“But aren’t I both, Adam and Wycliff?” He started pacing. “She tossed me, Wycliff, out.”
Lawden opened the curtains wide. The sunlight roared inside, filled the room, and made the ghastly red-painted bed shine.
He rubbed his throat. “I’ve been trying to get her to remember our great love of the past. Maybe that was my mistake, trying to remind her of Adam. Maybe she needs to see me, the not-Adam version.”
“Yes. Show her what there is to love in Wycliff. Amplify what she loves.”
“You are writing poems, too, Lawden?” He slurped his coffee and paced in circles from the closet to the bed table. “Don’t be Adam?” He thought of Ruth and what made her smile. “I think I should be Wycliff, the big cousin.”
“Yes, my lord. You have a responsibility to the young boy.”
“Christopher. He’s a good boy. He’s my heir. He’s a sweet child who thinks well of Adam. He will continue to think well of me.”
He downed the rest of his mug, then handed it to Lawden. “Christopher needs someone to teach him how to hunt frogs. I can keep a more careful hand in observing and protecting the Croomes if I’m welcome at Nineteen Fournier.”
“Frog hunting is a fine pursuit. A lot nicer than roughhousing on the docks. You might find it a better thing to dwell upon than beatings.”
“I didn’t do anything too bad.” Lawden must’ve heard about the barroom brawl. “Like I said, I wasn’t always good.”
Lawden shook his head. “My lord, you have too many things in motion to be reckless. You haven’t won, yet. Your uncle is a dangerous man.”
He was right.
It was dangerous to walk the docks with Uncle Soulden growing more desperate. And good old duplicitous Nickie could still cause trouble, too.
“No more Wicked Wycliff. I’ll be more careful. I just needed to smell the water, look at the good souls working the lanes. It grounded me. The punching did help. Find the best place in London to hunt frogs. I think I and my little cousin need to do just that.”
“Good, my lord.” Lawden tossed him his mother’s book and bowed, juggled the mug in his hands, then left.
Wycliff’s thoughts turned to his mother. He went to the window.
Her morning sun, which rose divinely bright,
Was quickly mantled with the gloom of night;
Mother’s words of sorrow mirrored the gloom in his spirit. Now the morning had made things bright again. He could make sure the Croomes were safe and get to know better the boy who should be his son.
That’s what Wycliff should do, care for his heir.
His faith, that all would work out for the better, was still inside. His hope was deeply rooted, just like his need for revenge.
Both halves of Wycliff had to win.
…
I kept my lips firmly positioned in a frozen smile and hoped it wouldn’t melt and expose me in Mama’s parlor. In my hands, I held a beautiful piece of parchment wrapped with a ruby-red tie.
Clancy removed his silver tray on which he’d carried Mr. Marks’s note. Perhaps the butler thought that the parchment bound in ribbon deserved an honorable way to be delivered.
But this note was from Mr. Marks.
It meant no visit, no tea with him today.
It saddened me, but I only half-expected him to show. The first time I’d received a letter with fancy ribbon, I’d felt so special. This prestigious man I’d been corresponding with through theLondon Morning Posthad taken the time to bind his letters to me. I didn’t realize that all his legal briefs were sealed in this manner. It was convenient for him to do so.
Mr. Marks’s letters talked of his passions for the law and his need of a marital partnership to support it. Having spent the past week with Lord Wycliff, I realized the difference between attentiveness and tolerance.
How had I set my hopes so low?
