Hopefully not more than another week. A few more days. Two hours?
Right before the sun sank into his woods, Jemina’s carriage arrived. She dashed inside, stopped at his door.
Daniel’s breath caught. The indigo pelisse that wrapped her body had a double line of brass buttons. The point of her bonnet’s brim shadowed curls falling toward the blush on her cheeks. The bluish-purple gown underneath reminded him of the ironwood flowers, lignum vitae. Like the meaning of the flowers, Jemina was life and joy, but she cruelly stood out of arm’s reach.
To keep the peace, he let her.
“Daniel . . . Lord Ashbrook, I see you are busy. Never mind. Good evening, gentlemen.” She dipped her chin and backed away.
The tapping of her shoes, those buckles up the stairs echoed, echoed all the way to his empty heart.
“Was that your wife, Ashbrook?” Richmond asked, finishing his plate of cheese and ham.
Daniel picked a card, a three of spades. “Looked like her.”
“You going to stop and go greet her properly? It hasn’t been more than a month since the wedding.”
“Things are well at hand, gentlemen.”
Richmond stood and waved to the fellows. “Let’s help Prinny’s brain. Go take care of business. When Mama’s not happy, it makes things difficult.”
Daniel stared at Richmond, wondering about Papa’s happiness, but the gentlemen were already heading to the footman for their coats.
Max whined and trotted around the empty chairs.
The dog was right. His friends were right. It was time to see ifMamawas ready to be happy with him.
“Should I clean up, sir?” Mr. Anthon returned and leaned on a chair that needed to be taken back to the dining room.
“Yes, down here. I think it’s time for me to clean things up once and for all.”
His patience was spent. A man dying for the love of his wife could only be so calm. He had to appeal this unemotional, passionless sentence.
Daniel was ready to risk Finchely’s fragile peace.
Maybe he was a little like his uncle after all, ready to gamble for a big win, the restoration of his marriage.
* * *
Through the half-open door, Daniel watched Hope and Jemina.
His daughter was at her table, painting something in her signature pink. Jemina held the top of the paintbrush ensconced in their daughter’s little fingers.
“There you go, baby. That’s the perfect way to paint pink flowers. Same technique for fruit.”
“Mama, help me draw Pa-Papa’s big head here. And work on his smile. I want to show him so he’ll remember more.”
“Sure, baby.” Jemina’s voice sounded heavier and wet.
Coughing, he stepped into to the nursery and looked at the picture. The brightest pink hue and red slathered the page.
“Amazing, princess.” He kissed the top of her curly head, atop her ginger-brown braided chignon. “Just beautiful.”
He caught Jemina’s gaze as Mrs. Gallick entered.
“Someone needs to be cleaned up,” the housekeeper said.
Jemina took off her pelisse. “I’ll help. I haven’t had enough time today.” She scooped up Hope and held her to her beautiful gown, right at the bosom, getting pink paint on her buttons.
