“What would you have done differently? Nothing, I suspect.”
His sister sobbed harder, but he hadn’t said the worst. “I want you and the girls to go to Bath with Aunt Nelly in the new year. I made arrangements with her.”
“But what of this house? Engagements in town?”
With a shake of his head, he rendered judgment. “This house wouldn’t be possible without my investments of Cecilia’s dowry. Doesn’t seem quite right we should have use of it if the benefactress has gone.”
Jane closed her wet eyes. “I thought I was doing what was best.”
He put his hand to her shoulder, wilting the cap of the sleeve. “You did that for a long time, maybe too long.”
“How do I fix it? I don’t want you angry with me. Remember, you and I against the world.”
“Jane, I have to fix this. And you need a household of your own. Aunt will help with that or you can go back to Father. Warwick has no mistress to run its accounts.”
“Now I know you hate me. Neither of us can stand being there more than a week unless Lady Gantry’s there. She made him civil.”
Felton offered a shrug. “Then Aunt Nelly in Bath it is. Odd thing, Cecilia only confided in the devil.”
“It’s that woman, Felton. She’s changing the duke and you, like she has voodoo or magic.”
“No, Jane. Her art has healed him. That’s what’s wonderful about it, about her. Think of how to be better a person while you’re off to Bath.”
Jane’s expression blanked, no smile, no frown, no more sobbing. She moved to the door. “I do hope you find her.” She left.
Felton laid out the paintings, hoping to see a clue. In the deepest part of the stack were images of Warwick’s pastures. Another four looked like they were of Demerara. The one he couldn’t take his eyes off were of jacaranda flowers. The spot where they had wed had these flowers hanging above them.
With his pinky, he traced the delicate brush strokes. “Where are you, Cilia? Where have you run to?”
Finding her would be difficult, but if she’d found peace somewhere other than London, in the countryside or a British colony, what would make her return?
He’d have to figure out what she wanted, what she needed more than his love. He covered up the stack of paintings, vowing to his heart that he’d not lose his second chance at happiness.
CHAPTER17
CECILIA—WERK-EN-RUST, DEMERARA
May 8, 1814
With an arm underneath my head, I stared up at the Demeraran sky. The back of the dray wasn’t comfortable but up in the hills we had a wonderful view of the stars.
“The big orb of orange stripes, our papa said it was Galileo Galilei’s Saturn.” I whispered the words aloud, as though my sister and my newborn baby nephew could hear. He slept peacefully, though his birth was almost breached.
Cupping my hands to my eyes, I stretched to see the constellations a little more and made the same wish I had when I learned of my father’s death. “I want my family. I need it restored.”
Then I added a second one. “I wish for revenge, too.”
My sister Helena coughed.
This one rattled more than the last.
The birth of her son was so hard on her, but I managed to get Noah to breathe. With the aid of Tramel’s smugglers, I found her and helped my sister escape the plantation.
The trees overhead had the purple blooms of the jacaranda. They would amaze me in the morning as they always did, such a bright color of purple. Beautiful like my wedding day. For the first time in months, I wished Felton was beside me.
No matter how cross he was, he’d hold my hand. He’d tell me things would be well.
Nothing was good right now. I watched a moon move so high I couldn’t touch it and flowers overhead whose blooms wouldn’t open until morn. My sister was going to die, die of the birthing fever. The man responsible, Jeremiah Gladstone, would continue to live.
