by Stacy Henrie
“I understand that.” Especially being a parent herself now. “But I found happiness, then and now. And just because our definition of happiness may differ is no reason to cut me off, is it?”
Charles directed his answer to a point above Ada’s head. “We only wanted what was best for you, Ada.”
“Staying silent was best for me?” She didn’t bother to hide the hurt from her tone.
He ran a slightly trembling hand across his face. “Not exactly, no. But we . . . I . . . thought it might induce you to come home sooner.”
“That isn’t why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?” Victoria asked quietly, glancing between her husband and her daughter.
Ada straightened. “I’m here because I know how important family can be. How important I want it to be.”
“Then might you . . .” Charles gave another cough, his dark eyes cloudy with what Ada recognized as contrition. “Might you be willing to forgive us?”
She knew what it cost his pride to speak those words. Ones she’d never heard from him while living here. And she knew her answer. “Yes, Papa.” Her voice quavered, but it wasn’t from hesitation. “I forgive you.”
“Both of us?” Victoria was staring down at her hands as if she didn’t recognize them now that they were bereft of her usual needle and thread.
Ada waited until her mother looked up again before she nodded. “Both of you,” she whispered. In that moment, with forgiveness on her lips and in her heart, she felt the final splinter of her resentment shrink and disappear.
“Do you truly wish to make Stonefield your home again?” Her father watched her with what appeared to be equal parts uncertainty and hope.
“Yes, Papa,” Ada answered. “I would like to live here again.”
Victoria hugged her once more. “It will be as if you never left.”
The careless declaration tore at the fragile joy of their reunion. Things could not be as if Ada had never left, at least for her. She’d found herself in London, and she would never wish that to be different or to go back.
Doubt riddled her resolve. It was one thing to forgive her parents. It was another entirely to return to this life of pageantry and wealth, where faith played no role. Could she submit to having servants wait on her when she was capable of doing those same tasks and more herself? Could she continue to teach her daughter the importance of compassion and courage if they lived here?
She had a sudden desire to flee back to London, where things were familiar, to retract her answer about coming home. But another glance at her father’s wasting figure and her mother’s jubilant expression made Ada pause. She wasn’t alone here, just as she hadn’t been alone in the city. She still had Minnie and her family nearby. And God would be with her too as she continued to turn to Him for help and courage.
“There is one thing I would like,” she said, rising, “if I’m to come home for good.”
Charles sat back and eyed her cautiously. “What is that?”
“That you accept my daughter as mine and Ned’s. And that I’m allowed to raise her here as I see fit.” Ned was no longer with her, but Ada would always have pieces of him through Rosemary. She saw him in their daughter’s bright blue eyes, in her kindness, and in her zest for life.
“Your daughter?” Victoria exclaimed with unmistakable joy as she returned to her seat in the armchair. “I finally get to meet my grandchild.”
“You knew?”
Victoria nodded, her smile soft. “Gran told me.”
“Let us see the child,” Charles said.
Ada didn’t move. “Will you abide by my wishes?” It was with Rosemary that her true allegiance now lay. Even if that meant leaving her parents and Stonefield Hall behind forever, she would do it to protect her daughter.
“Yes, Ada.” His entire demeanor sagged, but she wondered if it was as much from defeat as from relief that the rift between them had closed—at last.
Exiting the room, Ada held out her hand to Rosemary. Her daughter brightened at seeing her. She hopped off the chair and slipped her hand into Ada’s. Together they walked into the sitting room.
“Mama, Papa, this is mine and Ned’s daughter, Rosemary Henley.”
Victoria beamed. “Come here, Rosemary.”
Her daughter looked to Ada for consent. “It’s all right,” she reassured her as she guided Rosemary closer.
“She looks so much like you as a little girl,” Victoria murmured. “How old are you, Rosemary?”
“Five.”
Charles looked between Rosemary and Ada and back again as if he couldn’t quite believe his little girl had a daughter of her own now. “Do you like sweets, Rosemary?”
The girl dipped her head in a nod.
“Ah, so did your mother.” A brief smile softened his face as he leaned forward. “And I believe Cook might have some sweets tucked away somewhere. What do you say we have them brought up?”
“Right now?” Rosemary asked, her eyes wide again.
He chuckled. “Right now.” He pulled the bell cord to alert one of the servants, then patted the empty spot next to him on the sofa. “While we wait, you can tell us all about what other things you like.”
Once seated beside her father, Ada drew Rosemary onto her lap. She let her daughter answer the questions from her parents, content to simply listen. The meeting she’d both anticipated and feared was over. In many ways it had gone better than her expectations.
Still, she knew that didn’t mean the way forward would be easy or smooth. Her parents had accepted her and Rosemary and agreed to let Ada bring up her daughter as she wished. But she knew they didn’t yet fully realize how vastly different her choices and dreams were from theirs. And she would not be adopting their way of life again, no matter how much they balked or insisted.
Help me stay true to the lessons You’ve taught me while I’ve been away, Lord, she pleaded silently as she rested her chin on her daughter’s curls. Help us both find true happiness here.
