After ascending the steps and being granted admittance into a formal living room, he paced around the impersonal room. He looked for any sign of his good friend, of his marriage to Rowena, and saw nothing that reflected Perry or Rowena in this room. When his name was called, he spun to face the door.
“Lucas!” Perry boomed, pulling him close for a hug and a slap on the back. “I can’t believe you’re finally here in Boston.”
Lucas shrugged and looked at him with concern. “Are you all right, Perry?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, as he motioned for Lucas to follow him out of the living room and up to the second floor. He pushed open a squeaky door, and soon they were inside a cluttered room with a piano in the bow-fronted window, photographs on all the ledges. Paintings hung in a haphazard array, somehow harmonious and decorative, with scruffy, yet comfortable furniture scattered throughout, complete with scuffmarks on the wood floor to prove the furniture was moved with frequency.
Lucas relaxed. “Downstairs was formal. Without any sense of being lived in.”
Laughing, Perry waved his arm around. “This room and another sitting room at the rear of this floor are where we spend all our time. Downstairs is where the matrons call and where I speak with patrons.” He shrugged. “I have no interest in them learning anything about me, Ro, or baby Ben.” His eyes shone with pride as he spoke of his family. He noted Lucas glancing at a photograph of Rowena holding Benjamin. “I took that.”
“It’s wonderful to see you happy.” Lucas looked around and smiled. “I have to admit. When you married Ro, I worried that you wouldn’t be content living in a mansion.”
Perry shrugged. “I’ve traveled plenty. But being with her and Little Ben”—he sighed with pleasure—“it’s why I insisted our wives and children come with us. I don’t want to be separated from them. Not even for a night.”
Lucas settled onto a lumpy chair, his legs kicked out in front of him. “This reminds me of when we were poor and struggling. Do you remember how we often had a chair like this when we toured?”
Perry chuckled. “To remind us that we could always return to this. That success was ever fleeting.”
Lucas nodded. “Although fate has been kind to us. … Mostly.” He sobered and looked at his friend. “I must ask a favor. I have an idea. It might be horrible. And it might only be for one night during our tour in Boston.” He paused, while he seemed to compose his thoughts. “I’ve never truly come to terms with the loss of my sister.”
Perry made a noise, as though commiserating with him, although he refrained from saying anything.
“I have an idea. I want to play a song for her. One I’ve yet to write. And play it before the encores.” He looked at Perry. “Does that offend you?”
Perry shook his head. “Of course not. If it’s as successful as I suspect it will be, you should make a recording of it and sell it at every venue. You’ll earn a fortune.”
“It’s not about money,” Lucas whispered. “I want to honor her.”
Perry nodded as he looked at his friend. “You might fear that you haven’t honored her, but I know you, and I know that you have.” He pushed himself up. “Come. Let’s look over the program and see if we want to make any other changes. We can practice here before moving to the Opera House, a few days before, to practice the full show.”
Lucas rose, and soon he and Perry were lost in the world of music.
* * *
After Lucas left, Zylphia ignored the painting waiting to be tinkered with and wandered to the windows. A typical Boston scene unfolded in front of her, with well-dressed society matrons and men strolling past on cobbled streets, attempting to garner notice for their stylish clothes and for their preening walk. She sighed, as no child ran away from his governess, no horse bolted and then overturned a cart full of oranges. Nothing of interest that would spark her artistic zeal.
Turning from the window, Zylphia wandered her studio. She dropped to her knees to poke through a trunk her father had given her at her request. Always desirous to learn more about his life before she was born, he had mentioned he had a trunk filled with objects he hadn’t looked at in years. After she badgered him about allowing her to sift through it, Aidan had just had it delivered to her studio that morning. Sneezing as she disturbed a pile of dust, she began to make mounds around her of objects to consider throwing away, items to talk over with her father, and others that had little interest to her.
She pulled out a packet of letters, her fingers caressing the faded, twirling script. “Mother,” she whispered. Fighting the urge to rip them open, she set them aside in a pile she now deemed precious, as she could not wait to show them to her. “Hopefully I can read some of them.”
