When all was quiet, Felton approached his father. He lent an arm for support. “Decided you had enough dying? Shall you now have a complete recovery?”
“Both of us couldn’t be abled-bodied and good shots.” He started to smile and lost his balance a little.
Felton steadied him. “Did you plan this? Were we all part of a game?”
“Family needs to be able to bring family to heal. Justice has been served.”
“Was Gladstone part of your network of special friends near Demerara?”
“No, but I suspect some of my friends may dance with different horrid partners. No one I personally supported would aid smugglers who’d shoot at British ships. Or warn entities that could get my son killed.”
Tramel knew about Gladstone’s betrayal, but never said a word.
He let the duke lean upon him as they made it up the stairs. “Glad you’re not dying, this time.”
“I let her go, you know. Cecilia truly loves you. And your faithfulness to her proved you worthy in my eyes. I let her go,” he repeated. “Keep your lady this time.”
This was something upon which a son and father could agree.
* * *
Helena finally went to sleep in a nearby guest room. Amelia let her borrow Miss Ellie. The doll brought my sister comfort. The way the little one smiled, it brought her cheer too.
Now, the daughters and I stood behind easels in my studio, just as we used to do when I first arrived as Felton’s new wife.
“Mrs. Cecilia,” Amelia said, “why are we drawing fruit? I like when we imagine things.”
The glorious bowl of dimpled oranges sat on a silver plate on a mahogany stand.
“Your father thought it would be a safe endeavor to master fruit. I thought it would be good to give it a try. We have plenty of time to return to our landscapes.”
Amelia smiled her carefree smile, the beautiful blond sprite in her Saxon-blue gown, and tried again to stipple the outline of an orange. Her little fingers still hadn’t quite mastered angling the brush and offering the canvas the right pressure.
Agatha pinched up her nose, her countenance reddening. “Will it remain this noisy? I can’t concentrate.”
Lady Jane had taken to the pianoforte again. Many of the notes seemed right and on tempo. She held court for the mourners coming to pay respects.
Noise had always been a delicate balance for me to manage. My gaze upon Felton’s oldest sought signs of difficulty like mine when things were loud.
I saw none but her typical impatience.
“Agatha, I’m sure Warwick will return to normal in a few days.”
“No,” she said, huffing and using a cloth to smear a glop of paint she’d put near her perfect bowl. “I don’t much like normal, Lady Gantry. That always means one of my parents will be away. I’d rather things stay as they are, a house full of noise with you and Papa here.”
Kneeling beside her, I took the child into my arms. “I’m here. This time I promise not to leave. This time we stay, and we don’t leave, any of us.”
The girls swarmed like jaguars who’d stalked their prey, piling on top of me.
But I held them, like I’d caught distant stars.
The doors behind us opened.
Footfalls.
I kept my eyes shut until I felt strong arms embracing me, all of us.
“It’s done,” Felton said. “The magistrate is satisfied. No charges.”