• • •
Hugh helped his mother out of the automobile, then looped her arm through his. Facing the old stone church, he pulled in a long breath, hoping to assuage the nerves eating at him. He was almost certain Ada would be in attendance at services today, given that she had been attending church in London. What he wasn’t certain about was how he felt about seeing her in person for the first time in years.
The letter she’d sent him the other week had shocked him—Ada was coming home to Yorkshire and hoped to reconcile with her parents. And while Hugh was hopeful things between her and the Thornes would be resolved, he was saddened at the thought of no longer exchanging letters with Ada. He’d come to treasure those letters and the friendship that had grown between them through that correspondence.
How would things change now that she had returned? Would their interactions only consist of seeing one another at church on Sundays and the occasional dinner at Stonefield Hall or Whitmore House?
His mother shot him a questioning glance. She was likely curious as to why he was hesitating outside the building. Or perhaps she already knew the answer and was merely nudging him to action.
Whatever the reason for her look, he squared his shoulders and led her into the church. Hugh didn’t see Ada among those already seated. Disappointed, he took a seat beside his mother on the Whittington pew. Before long, the priest began the meeting. Hugh glanced over his shoulder, but he couldn’t turn far enough around to see those behind him without calling undo attention to himself. Facing forward again, he did his best to concentrate on the service.
He rose with the rest of the congregation when the meeting concluded. His gaze went to the Thornes’ pew midway toward the back. It hadn’t been occupied by any member of the family for years, save for Christmas and Easter. But Ada wasn’t sitting there.
Oh well, he told himself. She’d likely be in attendance next Sunday or perhaps she’d visit Whitmore House . . .
Then he saw her, standing near the door of the
church. A little girl, who Hugh guessed must be Rosemary, stood beside her. Ada was talking with the priest and several other members of the congregation.
He tried not to openly stare as he and his mother moved down the aisle toward her. But it was a difficult task. Ada was no longer the girl of eighteen she’d been when Hugh had last seen her. She’d always been lovely, and yet, as a woman now, she radiated strength, beauty, and conviction.
Her dark-eyed gaze met his as she ended her other conversation. Hugh’s heart traitorously thumped faster when she smiled at him. He remembered that dazzling, almost impish smile of hers, but it was a new thing altogether to have it directed at him.
“Hugh Whittington,” she said warmly. She stepped forward to greet him. “It’s been ages, and yet with all of out letters, I feel as if we saw each other yesterday.”
He nodded in agreement. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you.”
Helena reached out to clasp Ada’s hand in her own. “It’s wonderful to have you here again, my dear.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you too, Mrs. Whittington.”
“Are you and your daughter settling in?” Hugh guessed at what his mother was really asking—if Ada and her parents had come to an understanding.
“We are getting on well,” Ada said to his great relief. “Mrs. Whittington, this is my daughter, Rosemary.” She motioned to the girl at her side. “And Rosemary, this is Mr. Whittington. Remember he sent us those lovely gifts at Christmas.”
The girl gave them each a shy smile. “Hello.”
“She looks so much like you, Ada,” Helena said with a shake of her head. She bent down to look Rosemary in the eye and smiled. “I knew your mother when she was your age.”
“You did?” Rosemary asked.
“Do you know what she loved to do back then?”
Ada’s daughter shook her head.
“Ride her horse.” Helena straightened.
Rosemary turned wide blue eyes toward her mother. “You had a horse, Mummy?”
“I did,” Ada said, laughing. The sound brought happy memories to Hugh’s mind. “But it has been far too long since I last rode.”
He could well recall what an excellent horsewoman she’d been. “I imagine you have not lost your skills, even after living in London.”
“Perhaps I haven’t.”
Her daughter tugged on her hand. “Can I ride a horse, Mummy?”
“One of these days, pet.” She returned her focus to Hugh and Helena. “My parents are hosting a party this next Saturday to celebrate me and Rosie being here.” Her nose wrinkled in mild distaste, as if she found the idea of a party less enjoyable than she might have once. “Dinner will be served at eight o’clock, and you are both invited.”
Hugh appreciated the invitation—and couldn’t deny his anticipation at seeing her again soon—but he didn’t fancy the idea of being one of many at the party, all vying for Ada’s attention. He was already missing the easy camaraderie and privacy of their letters.
“We would love to come.” Helena tightened her grip on his arm. “Wouldn’t we, Hugh?”
“Yes,” he answered truthfully.
Judging by her expression, Ada looked relieved to hear they’d be in attendance. The possibility that she also wanted to see him again overrode his remaining reluctance.
“We’ll see you Saturday then.” She nodded to them before leading Rosemary out the door.
Hugh and his mother followed behind. When he didn’t see the Thornes’ vehicle waiting to take the pair home, he called after Ada, “We can give you a ride in our car, if you would like.”
“Thank you but no,” she said, turning and giving him another charming smile. “We walked on purpose, so I could show Rosemary all of my favorite spots.”
Had she shown her daughter the oak tree, where she and Ned used to meet? Hugh wondered. He didn’t think anyone else, outside of the three of them, was aware of the meeting place. And he’d only known about it because he had happened to come across Ada standing there the first time she’d gone to the tree to meet Ned.
