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“A woman like you, perhaps?” he asked.
A flicker of caution flashed in her eyes, but she affected a nonchalant shrug all the same. “Or Grace. She’s already familiar with the running of the entire house and—”
“No.” He bit the bitter word out. “My wife has just left me without any word, and now you’re speaking of my sister-in-law—the woman who married my brother who’s been dead a mere month—as though she can simply stand in for my bride.”
“Gavin, I—”
“No, you will listen to me for once in my life,” he said, shooting to his feet. “Oak Park is mine to do with as I choose. That means that when I decide to sell the horseflesh my brother so foolishly acquired that has overstretched the estate’s funds more than it needs to, it will be a matter between Chase and myself. That means that if I decide to let this house and live off the income from rent, I will.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t. Barretts have always lived at Oak Park since James I was king.”
“I can, and I will if I see fit,” he said, a surge of power rising in him.
“She’s turned your head. She’s making you choose between your family and her,” Lady Sophia insisted.
“This has nothing to do with Ina, Mother. At the moment, this is between you and me. My demand that you move into the dower house was not an idle threat.”
“It’s not ready,” she protested.
“On the contrary, Mrs. Riley informs me that it was made habitable two weeks ago.”
“But the redecorating I’ve ordered will not be finished for another three months.”
“You will just have to put up with it,” he said. “Grace may choose whether to live with you as your companion, or I will find her a house somewhere in Ashington if that’s what she desires.”
His mother’s face was beet red. “After all I’ve done for you, warning you away from that woman—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I will not hear another word about her. Ina is my wife.”
“She left you.”
Another viselike squeeze of his heart almost made him cringe, but he schooled his expression to remain neutral. “That is a matter between her and myself. I don’t wish to speak of her any longer.”
It was too painful to hear her name. Inside his world was crumbling, and so outside he’d do everything he could to be the commanding, exacting man everyone expected him to be.
Ina rode from Waverley Station to Lana’s home with her head bent low. She took no pleasure in the sights of her beautiful city. The elegant homes of New Town held little charm for her, even on a gloriously sunny day. All she wanted was to be reunited with her friends.
All of them would be gathered around the tea cart in Lana’s drawing room for one of their twice-monthly teas. Christine would be relaxing after a late-evening performance. Anne would be sitting wide-eyed on the edge of the sofa, absorbing every story she heard and tucking it away for careful consideration later. Lana, dressed in one of her diaphanous tea gowns that, paired with her wheat-blond hair, gave her an angelic appearance, would hand out cups and cake, laughing heartily as they caught up on news and gossip from the past two weeks.
The dull ache in her heart at missing them was a welcome change to the sharp, jabbing pains she’d coped with since leaving Oak Park. She’d cried silently through most of the carriage ride to the station, grateful for the net veil of her black hat. On the train, however, her tears all dried up. Instead she felt a gaping hollow of sadness inside of her. Ruth had sat in the far corner of the private compartment while Ina simply stared out the window, wondering if she’d ever feel like herself again.
The hansom cab, hired because there’d been no time to let Norris know to send the carriage to the station, rumbled to a stop in front of Lana’s door. She thanked the driver when he helped her down, and paid him generously. Then she walked up to Lana’s front door and rang the bell.
Lana’s maid-of-all-work, Clara, opened the door. “Oh, Lady Barrett.”
Ina braced herself for an inquiry as to why she was ringing the bell herself rather than sending Ruth ahead to see if the mistress of the house was home to visitors as was customary, but it never came.
“They’ll be delighted to see you, ma’am,” said Clara, stepping aside to let her in.
Ina pulled back her veil, knowing her eyes would be red and puffy, but to the maid’s credit she didn’t even flinch.
“I can find my way up, Clara,” Ina said.
“Of course, Lady Barrett,” said Clara with a bow.
Ina climbed the stairs slowly, her heavy steps betraying her weariness. She was wrung out and empty, tired and unhappy.
Outside the drawing room, the murmur of her friends’ voices floated out to her. She paused with her black glove–clad hand on the doorknob, building up the courage to enter and explain what had happened. Here she would be safe. Here she could mourn.
