“You must be hungry. I feel it.” His voice dropped away. His thoughts weren’t on his lost son but the bare crib back at Covent Garden. Lady Ashbrook said the artist was with child. Was she right about Cecilia, the woman who painted Point Royal? Had she finally become pregnant in December?
Had the worst come again?
Cecilia had prepared for a life without him—her own place, a small crib. Though he thought he’d heard a baby cry, there was not one in sight.
Had she gone through the pain of loss alone, not even allowing Tramel to be of comfort?
“Felton, your eyes are watery. Are you well? The smoke from the gun.”
“What, Cecilia?”
“You’re holding me too tight.”
Was he? He shifted but held on. “I’ve been given assignments to protect England and her colonies. Strangers across the seas, I did more for them than my own household, my family. I didn’t protect you or Elizabeth.”
“Your first wife, Felton? You never speak of her.”
“My life fell apart when Elizabeth died.” His voice was low and pained and he could barely catch his breath. “I don’t think she knew how great she was, how wonderful she was to keep our household, the girls, safe and happy whilst I was away.”
Cecilia turned in his embrace and wiped away tears that stung his eyes. “Talk to me.”
“I wasn’t enough for her or I didn’t give her enough, because my missions were so important. She was a good woman, a good friend. She deserved better.”
Blinking, Felton couldn’t quite see. He set Old Brown down. “I didn’t learn anything about marriage or friendship or miracles, did I? Because I did the same to you.”
He held Cilia tightly, but he finally accepted how his leaving and not explaining his work or his loyalties had hurt her.
It caused another empty crib.
Tramel wasn’t the reason she didn’t want to return. It was Felton’s neglect and the sorrow of loss, loss he surely caused.
“It’s me, Cilia. I ruined us and our future. It’s my fault.”
“We both did poorly, Felton.”
His wet cheeks stung in the breeze. He kissed her brow, then said, “I’ll not battle anymore. Cecilia, I’ll keep my word to you and let you be free.”
After ten months of fighting for what he wanted, for what he thought in his bones was best, he did what was right for Cecilia.
He let go.
CHAPTER53
CECILIA—A SPY’SSURRENDER
The wind scattered the sharp burnt scent around us. The noise of our practice kept echoing in my ear.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
The noise needed to die.
But I couldn’t focus on me. Felton needed me.
The man looked lost, lost like a boy in the woods who couldn’t find his footing.
