The oddest feeling, a premonition perhaps, seized him.
He felt that his life was about to change irrevocably, forever. The sea had always been his greatest ally and his greatest mistress. Xavier was stricken by the notion that now she was about to betray him.
He paused before the upstairs bedroom door, gripping the knob, terribly reluctant to go inside. He had no choice.
Xavier rapped softly on the door once and then twice, and when there was no answer, he soundlessly opened it. He did not have to glance at his pocket watch to know it was midafternoon. He paused in the doorway, his hand shoved in the pockets of his breeches. The interior of the pink and white bedroom was dark, the floral draperies drawn.
A pang pierced him. Would it always be this way?
Xavier crossed the red, white, and gold Aubusson carpet and drew open the curtains; the pink and white bedroom was flooded with bright spring sunlight. He shoved open a window. A soft, warm breeze wafted inside, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and freesia. The chirping of a robin and the cheerful answering cry of a blue jay filled the room. Xavier turned and regarded the still form lying underneath the dark pink velvet coverlet on the canopied bed.
A pale wrist lifted, a hand covering eyes. “Bettina?” she asked.
“No,” Xavier said, at once grim and sad, and worse, resigned. “It’s me.” He did not move any closer.
Slowly she sat up. A slender platinum-haired angel with big blue eyes. She was clad in a pastel blue dressing gown and her chemise and drawers, he saw. She blinked at him several times. Her face was heart shaped and pretty enough to take any man’s breath away, his included, even though he had known her since the day she was born.
“Are you ill?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“My migraine,” she said, and they both knew it was a lie.
He felt like weeping. But he had no tears left to shed. All his tears had been shed at the funeral a year ago. “Sarah, why don’t you get up and get dressed and come downstairs for tea? Cook has made your favorite, lemon pound cake. And Uncle Markham is here. He would love to see you before he returns to Washington.”
She focused her huge eyes upon him for the very first time. There was something vacant and eternally innocent about them. “I am so tired,” she whispered.
Xavier finally approached her and sat carefully upon the bed by her feet. No portion of his anatomy made contact with her. “You must get up. I know you have already been up, because you are half-dressed, and that is a good thing. But surely you don’t want to waste the rest of this fine day?” He forced a smile.
“I don’t care,” she said.
“I will take you for a walk. We will go to the beach.” He had much to do if he was to prepare thePearlfor action and leave within a few weeks, but he made the offer sincerely. It was always this way. Trying to entice her out of bed and out of doors, and when that failed, resorting to other means.
“I don’t feel like walking, but thank you, you are so kind.” Briefly she looked into his eyes.
This time he gave up. Perhaps too quickly. But he was tired, too, and he had grave matters on his mind. Matters of state, matters of life and death. “We must talk, Sarah.”
She seemed not to have heard him. “I don’t like Uncle Markham anyway. He frightens me,” she said softly.
He jerked. “Nonsense,” he said too sharply. “He is family; there is nothing to be frightened of.”
“He doesn’t like me,” she said. “He doesn’t like you, either, I think.”
“You are being imaginative.” He patted her knee through the dark pink coverlet somewhat awkwardly. “We must speak, Sarah.”
She regarded him without expectation. “Is something amiss?”
He hesitated. “I am shipping out.”
Her demeanor changed radically. She sat upright, blanching. Her gaze was fully cognizant now. “You are leaving me?” she cried.
“Yes.”
“No! You can’t! How can you do this?”
He was not a demonstrative man. Especially not with women. But she was like a child; he could not see her as a woman, although God knew he had tried. Xavier reached out and laid his hand on her fine, moon-colored hair. “I must go. I have no choice.”
She began to cry silently, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re leaving me. What will I do? Who will take care of me? I am so afraid. Please don’t go!” She lifted her lashes, turning her glistening eyes upon him. They were beseeching.
“You will be fine,” he said roughly. “Father will be here, of course, to take care of you, and then there is Bettina. You know that Bettina would never let anything bad happen to you, Sarah. And Dr. Carraday will call on you every day, I promise you that.” He forced another smile.
