Iunderstand Alfred’s misgivings about courting favor in the parish.
It rankles me too, but I want to believe what Mr. Perry said—that the animosity towards me is partly leftover grievance from years of my father’s tightfisted rule.
I don’t want to fear coming back to Trescott. If I have an estate here, then I will have to return at least periodically. If relations can be normalized, it only makes sense to do so.
I still feel a bit queasy as I walk in the town square with Alfred.
I do not fear casting up my accounts as I did this morning, but I nevertheless feel tired and a bit sick.
When I woke this morning, I briefly felt the return of that nausea. Alfred had looked at me with such concern. He is, unfortunately, so attuned to the little changes in my countenance that hiding anything from him is difficult.
But I am resolute that he should not learn yet the true reason that I feel ill.
And now I want to make sure that the Ludlows will bewell cared for in my absence. I provided for the other cottagers out of duty and a desire to see hostilities cease. But when it comes to the Ludlows, it is a matter of affection—and I want them to be exceedingly comfortable.
So we visit the bookshop, the cobbler, the bakery, and everywhere I buy gifts to be delivered tomorrow afternoon after we have departed, so Betsy will have no time to protest.
When we come to the tiny toy shop and candy store, I resolve to go inside to buy Victoria a few presents.
Inside, Alfred and I browse the shop. Most of the toys are cheap things and the candy can all be had for very little. Being in the small space with Alfred, however, there is an intensity. The child that we spoke of as a hypothetical feels suddenly much more real, especially given what I believe about my own state.
Then as the shop girl wraps up the few items and package of candy I selected for Victoria, the door opens. I look to see who has entered and my stomach sinks.
There with his young son, a boy of eight or nine, stands Frank Holster.
I haven’t been this close to him in years. Foolishly, my heart beats faster. I avert my gaze immediately.
Wanting very much to leave the shop, I direct the girl to send the packages to the Ludlows, give her the necessary money, and move towards the door.
Alfred guides me through the small shop and I think that I have managed to avoid an encounter—when I hear Frank Holster say, “Mrs. de Lacey.”
I note the use of my married name.
I have no choice but to turn, knowing what is coming.
“I wish you joy,” Frank says, a kind smile spread across his handsome face. His hazel eyes still sparkle.
“Mr. de Lacey,” he nods at Alfred.
Alfred gives a stiff bow.
I say nothing but tip my head just slightly.
Then we leave the shop.
Now, I make my way to the carriage, my arm in Alfred’s.
Does he know about Frank Holster? The gossip in town might have reached him. I hope that he is ignorant of it. That he did not notice my slight discomposure at seeing Frank.
We seat ourselves in the carriage and are soon blessedly free of the town square. But the silence is heavy.
“Will you tell me,” Alfred finally says, his eyes on me even though I won’t take my own off the window, “what happened with him? With Frank Holster?”
I suppress a groan. He heardsomethingthen.
“I don’t wish to speak of it.”
“And why is that?”
