Already, exhaustion caused my arms to tremble, but I tightened my hold on Robert’s hand and whispered in his ear as Benedict talked. He spoke of the first time he’d seen Robert and how lovable he’d looked cradled in a blanket. He told Robert how happy he’d been and how much his mother had loved him. And he told Robert how he had named him after his great-grandfather. They had the same smile. Sentences began to run together in my mind, but the reassurance of Benedict’s voice was a steady resonance of hope in the dark hours before dawn. At some time, exhaustion claimed me, and I sank into a chair.
I must have fallen asleep, for I woke to streaming sunlight and the sensation that I was wrapped in wet cloths, adrift on a lazy sea. In actuality, Benedict had somehow managed to gather both Robert and me in his arms. Robert, wedged between his father and me, was warm, not hot, and his breathing was easy. Benedict was asleep, his head angled awkwardly back, telling me that he was going to be in a lot of pain when moved.
Moving a hand that was almost numb, I brushed Robert’s cheek, feeling the natural temperature of his skin. His eyes fluttered open, and a tiny smile curved his cherub lips. A deep sigh of relief escaped me. I knew he would recover, and I would, too. Already the soreness in my throat had eased, and I didn’t feel feverish. Benedict’s arms tightened. Glancing up, I saw he’d awakened.
“Your mother named you well, Titania. You fight like a queen, and your touch is full of magic,” he said softly. “You saved my son.”
“No. It was your voice that reached him.”
“But it was your love that would not let him go.”
Our gazes met. The heat of attraction that always flared was there, but something warmer and deeper lay beneath that fire. And I knew my life had met another moment that would change me forever. I also knew without a doubt that this man was innocent.
“Today is the day!” Robert declared. It was Friday morning, nearly two weeks after we’d fallen ill, and he came bouncing into my room with no end to his smiles.
“Yes, today we will go to the bank and even get a candy treat, if your father thinks it is all right.” The trip to town was the very first thing Robert had asked to do when he’d awoken from his fever, and Benedict promised we’d go as soon as he was well. Robert immediately began declaring himself well and continued to do so every day until Benedict promised that Friday would be the day.
Though Robert was still pale and his clothes hung a little loosely, he’d recovered all of his radiant exuberance. I, on the other hand, struggled to keep up with a day wherein I did nothing more than read with Robert and Justin in the schoolroom and confer with Cook Thomas about Justin’s birthday party. I’d taken my meals in my room, and in spite of retiring to bed early, I was still tired. It was a battle to gain back my strength, but it was a very sweet battle indeed. Most especially because Robert was here, pulling on my skirt. Heaven didn’t know a sweeter touch.
“Can we go yet, Miss Wovell?” he asked.
“In a minute,” I said gently, kissing him on his head, then checking my wan reflection in the mirror of my washstand. I chose to wear the lavender pinstripe today, remembering how Mrs. Talbot thought it perfect with my brown hair and gray eyes. In two week’s time I’d become thin to the point of being frail, and it had changed my appearance. My cheekbones were more prominent, my eyes bigger, and my lips looked fuller. Around my neck, hidden beneath my gown, I wore a key on a ribbon. Benedict had had a lock placed on the secret passage’s panel in the schoolroom after Robert and I had begun our recovery. He didn’t want me worrying that anyone could come into our room. I now held the key, and I chose to wear that key close to my heart. There’d be only one reason I’d unlock the door, and my mind still wavered on the precipice of knowing the pleasure of a man’s love or clinging to a cold practicality. To choose between purity and ruin was easy enough. But to elevate that choice between love and emptiness made the decision much harder.
My world had changed in two weeks, in a way I’d never forget.
One morning Robert had ridden Cesca with joy, and in the dark hours a few days later, he’d almost died. I would never forget how fragile the precious gift of life was.
