No man must ever know Foxglove’s secrets.
I swore to myself I would never make her mistakes, that I would never fall in love, never let my guard down. And yet here I am, so painfully in love it drips off of me like sweat. And forthe first time, I understand why she broke the rules and told my father. I understand the feeling of wanting to be so close to someone you think about cracking your ribs open and sliding them inside of you.
“A little girl will be all right,” he promises, kissing my cheek. “A daughter to tend to the house and keep us fed. A girl with her mother’s eyes.”
“And your smile,” I agree.
“And then more. The bigger the better, I say. Eight or nine, likely. As many girls as you desire, but we’ll need a boy or two to pass along my charm, as well as our name and this house.” He crosses his hands together behind his head, leaning back in his seat. “I’m willing to try as many times as is necessary, so long as you don’t mind.”
My breath goes steely. “Oh. Foxglove will stay with our daughters.” We haven’t spoken about this, though we should have. I’ve been so petrified about telling him the wrong things that I haven’t told him any of the right ones.
He leans his head to the side, curiosity glimmering in his dark eyes. “What on earth do you mean?”
I hesitate to answer. Not for fear of him—Jonah would never lay a harsh hand on me—but for fear of how to answer. I feel as if I’m walking on the tightest rope and a fall in either direction will destroy everything.
“Foxglove belongs to the Wilde women. It will pass from my name to our daughters’, should the Lord bless us with them.”
His jaw hangs open as he stares at me, bewildered. “Darling, you are my wife. Foxglove is as much mine as it is yours. And it will be our sons’.”
“Foxglove is not the same as other houses. Other homes. It belongs to daughters only. That’s the way it has always been and how it must stay.”
The warmth of his expression dries up like a puddle in the afternoon sun. “You must know no gentleman would ever agree to such an arrangement. What will they think of me?”
“I should think it doesn’t concern any ‘they’ of which you speak. Your concern should be with your wife.” I take his hand and place it on my stomach again. “With your daughter. We should’ve spoken about this already, and for that I apologize. But I’m afraid I can’t budge on this, and I’d ask you not to press the issue. For both our sakes.”
He pulls his hand back from me, but not roughly so. “You’re a madwoman, and I love you. We’ll discuss this more tomorrow. Once you’re not so tired.”
“I am not tired.” Panic seizes my lungs as I realize what I’ve done. How could I have been so foolish? How have I let this happen? “I beg you to let this go, Jonah. Foxglove is your home as long as I am breathing, but it will be mine until it is your daughter’s. And her daughter’s after that. Our sons may stay, and their families, too. We’ve always been able to make room. But Foxglove belongs to the Wilde women. Please just say you understand.”
His eyes dance between mine. “You speak of this house as if it is a breathing entity, not a pile of stones.”
The moment the words leave his mouth, the breath deflates from my lungs. Something sparks in the darkest depths of his eyes, an understanding that brings me pure terror. For it is not only understanding I see—it is something far more dangerous. Something hungry rests there, a monster that I have awoken. It stretches its back and yawns at me, ready.
“You know, my father warned me of the whispers he’s heard about your family, but I chose not to believe it because I loved you.Loveyou. But you must tell me, Hester, and you must tell me now. Is this magic you speak of? With the house? With our daughter? Is what they say about the Wildes true?”
My breath is like frozen fog, so cold in my chest I can’t quite catch it.Magic.The word feels strange. Wrong. There is no magic in this house, not in the way he means. What we have is different, but no less powerful. It is a love for the land and the way it loves us back.
It is a bond for which we have no name.
My heart races something wild against my ribs as I hold his gaze, trying to make sense of what he’s asking. I cannot tell if he understands the weight of this moment, of what he’s doing. I do not know where Foxglove draws the line, but I know I must lie and lie well.
“Don’t be patronizing,” I say, stroking his shoulder. “The only magic that exists in this house is this babe growing strong in my belly.”
His smile is soft, but the hunger hasn’t faded. The beast in his gaze is still wide awake. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you? If there was something to know?”
I nod, pulling my lip into my mouth. “’Course I would.”
He looks away from me then, toward the hearth, but the panic is already spreading through my bones and flesh. My body knows what my heart doesn’t want to accept.
It is already too late. Even without my saying a word, Foxglove’s secrets—my secrets—have entered his mind. I let him into my heart and this house, and I fear doing so has sentenced him to an early grave, just like my pa.
The conversation dies in uneasy silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Later in bed, we say good night with a quiet kiss, and as he lies sleeping peacefully beside me, I tell myself everything will be okay. That he doesn’t know anything, not really. That I did what I was supposed to do.
But the next day, he’s different. And the next. A week goes by, and I know something has changed at the very core of ourmarriage. Jonah is distant. He stays out late into the night, and when he returns, it’s often he’s been drinking.
His eyes are hazy when they meet mine, and I still see the beast there, lurking and waiting, no longer asleep, no longer tired. His voice becomes cautious, ready for something I do not understand.
I keep waiting—for what I do not know. For him to ask again, to push for answers that will take his life. But he doesn’t. He just smiles that Jonah smile and tells me good night.
