Chapter 3 #2
At some point, I drifted off to sleep in the chair and awoke much later to find the fire nearly out, the water bottle cool to the touch, and the room dreadfully chilly.
I forced my stiff body to rise and shuffled off to bed, where I managed to garner a few more hours of precious sleep in fortification for the long night that awaited me.
But while my doze in the chair had been blessedly free of dreams, this time I was not so lucky.
It was disjointed memories of my argument with Mr. Dorian about Oliver that flooded my unconsciousness this time.
Memories I had managed to repress for all these months, including the last words I had ever spoken to him:
I think you hoped to discover something unsavory about him so that I could be as full of resentment and bitterness as you.
I awoke with a start, as though the very memory had driven me from sleep.
I pressed a hand to my chest and found my heart racing, while a wave of regret washed over me.
I had spoken those words out of anger. And fear.
Yet it was so obvious to me now that Mr. Dorian had only been acting out of a sense of duty.
Of, perhaps, friendly concern. And I had thrown it all back in his face.
Behaved as though he were trying to come between me and my late husband.
As if he were some jealous beau. My jaw tightened.
He must have thought me absolutely delusional.
I had been so careful not to allow thoughts of him to slip through the cracks.
But perhaps it was time for me to face my error head on and deal with the consequences.
In any case, I was certain of one thing: I would never allow myself to entertain such ridiculous thoughts about him ever again.
I flung back the covers and sprang out of bed, as if I could outrun the voice in my head, then headed for the en suite bathroom.
My aunt had renovated her home to include all the latest amenities, and I would miss them very much once I returned to Corfu.
Our little villa, known as the Lemon Grove House, was quite charming in its own way and just steps from the Ionian Sea, but it was still admittedly rustic in comparison to the homes I had visited here in London.
Once I had washed and dressed, I returned to the bedroom and pulled back the curtains.
The skyline was a dull grey that seemed to reflect my mood.
I let out a sigh. London may have hot water on demand, but it could never match Corfu’s glorious weather.
I headed for the wardrobe and chose a dark blue dress made of heavy wool.
As I changed, I could hear Tommy chattering away downstairs with Mrs. Ford.
I smiled at the muffled sound of his voice.
No doubt he would be bursting with excitement over spending the night with his cousins.
I decided then that a trip to Hyde Park was in order, as we could both do with some fresh air and exercise.
With another glance towards the grey skyline, I donned my heaviest petticoat and hoped it would be warm enough.
The rest of the day passed by in a haze of activity.
Tommy and I spent hours wandering around the park until our cheeks and noses were red with cold.
If it were up to Tommy, we would have stayed even longer, but I drew the line once I lost feeling in my toes.
Then we returned to the house, where Mrs. Ford had prepared a hearty lunch of vegetable soup and cheese-and-pickle sandwiches.
After which I directed Tommy to pack his bag and then helped him pack it again with items he would actually need.
By the time we were done, I hustled us outside and into the waiting carriage.
My brother lived on the other side of Hyde Park, not far from Kensington Palace, in a home that was a wedding gift from Dolly’s parents.
Yet this was an inconsequential detail to Jack, as his self-importance seemed to increase along with his proximity to the palace.
While it was true that my parents had both descended from lesser branches of aristocratic families, their social standing was largely thanks my father’s personal fortune.
But once Jack got into politics, he used every opportunity to present himself as the perfect aristocratic ally firmly in favor of maintaining the old guard.
This, in my opinion, also made him an insufferable snob.
Even Oliver, who had gotten along with everyone, found my brother frustrating.
We had made a little game of signing our letters as the “Honorable Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Harper,” merely to needle Jack, who was quietly jealous of my husband’s inherited title, something he never bothered to use elsewhere.
“Mama, what are you laughing at?”
I turned to Tommy just as the carriage rocked to a stop. I had indeed let out a laugh at the memory. “I was just thinking of your father. He could be very amusing,” I added, with a fond smile.
Tommy’s gaze grew solemn. “I wish I remembered him better,” he said softly, and any mirth I felt vanished entirely. Tommy had been barely four years old when Oliver died suddenly from a hemorrhage in the brain. “Cleo remembers so much more than me,” he added with a frustrated sigh.