I’d seen Benedict several times since awakening in his arms with Robert cradled between us. Each time had been in the afternoon in the schoolroom, with Robert and Justin present. His every word and movement were filled with a polite, gentle warmth. Anything else we’d shared, the passion, our tempers, the tenderness, were all banked into a bed of coals that secretly simmered. I’d no strength for more, but I think even if I had, it wouldn’t have changed anything.
There was a reserved air about Benedict that echoed his words, I have nothing but dishonor to give a woman. I promised myself that soon, I’d delve deeper into what he’d meant. For now he’d left the issue of dealing with the threatening note in my hands. Eventually we’d probably disagree, and considering the results of our last argument, I wondered what would happen. Would he kiss me? How would I react? But for now everything seemed stagnantly content as we healed. For I had no doubt that Benedict had lived every moment of Robert’s illness as if it were himself who’d been sick and near death.
“Are you ready yet, Miss Wovell?”
“I’m ready. Where is Justin?” The boy’s withdrawal seemed to be more pronounced since my recovery.
“He is in his bed. He does not want to go.”
Fear gripping me, I rushed to the nursery. All I could think of was that Justin had now fallen ill with the fever. “Justin!”
He wasn’t in his bed. I searched the room and almost missed him sitting on the window seat, his knees drawn to his chin, his arms wrapped tightly about his legs. He didn’t look up at my call, just continued to stare out the window. But from what I could see, he didn’t appear ill, only sad.
I drew a deep breath to settle my heart back into its proper place and walked over to him. Through the window I could see that he watched the carriage awaiting us. Did he think we’d leave without him?
“Justin,” I said softly. “Let’s go down and find your father.”
He took a shuddering breath and turned to let me see his tears.“I want us all to stay here. I do not want anything bad to happen ever again. But even here’s not safe. My mommy died. You got sick, and even Robert almost… he almost died, too. I don’t want anybody. Please go away.”
I sat down next to him and placed my hand over his fisted one.“You think the pain will go away if everyone goes away. You are tired of worrying. Tired of hurting.” He didn’t say anything, but his fist tightened, and more tears fell down his cheeks.
“Why don’t we pretend for a minute? Let’s say that your father, Robert, and I go to town and leave you here. Will you feel any better alone in your room?”
Justin remained silent.
“Let’s pretend you are lots older, and you could leave here and go anywhere you wanted. You would never have your brother around to take your toys or to laugh with. You would never have your father around to show you how to ride Cesca. You would never have your grandma, or Uncle Stephen, or anybody else you know. Do you think you would be happy then? All alone?”
Justin slowly shook his head, his answer only making him more miserable.
I sighed. “I wish I could promise you that nothing bad will ever happen again. But I cannot. As I said before, life is like roses with thorns. There are a great many wonderful, joyous things to share, and then there are the painful, hurtful things, too. All I can tell you is that sharing life with those you love makes the good parts better and the bad parts easier to bear. Maybe you would not hurt so much if you did not keep your heart so all alone.”
Justin choked back his tears. He looked so old, so solemn for a boy of almost eight. Anger nearly squeezed the breath from my lungs. It was so unfair. He needed to be running through the grass, climbing trees, and jumping with excitement at the prospect of going to town for fun.
“Are you scared, Miss Lovell? Of the bad things? Are you afraid that they will happen
and you cannot stop them? That all you can do is watch?”
“Yes,” I said softly, wondering myself if I was expecting too much to want Justin to heal and to be happy again. For I had to be honest with myself. If Robert had died, his death would have been a thorn in my heart that I don’t know if I could have released.“Yes, I am scared. Being brave does not mean you are not afraid bad things will happen. Being brave is having fears, but still having the courage to live.”
I held my hand out to him. “Come share today with us, and we will be secretly brave together.”
Justin looked at my hand for a long moment, and just when I thought he’d say no, he unclenched his fist and put his hand in mine. When we stood, I saw Robert standing in the doorway, looking very serious.
“I always thoughted that you were the bravest and I was stupid for being scared,” he said.
