What she truly wanted was her family.
Persephone closed her eyes, blocking out the dim light of approaching winter. Papa must have been beside himself with grief. Persephone had all but raised Evander from the time he was six, after Mama had died. Her grief pierced her. She could not even begin to imagine the pain of a true parent for his child.
The girls must be at a loss, since none had ever possessed the ability to understand their often-incomprehensible father. He tended to wander about when his mind was burdened, seemingly unreachable. She alone had known how to reach out to him when he was so distanced. But she was too far away to do so now.
And Linus. Was there no one to help Linus?
A shadow passed over Persephone’s face. She opened her eyes a sliver. Adam, looking as displeased as ever, stood before her, a long, narrow package tucked under one arm.
“Good afternoon, Adam,” Persephone said wanly. She hadn’t wanted company.
“Forgive me for intruding.” Adam seemed to have read her thoughts. He indicated the package he carried. “This came for you, and I wanted to explain.”
“Explain?”
Adam held the package out to her, his mouth set in a grim line. She took it, laying the package across her lap. Adam seemed to grow more uncomfortable. The tension in his jaw increased, his eyes darting between the package and a nearly bare rosebush, all the while avoiding looking at her.
“Please sit, Adam.” Her request surprised even herself.
“I am fine,” Adam replied gruffly.
For a moment she opted to acquiesce but in the end convinced herself to show a little backbone. “I am not asking for your comfort, Adam, but for my own. I have no desire to strain my neck looking up as you loom over me.”
He raised an eyebrow in obvious surprise, but after a moment’s hesitation he sat on the stone seat beside her. Persephone hadn’t realized how small it was until he was sharing it with her. The contact—for there was actual contact, so small was the seat—proved surprisingly welcome. She needed to feel the comfort of another human being near enough to touch. She needed to feel less alone.
“I have sat as you asked. Now will you open the box?”
She recognized the tone of command. Why did he do that? Order people about when he could just as effectivelyaskfor something? She looked more closely at him. As always, he didn’t look at her. She could see little more than his left ear and jaw. His demeanor spoke volumes of his discomfort. If she didn’t know better, Persephone would think Adam was embarrassed, maybe even shy. But neither description fit the Adam she knew.
“You said you wanted to explain about the package,” Persephone reminded him, still watching for any change of expression, any reason for his discomfort.
“Afteryou open it,” Adam muttered.
Good heavens, he did seem embarrassed. Persephone shook that confusing thought from her head and pulled at the twine. Adam tapped the palm of his hand on his knee, his jaw working as he studied another bare flowering shrub. Not only embarrassed but nervous, it appeared. What in the world was in the package?
Persephone felt a little nervous, herself. She pulled back the paper. The package contained some sort of garment. She ran her finger down what appeared to be the collar but, with her gloves on, could tell very little of the fabric or make. She slipped the glove off her right hand and touched the blue fabric again. Wool, she decided, but by far the softest wool she’d ever touched.
“I ordered it before you went into mourning.” Adam’s voice was edged with what anyone might interpret as anger, but Persephone thought she heard frustration in his tone. “It ought to have been black, or gray at the least. Considering.”
“You ordered this for me?” Persephone brushed her hand down the garment, still amazed at its softness but even more amazed at the unforeseen gesture.
“You cannot ride without a proper riding habit.” Adam employed the tone he used that generally made her feel rather slow-witted.
She shifted her gaze and watched him closely. He looked briefly at the habit then let his eyes wander to the right, his head moving with his eyes. Still, his hands fidgeted, his body tensed as if poised for flight. He spoke casually but seemed anything but unaffected. His demeanor and his tone did not precisely match. Why had she never noticed that before? Was this a new discrepancy? Or had she simply been unobservant?
“A riding habit,” Persephone quietly repeated, laying her hand on the collar and buttons that she now recognized as the latest fashion for riding habits, having endured Athena’s raptures over the latest issue ofLa Belle Assemblein the weeks leading up to her wedding. “You must have great confidence in my ability to learn to ride. Thus far I am proving a very poor pupil.”
“You were quite a bit better yesterday,” Adam countered, still looking away.
Persephone allowed the tiniest of smiles. He had watched her. She’d had no idea.
“I think it the perfect color,” Persephone said. “It may not be black, but it is a very deep blue, quite nearly black. And I can use it after my period of mourning is complete. Evander—” Her voice broke on the name. “—was a very practical boy, considering his youth, and would have approved.”
“The boots will take longer,” Adam said.
“You’ve ordered boots as well?”
“Your house slippers are hardly appropriate for riding.” His tone gave the impression that he had just rolled his eyes, though with his face turned away, she couldn’t see.
