“There was a storm that tossed the ship around like a cockleshell. I thought I was going to die. I survived . . . but our child didn’t. I miscarried. No one knew but me. But I can never forget.” Tears were streaming down her face, driven by the harrowing grief she’d hidden for so many years. “I failed you; I failed myself; I failed the child we made together! How can there be a future for us after that?”
“My darling girl!” He crossed the room and enfolded her in his arms, surrounding her with compassion and comfort. “I’m so sorry you had to bear all that alone! What happened was our tragedy, not your sin.”
She shook her head, her face pressed into his shoulder. “I wish I could believe that,” she said in a thin whisper.
“Well, you should.” He sat on the sofa and pulled her down into his lap again. She shouldn’t allow this closeness, but she couldn’t bear to move away, not yet.
He continued, “A high percentage of early pregnancies end in miscarriage, perhaps as many as one in four. It’s not the fault of the mother. It’s God saying ‘not yet.’ ”
She tilted her head back to look at him with a frown. “Are you making this up? I can’t imagine a man knowing such things.”
He grinned at her. “Did I mention that my sister Julia earned her living as a midwife during her years in the wilderness? She’s a very good one, too, and showed a certain ruthlessness in explaining the facts of life to her younger brother.”
“How did the topic even come up?” she asked, as curious as she was surprised.
His expression sobered. “She had a miscarriage a year after the birth of her first child. She and Randall were very saddened, of course, but under the influence of laudanum she told me much more than I wanted to know about the mysteries of childbirth. It was hair-raising but enlightening.”
His broad hand stroked soothingly down her back. “She has since had a fine and healthy second child, a budding young hellion whose middle name is Anthony. I was honored.”
“This is all true?” Diana asked doubtfully. “You aren’t making things up to help me feel better?”
Anthony nodded. “As Julia told me then, sometimes things happen that we don’t understand. We are allowed to mourn, but it is wisdom to then move on. Your miscarriage is one of those things we can’t understand. Yes, it was a great grief to you, but it’s not an event that you should allow to ruin your life. And mine, too.”
She rested her head on his chest and thought about that. A tragedy, not a sin? She hadn’t failed Anthony or failed as a woman? It was an amazingly liberating thought. She had felt guilty and unworthy ever since the miscarriage.
“Your words are like a key that has unlocked a whole cabinetful of guilt I could never bear to look at,” she said haltingly. “When we met I couldn’t resist you, but I felt that I was taking advantage of you. You were younger and more vulnerable because of your age and your dreadful father. Every problem that followed from our coming together was my fault.”
“If you felt you were taking advantage of me, your memory is faulty,” he said seriously. “Our falling in love was as mutual as falling in love can be, I think. The only regret I had was when you left. I felt that a limb had been torn off and I was no longer whole.”
She began weeping for his pain and her own. “Wouldn’t we have been better off if we’d never known each other? I was trespassing on Castleton land the day we met.”
“No!” he said sharply. “I know that I would not be better off and I don’t think you would have been, either. We grow through living our lives and that means pain as well as joy. From you I learned what I wanted from life.” His voice softened. “And it seems that what I want is you. No one else will do.”
She lay back in his arms so she could see his face. “How did you become so wise and kind?”
“I’ve been fortunate in the females in my life,” he said seriously. “My mother, my grandmother, my sisters. Most of all, you, because you taught me the most about giving and receiving love.”
She swallowed hard, almost unbearably moved. “If what you’re saying is true, it certainly undercuts my conviction that I am unworthy of you.”
“Good! For a generally sensible woman, you weren’t being sensible at all.” He tilted her face upward so they were gazing into each other’s eyes. “Do you still feel too old to be my wife?” He bent into a kiss of tenderness and promise of what might be.
She summoned all her memories of sunshine and joy to dissolve the pain and guilt that had clouded her spirit for so many years. It was time to open herself to him as fully and honestly as in the summer of their first love.
Golden light began filling her as she accepted that this strong, compassionate man could see her in all her weaknesses and love her still. She kissed him back, offering everything she had. The embrace intensified and they almost fell off the sofa as he responded.
He caught her before they landed on the floor. Laughing, she lay back in his arms and said, “I feel amazingly younger than I did before we had this little discussion!”
He grinned back at her. “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”
She turned serious. “Yes, my one and only love. And the sooner the better!”
“Then I suggest we celebrate our betrothal in the most scandalous possible way.” He rose from the sofa while holding her in his arms, a tribute to his strength. “Unless you object?”
“No.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. “I do not object at all. I want to see if my memory of lying with you was exaggerated.”
He set her on her feet and led her into the bedroom. They disrobed each other garment by garment, murmuring words of love and appreciation.
And when they lay down together, skin to skin and heart to heart, she found that memory had not exaggerated. Indeed, the tenderness and fire exceeded her imagination.
