“She was very beautiful,” Courtney began, but Ava-Marie’s attention had already shifted to a butterfly fluttering past.
“Look! It’s yellow! Papa showed me a yellow butterfly in Ireland. But it flew away.” Her face fell slightly. “Everything in Ireland flew away.”
The simple statement, delivered with a child’s innocent sadness, struck Courtney’s heart. She knelt down to Ava-Marie’s level. “Sometimes things have to fly away for a little while. But that doesn’t mean they’re gone forever.”
Ava-Marie considered her words, her small face serious. “Like Papa came back to London?”
“Yes, exactly like that.”
The girl nodded, then suddenly threw her arms around Courtney’s neck in an impulsive hug that smelled of cherry blossoms and sugar treats. “I like you. You’re nice. And pretty.”
Courtney hugged her back carefully, feeling tears prick at her eyes. Over Ava-Marie’s shoulder, she saw Farah and Caitria tactfully looking away.
“Can we have tea sometime?” Ava-Marie asked as she pulled back. “Papa’s teaching me how to draw but I’m not very good. The horses are my favorite ’cause they look funny.”
“I would like that very much, if your papa agrees.”
Courtney’s heart stuttered at the mention of drawing, remembering the special picture she’d drawn for Lucien, of Lucien. It had been after their special night just before he’d left for Ireland. He was bare chested, with his lower half covered by a blanket. She wondered where he hid it. Had Lauren found it if they cleared out his room? She hadn’t mentioned it.
“He will agree!” Ava-Marie said with a child’s certainty. “He loves drawing and teaching me. He gave me his watercolor set that he found in his room.”
The revelation that his family had kept her engagement gift to him left Courtney speechless. Before she could respond, Farah was calling that it was time to go.
“Just five more minutes?” Ava-Marie pleaded, but she was clearly tiring, her earlier boundless energy flagging.
“We should head back,” Caitria said, noticing Ava-Marie’s flagging energy. “It’s nearly time for your afternoon rest, dear.”
“Just five more minutes?” Ava-Marie pleaded, but a yawn betrayed her.
The walk back to the carriage was quieter, Ava-Marie’s earlier exuberance softening into sleepy contentment. She held Farah’s hand with her right and Courtney’s with her left, occasionally swinging between them.
In the carriage, she curled up against Caitria’s side, her eyes heavy. “Will you tell me more stories next time?” she asked Courtney drowsily. “About the stars and the pretty queen?”
“Of course,” Courtney promised, watching as the child drifted off to sleep.
“She’s absolutely taken with you,” Caitria observed quietly.
“Courtney has that effect on people,” Farah said, her fond smile holding years of friendship. “She’s always seen straight to their hearts.”
Courtney sighed. “She’s going to face a formidable future. The daughter of an earl but with a common Irish farmer as a mother. There will be many in society who will scorn her pedigree.” She thought it odd that Farah’s face paled, and Caitria looked alarmed. “Is there more to this story?”
Farah recovered the quickest. “You’re right. But I’m sure her accent will disappear over time, and Lucien would only let her marry a man who did not care about her past.”
Courtney nodded. “Plus, she’ll have all of us to look out for her.”
They dropped Caitria and Ava-Marie at their home first, then continued on to Courtney’s townhouse. As the carriage drew to a halt, Farah reached across to squeeze her friend’s hand.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly.
“No,” Courtney admitted. “But I think perhaps I might be, someday.” She touched the crushed cherry blossoms in her lap, these simple tokens of a child’s affection. “She’s so much like him, Farah.”
“She has his likeness and kindness,” her friend observed quietly. “Did you see how she tried to share everything she found? The flowers, the stories, her excitement about drawing? I remember that Lucien was like that.”
Courtney nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. The afternoon’s warmth was fading, but something else was warming her from within—not quite hope, not yet, but perhaps the possibility of it. Like a star emerging from behind storm clouds, distant but bright with promise.
She thought of Tarquin’s words from this morning.Be his compass, not his anchor to the past.Looking down at her glove, where Ava-Marie’s crushed cherry blossoms left traces of pink, Courtney wondered if perhaps she could be both—a bridge between who they had been and who they might become.
“He’s collecting me for the opera tonight. Will you be there?”
