred ruins, he said he had something important to tell her. Then he was called away—back to Fairview.
Darcy’s emotions overwhelmed her, and she grasped the latch to close the window. But the wind fought against her. Finally able to shove the latch in place, she stepped away and turned. Her grandmother stood in the doorway beside Mrs. Burke. Both women looked concerned, shaken by the event. They stepped aside and Darcy passed back into the room. Hayward looked over at her, forlorn.
She stood at the edge of the bed, her mind drifting toward the vague images of the past. “If there is anything else