His mother did not blame him, she had told him. Let him not blame her either, then. None of it had really been her fault. She had merely been coping as best she could. The man who was to blame for the whole of it was dead.
“Mama,” he said. “Can we now have done with theStrattonandMotherbusiness? I love you.” They were always the most difficult words to say, whether to a lover or to a mother. Sometimes, though, they were necessary. And in this case they were true. He might have deadened emotion in himself, but that did not preclude everything.Not now he was back. Life here would be insupportable if he didnotlove his mother and his sisters and brothers. And he would not deceive himself and call it mere duty to those for whom he was responsible as the head of the family. He would call it what it was. Truth mattered.
It was love.
Not an emotion, but a fact upon which his behavior would be based.
“Devlin,” she said. “I have never for one momentnotloved you since I knew you were in my womb. But... Your tea will be cold, and it is obvious you are not going to touch either your scone or your macaroons. Will you please go away now, then? I am very, very tired.”
He could see that she was close to tears.
He got to his feet and bent over her to grasp her shoulders and kiss her forehead. “I promise always to do my best to see to your comfort now that I am home,” he said. “And I will never dishonor you, Mama.”
She patted one of his hands.
“I must tell you before you hear it from someone else,” he said, “that the village assembly planned for the assembly rooms next week is going to be held here instead. But you need do absolutely nothing about it except perhaps attend. Everything will be seen to.Everything.”
“Oh,” she said.
“And there will be no arguments about that,” he told her.
“Go away, Devlin,” she said.
He went.
Chapter Nineteen
After Devlin left Cartref, Gwyneth retreated to her room to avoid her mother’s questions—and to be in a safe place if her father and Aled should come home in the next little while.
She was inclined to chastise herself for having practiced self-deception. But that was not it, was it? She had never deceived herself. She had known that she loved Devlin heart and soul and for all time. The fact that she had been only eighteen at the end of it all did not diminish those facts. She had got over the terrible pain, of course. One did. She had put it behind her. Got on with her life. She had had no choice. One did not literally fade away or die of love as Sweet William had done in the song she had sung earlier. One lived on.
Any of the men whose marriage proposals she had rejected in the past six years would have made good husbands. She was fortunate to have attracted the regard of such estimable men. Aled would make a good husband, even though he would always be distracted for long stretches of time by his music. It was an honor indeed anda great compliment to have captured his notice at all. But those men and any others she might meet in the coming years were lacking in one essential component. None of them was Devlin Ware. Just as Nicholas, the beloved friend of her girlhood, had not been.
She had been trying for six long years to tell herself that she would do perfectly well without Devlin if she could merely find someone else upon whom to focus her esteem and affection, even her love. With Aled she had come very close to convincing herself that it had happened at last. He had everything to recommend him, including the respect and affection of her family both here and in Wales. With him she could embrace her rich Welsh heritage and yet reach out into the world too. With him she could move on into full adult independence, away from her parents’ home. Away from Ravenswood.
But he was not Devlin.
Perhaps if Devlin had not come back... But hehadcome back.
Of course, Devlin was not Devlin either. Which was a head-spinning piece of nonsense. He was Devlin as he had become over a six-year retreat into cold, seemingly impenetrable darkness. When he had kissed her out in the meadow—atherinvitation—she had been almost frightened by the barely leashed violence with which he had pressed her to him and invaded her mouth. It had been nothing like the sweet, youthful, romantic kiss of six years ago. And yet—oh, hehadbeen Devlin. She had felt that long-lost man trying desperately to get out, and more than anything else in her life she had wanted to help him. To heal him.
It could not be done, of course.
Only he could heal himself.
And that realization had shattered her heart. All over again. For it was surely impossible.
He had spoken of taking a wife and having children as aduty.He had not offered her the position. She would not have accepted anyway. Howcouldshe? He was so terribly damaged and might—probably would—remain that way for the rest of his life. She could not take that upon herself.
And yet... Oh, there had been that look in his eyes while she was playing her harp earlier, so fleeting that she might have imagined it. Though she did not believe she had. And—I wish you all the good things in the world. But don’t love me.Ah yes. There had been those words too. Cold, crisp, decisive—yet surely there had been yearning behind them. The understanding that he had hurt her. The fear that he would do it all over again.
Love can bring only unbearable suffering, Gwyneth.
Which was true if one omitted the wordonly.That was notalllove could bring. When love was at war with other powerful forces, which it had been in their case, then it seemed very easily vanquished. It seemed the weakest of all forces. But what if people got their definitions of strength and weakness backward? What if love was the one thing that always survived and could carry one through to the other side of suffering?
In front of the mirror in her dressing room she took her hair down, brushed it out, and coiled it at the back of her head again without summoning her maid. She leaned closer to the mirror to see if any of the aftereffects of that kiss still showed on her face, was satisfied with what she saw, and went back downstairs. She had heard carriage wheels crunching over gravel, and she could hear her father’s voice as soon as she began to descend.
Aled came toward her, his hands outstretched for hers, a warm smile on his face.
