He was a difficult man to know in that he gave away nothing of his thoughts, and this made her uncomfortable. The woman he eventually married would have to be something of a clairvoyant if she was ever to know the man. That or a person who didn’t care to try.
And as he stood before her today, he was no different.
“I—thank you, My Lord.” Like his mother, he wore mostly black along with a black band around his arm. “But I will be fine.”
“You…” He glanced over his shoulder toward where a groom held his mount. “My brother married you, and you are a member of this family. You will always be afforded our protection. I apologize that you ever had reason to doubt this.”
When he turned back to her, the corner of his lip twitched, and it was possible it was only a trick of the light, but she thought his eyes might have softened just a hint. It was the closest thing to a smile she’d seen on him.
This was the Lord of Tempest being… friendly.
He was so very different from Arthur.
“You and your mother have been most kind,” she said.
He stared at her thoughtfully and then blinked. Without another word, he bowed and mounted his horse, signaling to the entire entourage to proceed.
Living at Galewick Manor with Lord Tempest and his mother was nothing like living with her own family had been. Whereas the corridors here were quiet and the inhabitants solemn and withdrawn, her father’s home had been lively, and she and her siblings had not given their parents a moment of peace.
But Lord Tempest and his mother had taken her in. They had welcomed her, even.
She wondered if they had always been so serious or if they merely excelled at mourning. Perhaps they had been lively before. Likely, Arthur had been the one who’d brought laughter.
In the days following their departure, with an abundance of time to herself, she missed Luke even more than before. And even more disconcerting, with the residents of Crescent Park away, there was no one to deliver any letters from Luke—if he had written any—and she could only hope that he was safe and well.
She assured herself that this was the only reason that she hadn’t heard from him. She refused to allow herself to imagine the worst.
It had been over a month since his last letter.
With far too many thoughts and worries echoing in her brain, she spent hours and hours writing in her journal. It was the one place where she could express the turmoil she’d felt over the past year, where she would not be judged.
She wrote to her sister and mother twice and once to her brother. She also wrote one long letter to her father, telling him about his granddaughter in hopes he would want to know her.
They had gone, as of yet, unanswered.
For the entire length of Naomi’s stay at Galewick Manor, the servants had maintained the household under the strictest conventions of mourning. Black crepe covered the windows, the manservants wore black on their arms, and the maids’ uniforms consisted of dark gray gowns, worn beneath the blackest of aprons. It would remain this way until at least a full year had passed from the day of Arthur’s death.
While observing mourning, Naomi hadn’t made any friends in the nearby village, nor had she been able to accept any of the invitations she’d received. Though she had mostly made her peace with her late husband’s death by now, she often felt trapped and lonely. Outside Galewick Manor, the world was moving along without her, leaving her behind.
Naomi had security, she and Amelia lacked for nothing, and yet her world was dim and colorless. It was not until late spring that she found relief in the garden. Inside, the manor was dark and depressing, but outside, Mother Nature was slowly unveiling a variety of blossoms in the most spectacular fashion. The myriad of colors and sunshine finally gave Naomi permission to breathe.
If flowers could come back to life after the bitter cold of winter, then hope would always have meaning.
There would always be winter. There would always be death. But spring never failed to usher in life and sunshine.
Amelia, Naomi’s brightest spot of color, loved being outside as well. Naomi made it a habit to walk her daughter outside in the sun following her morning nap despite the nurse’s concerns. Naomi had put her foot down, insistent that the fresh air wouldn’t hurt Amelia.
In addition to the enjoyment of strolling through the gardens, Naomi loved dressing her daughter up for their outings in pretty muslin gowns and the little pastel bonnets Lady Tempest had ordered made, along with the tiniest shoes Naomi had ever seen. She refused to dress her baby in blacks.
“Oh, look here, Amy.” Naomi crouched onto the perfectly manicured lawn. “It’s a butterfly.”
“Ba.” Almost five months old, her daughter was becoming stronger but still wobbled in her mother’s arms when she turned to see what she was pointing at.
Naomi steadied her sweet girl by placing a hand on the back of her head. “Butterfly,” she repeated.
The colorful creature hovered and flitted about, and Naomi stilled when it landed on her arm. Amelia’s eyes widened and Naomi laughed out loud when her tiny arms began flapping in excitement, sending the butterfly off in fear for its life. Watching her daughter was the one thing that provided absolute joy.
The sound of one of the terrace doors opening and closing and then uneven footsteps crunching along the path had both she and Amelia turning to glance toward the house. Naomi likely was going to have to argue with the nurse again. That woman was like a dog with a bone about some things.
