Beloved (25 page)

“They went for a walk after Mrs. Applegate retired.”

He glanced toward the stairs. “I’d better go up and speak with my wife.”

“Yes, sir.”

Diana stood at her bedroom window, watching as gloaming fell over the valley. She’d seen Tyson’s return from town, and by now Upchurch would have told him about Pauline and the missing ring. Any moment now Diana expected to hear her husband’s footsteps in the hall outside her bedroom.

What would he say to her? What would she say to him? Would he believe Pauline or believe his wife? Might it be better to talk in the morning or get it over with now? Or maybe it would be worse if he didn’t come to see her, if he didn’t want to talk to her. About anything.

But he did come. She heard the anticipated footfall as he drew near her room. A rap sounded moments later.

“Come in, Tyson.”

The door opened before him. She saw a hesitancy in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before.

“Upchurch told me about Pauline’s accusation.” Diana nodded.

A small frown creased his forehead. “That’s the second item to go missing.”

“The third.”

“Third?”

“Mother’s eyeglass chain has disappeared. You’ve seen it in the past. Gold with glass beads. When she wasn’t using it, she kept it in the same place in her room. It’s been gone almost a month now.”

He shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It didn’t seem important. It isn’t valuable. And, Tyson, I’m
sure
no one on our household staff could have taken the jewelry.”

“I don’t want to believe it either, Diana, but three missing items seems more than a coincidence. Don’t you think so?”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’ll make certain Pauline doesn’t bother you or anyone else in this house again. Still, we’ll have to get to the bottom of this.”

Diana nodded, then glanced out the open window. Daylight was gone, although full night had yet to arrive. She felt the air cooling as it brushed the skin on her arms.

“Diana?” He spoke her name softly, and there was sadness in his voice.

She looked at him again.

“I did a lot of thinking and praying while I was out.” Dread nearly stopped her heart.

“I’ve been unfair to you. I shouldn’t have asked you to pretend to feel more for me than you do.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. I asked you to stand beside me and smile and look like a wife who loves her husband. I believe God wants me to run for the Senate. I believe I’m running for the right reasons. But what I want and what I believe is right shouldn’t be forced onto you. Not after the way I treated you. Not after the ways I hurt and betrayed you. You have little reason to trust me or believe me.”

Pauline’s image returned to taunt Diana. “What are you saying, Tyson? That you don’t want me here after all?”

“No.” He moved to stand before her. “That’s not what I’m saying. I want you here. More than you know. But I don’t want it to be because I forced you or because we made a bargain you’re unhappy with. If you
want
to stay, I’ll be glad of it. I want to honor the vows of marriage I took. But if you don’t want to stay, I’ll make certain you and your mother and Ned have a nice home to live in and all else that you need to be comfortable. I promise you. You won’t lack for anything, and I won’t interfere in your life.” He took a long breath. “I don’t want you to be tired from pretending any longer.”

A lump formed in her throat and tears pooled in her eyes. Unable to answer with words, she nodded.

Tyson leaned in and brushed her cheek with his lips before whispering, “I’m sorry for all the times I’ve made you cry. Truly, truly sorry.” Then he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

And only then, as her heart began to break, did she realize she wasn’t pretending to love him. Hadn’t been pretending, though for how long she didn’t know. She loved Tyson and could only hope she hadn’t discovered it too late.

October 1898

The nurse stuck another pillow behind Tyson’s back. “There you go, Mr. Brown. How are you feeling? Is your head hurting still?”

“I’m better today. Thanks.”

He
was
better, and in more ways than the nurses or doctors knew. His memory was returning. Slowly, but enough so he knew his name wasn’t Brown. And enough so he believed this might be the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Call me if you need me,” the nurse said before leaving the room.

Pretending to be asking about a friend, he’d learned Tyson Applegate was believed killed on the battlefield. That meant he could be anybody he wanted to be. He could remain Mr. Brown—the name they had given him when he arrived at the first hospital stateside. If he did so, he would never again enjoy the wealth and privileges of the former Mr. Applegate, but neither again would he have to war with his domineering father. Never again would he have to live a life he didn’t want. It seemed the perfect solution to let Tyson Applegate remain dead.

