Love & Second Chances

Chapter Twenty-Five - Elizabeth's POV

- 1863 -

Manchester had hardly changed at all since the days of my youth, aside from a bit of growth. Seeing all of the places that I once enjoyed visiting left me with a bittersweet feeling. The park where I would walk with my father once a month on the same day. The church I used to attend. The shops in town that I once jumped at the chance to visit. We even rode past my old house, which was now inhabited by my brother's eldest son and his family. I caught a glimpse of my great-niece and nephew running through the garden and was reminded of my own childhood. With tears threatening to surface, I had urged the coachman to drive away. Although I had to say that I was happy to see that the new inhabitants managed to bring some happiness into the estate.

My son, Vincent, desired to take a small holiday from his duties as governor, which he was still struggling to adjust to. Charles had died only a few months ago, and the atmosphere in the house had become even more gloomy and depressing than usual. All of the children had been invited to join us, but only Caroline and her husband had been able to come. Jonathan had flat out refused to come. I was not entirely certain, but I had a feeling that he had not completely forgiven me yet. I feared for my youngest son every day. I could see too much of myself in him.

Thankfully Caroline had been able to forgive me. Charles and Vincent had eventually told her about the way my mother had treated me. I would always remember that day when she came to me in my private drawing room with tears in her eyes. It was also the first time that one of my children had willingly embraced me. I could not describe how wonderful it felt to wrap my arms around my daughter and comfort her without her becoming angry with me. It seemed that some of the things I had dreamed of were finally coming true.

We had arrived in Manchester earlier in the morning, but Caroline had insisted that we go to the graveyard before finding an inn to stay for the night. She claimed that she wanted her children to see their great grandparents graves. It had taken us a while of searching, but we did manage to find my mother's grave. As I should have expected, the headstone was quite elaborate and grand. Exactly as she would have wanted. However, I was surprised to find that Father's grave was not anywhere near hers. Instead, he was buried on the other side of the graveyard, his headstone standing all by itself under a shady tree.

The sight of it filled me with deep regret. I had known my father well enough to know that he was a proud man, who would have wanted a grand headstone like my mother's. He had also once claimed that he wished to be buried surrounded by his family. His grave was the complete opposite of what he had wanted, and I immediately understood the sight of it. The arrangements had been made with me in mind. The simple headstone told me that he had been filled with sorrow after I left, while its position under the tree told me that he was thinking of the days of my youth. He knew that I loved to sit under our big tree in the garden and read.

"Oh, father," I said, struggling to hold back my tears. "How I wish that I had seen you one last time before you passed."

There were still so many things that I regretted. Taking my anger out on my father was only one of them. I should not have been angry with him. It was never his fault. How could anyone blame him for being afraid to stand up to my mother? Even I had been afraid at times. I wished now more than ever that I had been able to realize this sooner so that I might have been able to tell him so.

"It's all right, Mother. You did not know," Caroline reassured me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders in a comforting gesture.

Caroline's five-year-old son, Stephen, ventured toward the grave along with Vincent's four-year-old daughter, Lillian, wrapping their little arms around the stone as if they thought that they were hugging my father by doing so. Their innocent gesture of affection warmed my heart. Stephen, in particular, had been quick to capture my affection. He reminded me so much of his grandfather when he was that age. His dark blonde hair was just as unruly as his, perhaps even more so. And when the little boy smiled ... It was as if I was looking at the same boy I played with so many years ago.