Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Linus crossed closer to her. He had grown since she had last seen him, and not just in height. The navy, it seemed, did not produce scrawny men. She was absolutely dwarfed by him. “You have been crying,” he said, his tone changing quickly to one of concern. “What has happened?”
“Nothing that an afternoon nap won’t address.” How easily the lie slipped off her tongue. She had no intention of telling all the world the true state of her heart.
“After all Adam’s grumblings about you being ‘so blasted cheerful’ and having some lordling courting you, I fully expected to see you bouncing about the place, humming and dropping flower petals in your wake,” Linus said.
“You expected to see me acting like an imbecile?”
He chucked her under the chin. “Are you feeling grumpy today, Little Daphne?”
She turned away. “Don’t talk to me as though I were a child, Linus. I am eighteen years old. Just because I am small—”
He nimbly stepped around her, stopping directly in front of her. With an apologetic smile, he said, “I hadn’t meant to hurt your feelings. And bear in mind, I have only seen you a handful of times since you were eight. I forget sometimes that you have quite grown up over the past decade.”
She nodded. The mistake was understandable when looked at logically. “I am always surprised at how very much you change between visits.”
“I grow handsomer each time, is that it?” He chuckled even as he tucked foppishly at his cuffs. Linus always did enjoy making others laugh. She liked that about him, though she acutely missed Evander’s tender constancy.
“How long before you must return to sea?” she asked. “I daresay your leave will be cut short considering the situation with the former colonies.”
“Actually, that is why I had hoped to intercept you.” His jovial expression sobered once more.
“Has something happened?”
“Come sit with me a moment,” Linus said, indicating the nearby sofa. When she obeyed, he followed and sat beside her. “I need your opinion on a matter of great importance.”
His uncharacteristic gravity made her uneasy.
“You have always had a very good head on your shoulders and, even as a child, showed remarkably good judgment. I have found myself in a difficult situation and could use some advice.”
“Of course.” She would do anything to help her family. In that moment, she welcomed the distraction as much as the opportunity to be of assistance.
“Father’s health has taken a decided turn for the worse,” Linus said.
“Adam hinted at that. How bad is he?”
Linus took hold of her hand as if offering strength in the face of bad news. Daphne’s heart crept into her throat.
“The physician does not expect him to live to the end of the year.”
He is dying. She blinked hard. How often had she tried to help him, to heal him? It was all for naught.
“At the risk of sounding insensitive,” Linus said, “the situation leaves me in a bind. I am Father’s only heir. The estate and all the responsibilities that go with it fall to me. It is my duty to return to the family seat and take up my role there, but—”
“But you also feel an obligation to the navy,” she said, thinking she understood.
“An obligation, yes, but a pull as well. I enjoy the sea. I enjoy the adventure and challenge. What would I do on land? It seems almost preposterous.”
“You have spent nearly half your life at sea, Linus. Of course living on land is a daunting prospect, perhaps even an unwelcome one at the moment.”
He sighed in audible relief. “Then I’m not merely a bad son?”
Daphne patted his hand. “Not at all. When you have spent years imagining your future one way, you cannot expect to let go of that without some resistance and—” Her stomach twisted at the painful realization that she might have been speaking about herself. “And regrets.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to end my naval career, but I also don’t know if leaving the estate behind won’t simply render me unable to focus enough to be of any use to the rest of the crew.”
Determining the direction of one’s future when one’s present has fallen completely to shambles—Daphne knew very well the overwhelming nature of that dilemma. “Perhaps you need to give yourself time to decide. When does your ship put out to sea again?”
“Three weeks.”
“And how long before its departure do you need to make your decision?”
Linus seemed to think a moment. “I could probably hold off on the decision up until two days before; that would allow for a very hasty trip to port if that is what I decide.”
“You simply need to decide to be calm about it.” Calm. Rational. “Think through what you want to do. Be logical.”
Linus nodded, looking calmer already. “It would probably help to talk to Adam about the needs of the estate and what condition it is in. And I may write to my captain, ask for his opinion on how much I might be needed on board.”
“Yes.” Daphne spoke as much to herself as to her brother. “Find where you are needed and in what capacity you are most likely to be happy.”
Linus wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a very brotherly squeeze.
“Evander always did say you had more wisdom than the whole family combined. Thank you for sharing a bit of it with me.” He got to his feet, looking a little more himself but with a lingering hint of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Now, one more nugget of knowledge, if you will. Where am I most likely to find Artemis?”
“She passed by just as Persephone and I reached home. I believe she was headed toward the back of the house, no doubt the garden.”
He smiled mischievously. “I believe I will see if I can startle her enough to produce one of her famous feigned swoons.” On that declaration, he made his way out of the room.
The day had begun on such a promising note, but then everything had fallen apart.
Father was dying. Though she’d not had his companionship for years, owing to the distance between them, both physical and mental, the thought of never seeing him again, never hearing his voice, drove a sharp shaft of pain deep into her heart.
What good were her remedies and tonics now? She would soon lose her father, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She closed her eyes against a flood of painful memories.
“Please drink it, Papa,” her nine-year-old self pleaded. “You will feel better.”
“I will be very quiet,” she, with her voice that was younger still, promised. “Only let me stay with you.”
Across a mere five years came her voice again. “Come live with us at Falstone Castle. Please. I cannot bear to leave you behind again.”
His response had seldom varied. “Leave me be. I am happier on my own.”
Her father preferred to not be with her. He was happier without her company. And he wasn’t the only one to leave her behind. Evander had. Linus had just now left without a backward glance. Adam and Persephone had their own lives, of which she was only a cursory part.
And James. James had been playing a role from the beginning. How was so much heartache to be endured?
“Find where you are needed.” She repeated her own advice.
But where was she needed? With Persephone consulting physicians without even a word of input from Daphne, something that in the past had generally always been done, her apothecary abilities didn’t seem likely to give her purpose amongst them, at least not to the extent they once had.
Her afternoons with Adam had seemed helpful to him, giving him someone with whom he could discuss ideas and philosophies and issues of the day.
She was needed in that respect. In time, the child he and Persephone were now anticipating would likely take her place in that.
Adam would have his own child to raise and care for.
Her happiness for her sister and brother-in-law came with an unexpected surge of something very like mourning. Their own family was expanding, and she would not truly be part of it.
A maiden aunt could be appreciated and enjoyed, but she would not really be needed.
She would be unessential again, just as she’d been when she was a child.
Evander would not be there to make certain she was noticed.
Adam would be occupied with more personal concerns.
Persephone, who had taken on the role of mother to Artemis when she was an infant, would take up that duty once more with her own child.
Daphne would have no place. She had learned as a child that usefulness went a long way to extending one’s welcome.
Perhaps a more in-depth study of her herbs would make her an asset to the community around Falstone Castle.
If the local families and the vicar and even the staff at the castle benefited from her knowledge and skills, then she would serve a purpose among them.
And she would stay busy. Endless occupation left a person with far less time for focusing on regrets.