“I think I found something!” Glory exclaimed.
Maggie hurried over, Rhys close behind her. The girl was wedged in the tiny space between the shrine and its neighboring column.
“At the back, next to the wall,” came Glory’s muffled words. “I think one of the stones is loose. It moved when I touched it.”
“Nicely done, poppet,” Rhys said. “Shall I take a look?”
“No, I’ve got the stone out now. There’s something there behind it…”
Glory popped out of the nook. Her nose was streaked with dirt, an impish grin lighting her face. Triumphantly, she held up a small leather pouch.
Maggie’s heart hiccupped when, instead of taking the bag, Rhys removed a handkerchief and wiped the smudge from the girl’s nose. The gesture was tender, heart-stoppingly…paternal.
The wings that beat in Maggie’s chest were of fear and wild longing. Watching Rhys and their daughter, their heads bent close together, Maggie couldn’t stop an impossible dream from entering her head. The one of violins, fancy flowers…and faerie tale endings.
“Will you do the honors?” Rhys asked Glory.
Eagerly, Glory untied the drawstring and upended the pouch into her hand—and let out a squeal of delight. Maggie’s breath suspended. She’d never seen anything like the jewel that glittered in her daughter’s palm.
“By…Jove.” Even Rhys sounded stunned.
The diamond was the size of a pigeon’s egg. The light from the window hit the gem, illuminating its flawless depths, scattering colorful prisms over the stone walls. Seeing a scrap of paper caught beneath the jewel, Maggie carefully pulled it free.
“What does it say?” Rhys asked hoarsely.
“Congratulations, dear boy,” she read aloud. “Here’s a small crumb to tempt you. The rest of the cake awaits you in the DEATHLESS VEIN.”
18
After depositingMaggie and Glory at the cottage, with a promise to call on the morrow, Rhys returned to Journey’s End. Dusk was nearing as he alighted from the gig. Instead of going inside, he headed for the gardens. He needed a moment to himself. The diamond joggled in his inner pocket, a reminder of the day’s success, yet his mind was on other things.
Your daughter takes after both of you.
Emotions roiling, he strode into the maze of overgrown hedgerows. He realized now that the ember of knowledge had been there before the vicar’s innocent observation. From the first time he’d met Glory, he’d felt an odd yet undeniable connection.
I asked Maggie outright.Thoughts circled his mind like vultures.If Glory is mine, then why did she lie to me? Why would she deny me my own flesh and blood?
He balled his hands, gravel crunching beneath his boots. The anger that he’d been keeping in check ignited; he had the wild urge to give into it. To go punch the hell out of something or someone. Drink himself into oblivion. Gamble and fuck like a madman.
But he didn’t.
Because he’d gone down that route before. Those behaviors hadn’t helped him when he’d lost his fortune, and they sure as bloody hell wouldn’t help him now. Instead, he forced himself to peer past the seething anger, into the vortex of the storm—and what he found was far more painful.
Clarity.
If he’d gotten Maggie with child all those years ago, what must she have suffered? He knew first-hand what her family was like; clearly, she would have had no support from that quarter. Which meant she’d have been alone, a serving maid swelling with a bastard, with no way of finding the father, with nothing…
Nothing but the fifty-pound note he’d tossed on the table.
Remorse cut short his breath. If he’d known, he would have taken responsibility—even back then, during his wilder days. He’d have taken care of her and the child…financially, at least.
Arriving at the center of the maze, he sat on the cracked stone bench and stared blindly at the dry fountain, a repository of leaves and moss. He propped his elbows on his thighs and dropped his head into his hands. He wasn’t one for introspection, and this was why: he felt in shambles, as tangled up as the garden’s weeds and neglected brush.
You’re such a selfish bastard.He speared his fingers through his hair.You’ve done Maggie irreparable harm. Christ, how can she even stand to look at you, never mind help you, after what you did to her?
Yet that was Maggie. Sweet and generous to a fault.
Hell, she deserved better than him. A woman like her should be with a man who knew how to be a husband and father. Who was in a place to give her and Glory the kind of domestic bliss they merited. The kind he, himself, had absolutely no experience with. The thought of his own sire filled him with nothing but impotent rage.
