“I enjoy it well enough.”
“I would believe you, but as you really have not attempted to return to Society, how can you be certain?”
“I was in mourning,” Blythe argued.
“That ended a year ago,” he reminded her.
Blythe closed her eyes and dropped her chin and Seth feared that perhaps he was asking too much of her. He would never do anything intentional to cause any of his sister's discomfort, but he truly was concerned.
After a moment, Blythe took a deep breath and lifted her head. “Very well. I will accompany you to the theatre,” she finally agreed. “Though I am doing this more for you.”
“Me?”
“It is about time you did something with your evenings beside spend them at The Emerald Garter, with your mistress, or here.”
Seth didn’t tell her he hadn’t engaged a mistress in nearly a year. Such discussion should not be had with a sister, even if she had been married.
Maybe that was what he needed. Bed sport had often put him in an excellent mood, and it had been months since he engaged in such. Perhaps the doldrums he’d been suffering could be easily and quickly rectified. He might even be enchanted by an actress in need of a protector tonight, which is what he hoped as he entered the theatre.
From his vantage of the private box, Seth was able to identify many of the patrons and made note of those gentlemen whom he did not know but who were in the company of others whom he did with intentions of gaining an introduction. He also noted the gentlemen who had been absent from his gaming den of late and wished to inquire why. However, all thoughts of The Emerald Garter vanished when he glanced at the box directly across from his and sucked in a breath at the sight of Miss Frances Hawthorn. The only woman he had ever loved or ever would.
She had not yet looked in his direction and Seth took the time to drink in her appearance. Her golden curls shimmered in the lamplight and she smiled at something her friends had said. He remembered that smile as well as the laughter and joy that used to sparkle in her warm brown eyes.
His heart warmed with memories from the past, of being in the gardens, of painting the sitting room, and reading awful poetry from the books they’d taken from the lending library, and so many hours that they’d spent hidden away in the cottage.
Seth dropped his chin and chuckled, recalling how Frances had filled the entire house with smoke when she had attempted to make biscuits for them.
They shared a friendship for ten years. Laughter and love, and as Frances had once said, they had healed. His happiest memories were of times he spent with Frances.
God, he missed her. His body ached to hear her voice and touch her hand again. No doubt he was nothing more than a distant memory to her, but she would always haunt his heart.
With a smile, he recalled the first time they had met and how their unusual and unexpected friendship had begun.
It had been the summer of 1802, fifteen years ago, and Seth had been in search of a place that held no memories of Amelia, his twin sister who had just died. He had wandered the woods and surrounding areas of Laswell until he came across a cottage hidden in the woods. Seth had lived in the area his entire life and had not known it was there. By the dilapidated state, it almost seemed to have been forgotten. Curiosity is what had drawn him forward and after looking in windows, noting nobody was within, he opened the door, stepped inside and wandered about. He then returned to the parlor and the emotions that he had tried desperately to bury rose. He had managed not to cry at the news of Amelia’s death, or that of his stepmother, and stoically stood during the funeral and when they were placed in the ground. Only his sisters and grandmother had shed tears, but not his father or older brother, so Seth would not allow himself to cry either.
Except, it had been getting more and more difficult to hold those emotions inside and he was just about to give himself permission to grieve when the front door of the cottage opened. He quickly wiped away the tears that had started to form and turned to see who it was, hoping that he hadn’t entered the home of someone, though there were no signs that anyone lived here.
“Hello, Lord Seth,” Frances had greeted him with curiosity.
“Miss Hawthorn,” he returned. His voice had been rough and he had to clear his throat.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“I was wandering the area and came upon the cottage. I thought it was abandoned.”
“It is, or was…”
“It is no longer?”
She sighed and glanced around. “Nobody lives here but I have decided to restore it.”
“You?” The idea was ridiculous. She was only thirteen.
“Yes, me,” she answered defiantly. “It is something that I need to do.” Her voice had dropped, filled with sadness. It was then that he had recalled that he was not the only one who had lost family members to measles. Frances had lost her parents, a brother, aunt, uncle and cousin. He understood her need to do something. It was the same need that had him wandering the area, at a loss for what to do because punching things or crying was not acceptable.
“This was my father’s home. When he met mother, they lived here while he built her the manor on the rest of his land.” She glanced around at the walls and furnishings. “It is where I was born, but I don’t believe they ever returned after they moved.”
“I apologize for disturbing you.” He turned, ready to leave her be and search out an area where he could be alone.
