She shrugged. “I don’t feel like eating when my daughter is gone.” The days had blurred together in a sea of anguish. At night, the dreams of death plagued her, while during the day, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the room.
“I won’t let you punish yourself like this,” Henry said. He went over to the table where her untouched breakfast tray had been abandoned. “You need to eat.”
“I don’t want it.” Any sort of food would stick to her throat, or worse, cause a rush of nausea. “I can’t, Henry.”
He took a piece of dry toast and offered it to her. “Please. You must try.”
But she shook her head slowly. And Henry’s gentleness suddenly vanished. “Dying won’t bring her back, Beatrice. You have to go on, whether you want to or not.”
“And why should I?” she blurted out. All the words came rushing out, the anger roaring through her. “Margaret only wanted to find Amelia and bring her home. She went off with—withthat manonly because he knew the roads. If she’s dead, why would I deserve to go on?”
The words were irrational, she knew, but it was the truth.
“Because of me,” Henry demanded. “I’ve lost a daughter, too. And I’ll be damned if I lose my wife.” He dropped the toast back on the plate and pulled her into his arms. “I wasn’t there for you,all those years I was at war. I know you had to mother our girls by yourself. But I’m here now.”
His words broke a small crack in all the feelings she was trying to hold back. Feeling his strong arms around her, knowing that he understood her pain, was enough to provoke the tears she’d buried.
Beatrice started crying then, and he stroked her hair, sharing the burden with her. She hadn’t known how much she’d been holding inside. She wept, not only for the loss of Margaret, but for all the years she’d tried to shoulder everything.
“I won’t ever leave you,” Henry said, and she felt his mouth against her temple. She gripped him hard, and in his quiet presence, she found the support she’d needed for so long. Hedidknow how she was suffering, and it felt so good to release it all.
She didn’t know how long she’d cried, but in the end, exhaustion overtook her. Henry dried her tears, and then framed her face with his hands. “We’re going to get past this, Beatrice. I promise you.”
Then he bent and kissed her mouth. The light kiss was familiar, and when she kissed him back, it was as if the seams of a torn hem were coming back together again. Theirs had been a marriage formed of duty and friendship, nothing more. And yet, when he pulled back from the kiss, she found herself wishing that he hadn’t stopped. The loneliness she’d carried like a mantle was starting to drift away. And though his dark hair was shot with gray, his green eyes held kindness and a longing that mirrored her own.
A soft ripple flowed through her, and when she embraced him again, she found herself pressing against his body, seeking comfort. It startled her to realize that she desired him. Even after all this time.
She took a shaky breath and reached for the forgotten toast. Before she could lift it to her mouth, he stopped her. “I brought your favorite jam.”
Red raspberry. She almost smiled when he spread the toast with the preserves, but didn’t. The taste of the sweet jam and the bread heightened her appetite. Henry poured her a cup of cold tea, but when he offered to ring for more, she refused and drank it anyway.
Yes, she did need to live. For so long, she’d shadowed her daughters’ lives, watching them grow into women. She’d forgotten herself, letting everything fade into the background until she was hardly more than a ghost of a woman.
Henry touched his finger to the corner of her lip, wiping the jam away, before he stole a taste of it. Color flooded her cheeks, for she suddenly imagined sharing his bed again. It had been so very long…but she had enjoyed his touch.
“I brought you a birthday gift a few weeks ago,” he said. “Would you like to see it now?”
She nodded, taking a second piece of toast and spreading jam upon it. “As long as it isn’t doorknobs.” A faint smile touched her lips, as she remembered the terrible time when he’d given her those for her birthday.
“No. It isn’t.” He went toward her writing desk and pulled open one of the side drawers that had a hidden back. After he pulled away the false opening, he brought out a velvet pouch. “I put it here, shortly after we arrived.”
Though she couldn’t say why, her heartbeat started to quicken. The flush from her cheeks spread over her skin, giving her goose bumps.
And when he opened the pouch and revealed a sapphire bracelet, her throat choked up with more tears. “Is that—?”
“I know you had to sell it, years ago, to feed our girls. Charlotte bought it herself and never told you. She was glad to sell it back to me.” He fastened the clasp around her wrist, and the glitter ofdiamonds and sapphires caught the morning sunlight. “I only wish you’d never had to use it.”
The heavy weight of the gemstones was a contrast to the lightness in her heart. “It’s much better than doorknobs,” she whispered, and embraced him hard.
Tonight, she decided. Despite all that had happened to them, he’d given her a tangible hope that they could rebuild their marriage. For a long moment, she rested her cheek against his, taking so much comfort from her husband.
The harsh pounding on her bedroom door made her frown, wondering why a servant would be calling out to her. Henry pulled back and opened the door.
“Forgive me, my lord,” the footman said. “But your daughter Margaret has returned. She’s downstairs.”
Nothing could have dimmed Beatrice’s joy at that moment.
David looked up from the letter he’d been writing when the noise of a visitor arriving caught his attention. He’d delayed his trip to Thornwyck after Christine’s cold had turned into a coughing sickness, but now she seemed much improved.
