Thea’s gaze lingered on the familiar windows of her home, the gentle slope of the lawns, the trim symmetry of it all. How many mornings had she stepped through that doorway without thought, believing such beauty a birthright, rather than theproduct of labor she’d never seen? Now, after scrubbing and hauling and wringing until her arms ached, she saw the efforts of the hands that polished the brass and the backs that bent to keep the floors gleaming.
So many people envied the life she had. Could she abandon it? Would her feelings for Frederick survive the hardship and difficulties of that world?
The question caught hold and refused to let go. Thea’s feelings for Frederick were as tangible as the blood in her veins—an integral part of herself—but could love withstand the endless labor, the worry that crept in with every draft beneath the door, and the gnawing uncertainty of whether there would be enough to last through the week?
Rent to pay. Children to feed and clothe. Mrs. Brinn measured every spoonful of flour and hoarded every farthing, and to live like that, day after day, year after year, with no promise of rest or reprieve? Could Theawillinglysubject herself to that?
And what if Frederick were to pass like Mr. Brinn? The very thought of it made her chest tighten.
Thea drew a long breath, but the air faltered as that sharp flicker of doubt pricked at her. Once, she would have answered without hesitation, but now, the words stuck in her throat, choked by the image of Mrs. Brinn stooped over the washtub and the sound of her meager coins clinking together as she counted and re-counted the rent.
The question lingered, heavy and insistent, but Thea forced herself to breathe through it. She didn’t have to decide now. Not today. That was the purpose of all the work, the lessons, and the endless scrubbing and aching—to see clearly and to understand what such a life meantbeforeshe chose. The answer would come in its own time.
Sunlight spilled across the stone portico and glinted off the brass handle of the front door as she reached for it, and the scent of beeswax polish and fresh-cut flowers greeted her as she stepped into the entryway—only to spy a letter, written in a familiar hand, on the side table. The sight sent a rush of warmth through her, dispelling the heaviness of her thoughts, and in an instant, her weariness was forgotten.
Thea snatched it up, her fingers trembling slightly as she broke the seal, eager to hear the latest from Phoebe. Eyes fixed on the letter, she absently dropped her shawl onto the now-empty place on the side table, her feet turning toward the stairs as she read through the first few sentences.
And paused.
Lowering the letter, Thea glanced at the shawl and snatched it up again, draping it over her arm: the maids had enough to manage without tidying up something she could easily carry herself.
Thea turned her attention back to the page and moved toward the staircase, eyes skimming the familiar hand as she read, scouring for some sign of hope. The past few missives had been so very bleak, and Thea couldn’t help but hope and pray that Phoebe’s life in Kingsmere was settling into something better. Of course, it was new, but surely—
“There you are.”
Chapter 36
Jerking to a halt, Thea turned to see Mama standing in the doorway to the parlor with Papa beside her. Carefully, Thea shifted the shawl to drape across her skirts; it wouldn’t hide all the damage her work had done, but it might keep her parents from looking too closely.
“Where have you been?” demanded Mama, lifting her chin as she examined her daughter.
Thea was no liar, and even if she were, it would do little good to attempt it when the hard glint in her father’s eye warned that they already knew.
“I was at The End House,” she replied.
“We have told you again and again that we will not stand this nonsense,” said Mama with a scowl, which only deepened when she strode over to Thea and snatched away the shawl. “What have you done to your frock?”
“It is only a bit of soap and water.”
But Mama seized hold of Thea’s free hand and turned it over, examining it. “What have you done to yourself? No man will want a lady whose skin is coarse and cracking.”
“Mrs. Keats,” interrupted Papa, and the lady released Thea’s hand and stepped away with a sharp huff.
Turning to his daughter, he watched her with a furrowed brow. “Your mother has barred you from visiting The End House, yet you continue to disobey her.”
“I am rendering aid to a widow in need,” said Thea, forcing her fingers to loosen their grip on Phoebe’s letter before she ruined it entirely. “Charity baskets offer only the meagerest of aid, and the Brinns have been our tenants for an age. Surely there is no harm in my being there.”
“We are not fools. You are not there for her benefit, though I haven’t the foggiest notion what you hope to accomplish with this outrageous behavior.” Mama scoffed as she crossed her arms, tossing a raised brow at her husband as though daring him to believe that flummery. But he said nothing as he stood there without a single ounce of feeling in his expression.
All three stood in silence, the air between them thick and unmoving. The clock in the hall ticked out each second, steady and indifferent, and Thea’s pulse matched it, the beat loud in her ears. She tried to hold his gaze, but the longer the silence stretched, the harder it became. Her fingers twitched at her sides, the letter crackling faintly in her grasp, and she forced her shoulders to remain square despite the prickling heat creeping up her neck.
Mama shifted once, a small, impatient movement, but even that died beneath the weight of Papa’s stillness.
Thea could not discern his thoughts. She never could when he wore that look—the one that made her feel as though he were weighing her, measuring her every word and deed, and finding her wanting. The quiet drew out until it seemed to fill the entire hall, and though she longed to speak, to defend herself, the words tangled uselessly in her throat.
“Your uncle invited you to stay with them when Mina returns home,” said Papa, the shift in subject so striking that it took a moment for her to grasp the change. “And of course, they wishfor you to join them for the Season when they return to London in the spring.”
“You are sending me away?” asked Thea in a hollow voice.
