He recognized it instantly for what it was—a small woman, flitting in a gathering of flowers beside a stream. Thetehotikalá·luhe?, the mythical little people his mother had told him about when he had been a lad, passing down stories she had heard from her father.
But most striking of all concerning the image before him was not his mother’s depiction of thetehotikalá·luhe?, but rather, the features on the tiny woman who was smaller than the wild roses bordering the stream.
“Oh my heavens,” Pippa said, shock rendering her voice husky. “Is it my imagination, or does that fairy resembleme?”
Impossible as it seemed—for Mama had never met Pippa, at least not that he was aware of—thetehotikalá·luhe?in the sketch bore a remarkable resemblance to her. He could not shake the feeling that, were the sketch a watercolor, the eyes of the creature, who was dressed in traditional Iroquois dress, would be hazel. His mouth went dry.
This was a sign.
Roland had no doubt.
“It is atehotikalá·luhe?,” he said, the word sounding strange.
With his mother gone, he had no one left to speak to about such things, aside from his Aunt Lydia in New York. And he had not visited Aunt Lydia in…well, since he had lost Pippa.
“Tehotikalá·luhe?,” his wife repeated, struggling with the sounds, so different from English.
“They are something like fairies,” he attempted to explain. “They live in the forests, and they are benevolent. The Creator ordered them to help those who are ill or otherwise in need of aid.”
“And your mother sketched this…tehotikalá·luhe?which resembles me? Without ever having met me?” Pippa asked.
“Yes,” he said simply. “I know it seems impossible. But she did.”
“And all these years later, we are finding it now, together.”
“Do you not see the rightness of it, Sunshine?”
Pippa’s expression was one of awe; he could plainly see she was as moved by the discovery as he was. “I do.”
Now was the time to tell her he loved her. He knew he should. No moment had ever been begging for the confession more. And yet, he could not. Their bond was too new, too hesitant. He had lost her once before, and although this time was different and they were married now, he remained determined to proceed with care and caution.
Slowly, he reminded himself.
“Perhaps we ought to check on Puppy, then,” he suggested, placing his mother’s book of sketches back in its place. “We can return to examine the rest another day.”
“Of course.” Pippa’s hand found his once more. “Whatever you wish.”
Chapter 17
Pippa did not know what to expect this evening. Dinner had been an intimate affair between herself and Roland, followed by sherry in the library. But just as things between them had been about to progress, he had declared they ought to retire.
She stared at her reflection now and sighed. “Primrose, do you believe in fate?”
Her lady’s maid paused, mid-brushstroke, as she had been about the business of removing Pippa’s hair from its elaborate confines. She met Pippa’s gaze in the looking glass. “Fate, madam?”
“I do wish you would call me Pippa.”
“And I do intend to call you madam.”
Another sigh left her. “Fair enough. But answer my question at least, if you please.”
The brush strokes resumed, their slow, steady motions comforting to Pippa. “I am afraid you must elaborate. Fate in what sense?”
She thought again of the sketch Roland’s mother had made years ago, without ever having met her. The sight of her own face on the little fairy creature amongst the wild flowers—thetehotikalá·luhe?—had not stopped haunting her since she had first seen it earlier that day.
“Fate in the sense that something was meant to be, even when it may initially have seemed as if it had not been,” she elaborated, thinking of herself and Roland. “As if everything has its proper time to happen. As if life itself may be preordained in ways we cannot comprehend. As if we may have always been destined for a certain course, without our ever having known it.”
“I do not know if I have ever had cause to contemplate such a notion. If you were asking me if I think fate has brought you together with the duke, my only answer must be a resounding yes.” The smile her lady’s maid sent her in the looking glass was warm and kind. “His Grace is everything you deserve in a husband.”
