Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,94

she let out a small sob.

Dexter placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Mrs. Goode, remember my promise. You’ll not be parted from William.”

“Dexter, what’s going on?” Meggie asked.

Dexter stood behind the boy. “Don’t you know, my love?”

The boy craned his neck to look up at Dexter. “Did I do right with the flowers—Papa?”

“He’s your son?” Meggie asked.

“No,” Dexter said. “He’s yours.”

“M-mine?”

“Look at him, my love,” Dexter said. “Look at his eyes. The shape of his nose. That stubborn little chin.”

Recognition slid into place, and her heart leaped with hope, pumping blood through her veins, rushing through her ears. Her chest constricted, and she fought for breath as the world slipped out of focus.

“Meggie.”

Her husband’s voice drew her back, like a lighthouse in the fog, anchoring her to reality, and she focused on the child—the boy who stared at her with the same eyes she saw in the mirror every day.

“Billy…” she gasped, lifting her hand to her mouth. “My Billy?” She shook her head. “No, this can’t be real. He said you’d died.”

She looked up at her husband. “Is this a trick?” she cried. “Why have you done this!”

Dexter grasped her hands. “It’s no trick, Meggie,” he said. “I went to Alderley Hall in search of the truth about your son. Alderley had manipulated you all your life to control you. So I wanted to know for sure whether the boy…” he broke off, glancing at the child.

Whether he lived or died.

“My search led me to Mrs. Goode.”

A tide of hope swelled inside Meggie, but fear tempered her faith. She didn’t know if she could withstand any more heartbreak.

“Your husband speaks the truth, Mrs. Hart,” the woman said. “My sister was the cook at Alderley Hall. The master there had Billy sent to me, where I looked after him as if he were my own. Begging your pardon, ma’am, but we told Lord Alderley that he…” she hesitated and glanced at the boy, “We did it to protect the little mite, so he’d be left alone. He’s a sweet boy, ma’am, and he’ll give you no trouble.”

“Y-you looked after him?” Meggie asked.

“I always told him he had a mama who loved him and missed him.” She wiped her face, and the back of her hand glistened with tears. “My dearest wish was that you be reunited when it was safe. A child needs his mother.”

“And what about you, Mrs. Goode?”

“Aunt Fanny will be staying here, too!” the boy exclaimed. “Papa said she can live with us, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, that’s right, young man,” Dexter said, smiling.

“But, sir,” Mrs. Goode said, “I’m not Billy’s mother. Your wife…”

“Have I not already explained this, Mrs. Goode?” Dexter asked. “Billy will need a nursemaid, and I can think of no one finer than the woman who cared for him since he was a baby. And besides,” he glanced at Meggie, “if my wife and I are blessed again, I can engage you to take care of all our children.”

“Ahem,” Charles appeared at the door. “Will your guests be staying for dinner, sir?”

“They’ll be staying forever,” Dexter said. “Would you ask Mrs. Draper to prepare two rooms? And see if the cook can stretch the supper for four.”

“Perhaps I should accompany Charles,” Mrs. Goode said. “The three of you need to get acquainted.”

Meggie clutched the child’s hand and pulled him to her.

“Billy…”

“Mama.”

It was a single word. One tiny word, yet it conveyed so much—the hopes she’d harbored during her pregnancy, while she’d cried in pain during her confinement, then finally, when she’d lain broken and battered in her little bed when Alderley had cursed her wantonness and told her that her son had died.

Yet here and now, she cradled her child in her arms while he uttered the one word capable of shattering her heart.

Hot tears splashed onto her cheeks, soaking into the boy’s shirt as she clung to him and cried—for the years she had lost and for the son who had returned.

“Mama?” Billy, her little Billy, curled his fingers and clung to her dress. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, “my darling child, there’s nothing wrong.

“Then why do you cry?”

“Because I’m happy, my love,” she said. “So very happy.”

“Do people cry when they’re happy?”

“Sometimes,” a deep voice said. Strong, warm arms enveloped Meggie and her child, and she looked into her husband’s eyes to see the blue clouded with tears. “Sometimes, even the strongest man will succumb to the overwhelming power of pure happiness, a pleasure so intense that words cannot convey how