Leave a Widow Wanting More, page 20
“They aren’t?” If they were, this whole mess was a lot messier than Henry knew.
“No, I don’t believe they are, actually. In fact, Ada has not said much of him in the last several months, until Papa made such a stink about him at the stones.”
Sarah sighed and slumped into the soft cushions of the couch. Conversation with Nora clarified nothing. “She seems to wish to have a season.”
“Oh, yes! That I do know.”
“Why would she want a season if she’s already engaged?”
Nora lifted one elegant shoulder in a shrug, yawning. “Ada is ever a mystery. She knows all about us, but we know naught about her.” She yawned again, slouching into the cushions.
“I think we need tea.”
Sarah rose, her mind whirring around the mystery of Ada, the girl’s messy relationship with her father, and the young man sitting in the study. By the time she’d rung the bellpull and returned to her seat, Nora’s eyes had fluttered closed. “Great Gutenberg. Perhaps I should take a nap as well.” Sleep seemed impossible. How could she sleep with so many questions and unknowns hounding her? She must seek out Henry.
She opened the nursery door and stepped into the hall.
“Oh, Sarah. I hoped you would be in here. Can we speak?” Ada stood in the hallway, her forehead creased with lines, her lips pinched tight, hands twisting in her skirts.
Sarah whispered the door shut behind her, avoiding Ada’s gaze. She felt small knowing Ada thought her a spy, a proxy bully for Henry. But she wouldn’t deny the girl a requested conversation. “Yes, of course.” She followed Ada silently to the sitting room between Ada’s and Nora’s bedrooms, intercepting a maid along the way. “Have tea brought to the girls’ sitting room, please.”
They waited in silence tight as a violin bow until the tea steamed before them in delicate porcelain cups. Sarah sipped, waiting. She had not requested this tête-à-tête—Ada could be the first to speak.
When she finally did, she stuttered. “I-I …” Ada dropped her eyes to the teacup she held between her hands. “I … well. Goodness, this is difficult. No wonder the children hate it when I make them apologize to one another.”
“Is that what this is? An apology?”
Ada blushed, took a sip, placed the cup on the table, then regarded Sarah with serious eyes. “Yes. I’m sorry.” That said, her body melted into her seat, her hands flew up to cover her face. “Oh, Sarah, I’m so sorry. I really am.”
Sarah could just make out the words behind her hands, so she switched seats, settling next to Ada on the couch.
Ada peeped out at her from between her fingers, her face splotchy. “Can you ever forgive me? Will he ever forgive me?”
When James had been a small child, he’d broken a figurine of a shepherdess that had once belonged to Sarah’s mother. It had been the last reminder of her life before all that loss. She’d cried for fifteen minutes, and when she’d come to herself, James was hugging her knees, sobbing, too. The same tenderness she’d felt then flooded through her now for a girl not born to be her daughter, but who had come to be her daughter anyway.
Sarah reached out and gently pulled Ada’s hands from her face. She tipped her chin up with a finger, much as she had done with James that day. “You cannot hurt me enough to not forgive you.”
Ada flung herself at Sarah and wrapped her in a crushing hug, hiccupping sobs into her shoulder.
Sarah rubbed circles into her back, making the kinds of cooing sounds she’d made to James when he’d fallen or been ill. “You can certainly make me angry enough to want to dump tea on your head. But it’s safe to say I’ll forgive you after that.”
Ada pulled back. “Why?”
Sarah pushed her fallen hair from her splotchy face. This one did not cry prettily. Sarah loved her even more. “You’re my daughter now.”
“That’s it? That’s all?”
“It’s everything, isn’t it?”
Ada set to crying on Sarah’s shoulder again, and this time Sarah chuckled. Her happy vibrations infectious, they soon laughed together.
When Ada had calmed enough to take a steadying sip of tea, she did. “But Papa … will he forgive me?”
“For calling him a bully? I’m sure of it.”
