Mama stroked her back in long circles that made her rings clink, then started to chuckle, but the laughter was bitter. “Strong? Forgiving? I ended up being the same as my father. I forsook Ruth. I couldn’t stand her scandal and how it could ruin what your father and I have worked for—all those hours in Mayfair,maiding,all those late days in the warehouse, working and saving. I sent Ruth away—my own flesh and blood. Who’s better, Ester? My father who sold off my kin, disappointed by the color of their skin, or a mother who sent away her daughter because she was disappointed by her daughter’s choices?”
“Listen Mama, you’re nothing like your father. It’s not too late to take Ruth back in.”
“Then it’s not too late to do the same for Bex.”
“But the risks? He won’t stop taking risks.”
Mama put her fingers light and easy on Ester’s cheeks. “Life is risk. Find your strength, Ester. It’s in you. It’s in Bex, too. I sawhis handson you, and they were the hands of a man in love. I saw it from the moment he walked you back from the blacksmith’s at Gretna Green.”
He did seem more certain of their marriage than she did. And if she hadn’t asked him to stop being brave, he’d be here at Nineteen Fournier.
Mama picked up the article scraps and put them back in her box, but she put the wooden container into Ester’s palm. “Those hands of Bex’s saved your father and four other workers. There’s goodness in that man. Forgive him and then forgive your papa. He’s flawed, too, but he loves you.”
Clancy popped his head in. “Mr. Croome is looking for you, Mrs. Croome. He’s dressed this morning.”
Mama nodded. “Thank you, Clancy. I’ll go to him when I’m done here.”
The butler bowed and ducked out the door as if Mama had thrown a fireball at him. Maybe she had, in her own soft-spoken way.
“Just think on it, Ester. Oliver Arthur Bexeley isn’t a perfect man, and neither is your father, but they need a strong woman to make them do better. I have faith in you. You’re strong. You come from strong women who did what they had to do to survive. There’s favor on your life because you’re loved. Be that woman, Ester. Be brave and love.”
She watched her mother leave, head high, rings glistening, then clutched the ring Mama had given her to wed Bex, spinning it on her favorite necklace. How could she go to Bex now, when she’d rejected him—twice? Sighing, she hugged her knees. No one was as brave as her mother. No one.
…
In his Cheapside flat, Arthur packed the last of his belongings. He wasn’t sure of where he was going, but London had become unbearable. People didn’t see the great actor, just a man to be pitied.
The only thing he could be thankful for was that Ester’s name was kept from the papers. Phineas was true to his word about not disclosing their marriage.
Arthur looked around. Everything had been put away except his wife’s bag. Ester. He missed her, craved the scent of her, but to see her face and know that there was no hope to love her was impossible.
His fault. He should’ve trusted her with his secret. Yet, how did he know he wouldn’t have lost her sooner?
Opening her bag, he let his fingers sink into the fairy gown she’d worn when they’d eloped. It was soft like her nightgowns. Goodness, he missed her, her touch.
He pushed her gown back into the bag, trying not to wrinkle it, but that wasn’t a talent a man like him had. Gowns were a wife’s forte.
A knock at the door drew his attention. The hint of lilac that wafted from the dress made hope in his heart rise that Ester had spied the advertisement he’d penned in the papers and had come to talk, maybe forgive him.
But the next pound upon his door didn’t sound feminine or shy. It wasn’t Ester.
Exhaling useless air, he opened the door at the third knock.
Jonesy bounced up and down. “Wait a moment, Mr. Bex.” The boy went to the steps and lifted a large box. The thing with the yellow sash bow seemed so big in his small hands. “Here it is, Mr. Bex. Straight from the Burlingame Arcade. The shopkeeper put the sketchbook inside.”
Ester’s sketchbook. She hadn’t even thought to retrieve it. But who’d want to remember their crazed trip to Gretna Green?
Dancing for bandits, driving side by side, their first kiss, vows meant to be forever—yes, no one wanted to remember those things. Offering his helper a coin, he took the box. “Thanks, Jonesy.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Bex. You’re a good tipper. I have an errand, then I’ll deliver it for you.”
“Jonesy, I’m going to be away tomorrow. Will you be fine? How are you going to get along without my pennies?”
The boy frowned. “Don’t really want you to go, Mr. Bex. Nobody tips Jonesy like you. I know that a lot of folks are saying mean things about you, but I don’t believe ’em.”
Arthur dug in his purse and handed him a guinea. “I’ll miss you, my friend. Maybe you can get that footman position you want when you’re not taking care of the things I need.”
The smile on Jonesy’s face evaporated. “No one trusts Jonesy like you. They don’t see pos…possibilities.”
