Lord Cateril wasn’t entirely sure Marcus had been able. It was not a matter he could have asked about. “Does Kathryn say why he’s chosen her?” he asked.
“Only that he needs a helpmeet and finds that she fits his needs. He’s mad, too.”
“Perhaps not, dear. Kathryn was a good wife, and I’m sure Marcus’s afflictions didn’t always make him easy.” He pulled out another argument from Lord Dauntry’s letter. “Would Marcus have wanted his Kitty to live a half-life here when she could be useful elsewhere?”
He hoped his wife would see that the words applied to her as well, but she didn’t seem to note it. “I can’t bear her replacing him, Edward. I can’t bear it. It would be as if he died again.”
“Dead is dead, Sarah!” He instantly regretted the sharp words, for she looked so stricken, but he wanted his wife back. There’d been an argument in the letter that he hesitated to use, but he had to try. “Are you not perhaps expecting Kathryn to bury herself with Marcus, as the poor widows in India are expected to throw themselves onto the funeral pyre?” In better times they’d read about the practice of suttee, and Sarah had been horrified.
“This is not the same,” she protested.
He let silence argue for him.
“It’s not the same,” she repeated. “But she shouldn’twantto marry anyone else. She shouldn’t be able to bear it.”
He tried a different approach. “It’s time for you to put off black, Sarah. For your own sake. Marcus wouldn’t have wanted this. The grandchildren won’t remember you any other way.”
“They’ll never know Marcus!”
“They’ll know him from his picture and from thestories we tell. Happy stories. He’s gone, my dear, but so are many admirable young men who defended us in battle so that we could live freely here. If we don’t live our lives to the full, do we not undermine their victory?”
“How have you become so eloquent?” she protested. “You’ll be making grand speeches in Parliament next.”
Of course she’d detect borrowed words.
“I’m inspired by wanting my Sarah back. I’m only half myself without you, my dear.”
She cried again, but then blew her nose. “Have I been so very selfish?”
“You needed time, my love. We all did. But it swallowed you, and you took Kathryn down with you. She’ll never forget Marcus or cease loving him, but she deserves to live a full life. Can you follow her lead?”
She smoothed her black skirt as if she’d never seen it before. “It will be hard.”
Dauntry had mentioned addiction in his letter, but Lord Cateril decided not to use that.
“I will help you,” he said, and rose, holding out a hand.
She took it and let him help her to her feet. Her look was questioning, but there was a bit of the old Sarah in it.
“I’m going to take you upstairs and help you choose a gown that’s not black. No, I’m not planning to undress you, my love.” He risked a tease. “Or not yet. But I’ll help you choose. Then when you’re ready, I need your advice about estate matters. There are many difficult decisions these days.”
“You’ve become very clever all of a sudden, Edward.” He delighted to see her sharp wit again. “But I admit you’re probably right. I have sunk too low for too long. The sage green, perhaps.”
“The very gown I had in mind.”
He wouldn’t mention the letter yet—the letter she mustwrite—or the matter of sending Kitty’s belongings off to her new life. He hoped she’d come to that on her own.
He escorted his wife to the stairs, but left her to mount them alone, black skirts trailing the steps as if to drag her down. She’d never worn skirts of such an impractical length in the past. She paused at the best spot to study Marcus’s portrait, but then nodded as if a decision was made and continued on.
Good lad,Lord Cateril said silently to his younger son, bright eyed and vital in his scarlet and gold.You watch out for your wife, too. No dog with a bone about it. She’s a grand lass. Let her have as much of a life as she can. I wouldn’t have thought such a lawyerly type quite to her taste, but better than buried alive. Much better than that.
Chapter 9
Kitty helped Ruth, trying to learn a bit more about rural household management. She also went with her around the village, alert for anything about Dauntry. She learned little of use. Everyone was interested in him, but it seemed he rarely visited Beecham Dab, and no one knew even as much as she did.
Some of the village women would smirk and say he was a fine, handsome man. Others judged him too fancy-dressed and haughty. A few were perceptive enough to say he was a London man who’d doubtless not be at the Abbey much, and declared that a shame.
She visited the Beecham Dab almshouses one day with Ruth and learned in conversation that some repairs were outstanding. A little more “idle” curiosity revealed that the problem was of long standing, but had become worse since the fifth viscount’s death.