She reached inside and extracted a small box. She flipped open the lid on the box, and her breath caught. “Oh my,” she gasped. With shaking fingers, she traced a long-lost photograph of her father standing beside his brother, Ian, his sister-in-law, Geraldine, and his three nephews. “This must have been just before they died,” she murmured, as she fought tears.
Jeremy stood in front of his mother, while Richard stood with pride with his shoulders back and chin up as he stood in front of his father, Ian’s hands on his shoulders. Gabriel, already lanky, stood beside his mother. “Oh, my dear cousins. Look at what you lost,” she whispered, remembering the story of Ian and Geraldine McLeod, dying in a fire when their sons were young. “At least I always had my mother. And now I have Father too.” She sniffled.
She studied the picture a moment longer, and then a smile bloomed as an idea struck. She only hoped she had the talent to accomplish what she desired.
Chapter 13
Parthena roamed Sophronia’s formal front living room, unable to sit or to wait patiently for the arrival of her sister. She heard a child’s laughter from an upstairs’ bedroom and closed her eyes as she waited for the customary anguish to assail her. However, rather than regret and grief, a longing filled her to hold her niece and to play with her. She watched the door with anticipation, her smile of welcome faltering as Genevieve entered alone.
Genevieve noticed Parthena’s attempt to hide a grimace, and Vivie’s cheerful expression altered. “Hello, Parthena. It is good of you to call.” She stood near her sister but didn’t move to embrace her. Where her eldest sister was blond and had always drawn the attention of every male gaze upon entering a room, Genevieve’s beauty was subtler. Her brown hair and brown eyes rarely attracted notice, and her short stature allowed her to easily be overlooked. However, she was confident in the love of her husband and in his constancy, even though he had loved Parthena first.
Parthena rushed to her but came to a halt a pace away from flinging her arms around her. “Viv …” She took a deep breath and then said, “I had hoped to have time with Lizzie. I was disappointed she wasn’t with you.”
Her sister watched her in confusion. “Truly? I thought it was too difficult for you to spend any appreciable time with my daughter.”
“I won’t lie and say I won’t look at her and imagine what … my daughter would have been like, had she lived. But I’ve realized I’ve mourned long enough. I’ve allowed grief to be my constant companion for too long.” Her eyes shone with hope. “I don’t want to live like this any longer.”
“Oh, Thena,” Genevieve murmured, using a nickname her family and Lucas had used for her. She reached forward, embracing her sister. “You’ll never know the distress Eudora’s letter caused when she wrote. I … I wanted to come right away.”
Parthena gripped her sister, accepting the comfort she would have spurned the previous year. “I would have barred you from the house. I resented everyone who had a child. And I’ve treated everyone abominably.”
“I’m sure your friends understand,” her sister replied loyally.
Parthena swiped at her cheeks and sighed. “I fear I’ve been horrible to Ro. I’ve been so envious of her and Perry’s good fortune with their son, Benjamin.” Her hazel eyes gleamed with shame
. “I worry she’ll never forgive me.”
Genevieve gripped her sister’s hand. “She’s here, meeting with Sophie in the back sitting room. Why don’t you make your peace with her now, rather than continue to worry about it?” She smiled encouragingly. “Then we can all have tea and play with Lizzie.”
Parthena firmed her shoulders and nodded. “Come with me?” When her sister nodded, Parthena walked the short distance down the wainscoted hallway to the rear sitting room door. She hovered outside a moment, wavering, and would have stood there much longer if Genevieve hadn’t raised her hand to knock on the door.
At Sophronia’s imperious “Enter,” Parthena pushed open the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she murmured, her voice shaking. “But I heard Ro was here.” She saw her friend stiffen at her voice.
Sophronia, seated in her customary chair raised higher than a usual chair to allow her to more easily rise, glared at Parthena. “It’s about time you showed some sense, girl.” She tapped her cane onto the floor, her eyes flashing with impatience and concern. Her lilac dress highlighted her silver hair, while a black comb kept it in place for a stylish chignon.
