Clarissa huffed out a breath. “Oh,” she said. “You too, Mama?”
“Marian mentioned in a recent letter that you have been spending a little time with him,” Mrs. Greenfield said.
“Marian Ware?” Clarissa said, unable to keep the indignation out of her voice. “I suppose she and Charles are concerned. Caleb has been dead for six years, Mama. My brother-in-law ought to mind his own business. And my sister-in-law.”
“Perhaps they consider that his brother’s widow is their business,” her mother said. “Or at least someone for whom they feel a sort of protective affection.”
“I do not need protection,” Clarissa said.
“Of course you do not.” Her mother reached a hand across the space between them and patted her arm. “You are a strong woman, Clarissa, and always have been. You have always done what is right. Your father and I trusted you as a girl. We trusted you during your marriage, though it was difficult at times not to step in to try to protect the interests of the daughter we loved. We trust you now. I was always fond of Matthew when he was a lad, though he was also a scamp—except when he was with you. Or with us. I always thought he would have thrived if everyone who had the care of him had relaxed and treated him as a person with unique needs. But then, who am I to criticize? I never had a problem child.”
“We have become friends again,” Clarissa said. “We have spent a few afternoons together, walking and picnicking, always within the park, just as we always stayed in the park here. The gossips are wagging their tongues over the story, of course. When we were growing up, we were essentially equals, both of us the children of gentlemen. Now I am the Dowager Countess of Stratton while he is the village carpenter. It ought not to make a difference and does not to me. I intend to continue our friendship, Mama, no matter what my children say, or my neighbors. Provided he does not put an end to it, that is. I think perhaps the gossip is more distressing for him than it is for me.”
“Then you must both decide what you want and what you choose to do about it,” Mrs. Greenfield said. “The time was not right for either of you when you were on the brink of adulthood. Your father and I were actually relieved—as well as flattered andhonored, of course—when Caleb, or rather his mother, came courting. We saw what was beginning to happen between you and Matthew. And it was not just—or even mainly—the slight difference in your stations that alarmed us, Clarissa. It was the very real possibility that both of you would end up wretchedly unhappy. Forgive us for urging upon you what turned out to be less than ideal.”
“You did not urge me, Mama,” Clarissa said. “You allowed me to decide for myself.”
“At the age of seventeen?” her mother said. “I have suffered many pangs of guilt over that. We ought to have sent Caleb on his way without a word to you.”
“It was not an entirely unhappy marriage,” Clarissa said. “There was much happiness too. He was never unkind to me except perhaps on that one memorable occasion. And I had my children. And Ravenswood. And you not too far away. And now I have my old friend back and intend to keep him if it is what he wants too.”
“You must do what will make you happy,” her mother said. “It is time, Clarissa, just as it was time for George last year, to look to your future and what will bring you the greatest sense of fulfillment. You owe nothing to anyone. I know your love is already freely given to your children and grandchildren—and to us. Now you must love yourself.”
Clarissa blinked several times in an effort to prevent tears from forming in her eyes. Just a few minutes ago she had been bracing for a lecture from her mother. She might have known better.Now you must love yourself.Why was no one ever taught to do that? Why was it looked upon almost as a vice? Was the absence of self-love the cause of that void she felt at the core of herself?
“It is why I came home early and alone from London,” she said. “I wanted to sort out my life now that Caleb is gone and Gwynethhas married Devlin and taken over my duties so competently and the children are all grown and Stephanie has been launched upon society. You are right, Mama. I no longer owe anything to anybody, except my continued love. It is a freeing thought, but also a potentially lonely one. I need to move consciously into a new phase of my life. Perhaps it will include Matthew, though I do not know in what capacity. But of course everyone has become alarmed. Everyone wants me to remain as I am, or as I was.”
“I am not alarmed,” Mrs. Greenfield said. “Nor is your papa. Quite the contrary, in fact. We want you to live your life to the fullest, Clarissa. It is all we have ever wanted for you.”
Clarissa could no longer control her tears. Two of them spilled over and trickled down her cheeks while she fumbled for a handkerchief, and her mother first patted and then squeezed her arm before drawing her daughter into her arms and murmuring soothing words to her while she continued to weep.
“Come up to my room,” Mrs. Greenfield said at last. “You must dash some cold water on your face and comb your hair. It will be time for you to return home soon. And in a curricle, no less. It must have been enormous fun to travel so far in such a flimsy vehicle.”
“It was,” Clarissa said before hiccuping and then laughing as she followed her mother upstairs.
“If only I were twenty years younger,” her mother said.
—
An hour later Clarissa and Owen were on their way back home.
Tomorrow, she remembered, was the day Matthew was expecting a visit from his nephew.
Poor Matthew. She knew he would be dreading it. The quiet lifethat seemed to suit him so well had been badly disturbed lately—and she was largely to blame.
If she did speak to him at that reception, she must keep her remarks brief. But it seemed such an age since they had been alone together—last Thursday afternoon. And that might very well be the last time.
No matter. She would forge ahead anyway with the plans for her future that were beginning to unfold in her mind. They did not depend upon the decision of one man. She must never allow that to happen. She was a free and strong woman.
—
Matthew had thought about his family as little as he possibly could during the more than thirty years since he had left home. Yet when his mind did drift toward his brother and his nephews, as it inevitably did from time to time, he thought of the latter as young children. As for his niece, she had not even been born when he left England.
Philip Taylor, the elder of his nephews, was, of course, thirty-five or thirty-six years old now, and Anthony, his brother, one year younger. Matthew had worked it all out before Philip arrived, but it was still a bit of a shock to actually see him, a neatly dressed gentleman who bore a distinct resemblance to Reginald—but older than Reginald had been when Matthew last saw him.
Philip had brought Emily, his wife, with him. She was a pretty, plumpish woman, probably a few years younger than he. They apparently had two young children of their own. That made him a great-uncle, Matthew thought.
He heard them, right on time, coming up the stairs beside thesmithy but waited until they knocked before opening the door. He shook hands with them—two strangers—and invited them in.