“No.” Ada shook her head. “He can be a bully. I don’t think he means to be, but—” She shrugged. “He’s used to having his way.” She took another sip. “Do you think he’ll forgive me for saying I want him to leave,” she whispered.
Ah. Yes, that. She tried to remember Henry’s face when Ada had been hurling the words across the room. She couldn’t. Too much had been happening at once. “I’m sure he will.” She spoke with more confidence than she felt. Henry might forgive Ada. He might even think he had nothing to forgive her for, but the words would work on him nonetheless. They would creep into him, and he didn’t need any more painful experiences helping him lock up his heart.
“I don’t want him to leave,” Ada admitted. “Not really.”
And yet the girl’s father wanted nothing more than to leave. At least part of him insisted he did. How to comfort this grieving, longing soul? “Perhaps it will help, Ada, to think of the important work your father does, learning about other people and teaching others what he learns. He must keep writing books. And without his books, I presume, you would not live as comfortably as you do. I have experience with penury, and it is not something I recommend.”
Ada looked like she’d seen a ghost, then her wide startled eyes narrowed, and her brows furrowed in confusion. “What books? He published two when we were children, when he first started traveling, but none since then. He may have made a pretty penny then, but”—she shrugged—“he cannot use his books as an excuse for staying away. There have been no books in many years.”
“No, that can’t be possible. I thought …” Would she have known if Henry had stopped selling his books? She had not the money to buy new ones for James during that time, and the books had always been for him, not her. But if it were true that he’d written no more books, not for years, that meant he had other reasons for staying away. Why, when he so clearly adored his daughters, did he constantly leave them behind? Sarah shook her head. “I thought he was still publishing his findings.”
Ada shook her head. “He travels not because he must educate the world, but because he can’t stand to be with us. And yet … ha! I still want him to come home, to stay home.”
“I know that. That’s plain for anyone to see, my dear. Why else do you make such a fuss? The problem is what to do about it.”
“Do you mean—?”
“How do we keep your father home?”
Ada shook her head, her eyes pools of memories. “We don’t. I—” She shut her mouth, as if rethinking her words. Then nodded once, decided. “The first time he left, I didn’t know how long he would be gone. He stayed away a year. I didn’t understand. I hated it. He’d sent a governess, and I missed him. Terribly. He’d never left so long before. When he came home, I showed him everything I’d learned and taught Nora and Pansy, and I behaved as perfectly as I could.”
Sarah’s heart seized in a vice. The girl had tried everything she knew to keep her father with her. None of it had worked. No wonder she fought her father so.
Ada choked out her next words. “Of course, he left again. And barely came home after that. I stopped missing him and started hating him.”
More likely, she’d continued to miss him and hated him because of it. “There has to be a way.” Unlikely, but … “I’ll find it.”
Ada slammed into Sarah, wrapping her in another hug, this one drier and less noisy than the others, but a bit more bone-crushing. “You won’t. You can’t. But thank you. Thank you, Sarah. I think I hate him a little less for bringing you home.”
Great Gutenberg, now Sarah would sob like a child. No, no. Focus. Crying would help no one. “Ada. Can we speak of the earl?”
“Lucas?”
“Yes. Are you … in love?”
Ada blushed. “Does it matter? I have no other options. He is willing.”
“But you’ll have a season soon. You will have options then. You need not marry him unless you desire to.”
“I’m old. I’m not good for much other than a domestic life. That’s what he wants.”
“Bah!” Sarah stood and paced. “You’re lovely and your father is famous. You’ll find a better match in London.” She stopped before Ada and peered into her face. “If that’s what you want. What do you want?”
Ada’s complexion brightened. Her eyelids fluttered open, and light seemed to shine from within. “To have a bit of fun before I marry. To …” She smiled and there was a hint of mischief in it. “Run a little wild. Just once.”
Oh. Well. Sarah had not expected that. She swallowed. What to say to such a confession? “Lovely. We’ll see what we can do. And if you happen to find a better match during the season—”
“I won’t.”
