We were both quiet after that, and the silence went on for so long that I jerked in surprise when Mrs. Ford grasped my hand. She stared at me with her dark eyes full of sympathy.
“You were made a widow very young, with two young children. That is a difficult cross for anyone to bear, and it is no surprise that you feel that way. When I lost my Alan ten years ago, we were both older and our children grown. But do try to remember all the joy you experienced when your husband was alive. If you could go back and make different choices, would you really give it all up?”
My throat tightened, and I shook my head, for I knew no other answer would do. She squeezed my hand and gave mea satisfied smile. “Get some sleep. Things always seem hopeless this close to midnight.”
“I will.”
Then she left the room, and I turned back to the firelight. There was more that I hadn’t shared, of course. Things Mr. Dorian had told me about my husband that threatened to destroy the man I had thought him to be. Things I still hadn’t been able to confirm nor deny. Because I hadn’t decided which was worse: learning that my husband had actually been involved in a black-market antiquities scheme or doubting him enough in the first place to seek the answer. Either path would mean a betrayal of some kind. So for now I did nothing except sit with these thoughts. But, deep down, I knew that would not satisfy me for much longer. Eventually I would seek the truth, and I could only hope that the answers I found would not destroy me further.
At some point, I drifted off to sleep in the chair and awoke much later to find the fire nearly out, the water bottle cool to the touch, and the room dreadfully chilly. I forced my stiff body to rise and shuffled off to bed, where I managed to garner a few more hours of precious sleep in fortification for the long night that awaited me. But while my doze in the chair had been blessedly free of dreams, this time I was not so lucky. It was disjointed memories of my argument with Mr. Dorian about Oliver that flooded my unconsciousness this time. Memories I had managed to repress for all these months, including the last words I had ever spoken to him:
I think you hoped to discover something unsavory about him so that I could be as full of resentment and bitterness asyou.
I awoke with a start, as though the very memory had driven me from sleep. I pressed a hand to my chest and foundmy heart racing, while a wave of regret washed over me. I had spoken those words out of anger. And fear. Yet it was so obvious to me now that Mr. Dorian had only been acting out of a sense of duty. Of, perhaps, friendly concern. And I had thrown it all back in his face. Behaved as though he were trying to come between me and my late husband. As if he were some jealous beau. My jaw tightened. He must have thought me absolutely delusional. I had been so careful not to allow thoughts of him to slip through the cracks. But perhaps it was time for me to face my error head on and deal with the consequences. In any case, I was certain of one thing: I would never allow myself to entertain such ridiculous thoughts about himeveragain.
I flung back the covers and sprang out of bed, as if I could outrun the voice in my head, then headed for the en suite bathroom. My aunt had renovated her home to include all the latest amenities, and I would miss them very much once I returned to Corfu. Our little villa, known as the Lemon Grove House, was quite charming in its own way and just steps from the Ionian Sea, but it was still admittedly rustic in comparison to the homes I had visited here in London.
Once I had washed and dressed, I returned to the bedroom and pulled back the curtains. The skyline was a dull grey that seemed to reflect my mood. I let out a sigh. London may have hot water on demand, but it could never match Corfu’s glorious weather. I headed for the wardrobe and chose a dark blue dress made of heavy wool. As I changed, I could hear Tommy chattering away downstairs with Mrs. Ford. I smiled at the muffled sound of his voice. No doubt he would be bursting with excitement over spending the night with his cousins. I decided then that a trip to Hyde Park was in order, as we could both do with some fresh air and exercise. With another glance towards the grey skyline, I donned my heaviest petticoat and hoped it would be warm enough.
The rest of the day passed by in a haze of activity. Tommy and I spent hours wandering around the park until our cheeks and noses were red with cold. If it were up to Tommy, we would have stayed even longer, but I drew the line once I lost feeling in my toes. Then we returned to the house, where Mrs. Ford had prepared a hearty lunch of vegetable soup and cheese-and-pickle sandwiches. After which I directed Tommy to pack his bag and then helped him pack it again with items he would actually need. By the time we were done, I hustled us outside and into the waiting carriage.
My brother lived on the other side of Hyde Park, not far from Kensington Palace, in a home that was a wedding gift from Dolly’s parents. Yet this was an inconsequential detail to Jack, as his self-importance seemed to increase along with his proximity to the palace. While it was true that my parents had both descended from lesser branches of aristocratic families, their social standing was largely thanks my father’s personal fortune. But once Jack got into politics, he used every opportunity to present himself as the perfect aristocratic ally firmly in favor of maintaining the old guard. This, in my opinion, also made him an insufferable snob.
Even Oliver, who had gotten along with everyone, found my brother frustrating. We had made a little game of signing our letters as the “Honorable Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Harper,” merely to needle Jack, who was quietly jealous of my husband’s inherited title, something he never bothered to use elsewhere.
“Mama, what are you laughing at?”
I turned to Tommy just as the carriage rocked to a stop. I had indeed let out a laugh at the memory. “I was just thinking of your father. He could be very amusing,” I added, with a fond smile.
Tommy’s gaze grew solemn. “I wish I remembered him better,” he said softly, and any mirth I felt vanished entirely. Tommy had been barely four years old when Oliver diedsuddenly from a hemorrhage in the brain. “Cleo remembers so much more than me,” he added with a frustrated sigh.
I grabbed Tommy’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Only because she is older,” I reminded him. “But you can always ask me about him. Anything you’d like.”
His mouth tilted up in a hopeful little smile. “Really? Anything?”
“Yes,” I said, with a nod, despite the warning note ringing in my head. I had learned over the years that Tommy’s mind worked very differently from my own, and there was no telling what questions he would come up with.
“All right,” he replied with a thoughtful look.
We then exited the carriage, and the front door of the house promptly swung open, thanks to an attentive footman. Dolly greeted us as soon as we crossed the threshold.
“Hello there! Come in, come in. The children are very excited to see you, Tommy. They’re waiting upstairs in the nursery.”
“Splendid!” Tommy said and began to eagerly take off his coat.
“Is Jack in?” I asked Dolly, bracing myself for my brother to come round the corner any minute and start barking questions at me.
Thankfully, she shook her head. “No, he couldn’t get away. Still at his club, I imagine. But he sends his regards and hopes to see you soon.”
I managed to plaster a smile on my face. “Yes, I hope so too.” Then I turned to give Tommy a hug. “Good night, darling. I—”
“Bye, Mama!” he cried out, as he shoved his coat into my waiting arms and headed down the hallway. “I will see you in the morning.”
“Yes,” I said weakly, giving him a little wave.
I could hear Dolly sigh beside me. “It was like that with my older boys around his age. One day, they were wrappingthemselves in my apron strings, and the next, I was only getting in the way.”
My gaze followed Tommy as he bounded up the staircase. He hadn’t even turned back to look at me. Just as it began to feel like someone was taking a grapefruit spoon to my heart, I turned to Dolly. “Oh, I don’t think he’s reached that stage,” I said, though the assurance in my voice sounded hollow to my ears.
