Chapter Fourteen
Atticus watched from the drawing room window as Felicity marched across the lawn toward the treeline and Huxley Manor beyond for her daily visit with Mercy, a ritual never to be disturbed. He chuckled when he saw her pull her mustard shawl tighter about her, his breath leaving a fog on the glass.
Unsurprisingly, Atticus’s wife had refused his offer of the carriage so she might travel in warmth for the short ride. She was such a creature of fresh air, he suspected she would continue to refuse until the heavier snows began. Algernon had loved that. He’d always had someone to take him out of doors when his small hands reached for the windows. In fact, the boy had immediately taken to Felicity and revealed an endearingly tender and exceedingly caring side to Atticus’s wife that he had not yet witnessed.
Longing struck Atticus’s heart at the thought of his dear sister, brother-in-law, and nephew. A week had passed far more quickly than he had thought possible, and their departure, only two days past, would still ache until he received word of their safe return to Derbyshire and assurances of an enjoyable visit.
“Ah, Atticus, I have been dispatched to dispatch you.”
Atticus jumped, his forehead thumping against the thick glass. Grimacing and rubbing the sore spot, he turned to Papa in the doorway. “By whom and to where?”
“By your mother, to the music room,” the older man answered with an amused smile. “Most likely something about tonight’s grand dinner.”
Atticus’s stomach sprang into knots once more. Only Felicity’s presence, or thoughts of her, had been keeping Atticus from melting into a puddle of anxiety at the prospect.
Did it have to be so soon after a social visit? As much as Atticus loved his younger sister and her darling family, he had been looking forward to a period of respite in the privacy of his library, with only his wife for company. But, with such sociable parents, they had felt the loss of Arabella, Samuel, and Algernon quite keenly and sought to fill it as quickly as possible.
“All will be well, son,” Papa offered quietly as Atticus joined him at the drawing room door. He clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and squeezed.
Atticus replied with a smile of appreciation. Though they were as different as parent and child could be in many ways, both Papa and Mama had always treated Atticus’s nerves with sympathy.
Up one more flight of stairs, Atticus heard the skilled rendition of some familiar piece whose name always escaped him drifting down the hall. It ceased the moment he stepped foot into the music room.
“Atticus! Thank heavens your papa did not have to search for you through that labyrinth of a library.” Mama laughed as she rose from the bench and ushered Atticus to the pair of chairs in the corner.
“He mentioned you wished to discuss the dinner?” Atticus asked as he took his seat.
“In truth, I wished to ask your lovely wife’s opinion since she is acting as hostess alongside me, but since Lambert informed me that she has just departed, I thought I would see if you might know.”
“K-Know what?” Atticus’s heart rate gained speed. He was not fond of being asked to consult on such important matters. He especially did not wish to give an incorrect impression of Felicity’s desires for her very first officially hosted event.
Sensing Atticus’s mounting anxiety, Mama reached across the small table and took his hand. “It is only a minor dilemma, I assure you. We chose light orange and yellow for the napkins, an autumnal theme, but I have just been informed by the housekeeper that several of the orange napkins have suffered some unfortunate discoloration. Do you think Felicity would prefer cream to replace them or the red?”
“Red.”
Mama’s brows arched up, a pleased smile spreading across her face. “You had that answer quite at the ready.”
“Mama,” Atticus grumbled, slumping down into his chair a little further.
“Oh, can you blame me? I am simply happy to see my son so in love!” she cried, waving away his youthful embarrassment. “But you are certain red would be Felicity’s choice? Not that she would mind terribly either way, I am sure. She has been so agreeable and accepting of all my advice. Still, since it is her very first event as a married woman, I should like her to have everything as near to perfection as possible.”
The heat in Atticus’s face subsided. He did love to hear his mother speak so fondly of his wife and to know that they shared their duties as two generations of Mrs. Wheadon amicably. Of course, Atticus had also noticed the ladies’ growing closeness since Mama’s return in no small part thanks to Felicity’s increasingly frequent reports of her adoration for her mother-in-law.
“I am certain,” he answered, his normally tremulous voice confident. “Felicity would prefer the bolder color—perhaps most especially because it is her first event. She is always finding such fascinating ways to announce herself to the world, unafraid.”
“She is a wonderfully bold young lady, indeed,” Mama agreed with a knowing nod. “Just what you needed.”
Atticus could not help his soft smile. He unfocused his gaze. Everything faded away but Felicity. He truly must have looked a fool in love. For possibly the first time in his life, Atticus did not care. To display his feelings for Felicity on his face was no shameful thing.
“You are absolutely correct, Mama. Even now, as I feel the nerves plaguing my mind ahead of tonight’s event, they are markedly lessened. I only need think of my wife to remember that all will be well. If, by some terrible chance, the dinner is a complete disaster and our guests leave in disgust, never to return, I know Felicity will still be there. She will always be there.”
Glancing up, Atticus noticed a mist in Mama’s eyes as she pressed a hand over her mouth. “Precisely, dear boy. You have the measure of marriage now. Goodness, how grown you have become! You and Arabella both. I am living every mother’s greatest dream.”
A dream Atticus knew Mama had had good reason to doubt when it came to her son. Indeed, Atticus had not always made that burden easy for his parents to bear with his continual avoidance or dismissal of the topic of matrimony. He reached across the small table between them and engulfed Mama’s hand in his, holding tight.
“Thank you—you and Papa—for living such a fine example for us. I suppose you were right, that there truly is someone for each person, no matter how…unique.”
