Page 63 of The Earl and His Lady

But here, at Heatherton Hall, where she had spent less than a dozen nights in a bed without Charles, things were different.

She’d hardly slept at all.

Perhaps that lack of sleep had led to her argument with Lucas. Had she been more rested, more herself, would she have responded to him the same way?

She tossed from one pillow to another, squeezing her eyes closed.

Did she owe Lucas an apology? If he’d said right away why he didn’t wish her to make visits to those afflicted with the fever, if he’d explained first, they never would’ve had reason to argue in the first place. Didn’t that make it his fault?

Virginia pulled the blankets up to her chin.

Lady Abigail Calvert had succumbed to scarlet fever. That didn’t mean Virginia would. She had a strong constitution. She’d nursed her own husband through consumption without falling ill even once.

But the fear in Lucas’s eyes, the sorrow in them, had not been for Abigail.

Virginia dismissed that thought by sitting up in her bed. Sleep would not come swiftly. Her agitation with the situation remained too great.

Pacing from her bed to the window, Virginia tried to think on other things. Knowing she’d see the boys in two days’ time comforted her. She had rarely been apart from them since their infancy. Her mother claimed it was unnecessary sentimentality, that servants were employed to allow mothers to go about in society. But Virginia had never understood how people could wish to be parted from their little ones. When the day came for her sons to go away to school, she was not sure how she would get through that time apart.

She had found Phillip’s model ship and secured it well for travel. He would be pleased to have it back again. Edward would likely spend a great deal of time studying all his rescued shells, talking over where he had found them and what he thought of each crack or colorful line upon them.

Lucas had been kind to retrieve the shells for her. And his idea to build a similar structure to the crow’s nest would likely give the boys a topic of conversation they would not soon exhaust.

Lucas’s thoughtfulness, such a key trait in his character she’d noted from nearly their first meeting, was a wonder to her. He remembered every detail of import when a person spoke to him. Having watched him as they settled accounts and went through the steward’s notes, she could appreciate that part of him even more. He recognized discrepancies, even small ones, and could remember different aspects of reports she had only glanced over. His assistance had proven invaluable, though he’d tried to stay in the background, acting as an adviser. Managing without him would’ve been difficult.

Virginia froze mid-step and folded her arms tightly about herself.

Why does every thought lead back to Lucas?

She fought away the answer before it could fully form in her mind. She turned on her heel and went to the door linking her room to the baron’s chamber. To Charles’s bedroom. She touched the handle and took in a deep breath. She had not been inside his room yet. She’d wanted to ignore that it even existed.

Yet she knew his room as well as she knew her own.

Virginia turned the handle and pulled the door open.

It still smelled like him. Like lemons and leather, like his favorite soap, like a thousand days of love and laughter. Her heart lifted but almost immediately the fissures left by his loss broke open again. Virginia stepped inside, knowing her way in the dark. She went to his bed and sat on the edge, breathing deeply, each precious memory cutting into her more deeply. She reached out to his pillow, knowing it would be empty, but needing to remind herself of how it had been when he was there.

He would nevermore stand in that room, before his mirror, asking for her to adjust his cravat. He would never throw the door open, startling her and her maid, as she prepared for dinner or a night at a neighbor’s home. He wouldn’t watch the rain fall, standing at the large curtained windows that overlooked their rolling hills and the boys’ crow’s nest in the trees.

Charles would never hold her again.

A broken sob tore from Virginia’s throat before she realized she was weeping. Covering her mouth, trying to mute the sound, another cry slipped past her lips. Like a child, Virginia shuddered and wept, laying down and burying her face in Charles’s pillows. She sucked in a ragged breath, breathing in that scent that comforted her and tore her apart.

Her already broken heart cracked further. She curled herself around the pillow, embracing it tightly, weeping. Longing enveloped her; when was the last time she’d felt as safe and protected as she had in Charles’s arms? She could lay her cares at his feet and he would make the world right again, or else hold her until it felt right.

Virginia had not allowed herself to cry like this since the night Charles had died. Her circumstances would not allow for it. She had to remain strong, for herself and for the boys, for the world to see she was capable of carrying on.

The world wasn’t watching now, and the boys were far away. No one would know. No one would see her. The boys would not witness her breaking down. This moment would be hers and hers alone.

Alone. That word had never felt heavier than it did in the darkness, in a room she had never been alone in before.

Virginia cried until her tears and body were exhausted. At last she fell into a fitful sleep, and dreams troubled by a longing she couldn’t name.

¤

Rising with the sun, though it was a dreary dawn that greeted her, Virginia didn’t call for Louisa to help her dress. She left Charles’s bedroom after straightening the coverlet and smoothing the pillow. She closed the door quietly behind her, determination driving her. Though her head pounded and her body was weary, there was something she must do.

Her hands searched the back of her wardrobe and pulled out a drab brown gown, more worn than the rest, reserved for the less delicate work of her life. Whether it was caring for her plants, working in the still room, or visiting the ill tenants under her care.