Chapter 11 #2
“Thank you.” Ellen’s words were muffled as she pressed her cheek against Lucy’s shoulder. “I’d hoped Father would marry again and that his new lady would help fill the void…” Her words trailed off and she held onto Lucy as if she feared one or both of them would vanish.
“Has he shown interest in such a thing?” It was gauche of her to ask, but she couldn’t help it.
“No.” The word sounded forlorn. “Since Mother died, he’s had mistresses.
Made no secret of them, but the women never stayed around long before he dismissed them.
” She shrugged and pulled away in order to peer into Lucy’s face.
“I’m not certain he wishes to marry again, for none of those women had the look of being a mother.
” Her cheeks colored. “It is rather difficult to explain.”
“I can just imagine.” Lucy wiped away the tears from Ellen’s cheeks, much as she’d done countless times with Beatrice. “Does your father currently have a… a woman in his life?” It was something he and she hadn’t discussed, but it was rather a critical topic.
“He hasn’t been with anyone for ever so long, perhaps a year at least.”
“Ah, which is why his drinking has increased,” Lucy deduced softly.
“Perhaps he is lonely too.” All the puzzle pieces he’d currently given her about his life suddenly fell into place to form a picture of what his existence must be.
They weren’t all that different after all, for that was exactly what the nameless lump, that black void deep inside herself was she often tried to ignore and refused to name.
Lucy sat with her arms about Ellen for many minutes, the silence around them as comfortable as if she was in her parlor with her own daughter.
At the forefront of her mind, worry gnawed.
What would her children say, how would they react, when she delivered the news to them that they wouldn’t return to London and the lives they’d previously known?
Would that damage the relationships she currently enjoyed with them?
Oh, why was life so difficult? Desperate for an escape from her thoughts, she said, “Give your father some time as he works through the things that have haunted him. Perhaps by Christmas next year, things will have changed.”
“That is my wish for this Christmas,” Ellen whispered, and then she pulled out of Lucy’s embrace. She stood, a trace of embarrassment in her expression. “We should go downstairs before Father comes looking for us.”
“Go ahead. I’ll catch you up. I just need to grab my embroidery,” Lucy said as she gained her feet. Colin, for the sake of your daughter, please become the man I know you can be.
For a few hours after the evening meal was consumed, Colin had shown himself in a different light.
He’d entertained her and Ellen by engaging them in parlor games they both knew well.
Cross Questions and Crooked Answers had them all laughing until Lucy’s sides hurt.
Since they didn’t have enough people for Buffy Gruffy, they indulged instead with Steal the White Loaf, whereupon Colin was “it” more often than not.
Once the games were exhausted, they settled into cards, and though Lucy felt it her duty to decree teaching such things as whist and faro to Ellen decidedly scandalous, she played right alongside the others, even winning several hands, much to Colin’s mock displeasure.
As the evening drew to a close and Ellen’s eyelids drooped, Lucy sighed. She’d enjoyed herself and had fun despite the ever-present strain and the odd charge of current that bound her and Colin together.
With a wide yawn Ellen did nothing to hide in a ladylike fashion, the girl stood. “I’m going to bed. Lucy, do you accompany me?”
“In a bit. I want to tidy the room and perhaps finish my handiwork, but I’ll bid you goodnight now, for I’m certain you’ll be in dreamland when I do come up.
” She smiled and the girl smiled back. There was a bond there that wouldn’t soon break.
Perhaps the child would write to her and consider her a surrogate aunt.
Once Ellen had quit the room, Lucy stood, but Colin had already busied himself with tidying the room in her stead.
She contented herself with watching him as he stoked the fire.
How manly he was. Gone was the slim young man from her youth.
In his place was this well-muscled creature with gray in his hair and temples, lines framing his mouth and eyes that crinkled deliciously when he laughed.
And oh how merry his mirth had sounded when they’d played games.
She’d never seen his eyes twinkle as much as they’d done tonight.
The man he was now caused her pulse to kick up and butterflies to brush their wings through her belly.
When he turned and their gazes collided, heat slapped at her cheeks, for he’d caught her staring.
“Thank you for a lovely evening. I appreciate it more than you can probably know.” To her mortification, tears stung her eyes.
“Evenings like this remind me of when Jacob was alive. We used to stay up all night either talking or playing games…”
I’m in the drink now. She patted her dress, but of course there was no handkerchief present. Why the devil can I not just have a pocket square about when I need one?
“Ah, Lucy.” Colin closed the distance between them.
He whipped out yet another handkerchief and pressed it into her hand.
“Come. Talk with me.” Then he drew her to the fireplace and encouraged her to sit on the floor, his arm about her shoulders, their backs resting against the warm stones of the hearth, the worn leather chairs hiding them from the door if anyone were to come in.
Long ago, he’d done the same thing in the kitchens at Lancaster Hall late one night, and they’d talked about everything and nothing for hours.
A shuddering sigh left her throat. Why did he have to feel so decadent next to her and smell so divine? “One thing is certain, I have never passed a more emotional trip than this one.” She laughed, but the sound was forced as she dabbed at her tears.
“Agreed. It has been both disconcerting but freeing, in a way.” He shifted, turning slightly to peer into her face. “Tell me about Jacob.”
“Where do I start?”
“Wherever you’re hurting the most,” he suggested on a whisper, compassion shining in his blue eyes, his expression somber.
Lucy nodded. Perhaps that was the best way after all.