“Are you awake, Brown?” Martin North, another patient, wheeled himself into Tyson’s room, not waiting for an answer. “Feeling up to some company?”

“Sure.”

Tyson didn’t know why Martin had attached himself to the fellow with no memory and no name. But he was glad he had. He was a pleasant young man whose father was a minister at a church here in Washington, DC. Martin, who’d lost his right leg in Cuba, was intelligent and well read, not to mention being a master storyteller. He was also grounded in the Scriptures, and on days when Tyson’s head didn’t hurt as much, he liked to ask Martin questions about the Bible and Jesus and the Christian faith.

This was going to be one of those days.

TWENTY-FOUR

“I want you here. More than you know. But I don’t want it to be because I forced you or because we made a bargain you’re unhappy with.”

Diana tossed aside the light bed coverings. After slipping into a dressing gown, she ran a brush through her hair, although it did little to tame its morning unruliness. But she cared not a whit what her reflection said and left her room, hurrying down the hallway to her husband’s bedchamber.

She rapped softly on the door. “Tyson? I know it’s early, but I wish to speak with you?”

No answer.

“Tyson? May I come in?” Another rap.

Still no answer.

Holding her breath, she opened the door a few inches and peered in. The bed was empty, still made.

Abandoned. Again. That’s what it felt like.

The sound of a throat being cleared behind her caused her to turn, hope leaping in her chest. But it was Tyson’s valet who stood at the top of the servants’ staircase. Hope died a quick death.

“May I help you, Mrs. Applegate?” Robert asked.

“I … I was looking for my husband.” She felt heat rise in her cheeks, embarrassed because of her disheveled appearance and
because the staff knew her marriage to Tyson was a sham—and the fault was hers.

“He left for his office before daylight, madam.”

But his bed was never slept in
. “Thank you, Robert.” She hugged herself as she returned to her room. Tears threatened, but she refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t help. It never had. What was needed instead was action. Tyson
was
a different man than he’d been when he left her. He’d told her so, but more important, he’d shown her so. Now it was her turn to show the same thing.
She
was different too. She wasn’t going to let circumstances sweep her along and then settle for whatever happened.

He’s never said he loves you. He might not truly want you
.

“Go away,” she told that ancient voice of doubt and insecurity. “I won’t listen to you anymore.”

Weariness tugged at Tyson’s eyelids, and he set aside the newspaper he’d been looking at without comprehension for the past hour. He hadn’t slept a wink last night. Hadn’t even gone to bed. He’d sat in the library with the doors closed, reading his Bible, praying, worrying, wondering, debating until he’d thought his head might explode. That’s when he’d left the house and walked into town, hoping work would give him relief from his own thoughts.

It didn’t.

He looked at the framed photograph on his desk. It had appeared in the newspaper the day after he announced his candidacy. He’d sent an assistant to buy a copy for his office because he’d liked the way he and Diana looked together. Like a married couple. A happy couple. In the photograph, his arm was around Diana, and both of them were smiling. She’d looked lovely in a hat
of straw wrapped in chiffon. Of course, the photograph was black and white, but he remembered the exact bluish-green color of her dress, the way the gown had complemented the color of her eyes and the pale tone of her skin.

From the doorway, Herbert Eastman cleared his throat. “A letter came for you, Mr. Applegate. It’s marked important.” He stepped forward and placed the envelope on Tyson’s desk.

“Thank you.”

His assistant withdrew from the room.

Tyson picked up the envelope. The handwriting looked like a woman’s. Diana’s, perhaps? Hopeful, he opened the envelope. His eyes scanned the note inside. It wasn’t from Diana. It was from Pauline. She asked to see him again. He shouldn’t be surprised. Pauline never had been sensitive to the feelings of others. She could be very single-minded when she wanted something. He would write to her at once. He would tell her it would be best for all concerned if they didn’t see each other again. He would—

“Excuse me, sir,” Herbert interrupted once again. “There is a man here to see you. A Mr. Crawley.”