Justin’s eyes widened.
I smiled and held my other hand out to Robert. “Maybe you two can share what makes you scared, and then maybe it will not be so scary.”
Robert nodded as he took my hand. Justin shrugged nonchalantly, but I could tell the idea interested him.
“Can we check our babies before we go?” Robert asked.
“If we hurry.” The trip to the back of the garden didn’t take long, and both boys were satisfied that their “babies” were doing quite well.
“I watered them and took care of them while you were sick,” Justin told Robert. “I made sure they were well for you.”
Robert reached over and hugged his brother. “Thank you, Jus. You’re the bestest big brother.”
Justin looked surprised. Then he hugged Robert back. It was the first real affection Justin had let himself express since my arrival at Trevelyan Hill.
Tears were still stinging my eyes as we rushed into the foyer. Benedict was waiting for us, hustling us to the carriage, but I still took a moment to glance at the glorious stained glass windows and whisper a prayer of thanks for that little sign of hope from Justin. I even gave the suit of armor a loving pat for guarding over the stained glass so diligently.
Once in the carriage, I found it most difficult to keep my mind on what Robert was saying to me as the carriage moved down the drive. My attention kept wandering to Benedict and how disturbing it was to be in the close confines of a carriage with him. I almost thought that riding Odin would be less intimidating. Almost.
Benedict was so broad that he nearly took up the whole seat. His long legs lay stretched across the floor of the carriage, close enough to mine that our calves brushed slightly with every bump in the road. He wore dark brown again, pants and jacket. His white ruffled shirt, crisply fresh, struck me as being at odds with the tiredness creasing his face. Robert’s illness had taken a toll.
“Look, Miss Wovell, there’s some pretty purple flowers. Can we pick them like last time and take them to our mommies?”
“Uh—” I hesitated, wondering what Benedict’s reaction would be about going to Francesca’s grave.
Benedict frowned, and a twinge of disappointment touched my heart. Didn’t he realize how much Justin and Robert needed to express their feelings for their mother?
“Why don’t we get a bouquet from the florist after we go to the bank? Picking wildflowers like a poor man is not what a Trevelyan would… do.”
My cheeks flushed hotly. I hadn’t considered that I’d taught Justin and Robert an action not in keeping with their position in life. In fact, in all of my teachings, I never once remembered taking their financial standing into consideration. Was I doing them a disservice?
Benedict’s gaze shot to mine, surprising me as he winced, having realized he’d labeled me a “poor man.” I smiled tightly back, suddenly too aware of the class difference between us. Seeing him only within the setting of Trevelyan Manor in many ways had masked that difference, which was odd. I would have expected the richness of his home to make it more pronounced. Instead, I could see that exposed to the dictates of society, the distance between us would become more glaringly apparent, like revealing my work-worn hands to the bright light of day instead of hiding them beneath kid gloves as I did now.
I told myself it was a good thing to be exposed for what I was, even by something so simple as picking wildflowers for graves. I was a woman of extremely modest means, who’d been born out of wedlock. A man of Benedict’s breeding and money was a man that I could never hope to openly love.
The brightness of the sun dimmed a little, and a slight weariness threaded through my body. Constance had asked me if I believed in choosing one’s fate, or if one could never change the fate to which one was born. I believed one could choose, but I now saw that change could only go so far.
“Roses,” Justin said into the uncomfortable silence filling the air in the carriage. “I want to give both Miss Lovell’s mother and my mother lots of roses.”
Benedict cleared his voice, as if he had words caught in his throat and couldn’t speak. “Roses it is, then. But why roses?”
“Because they have thorns,” Justin said. “That makes them real.”
Benedict lifted a brow my way, but didn’t comment further. I bit my lip. This outing of fun and sunshine I’d been picturing to bring Benedict and his sons closer together wasn’t off to a good start.