“But if you happen to, we’ll deal with it then. Now.” She brushed her skirts and took a steadying breath. “I’m going to speak to your father.”
“Right now?”
“What better time?”
“He might not be finished with Lucas yet.”
“Then I’ll join the conver—”
The door opened and the object of their discussion lumbered through the doorway, his face an impassive mask.
“Henry, I was just leaving to speak with you.”
Henry glanced once at Sarah, then turned to Ada, his eyes hungry for something she wasn’t giving him. “Lord Stonefield is gone. I’ve agreed to let him court you.”
Ada whipped around to face her father, speechless.
He’d just made a rather magnanimous concession, considering how strongly he opposed an alliance between the earl and Ada.
Henry crept closer to his daughter. “Does this please you?”
A shy smile spread across her face. “Yes, yes it does.”
Sarah willed the young girl to jump up and hug her father. She didn’t. Not everything could be fixed in a day.
Henry nodded sharply. “Good.” He turned on his heel to leave but whirled back around before exiting the room. “One more thing. I’ve received a letter from London. From Jackson. I’ll be leaving on the morrow.” He left, and the room’s air left with him.
Not just the air. Sarah’s heart left with him. Her chest felt empty and aching. Great Gutenberg, she’d fallen fast in love with the man. How?
One persistent proposal.
Five carefully-conceived gifts hidden safely in a deep pocket.
One night of passion.
Several witty conversations.
Eight days of watching him tiptoe around the people he loved.
One afternoon of heated kisses.
One concession to his eldest daughter.
Then one letter from London, and he left. And it hurt like the collected works of Shakespeare dropped on your foot. Worse. You’d recover from the collected works of Shakespeare dropping on your foot. She might not recover from this.
Sarah took two staggering steps after Henry when a quiet cry arrested her flight.
Ada.
Sarah turned back toward the girl. She sat still as a statue, looking pale as one, too. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and the only thing that gave away she was a girl and not stone, were her hands, clenching and unclenching her skirts in her lap.
Sarah fled to her instead after Henry. Henry had married her, after all, to take care of his children.
But more than that, Ada could be comforted. Henry, Sarah finally realized, could not.
Chapter 27
Henry stared, once more, at the letter from Jackson and Miss Smith. Jackson’s even lines and narrow swoops mingled with Miss Smith’s impatient scratches and blots. He missed the two of them, but he’d see them soon. Sooner than he’d planned, too. The letter brought unwelcome news. Lord Birmingham, that ass, claimed his next article in the Journal of Antiquities would make all of Henry’s research irrelevant. He blabbered about it everywhere he went, apparently. Poppycock, of course. Henry’s books, old though they were, contained true information from true sources. Birmingham worked from hearsay and secondhand accounts colored by hateful propaganda.
Henry couldn’t ignore the challenge. And even if he regretted how the world had reacted to his books, the research itself was solid, compassionate, true. He wouldn’t have some ass who’d never left home and thought himself superior to the rest of the world proclaim otherwise.
Besides, life at Cavendish Manor ran on without him. On Sarah’s insistence, he’d tried to run along with it. But Ada’s face when he’d left her a few hours ago had been pale, drawn; she was done with him. He’d given her just what she wanted—Stonefield—but it hadn’t been enough.
He’d not dared to glance at Sarah before leaving the sitting room. He’d heard her steps behind him briefly, had welcomed her approach.
But then the steps had stopped, and Henry had retreated to his library alone.
He poured another glass of brandy but didn’t drink it. They’d all been pretending for the last week, but cracks appeared in their charade. Nora spoke too often, too brightly, as if making up for Ada’s silence. Pansy watched him with wary eyes, and the twins ignored him completely as if he wasn’t worth their time.
Only Sarah and James had easy smiles for him. He’d continued riding lessons with his stepson, and Sarah had pulled Henry into family games, outings, and dinners. She’d beckoned him with her eyes every night, inviting him without words back to her bed. He’d denied her. Denied himself.
