Chapter Eleven #4
“I won’t ever leave you,” Henry said, and she felt his mouth against her temple. She gripped him hard, and in his quiet presence, she found the support she’d needed for so long. He did know how she was suffering, and it felt so good to release it all.
She didn’t know how long she’d cried, but in the end, exhaustion overtook her. Henry dried her tears, and then framed her face with his hands. “We’re going to get past this, Beatrice. I promise you.”
Then he bent and kissed her mouth. The light kiss was familiar, and when she kissed him back, it was as if the seams of a torn hem were coming back together again.
Theirs had been a marriage formed of duty and friendship, nothing more.
And yet, when he pulled back from the kiss, she found herself wishing that he hadn’t stopped.
The loneliness she’d carried like a mantle was starting to drift away.
And though his dark hair was shot with gray, his green eyes held kindness and a longing that mirrored her own.
A soft ripple flowed through her, and when she embraced him again, she found herself pressing against his body, seeking comfort. It startled her to realize that she desired him. Even after all this time.
She took a shaky breath and reached for the forgotten toast. Before she could lift it to her mouth, he stopped her. “I brought your favorite jam.”
Red raspberry. She almost smiled when he spread the toast with the preserves, but didn’t. The taste of the sweet jam and the bread heightened her appetite. Henry poured her a cup of cold tea, but when he offered to ring for more, she refused and drank it anyway.
Yes, she did need to live. For so long, she’d shadowed her daughters’ lives, watching them grow into women. She’d forgotten herself, letting everything fade into the background until she was hardly more than a ghost of a woman.
Henry touched his finger to the corner of her lip, wiping the jam away, before he stole a taste of it. Color flooded her cheeks, for she suddenly imagined sharing his bed again. It had been so very long…but she had enjoyed his touch.
“I brought you a birthday gift a few weeks ago,” he said. “Would you like to see it now?”
She nodded, taking a second piece of toast and spreading jam upon it. “As long as it isn’t doorknobs.” A faint smile touched her lips, as she remembered the terrible time when he’d given her those for her birthday.
“No. It isn’t.” He went toward her writing desk and pulled open one of the side drawers that had a hidden back. After he pulled away the false opening, he brought out a velvet pouch. “I put it here, shortly after we arrived.”
Though she couldn’t say why, her heartbeat started to quicken. The flush from her cheeks spread over her skin, giving her goose bumps.
And when he opened the pouch and revealed a sapphire bracelet, her throat choked up with more tears. “Is that—?”
“I know you had to sell it, years ago, to feed our girls. Charlotte bought it herself and never told you. She was glad to sell it back to me.” He fastened the clasp around her wrist, and the glitter of diamonds and sapphires caught the morning sunlight. “I only wish you’d never had to use it.”
The heavy weight of the gemstones was a contrast to the lightness in her heart. “It’s much better than doorknobs,” she whispered, and embraced him hard.
Tonight, she decided. Despite all that had happened to them, he’d given her a tangible hope that they could rebuild their marriage. For a long moment, she rested her cheek against his, taking so much comfort from her husband.
The harsh pounding on her bedroom door made her frown, wondering why a servant would be calling out to her. Henry pulled back and opened the door.
“Forgive me, my lord,” the footman said. “But your daughter Margaret has returned. She’s downstairs.”
Nothing could have dimmed Beatrice’s joy at that moment.
David looked up from the letter he’d been writing when the noise of a visitor arriving caught his attention. He’d delayed his trip to Thornwyck after Christine’s cold had turned into a coughing sickness, but now she seemed much improved.
Curious as to whom the visitor could be, he set down his pen and moved into the hall.
“Och, my lass, but ’tis good to see you!”
David was startled to see a barrel-waisted woman embracing Amelia in the hallway. He’d never seen the Scotswoman before and had no idea who she was. What on earth was going on?
“And you, Mrs. Larson. I’m so glad you came.” Amelia hugged her back, seemingly overjoyed at the woman’s arrival.
His wife began talking at a rapid pace, and David hung back, waiting for an introduction. He didn’t know if the Scotswoman was a distant family member or why she was here, but he didn’t remember Amelia mentioning anything about a visitor.
