Chastened, Eliza took a tart. At Ruenna’s sudden cry, she started, a pained expression on her unveiled face.
Setting her cup down, Esmée reached for the baby, who smiled so wide her pink gums appeared. The tension in the room, which had been tempered by Father’s wise words, ratcheted higher.
Ruenna was the image of Quinn. Dear Quinn. If not for him and his unwitting dinner invitation to Henri in the fall, Esmée might not be betrothed. How much she owed her brother-in-law. The latent realization left her wishing she’d thanked him before it was too late.
“She’s a charming child, well content and getting plumper by the day,” Father remarked. “Best enjoy her at every stage, as the first year flies away all too soon. Soon she’ll be toddling about in a pudding cap.”
Eliza jabbed her untouched tart with a finger. “I daren’t think of the future. ’Tis too bleak.”
“Bleak, my dear?”
“What have I?”
“Need I remind you that you are now one of the wealthiest widows in the colonies, not impoverished like so many?”
She brought her fist down on the table, rattling the china. “Would that I had Quinn and be destitute!”
A sullen silence fell. Esmée hardly tasted the delicious tart. Holding Ruenna in one arm, she resumed drinking her tea with her free hand, careful not to spill any.
Eliza continued undaunted. “I cannot imagine dancing or walking about or playing the harpsichord or anything I used to enjoy. Not without Quinn. He was so many things to me. Husband, confidant, advisor, a bulwark in every storm.”
Father nodded gravely. “We will sorely miss him. Have you given any thought to returning to Williamsburg?”
“Nay.” Eliza darted another look at Ruenna. “But this rusticated island is not the place for me either.”
“You are always welcome to reside at our York residence. Your rooms are much as you left them.”
Eliza added more sugar to her cup. “You are generous, Father, but I am foul company at present.”
“You’ll be in mourning, of course, wherever you go.”
“A year at the outset.” She shook her head in distaste. “I suppose this calls for a visit to the mantuamaker and milliner, as I’ll be clad in black bombazine for an eternity. Not to mention we must blackenthe townhouse. Coaches and chairs are to be covered in black cloth, and all the servants must wear shoulder knots of black silk ribbon. Even Ruenna shall be in all black.”
At this Esmée nearly protested, but ’twas the custom, after all. Ruenna, thankfully, had not the slightest inkling what she wore. Esmée raised her eyes to Eliza, schooling the shock she always felt at her appearance.
“Being the bluestocking you are, I suppose you shan’t postpone your wedding.” Eliza’s gaze held a challenge. “What say you, Sister?”
As Esmée finished swallowing a bite of tart, Father answered with vehemence, “Most certainly not. She and the captain have waited ten years and shan’t delay a moment longer. I mean no disrespect to Quinn, but age and experience have taught me that some matters are best seized at once despite forms and customs.”
“‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; and this same flower that smiles today tomorrow will be dying.’” Eliza quoted the old poem dry-eyed but with a bitter taint to her tone.
Ruenna gave another cry, and Esmée set down her cup and shifted the babe to her shoulder. “Shush, poppet.”
“Does she need to nurse?” Eliza asked, eyes dark.
“’Tis not her hungry cry. She just had a feeding before Alice brought her over. Here, why don’t you hold her?” Esmée made a motion to pass the baby to her, but Eliza held up her hands in protest.
“She would cry louder at my ravaged face.” Chin trembling again, Eliza looked at her untouched tea. “Besides, you and Alice are the ones she needs. And once Alice weans her, she shall be in a nurse’s care. ’Tis as it should be. Infants tire me so.”
“Sister, please reconsider.” Esmée returned Ruenna to her shoulder. “She needs her mother most of all, not a nurse.”
Father tapped his fingers atop his chair arm, eyes on Eliza. “I must leave tomorrow. You’ll have till then to decide whether you wish to remain here on the island or return to the mainland.”
CHAPTER
sixty
Twas a shimmering twilight when Esmée lit the pan lamps. She took up her quill and wrote in the logbook.