Henry scoffed and tossed the letter on the table.
Tomorrow he left Cavendish Manor. Jackson and Miss Smith itched to leave England. Their impatience vibrated through every word they wrote. Henry itched to leave, too. Didn’t he?
He shook his head. Odd question. Wrong one. Symptoms of his old age, of old bones that wanted to settle.
He took a drink, letting the liquid warm his chest. Settle? No thank you. And old? Really? He’d not felt old this afternoon, carrying Sarah across the room and tossing her onto the settee.
He’d leave with the morning’s first light, gone before she awoke.
He waited for the spark of joy travel usually ignited. It didn’t come. Not the way it had flared to life seeing his family emptying the stable to ride out to the Coldrum Stones. Watching Nora put any other marksman he’d ever seen to shame. He’d even appreciated, on some level, Ada bolding calling him a bully, stating that she wanted him to leave … He couldn’t be hurt by her words. They were true.
He would oblige her tomorrow. But tonight, he would oblige himself. In Sarah’s arms if she would have him.
There! Finally. That spark of joy.
He snuffed it out.
You’re leaving tomorrow, old man, he reminded himself.
But he still had one more night. The thought pulled him from the library, up the stairs, and to his bedroom, Sarah’s bedroom since their marriage. The last time he’d stepped through the door, she’d lain naked, waiting for him, reading a book. His blood burned at the memory then turned cold. Idiot. He could have had her naked and willing in his bed every night for the past week, but he’d been a coward.
He didn’t have to be, though. As she’d pointed out this afternoon, there were more ways than one to play at pleasure. He tried the door. Unlocked. He opened it slowly, praying for a repeat of his favorite memory.
He felt only slightly disappointed to find her only almost naked instead of entirely so. She wore a shift, and her hair loosely plaited, hung over her shoulder. She frowned at a slim book she held in her hands until she realized she had company. “Henry!” A flurry of emotions shifted across her face. What would she say? Would he receive a lecture about parenting or the sort of invitation she’d issued him earlier in the day? Her mouth settled into a contented smile. “Hello.”
After the day he’d had, the simple greeting soothed him. It blew across him like a spring breeze. They could start anew in this moment, in this place. “Learning Latin?”
She glanced down at the book. “Worse. Fashion. I really wish you’d warned me before I accepted your proposal that I’d have to launch two girls into society. Three, eventually.”
He joined her on the bed, stretching his legs out and bumping his shoulder into hers. “You’ll bring society to its knees.” He waited for her to pull away, expected her to.
When she huffed and leaned her head against his shoulder, he exhaled in bone-deep relief.
“I’ve always enjoyed looking at fashionable clothes,” she said, “but I had no idea the entire concept was so complex!”
He grunted and pulled the book away from her face with his index finger. He wanted her attention, all of it, in the time they had left. He kissed her, and she kissed back, but her mind wandered. He thought he knew where. He sighed and pulled away.
“Something is troubling you. Is it fashion or me?”
Sarah laughed. “Both. Though I’m not sure if I’d classify the problem as solely you or you and Ada.”
“Ah. Of course. Go on, tell me about it.”
“Nora and Ada will need entirely new wardrobes for their season.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh? But it is the more pressing problem. Their gowns must be all white, too.” Sarah’s frown deepened. “How they are to keep clean, is what I want to know. It’s the height of hubris to wear white in London.”
“I think that’s the point. You wear white because you can afford to ruin a gown and buy a new one.”
She shook her head. “Wasteful.”
“You can afford it now,” he reminded her.
“I suppose. Still …”
Henry ran a finger down the column of her neck. “Shall all your gowns be white, too?”
Sarah shivered at his touch. “No. I’m married. I may wear what colors I wish.”
He whispered in her ear, “Wear any color you like when I’m gone, but only blue when I’m home.”
Sarah closed the book and tossed it to the floor. Her hands found his, and she tucked her legs underneath her to look him squarely in the face. “I’m so confused, Henry.”