“Dear Atticus.” The woman sighed, squeezing back. “As your mama, who has thought you perfection since the moment I knew I carried you, please do not take offense if I suggest that no one views you as you do yourself. You are indeed unique in many ways, but not in the ways you fear. Felicity certainly seems to believe so.”
To Atticus’s immense surprise, her expression darkened. “Mama?”
Starting, Mama quickly smoothed her features, but they did not quite return to her usual cheer. “Forgive me. It is just that I still occasionally recall that day at the festival… I did not hear all, but I certainly heard and saw enough. And weighing my own observations with the bits you have revealed… Well, I must say it does not paint a very pleasant picture of Felicity’s youth.”
“Certainly a very different picture than our family’s,” Atticus agreed, lowering his head.
Now that Felicity had given Atticus the story of her life’s events and relations as well as the feelings they produced in minute detail, his pity for his cherished wife had only increased. To know the extent of her neglect—particularly cold even for the less-than-affectionate standards of the ton’s parents—and the deep scars it had left threatened to break Atticus’s heart anew every time he thought of it.
“I confess I stole an opportunity to speak with Felicity about the matter that day while you all were occupied with Algernon and the festivities.”
Atticus’s head lifted sharply. “Did you? She was not distressed?”
Mama shook her head. “No, not distressed. But it was evident that her former situation still pains her. Understandably, of course, after enduring it for so long without any hope of change.”
“She is still coming to accept that there is no shame in admitting she has been wounded. It will be a slow journey, but a worthwhile one. I can hardly fathom what it would do to me to only see you and Papa one month out of the entire year before coming out into Society.”
“A terrible shame,” Mama agreed, each word heavy with sympathy. Even her gray-tinged curls seemed weighed down as she hung her head. “And I am afraid it has caused her to doubt her own capability…”
“For what?”
“Well, with such an example for a mother, can you blame the poor dear for being concerned for her own future as a mother? I sensed that she still had her misgivings, but she was so lovely with Algernon.
“In truth, every parent who means to do the job credibly with some degree of personal involvement frets over their suitability for such a monumental task. What Felicity feels—what I suspect you both feel—is quite normal, I assure you. Though perhaps you both have your own reasons for feeling it more keenly than others might.”
Atticus’s eyes widened. “Y-You surmised all that, did you?”
A rare burst of giggles, completely unrestrained by manners, spilled from Mama, her narrow shoulders shaking. After his initial moment of surprise, Atticus joined with his own sheepish chuckle.
She gasped between renewed fits of laughter. “My love, I am your mother. I always know. And someday—sooner than you think, for the days do begin to fly—you will know, too.”
Despite the much-needed levity, guilt still squeezed Atticus’s chest. His mother did not always know. Not everything. His parents still remained ignorant of his marriage’s origins. There was some relief in knowing that, now that he and Felicity had transformed their circumstances into a love match, his parents need never know the truth.
“But, Mama,” Atticus started, his quiet voice growing stronger with each word, “I have been so long convinced that I am not meant for a shared life. Not with anyone who breathes air instead of ink.
“And, naturally, now that I have found someone I cherish and must truly contend with desires I have never allowed myself to desire…a kindred soul, little ones with golden hair… my anxieties have increased a hundred—no, a thousandfold. Something terrible could happen at any moment. How could I possibly bear it, to lose one so dear or to leave them behind—”
“Atticus.” Mama raised her voice over his, holding up a hand for silence.
He paused and inhaled. The rush of air into his lungs nearly sent him into a dizzy spell. He had not realized he’d expelled all of that in one breath.
“I know you believe us to be of extremely different temperaments,” she continued with a fond, understanding smile, “but do not be fooled. Again, we may not experience with the same depth, but such worrisome thoughts have passed through my mind and your father’s. It is natural to fret over the well-being of one’s family. Allowing that worry to consume you will only rob you of the precious happiness you should be sharing with the ones you love while they are here.”
“But if we are both terrified—”
“That means you both understand the responsibility, and that is hardly a flaw. If I may offer one more piece of advice?”
Atticus rolled his shoulders, encouraging his muscles to relax. “Of course, Mama.”
Her other hand came to rest atop Atticus’s.
“Speak to your wife. I know you may have shared shades of your feelings, but do not be afraid to deepen them. I suspect it will bring Felicity as much relief as it does you. Do you see how much you have already affected each other? You would not have spoken so freely and bravely with me about such intimate matters before our arrival in Bainbridge. In the same way you strengthen each other’s shortcomings in your marriage, so to it shall be in your nursery. And for any other challenges you face, for that matter.”
“We must rely upon one another,” Atticus added under his breath.
“You do have the measure of marriage, it seems.” Mama chuckled, patting his hand. “Why don’t you ready yourself for dinner? Goodness, and to think we began with napkin colors!”
“Thank you, Mama,” Atticus said as he rose. He leaned down and placed a light kiss upon her cap.
As he quit the music room and wound through Setherwell to his quarters, a rare spark of courage burned deep in his chest. Perhaps he could finally allow himself to accept Mama’s words.
He could not have managed it alone. But anything was possible with Felicity by his side, loving and accepting him just as he did her. Though they had yet to say as much aloud, perhaps the time had come.
Atticus could feel it in every flutter of his heart, in every weightless step. Beyond all his wildest dreams, he had fallen headfirst into love. It was a miracle not to be wasted.
Together, he and Felicity would face their fears, heal their wounds, and create a new future. It was all possible, but only if she was there. Atticus could wait no longer. For once, the exhilaration of risk raced through him. For once, he believed he had found something in which he could not fail.