Parthena noted that Sophie didn’t shoo her from the room, so she entered. She sat beside Sophie on a nearly identical lady’s chair, although she was not perched as high as her friend. Genevieve settled beside Rowena, who sat with impeccable posture, her subtle beauty enhanced by her aquamarine gown. “Ro,” Parthena said in a plaintive voice. Her voice withered away as her friend stared at her in an unforgiving way.
At the persistent silence in the room, Parthena cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Ro,” she murmured. “I was jealous and spiteful. I didn’t treat you like a friend.”
Rowena set down her teacup and looked at her with disappointment. “I can’t presume to say I understand what you feel, what you suffered, when you lost your baby.” Her eyes filled, as though imagining the agony of losing her son, Benjamin. “But I like to believe I would not have treated you in such a horrible fashion.”
“Ro,” Parthena whispered.
“It’s as though, after years of friendship, you despised me. Simply because I had a child. You should have rejoiced with me.” She shook her head in disillusionment.
“Ro,” Parthena whispered again. “I know how I acted was wrong. I’m sorry.” She paused as she closed her eyes a moment. “I will not lie. I did despise you. I despised every woman I met who had a child. Especially those who had a baby who had not died.” She took a deep breath. “I failed as a mother, and I felt that, every time I saw you, it highlighted my failing.”
“P.T.,” Rowena said in a gentle voice, reaching forward to clasp her friend’s hand. “You did not fail. Your baby was sick, and you got her the best care you could. Nothing else could have been done for her. It was tragic.”
“Tragic and heartbreaking,” Sophronia said.
Parthena nodded. “Yes.” Her wobbly smile did little to alleviate the worry of her friends and sister. “But I’ve come to realize I have so much more to lose if I continue with my bitterness and my self-hatred. I could lose you. And I could lose Morgan.” She shook her head. “And I’m not willing to lose any of you.”
“Good,” Sophronia said, with a tap of her cane on the floor. “About time you came to your senses.” She smiled at her distant cousin. “Your husband was mad with grief, and not being able to share it with you was an added agony.”
“I know, Sophie,” Parthena whispered. “We’ve talked a lot.”
“Talking, my foot,” Sophie said. “That man needs to take you to bed, so he can comfort you in a way only a husband can.”
When Parthena flushed beet red and wouldn’t meet their gazes, Sophie gave a satisfied harrumph. “Seems that man of yours has more sense than I thought. You’ve saved your husband a visit, my dear.”
“Sophie! You wouldn’t,” Parthena gasped. At her friend’s impish smile, she collapsed against the back of her chair and shook her head in wonder. “Is there anything you won’t do?”
Sophie shrugged, winking at Genevieve, who watched their interaction with wide-eyed astonishment. “Not where it concerns those I love, no.”
Parthena shared a chagrined look with her sister. “I will remain forever thankful you did not have to make such a visit.”
With Sophie cackling her glee, the topic moved on to the upcoming performance by Lucas and Perry, and Rowena’s departure from Boston when Perry’s tour left town.
* * *
Teddy paced in his office, as he ran his hands over his pressed brown suit. He wore a burgundy waistcoat and matching handkerchief in his breast pocket. He looked at the flowers in the outside garden, absently noting the peonies were in bloom. They were one of Zylphia’s favorites, and he hoped to remind the staff to cut her a few for their room. His hand shook as he ran it through his hair, disheveling it. “Dammit,” he muttered.
“What’s the matter, Teddy?” Zylphia asked, as she entered in a jade dress cut to highlight her figure. She had yet to follow the fashion of the flappers, as the dress did not hang straight from her shoulders, although the hemline was higher than before the war.
“I need you to accompany me today, Zee,” he said. “I apologize if you have calls you wish to make. I need you to cancel them.” He swiped at his brow.
