“How old were you when you married?” Mr. Beckman asked.
And it did, indeed, cut through that hot sensation like an ice-cold knife.
“Seven and ten.” The words landed softly. “My father died that year, leaving me and Mother alone—and without means. Mr. Bloomington was my father’s heir, a second cousin. He offered to let us remain in our home… if I became his wife.”
His eyes sharpened. “You have no siblings, then?”
“No. It was just Mother and I.” She remembered the days leading up to her wedding. “At the time, I saw no other way. So I agreed. But for some reason, I’d believed that nothing would change. I was hopelessly naïve. After the wedding, I did not imagine that he would want to…” She swallowed hard.
“And this Milton fellow, your brother-in-law, is he going to allow your mother to remain now that you’re no longer at home?”
Oh.
She ought to have expected the question. “Mother passed three years ago.” Ambrosia blinked away tears. She didn’t speak of her mother often.
She hadn’t felt comfortable sharing her memory with people who couldn’t appreciate it.
But with this man… It was oddly different.
“Ah, I’m sorry, princesse. That must have been a difficult time for you.”
Ambrosia wiped at her eyes and nodded.
“She was in pain for quite some time.” Her chest squeezed at the memory. “But at least I was able to be with her at the end. Mr. Bloomington did everything he could to keep me away—brought in ladies from the church to sit with her and help care for her in my stead. He said it would offend my sensibilities. He said it wasn’t proper. That grief would make me hysterical.”
She stared out the window, jaw tightening. And perhaps it was too much to share with a person she barely knew, but… she had to talk about it to someone, had to purge this poison from her heart and mind.
Back in Rockford, she’d shared some of these thoughts with Mrs. Tuttle, but even then, she’d had to be cautious. Now, though, it didn’t matter. There was no one, really, who would monitor her conversations.
So, it was okay, wasn’t it? To talk about it?
“He—he tried to control everything,” she said. “What I wore. What I ate. Even…” Her voice faltered. “Where I slept…”
The admission felt like a thread pulled loose, unraveling something deep and hidden. But where her mother was concerned, she’d fought him.
“No matter what he tried, though, I refused to leave her. I stayed. I sat beside her day and night until it was done.”
A beat passed. Then Mr. Beckman said, without ceremony, “Monsieur Bloomington sounds like a right royal ass.”
A startled laugh burst from her lips. Milton and Winifred still spoke of her husband in reverent tones. As though grief had polished him into something he never was.
Another quiet moment stretched between them, Mr. Beckman’s expression unreadable—but close enough to pity that Ambrosia instinctively bristled. She opened her mouth, prepared to change the subject, but was spared the effort.
The dog sneezed.
Ambrosia startled, another laugh catching in her throat as the poor creature blinked and sneezed again, his entire body involved in the effort.
“God bless you,” she said automatically. The dog resettled beside her, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. “Why do you think he does that with his tongue?”
Mr. Beckman leaned closer and gently lifted the dog’s lip. “This little fellow has lost most of his teeth.” He sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you certain you want to keep him, princesse? I’m not sure how he’ll eat without any teeth.”
“I am positive.” If anything, his little issues only increased her determination to care for him. “I’ll soak his food in milk.”
“You’re going to spoil him.”
“That’s the idea, isn’t it? Everyone deserves to be spoiled at some point in their life. I mean, just look at him! He’s obviously had a rough go of it before now. The last thing he needs is to be abandoned another time.” Ambrosia arranged her shawl around the little dog, tucking it in so as to keep her new pet warm.
When she looked up again, she caught Mr. Beckman studying her with that baffled, curious, and somewhat… heated glance that made her squirm.
