“We would have needed an extra gig to bring my wheeled chair,” Jenny explained. “I would not hear of it, though Luc was very willing to bring it himself. You need not feel obliged, though, Pippa, to—”
“Hush!” Philippa patted her hand firmly. “It is no sacrifice to sit here with you. How lovely the park looks today, and what abeautiful morning it is after the rain. Even the wind is tolerable because it will be necessary to fly that kite.”
“It is obviously not quite ready to be launched just yet, however,” Jenny said, nodding in the direction of young Raymond, who had detached himself from the group and was skipping toward the barouche.
“Did you read my invitations?” he called before he was quite up to them. “Did you, Aunt Jenny? Didyou,Lady Philippa? I wrote the message out on some old paper first and checked the spelling of a few words in the dictionary rather than ask Papa. It would not have been fair—would it?—when I could find out for myself. I did ask Mama to make sure I had put the full stops and commas in the right places, but I had. And I also asked Mama ifStephaniewas spelled with onefor two and it turned out to be neither but aphinstead.”
“It was an extremely well-written letter,” Philippa assured him. “I was honored to receive a formal invitation in addition to the verbal one I had from you last week. My sister may already have told you that she was very excited that you thought to invite her too.”
The Marquess of Roath was strolling up behind his nephew. “The demonstration is about to begin, Raymond, barring any more unexpected delays,” he said. “I do not suppose you want to miss it.” He touched the brim of his hat to the ladies. “Good morning, Lady Philippa. It was good of you to come. You are warm enough, are you, Jenny? The wind is a bit brisk.”
He had set his hands on the boy’s shoulders, Philippa noticed, and was kneading them lightly close to his neck. It was a gesture of affection, probably unconscious. It also sent slight shivers along her own neck and caused her to hunch her shoulders until she realized what she was doing.
“We are perfectly cozy here, thank you,” Jenny assured him. “Go back quickly now with Uncle Luc, Raymond. Everyone is waiting for you.”
And sure enough, several people had turned their heads to look toward the barouche. Lady Mayberry was beckoning. The older lady Philippa did not know called a greeting to Jenny. Raymond bounded back to join them, while his uncle walked more sedately. What a bizarre coincidence it was, Philippa thought, not for the first time, as she gazed after him, that the very first friend she had made in London also happened to be the Marquess of Roath’s sister. And that she and her mother and sister were fast getting tangled up with his family.
“The older couple are Sylvester’s mother and stepfather,” Jenny explained. “Lord and Lady Patterson. The younger couple are Sylvester’s brother, Jeremy Bonham, and his wife, Laura. Their children are Patty—short for Patricia—and Matthew, who is never known as Matt and will tell you so if you try it. The older boy is Roger Quick, Lord Patterson’s grandson from his first marriage. Poor Pippa. More names to remember.”
It was a family affair indeed, Philippa thought. She and Stephanie were the only outsiders, in fact. It looked, though, as if everyone was being kind to Steph. Sir Gerald had a protective hand against the small of her back, while Raymond seemed to be explaining something to her about the wind with exaggerated arm movements and Roger Quick gazed at her with wary interest. Steph was animated and attentive.
“Ah. At last,” Jenny said, reaching across the seat to pat Philippa’s hand. “Here we go.”
Everyone had moved back from the kite and from Viscount Mayberry, who was down on one knee making a last-minute adjustment. Timothy hovered behind him and Susan stood at his side.
Timothy was given the first run with the kite, his father loping along beside him and Susan dashing after them both, holding her skirts high. The other children cheered loudly, and several of the adults, including Jenny, clapped their hands. And please,please,Philippa thought, let it fly. Children’s emotions were such delicate things. This morning’s venture was bound to end in either euphoria or despair, with no possibilities between those extremes. But childhood should be filled with far more triumph and happiness than disappointment. Children should be allowed to believe that all their dreams would fly if only they worked hard at them.
The kite flew.