I grabbed Tommy’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Only because she is older,” I reminded him. “But you can always ask me about him. Anything you’d like.”
His mouth tilted up in a hopeful little smile. “Really? Anything?”
“Yes,” I said, with a nod, despite the warning note ringing in my head. I had learned over the years that Tommy’s mind worked very differently from my own, and there was no telling what questions he would come up with.
“All right,” he replied with a thoughtful look.
We then exited the carriage, and the front door of the house promptly swung open, thanks to an attentive footman. Dolly greeted us as soon as we crossed the threshold.
“Hello there! Come in, come in. The children are very excited to see you, Tommy. They’re waiting upstairs in the nursery.”
“Splendid!” Tommy said and began to eagerly take off his coat.
“Is Jack in?” I asked Dolly, bracing myself for my brother to come round the corner any minute and start barking questions at me.
Thankfully, she shook her head. “No, he couldn’t get away. Still at his club, I imagine. But he sends his regards and hopes to see you soon.”
I managed to plaster a smile on my face. “Yes, I hope so too.” Then I turned to give Tommy a hug. “Good night, darling. I—”
“Bye, Mama!” he cried out, as he shoved his coat into my waiting arms and headed down the hallway. “I will see you in the morning.”
“Yes,” I said weakly, giving him a little wave.
I could hear Dolly sigh beside me. “It was like that with my older boys around his age. One day, they were wrapping themselves in my apron strings, and the next, I was only getting in the way.”
My gaze followed Tommy as he bounded up the staircase.
He hadn’t even turned back to look at me.
Just as it began to feel like someone was taking a grapefruit spoon to my heart, I turned to Dolly.
“Oh, I don’t think he’s reached that stage,” I said, though the assurance in my voice sounded hollow to my ears.
Dolly shrugged. “Perhaps not yet. But most boys his age have been away at school for years by now. Or have you forgotten how things are done here?” she added with a teasing smile.
“Not at all. That’s largely why we left in the first place,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. But when Dolly’s smile fell, I realized my error.
We.
She reached out with solemn eyes and patted my arm. “It must be hard to be back here without your dear Oliver.”
“Yes,” I murmured. In truth, I associated Greece with Oliver far more than London, but it was not something I cared to explain.
“Would you like to have some tea?” Dolly asked gently. “We can sit in the parlor for a bit and talk.”
“Some other time,” I said with a tight smile. “I was hoping to have a nap before I have to meet Delia.”
I also did not wish to play the part of the grieving widow this afternoon.
“Ah, a good plan,” she replied, with a knowing smile.
We then parted ways, and I returned to the flat alone in the carriage. But even as I grew farther and farther away from South Kensington, Dolly’s ominous words stayed with me all the way to Hyde Park Street: And the next I was only getting in the way.
Perhaps raising Tommy on Corfu had put off the inevitable for a bit longer, but one day he would grow up.
And if nothing else, this afternoon had taught me that I needed to do a much better job of preparing myself for that.
If such a thing were even possible. Cleo was only a few miles away, and yet sometimes it felt like she might as well be on the moon.
Of course, I was happy that she was taking her education so seriously, but it was a cold comfort at times.
The carriage then rocked to a stop, and I headed up the front steps to my aunt’s home.
Perhaps I could take up traveling or become a paid companion once the children were gone.
There’s always the typing. Perhaps you could ask Mr. Dorian for a reference.
I let out a loud snort as I entered the house, but luckily Mrs. Ford wasn’t around to hear me.
As I tore off my coat and hat, I could think of absolutely no circumstance in which I would willingly contact that man.
After all, he had made his indifference towards me quite obvious when he left Corfu without a word.
While I may have mistaken his intensions previously, that message had been received loud and clear.
Once I hung up my things, I stomped up the stairs and paused on the landing.
My heart was racing, but I knew it could not be blamed on the exercise.
It was that lingering resentment I felt towards Mr. Dorian.
I let it upset me far too much. Forcing those thoughts aside, I took a deep breath and continued on.
Besides, I had far more important things to think about than a grumpy mystery writer with unintelligible handwriting.
Tonight I was going out in London. And I needed to decide what to wear.