She paled as she raced to his side, her hands racing over him. “Are you ill? Must we call the doctor?”
He laughed, tugging her into his arms. “No, my love. No.” He sighed, kissing her head. “Today I become an American. For some reason, that prospect is terrifying me.” He smiled at her, when she gripped his quivering hands. “I never thought I was tied to being a British citizen, but I find myself mourning for some reason.”
“Oh, Teddy,” she whispered. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. I’ll never love you less than I do.”
He rested his forehead against hers, her quiet strength and devotion giving him the fortitude he momentarily lacked. “No, my love.” He sighed as he relaxed in her embrace. “No. I want this. My dream is to stand beside you as you vote. That’s only possible if I am an American. And we have no plans of living in Britain,” he teased. At her subtle shudder at the thought, he laughed. “It’s not that horrible an idea.”
“Perhaps not,” she conceded. “But I hate the thought of being so far away from my parents. From my family.”
He cupped her face, gazing deeply into her brilliantly blue eyes. “I would hate to be away from them too, for they are more my family than my own.” He lowered his head and kissed her fleetingly. “Come. Let’s go. It wouldn’t do to keep the judge waiting.”
* * *
Morgan raced home, fighting memories of the last time Parthena had summoned him. He attempted to apologize to women he barreled into but did not take the time to pause in his mad dash down Commonwealth Avenue on a sweltering June day. Although her missive had been a few paragraphs long, all he had read was Morgan, I need you at home at once. Please come now. He had thrown down the note, grabbed his jacket and hat, and ran out the door.
Taking his front steps two at a time, he slammed the front door open and came to a precipitous halt at the sight that met him. Panting from his run, he focused on the presence of his in-laws, standing in his marbled front hall, with a wall of servants preventing them from entering farther into his home. His butler stood just behind Parthena, as though to give her added support. Parthena appeared harried, as she argued with her parents, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt as she interacted with her father.
“Hennie,” Morgan said, in what he hoped was a somewhat normal voice as he sidled past his in-laws. “It seems you required my presence.” He smiled as her relieved gaze met his, and then his smile broadened as her gaze shone with humor at his unkempt state.
She waited until he stood beside her and clasped his hand. She appeared to relax and to gain even more wherewithal to face her parents with him standing next to her. “It appears my parents believe they may reside with us.”<
br />
Morgan gaped at his in-laws in surprise. “Have you been evicted?” At the mottled color of his father-in-law’s face, Morgan took that as an assent. “Have you nothing besides these few trunks?” He motioned to the trunks he had just noticed stacked to one side of the entryway. Once he had ascertained Parthena was well, he had calmed and begun to examine the scene. His in-laws stood with two servants behind them, six trunks piled haphazardly by the door, and a desperation glinting in their eyes. Morgan waited for one of them to speak, but both remained silent. “You desire a home here?”
“You know we do, you worthless beggar,” Mr. Tyler snapped.
Morgan raised his eyebrows. “Well, I have far more worth than you, and you would never have lost your home if you hadn’t aligned yourself to a scoundrel, such as Mr. Hubbard. You would not listen to my wise counsel, and that is your loss. I’ve already protected two of your daughters from disastrous marriages, and they are quite content.”
“You owe me!” Mr. Tyler screeched. “You stole Parthena for a pittance and then snuck Genevieve away like a thief.”
“Parthena’s reverse dowry”—he turned to wink at his wife—“was far from a pittance and would have kept you ensconced in your mansion for the rest of your lives, if you hadn’t had delusions of being a grand financier. As for Genevieve, she saved herself.”
“You won’t take us in?” Parthena’s mother asked, her shoulders back and her gaze one of shocked disbelief. “I gave you life. I did everything in my power to ensure you were well cared for.”
Parthena shook her head. “No, Mother, you did everything in your power to safeguard your position in Boston Society. You never cared about me. I’m only fortunate that you chose such a wonderful man as Morgan for me.” She squeezed her husband’s hand.
Triumphant Love: Banished Saga, Book Nine Page 20
