Most girls had a mother to fret over such things, and while I sometimes longed for one, I did not truly know what having one felt like. I did not feel theneedfor a mother, because I’d always had Papa.
He had always been enough.
I took the little key sitting atop the writing desk and unlocked the drawer. My notebook waited for me there, alongside a quill and inkpot.
Inside my armoire was a pretty green silk dress that Mariah had set aside for me for dinner, which I approved. I stepped out onto the balcony into a light, salty breeze. A smooth stone balustrade had blocked the view, but Highcliffe House was closer to the sea than I had realized. Greens, blues, and browns colored the water that crested on a rocky shore not far below. The water was endless, moving with life as it met the marvelously blue sky above.
I leaned my elbows on the balustrade, admiring the view and enjoying the sounds of birds chirping overhead. For a moment, I thought of Lyme. A memory flooded in of Papa sitting beside me on a wide, smooth rock. He, with his book, and me with my bucket of treasures, cuddled up beside him to watch the sea.
At nearly one-and-twenty, I still needed him. Of late, more so than ever. I could not afford to make another mistake like Alexander Lennox.
If Papa meant to invest his time with anyone, it would be with me.
And nothing Graham could say or do would change my mind.
ChapterSeven
Graham
Try as I did to bury myself in work, I could feel her movements.
The sounds of Ginny’s harp and the clinking of their cups on saucers. A creaking of the floorboards above my head. My home—the halls, the drawing room, even somehow my study—now smelled all wrong, richly infused with the cherry blossoms and jasmine of the Lane household. In London, she avoided me with precise calculations. But, here, in my home, she was everywhere.
At my table. In the place of honor.
Anna unfolded her napkin and smoothed it upon her lap, frowning, then nodding politely at something Ginny said from across the table. Mama’s shoulders were tight with the weight of performing for a guest. From the head of the table, as the hostess, she motioned for Roland to bring out wine.
I felt like a fraud sitting at the other end, considering that every prior time we’d dined together, Anna had directed the course of the evening. In my family, Tabs joined us every night for an informal dinner. I smirked, thinking of the fit she must’ve thrown learning she’d be excluded tonight. Normally, Ginny would whine for a new dress or new ribbons, and Tabswould turn Mother green with stories of dissecting some odd creature she’d found washed up on the beach. We’d laugh too loud, not worrying if we dropped our napkins on the floor, and slouch in our seats as our stomachs filled.
I glanced over as Anna took a small sip of wine. Her keen eye took in the place settings, the tablecloth, even the servants, and she measured and weighed it all. No doubt judging my family for how we lived and what we lacked.
Intertwining my fingers, I watched her smile briefly, fleetingly to Mother. She was uncomfortable. It had to be strange, this shift of power in our dynamic, though I had to admit I enjoyed watching her writhe a little in discomfort. But this week, I needed her in good spirits.
“I am so happy to have you home again, Graham,” Mother said with a smile. “I do hope you can stay a while longer this time.”
“For how well you do without me, I scarcely believe I am needed,” I teased.
She raised her chin. “Needed is different than wanted. And you happen to be both.”
I looked down at my empty plate as Roland, Harriet, and Rebecca uncovered platters of food on the table. My mother’s words were nice to hear. I had almost fulfilled what was needed by my family. To be wanted by them was a privilege, an honor, that not everyone could claim of their relatives. I knew firsthand how painful that sort of rejection was. And I never wanted to feel it again.
I glanced over to find Anna’s gaze, which she promptly flicked away, lips pursed. This might be the hardest weeks’ worth of work I’d ever done. But it was time to get to it.
“Miss Lane,” I prompted, offering her a scoop of salted asparagus.
She raised a brow, and despite not having her expressed approval, I started to serve her. Asparagus, rice casserole with truffle and foie gras, sauteed potatoes with parsley—Cook had outdone herself.
“How do you find Brighton thus far?” I asked Anna.
“The few moments walking between the carriage and your house, Mr. Everett, are not enough to form an opinion on the whole. Your home, however, is lovely. I suppose I have your mother to thank for the generous welcome and more than adequate accommodations.”
My mother beamed.
“And your dear sister for her beautiful musical display.”
Ginny shrugged at Anna but grinned proudly at me.
“Of my first day, I shall write a good report to my father,” Anna said.