Lawrence Crawley was the investigator Tyson had hired to search for Ned’s and Diana’s families. He must have news of some kind. Would it be about Ned or about Diana’s brother and sister? Pauline’s note was forgotten.

“Show him in, Mr. Eastman.” He stood, suddenly anxious, afraid the news would not be good.

Lawrence Crawley—a smallish man who sported a large mustache—stepped into Tyson’s office, hat in hand. But he wasn’t alone. Another man followed him into the room. The second fellow wore a white shirt with a frayed collar and wool trousers that had seen better days. A laborer, judging by the calluses on his hands. He seemed nervous, and there was something about his eyes—

“Mr. Applegate,” Lawrence Crawley said, “this here is Dillon Macartan.”

“Macartan?” Tyson only knew one person with that last name. Ned.

“Yes, sir. The boy’s uncle.”

“Aileen was me sister,” Dillon said, voice thick with an Irish accent.

But Tyson had already surmised that. He’d seen the photograph in Ned’s room, and there was no doubt in his mind this fellow was related to the boy. The family likeness was uncanny.

“Please.” He motioned to the chairs opposite him. “Be seated.”

Diana would grieve if Ned was taken from their home. She loved that boy with all her heart. Loved him like her own flesh and blood.

Dillon leaned forward on the chair. “Mr. Applegate, sir. I’d given up thinkin’ I might find the lad. I feared he might even be dead like his poor mum. So you can imagine me surprise when Mr. Crawley found me.”

“Tell me how this all came about. There was no mention of family in this country when your sister died and Ned went to the orphanage.”

“Me sister came to America to better her lot in life. I was being against her coming alone, but I couldn’t go meself, needed as I was on our da’s farm in Ireland. When she got herself in the family way, she wrote to me. Ashamed, she was, but she said she was all right. She was still believin’ the gentleman might marry her after all. Foolish girl.”

Tyson nodded to show he listened.

“When Aileen knew she was ill and could be dyin’, she wrote to me again. This time she begged me to come for Ned, but I—” Dillon Macartan glanced toward the window, and when he
continued his voice was lower. “I’d got meself in a bit of trouble.” He cleared his throat. “Soon as I was out of prison, I worked and sold what I could to raise the passage to America. Our da had passed on by then, and the farm was belonging to another family.”

“The orphanage made no mention of Ned’s uncle looking for him.”

“I’m not easy about givin’ out me name. No point draggin’ the past here with me, if you know my meanin’. And I had nothing to prove I was the lad’s relation. I’d lost Aileen’s letters, and without them I didn’t know where she’d been livin’ when she passed. Then me money run out. I got work where I could, and I looked about for the lad, hopin’ I’d one day see him walkin’ down the street.”

“Do you mind telling me why you were in prison, Mr. Macartan?”

“I got into a fight in a pub.” Dillon shrugged. “Another man got hurt and it was by way of bein’ me own fault.”

“I see.”

“Mr. Applegate, I’ve never raised me hand to a woman or child. I’m not a violent man. I give you me word. I loved Aileen. I was good to her and I’d be good to her son. I’m the only blood kin he has left.”

This man was undoubtedly related to Ned, but Tyson had personal wealth and powerful political connections. He could keep this immigrant from taking Ned. He could keep the boy for Diana. He could—

He cut the thoughts short. As much as he might want to do those things, he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not even for Diana’s sake.

“Now may I be askin’ you a question, Mr. Applegate?”

“Yes.”

“How is it the boy is livin’ with you? Your Mr. Crawley didn’t tell me that.”

“A while back, he tried to steal a pie but stole my wife’s heart instead.” Tyson smiled as he said it, picturing Diana and Ned together. “He’s been with us ever since.”

The boy’s uncle cocked an eyebrow, a silent request for more details.

Tyson told him the story, ending with, “My wife has come to hope, Mr. Macartan, that Ned would remain with us until he’s grown and off to a university.”

“University,” Dillon echoed.

“Yes. He’s a bright boy and learns quickly. He’s behind in his schooling but catching up fast. My wife has been giving him instruction.”

Silence fell and grew thicker with each tick of the clock on the fireplace mantle in Tyson’s office.