It lifted from the ground behind Timothy, bobbed and weaved giddily, dipped and came perilously close to crashing back to earth, and then rose sharply and caught the wind. The boy turned and maneuvered the reel about which the string was wound, his father at his side. The child’s face was bright with joyous concentration as he watched his kite and kept it aloft. Susan bounced and shrieked at his other side. The cheers of the other children had also turned to shrieks, and the adults shouted encouragement and applauded more loudly. Stephanie had the fingers of both hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes bright above them. Lord Patterson whistled piercingly, two fingers between his lips. A number of strangers within sight had paused to watch, some of them pointing skyward for the benefit of those who had not yet noticed the kite.
Perhaps, Philippa thought, flight was the ultimate dream for young and old alike. And how wonderful this moment was, she thought, her eyes welling with tears as for no apparent reason she remembered the years of her terrible depression, when joy and exuberance and hope had seemed things of the past, gone forever.
“Oh.Careful,Susan,” Jenny murmured from beside her.
Timothy had handed the reel very carefully to his sister, and thekite had instantly threatened to dive earthward. But their father was there, his hands over hers, reeling in some of the string and running her backward until the wind caught the kite again and lifted it back into the sky. He removed his hands gently from hers but hovered close in case he was needed again. Even from some distance away Philippa could see the beaming happiness on the little girl’s face.
And it occurred to Philippa that her father, whom she had fairly worshipped until she was fifteen, had never done anything like this with any of them. He had always praised their accomplishments, often without having witnessed them, and smiled genially at them. He had definitelylovedthem. But it was Ben and Devlin, and Nicholas too when he was old enough, who had given practical help and unswerving encouragement when they saw the need in a younger sibling.
These were foolish thoughts to be having at this precise moment, however.
“This is suchfun,” she said. “For everyone, not just the children. It is all quite unlike anything I expected of London.”
Jenny turned her head to smile at her. “What did you expect?” she asked.
Philippa thought about it. “Excitement,” she said. “Lots of busy activity. Balls and parties. Shopping. Seeing famous buildings and visiting galleries. Making new friends. Perhaps falling in love. But I did not expect to watch a kite flying in Hyde Park. Or to see children so exuberant and so much the focus of adult attention. To see the warmth of... offamily.I suppose I thought that could be experienced only in the country. Perhaps it is because we—my brothers and my sister and I—were never brought to London in the springtime. Mama always stayed home with us while Papa came alone to carry out his duties in the House of Lords.”
“Did you have a happy childhood?” Jenny asked.
“Yes,” Philippa said without hesitation. “But I think perhaps we also missed something in never coming here. What about you?”
“My illness kept me at home,” Jenny told her. “But like you I had much happiness in my childhood. Both my mother and my father nursed me tirelessly through my illness. I woke up many a night to find my papa at my bedside instead of my nurse. It made me feel very safe to see him there. I never doubted that I would live. Charlotte used to read to me. Luc had endless patience with me too. Whenever he was home from school he would spend a few hours every day entertaining me or simply listening to my chatter. He would carry me outside on good days and take me all over the park either in the gig or in my wheeled chair after I had it. He refused to let me molder in the nursery, as he used to put it, when all the bother of being transported made me plead to remain there. I missed him dreadfully after Mama and Papa died within a year of each other. Grandpapa took him off to Greystone to train him to be a duke one day. I missed my parents too, more even than I missed my brother. Life changed so suddenly and so irrevocably. But I do not mean to complain. I still had Charlotte until she married Sylvester, and Aunt Kitty came to live with us. I soon came to adore her and understand that though she could never take Mama’s place, she was very precious indeed.”
Life changed so suddenly and so irrevocably...
Sometimes, Philippa thought, a person could become very self-absorbed and imagine that no one else suffered quite as badly as oneself. Jenny’s sufferings were undoubtedly worse than her own had ever been, for Jenny would never be done with the illness that had laid her low when she was still just a child. She would never run free.
“Do you ever resent being... confined to a chair?” she askedbefore it could occur to her that perhaps it was something she ought not to say aloud. But Jenny turned her head briefly again to smile at her.