When he walked closer, Amelia beamed and drew him forward to be introduced. “My lord, this is Mrs. Larson, my mother’s housekeeper.”
Although he was polite and nodded in greeting, David was unprepared for the woman’s enthusiastic curtsy.
“Thank ye for inviting me, m’lord. I’ve known Miss Amelia since she was a wee lass, and when she wrote and asked me to help with this household, I came straightaway.
” She clasped her hands and looked around.
“It’s a lovely home ye have here. I’m certain we can get everything sorted out in a matter of days. ”
Sorted? He hadn’t given Amelia permission at all to invite another servant to Castledon.
And what did she mean she was here to help with the household?
David sent Amelia a warning look, which she completely ignored.
“Mrs. Larson, our butler, Mr. Haverford, will be glad to show you to your room. Then I’d like to speak to you about your duties here. ”
David cleared his throat. “And how long were you planning to stay, Mrs. Larson?”
“Och, long enough to see that my wee lamb has everything well in hand,” the Scotswoman declared. “She’s given me an earful, she has, about all the changes that need to be made.”
The woman propped her fists against her waist. “And don’t you be worrying a bit, my lord.
When I’ve finished with this place, you’ll be thanking me and begging me to stay.
But I must return to Lady Lanfordshire within a fortnight.
Not a day longer,” she informed him as she turned to follow Mr. Haverford up the stairs.
David took Amelia by the hand and led her back into the drawing room. In a low voice, he demanded, “Exactly what were your intentions with bringing her here, Amelia?”
“I haven’t interfered at all with your servants,” she said sprightly. “I simply brought in a housekeeper who would obey my orders. I haven’t sacked anyone, much as they might deserve it.”
“I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Menford and the others,” he informed her. “If anyone disobeyed your orders again, you should have told me. There was no need to bring in an outsider.”
“Mrs. Larson is family, not an outsider,” she corrected. “And we can continue our discussion in private while she gets settled.” Without waiting for him to agree, she began striding away.
David followed and saw that she was returning to her room. He hurried to catch up, and when he opened her door, he saw that she was sitting down at her desk.
She picked up her quill and began writing a list of something.
Although her manner was composed, he suspected that she was simmering beneath the surface.
His own mood was heating up, especially when she’d said nothing about bringing in another housekeeper.
It made him wonder what other changes she was contemplating.
“What are you doing, Amelia?” he asked, coming to stand beside the desk. She continued scribbling her list, until he pulled the quill from her hand.
“I am making a list.”
He picked up the paper and saw that it was indeed a list of changes. It seemed that she intended to redecorate Katherine’s room and give it to Christine.
“Absolutely not.” He’d only just managed to pack away his wife’s belongings. And now she wanted to force his daughter to live in the same room where Katherine had died?
“She is eleven years old—almost twelve. She’s too old to be in the nursery, and she needs a room of her own.”
“Not that one,” he shot back. “It’s highly inappropriate.”
Amelia stood up from the desk and regarded him. “She loves her mother a great deal. Why do you think she wears Katherine’s old gowns? She wants to be close to her, and if she has the old room, she’ll have a part of her mother.”
There was sincerity in her voice, like a woman wanting to heal a broken little girl. And then she added, “She’ll read books from her mother’s shelves, and she’ll sit at the hearth where Katherine spent her time.”
“She took her last breath in that room,” he told his wife. “Don’t you think it will bother Christine?”
“She was only five when her mother died. But I will give her that choice,” Amelia continued. “If Christine feels uncomfortable, I’ll offer her a different room. She can also help pick out the drapes and rearrange the furniture, if she wants to.”
He was torn between agreeing with her and arguing against making any changes. This was his estate, his home. And he didn’t want her turning it upside down in his absence.
“And what other changes are you planning?” he asked, glancing at the list. “To change our food?”
She folded her arms across her chest, blocking his view of her curves. “Indeed, yes. It’s entirely unpalatable. I prefer my dinner to taste good.”
The defiance on her face, along with her dry comment, made him want to fluster her mood. “Is that so?” He pulled her hips to his, lowering his mouth to her throat. She shuddered when the warmth of his breath met her skin.
“Y-yes.”
“Aren’t you afraid of the consequences, if you make too many changes?”