Thankfully, the next few hours progressed on a lighter note. At the bank, Benedict gave each of the boys twenty dollars and opened an account for them. And the bank clerk swore Justin and Robert to secrecy, claiming accounts for children weren’t something they did for every customer. This impressed them immensely. The candy store and the florist followed. Benedict, Justin, and Robert each bought two bouquets of flowers, and at Benedict’s insistence, I chose an arrangement of white and yellow daisies. We were on our way out when little Robert gasped. “I forgotted. Grandfather is watching over Mommy.” He looked at his father.“Would he like flowers, too?”
I saw Benedict take a deep breath, as if the death of his father was still a fresh wound. “I had forgotten, too, son.” Benedict took a whiff of the fragrant blooms cradled in his arms. I couldn’t help but remember the night he held Robert and me, cradling us both with his warm strength. I blinked, refocusing on Benedict’s words. “Your grandfather loved roses. They were his favorite. He even wrote a book about them.”
“A real book?” Justin, who thus far today had only spoken when asked a question, drew closer to his father. “He liked roses, too, like me?”
“He loved roses.” Benedict jostled the bouquets to one arm and set his hand on Justin’s shoulder. “He went to Europe and chose the different roses in our garden at home.”
“May I see the book and read it? Miss Lovell is teaching me to read.”
“Yes. I also hear Miss Lovell has taught you how to play chess.”
Justin nodded.
“How about this afternoon we play a game and then read a little of what your grandfather wrote together?”
Justin nodded, but not even his reticence could hide the pleased gleam in his gaze.
Benedict squeezed Justin’s shoulder affectionately. “Why don’t you and Robert each pick out a rose to give to your grandfather.”
“What color did he like?” Robert asked.
Benedict smiled. “All of them. So you will just have to pick out the two prettiest.”
The boys ran back to the florist, asking to see all of the roses he had, and I rolled my eyes.“You know this may take them a while?”I spoke with a smile curving my lips that said I had all the time in the world. When it came to moments that brought Justin further from his isolated shell, I did have all the time in the world.
“You looked as if you needed a moment to rest anyway. Is this excursion too taxing?” Benedict motioned me to a chair at the front of the shop, and I sat, more tired than I’d realized.
“Heavens no. My constitution is—”
“In need of rest. Maria informed me that you kept Justin and Robert with you all afternoon yesterday doing lessons.” His heated gaze examined me
from head to toe, leaving a trail of fire behind.“I thought we agreed that you were going to spend this week recuperating.”
“We only read, nothing strenuous.” I’d only been able to tolerate lying in bed for so long before thoughts of Benedict in my bed sent me scurrying for something with which to occupy myself. Remembering what condition arguing with me induced in him, I thought it best to change the subject. “Writing a book is quite an accomplishment. I, too, am interested in reading your father’s book. The Romance of the Rose is an interesting title.”
Benedict’s eyes widened. “You have seen the book then?”
“Yes. I encountered your mother in the library late one night. She had it with her.”
“My mother had my father’s book out?” More than surprise settled in his expression. He looked shocked. “She has not touched a rose since he died, much less his beloved book. It has been too painful for her. Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”I frowned.“Though she had given me quite a fright. The scrape of her cane had me imagining that a—”
I pressed my hand to my mouth, too late to stop or undo what I’d accidentally revealed. I forced myself to meet Benedict’s gaze, thinking there might be a slight chance he hadn’t heard. He had.
He stared at me over the top of the roses. “I beg your pardon?”
“I believe I said I was sure she had the book.”
“Miss Lovell, I think you had better tell me what in damnation is going on.” His voice, though lowered to a barely audible whisper, was sharp enough to slice through stone.
Wincing, I took a deep breath. How did I always seem to end up in the middle of things? In some ways, I felt as if I’d betrayed Mrs. Trevelyan’s confidence, though I knew she held no loyalty to me. “Um, I think perhaps you misunderstood me, Mr. Trevelyan. I meant to say—”
The Mistress of Trevelyan Page 24