“He was a good provider, a great jokester and always quick with a laugh.” She smiled even though it was a watery affair.
“He loved the children, adored his work for the Home Office. Spoiled me with trinkets and dresses if nothing else than to admire me in them.”
“As a man in love should,” Colin murmured but offered nothing else.
“He was a man of honor. Had a strong sense of right and wrong. I only hope that was instilled in Simon and Beatrice.” She paused, not sure of how to continue as her throat was clogged with tears and her chest tightened with remembrance and grief.
“Oh, I miss him still, miss that companionship, that having someone about to talk with, who will understand,” she whispered, the words pulled from her.
“I assumed we’d grow old together, but fate had other plans. ”
“It often does,” he responded in a low whisper of his own and he squeezed her shoulder. “Perhaps it is because we—the survivors—need to learn how to be stronger.”
She pleated his handkerchief, her gaze on the tips of her slippers that peeked out from beneath the hem of her gown. “He talked about you always, but at Christmastide most of all.”
“Why?”
“This time of year was when he felt closest to you. Those memories of us are connected, for we were never apart in those days.” Finally, she raised her gaze to his once more.
Shock and regret warred for dominance in his eyes.
“Jacob loved you like a brother, Colin. He treasured the pocket watch you gave him that Christmas. Used it so much we replaced the chain.”
“Oh, I’d forgotten that watch,” he murmured. “I cannot believe he didn’t pawn it after…”
“Never. He treasured it.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.” He sighed and the warmth of his breath skated over her cheek. “Losing both him and you at the same time nearly ended me. But after several years, after I was married myself, I understood it was probably for the best.”
“He forgave you for the silence, for the anger.” Her tears dry, she smiled, and it was a stronger affair now. “Hoped that eventually you’d find it in your heart to forgive him too, that you two could resume your friendship.”
“I’d lost touch with him, threw his letters into a box.” He snorted, but there was no anger in his expression. “The same box where all my father’s letters went. I didn’t want that connection to my past—any connection. I tried to forget.”
“Perhaps we remember for a reason,” she added, her voice barely there. Some of the ache in her chest faded as she talked to this man who’d once known her husband too. “Jacob was adamant that you’d come around, but time ran out for him.”
“I’m so sorry.” He reached for hand with his free one and squeezed her fingers despite the handkerchief. “When you told me that first day of the trip that he’d died, I didn’t know what to do, because in that moment, I knew there was no chance to forgive, to make it right between him and I.”
A piece of her heart went into his keeping.
“Keep changing, Colin, and remember Jacob at Christmas. He’ll know, and so will you.
” A hiccupping laugh escaped her, and once more her eyes filled with tears, but not necessarily for her lost husband.
“I’m lonely, and I think that’s the bulk of why I cannot fully enjoy Christmastide anymore.
It is very much a holiday for romance, and I haven’t quite figured out how to celebrate it without that. ”
“How well I understand that sentiment.” The rumble of his voice comforted her like nothing else could.
How very… odd.
“With the loss of Jacob’s townhouse, I feel as if I’ve failed his memory, somehow.” She sniffed but refused to give into more tears. “I only hope the children will understand.”
“I’m sure they will. Young people are resilient, and any children of yours will be stubborn, besides.” He patted her shoulder. “Season of miracles, remember.”
They sat in comfortable silence for long moments while the dying fire snapped and crackled and the soft drone of rain beat against the window glass once more.
Her eyelids drooped. Lucy rested her head on his shoulder.
His body against hers, his arm around her felt all too right, and it set her pulse racing with a newfound excitement.
The small kernel of hope she perpetually carried in her chest bloomed into something she wasn’t sure she wanted, for he hadn’t shown an interest in such a thing.
From somewhere deep in the recesses of the inn, the chime of a long-case clock denoted the midnight hour.
Lucy stirred. “I should go up.” She struggled to her feet.
“Agreed.” Colin rose, standing all too close to her, the heat of his body seeping into hers. “We have one more day of travel ahead.”
“Well, one and some, and it’s raining again.” But she smiled at him. “Thank you for listening to me. I feel cleansed somehow.”
“As I felt after talking with you yesterday.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his brief touch burning across her cheek.
His eyes reflected sorrow and a seriousness she’d not seen before.
“I feel as if I know Jacob better, as if he has indeed forgiven me, though I miss him. I should have sought him out earlier, been a man and—”
“Oh, hush.” Then Lucy lost her mind. She stood on tiptoe and stemmed his words by pressing her lips to his.
Had she wanted the kiss on some level since their dance?
Yes, merely to assuage her curiosity, and she wasn’t disappointed.
His lips were every bit as manly and interesting as the rest of him.
She blinked, pulling slightly away with heated cheeks. “I shouldn’t have…”
Colin merely grinned. He cupped her cheek and tugged her closer to him with a hand at her waist and then he kissed her this time, moving over her mouth, exploring, seeking, asking… remembering.
As tingles played her spine and danced low in her belly, a certain amount of panic set in, throwing cold water as it were over the response she desperately wanted to give. They couldn’t do this; the kisses were borne out of memories for a different time. Weren’t they?
Quickly, she wrenched from his embrace, the heat of his mouth lingering on hers. “Goodnight,” she uttered on the heels of a squeak, and then she fled the room, belatedly remembering to grab her reticule and her handiwork on the way out.
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
It was a long time after she’d settled beneath the bedclothes before she drifted into sleep or thoughts of Colin stopped pestering her.