The memory tightened Hugh’s chest, not with disappointment but with remembered pain. In that moment by the tree, he’d known Ada would never return his unspoken affection for her. It had taken a great deal of prayer and trusting God to be able to put his feelings to rest and support the courtship between her and his gamekeeper.
Would he have to face his regard for her once more now that Ada was back and a widow? He almost feared the answer. Still, Hugh tried to console himself with the knowledge that he’d buried those feelings once before—he could surely do it again. Because this time, it was his continued friendship with Ada, more than his heart, at stake. And their friendship was something he would fight to keep in his life. Even if that meant fighting himself.
Chapter 16
Ada slipped outside and crossed the empty terrace. The summer air felt unusually cool against her flushed cheeks. Thankfully it also chased from her nose the nauseating scents of perfume, cologne, and wealth that permeated her parents’ guests. She felt a twinge of guilt at leaving a party that was meant to honor her return, but she needed a moment to herself.
The night had been a whirlwind of introductions, explanations, and conversations, even before dinner had been served. Rosemary had met all of the guests at the beginning of the party, then followed one of the maids to eat her meal upstairs. When the women had gone into the drawing room, Ada had excused herself to tuck her daughter into bed, listen to her nightly prayers, and read her a quick story.
It felt strange to wear an evening gown again, one borrowed from her mother, and to listen to talk that didn’t revolve around the costly price of eggs or which part of London had been most recently bombed. Ada had reluctantly returned to the party after Rosemary had fallen asleep. But after the men rejoined the ladies, her head began to ache. She longed for a real discussion with someone like Hugh or his mother, but she’d been too bombarded by everyone else to exchange more than a few words with him and Helena.
If her father’s health had been better, she would have protested having the party at all. But something inside her whispered that Charles Thorne might not be with them much longer, so she’d agreed to go along with the event.
In the last week and a half since she’d come home, the color had returned to her father’s face and he’d been sitting up for longer periods of time. Unfortunately those weren’t the signs of returning health, according to his doctor.
“It’s merely a rallying before the end,” the man had confided two days ago to Ada and Victoria. “I’ve seen it in many of my other patients.”
Splaying her hands against the stone balcony, Ada glanced up at the clouds, wishing for a brief moment to be back in London. She missed having Minnie right next door, even if she and Rosemary had walked to her grandmother’s house nearly every day to see their friends.
There had also been several heated discussions between her and her parents, who, in spite of their promise to allow Ada to raise her daughter as she wished, wanted to indulge Rosemary’s every whim. But Ada was adamant that they not give her daughter material things as a way of securing her affection. It was a topic she feared they might never see eye to eye on, which meant she’d had more than one talk with Rosemary about the priceless value of friends and family—and how they were far more precious than any doll or sweet or cart pony, as fun as those things could be.
Hearing the sound of someone behind her, she turned to find Hugh approaching. The sight of him eased some of the tension in her head. “Mr. Whittington.”
“Mrs. Henley.”
She smiled as he came to stand next to her. “You know you’re the first person, besides our butler, to address me correctly this evening.”
“My apologies then on behalf of your other guests.”
A light laugh slipped from her lips. “I appreciate that, but I insist you call me Ada.” After all, that’s how he’d addressed her in his letters—letters she realized in this
moment she missed receiving.
“Very well . . . Ada.” He gave her a mock bow.
She liked hearing him say her name. “Thank you, Mr.—”
“No, no,” he said, waving his finger at her. “If I am to call you Ada, then you must call me Hugh.”
Ada laughed again. “Good, because Mr. Whittington is a mouthful and much too formal.”
“Agreed.” He smiled warmly at her, reminding her of times long past when she’d been the beneficiary of this same pleasant albeit infrequent smile.
She’d once judged him as being too serious. After exchanging letters with him the past year, though, Ada knew differently. Hugh was still a gentleman in every respect of the word, but beneath his often somber exterior, he had a generous, compassionate heart and a witty sense of humor.
“Are you enjoying your party?” he asked, facing the garden.
Ada turned in the same direction. “Truthfully, no. It’s been nice to see old friends, but in there . . .” She motioned to the house behind them. “I’m Ada Thorne, not Ned’s widow. There hasn’t been one person tonight who has asked me what happened to him or what I’ve been doing for the last seven years.”
Her words hung in the air between them, heavy with sorrow. But she didn’t regret speaking them—not to Hugh, anyway.
“Next week will be an entire year since Ned was killed.” She could hardly believe it. In some ways it seemed like yesterday, and in others, it felt more like a lifetime since she’d received that awful telegram. “One whole year since the Battle of the Somme.”
Hugh nodded slowly. “It will be Harry’s anniversary too.”
“I’m sorry, Hugh.” She glanced up at him and was relieved to see he wasn’t angry. “Here I am airing my own grief when you have yours to manage.”
His hand settled over hers where it rested on the balcony. The contact took her by surprise, and yet, she found his touch comforting as well. “You don’t need to apologize for your grief, Ada. Yes, I lost a brother and that has been difficult. But I cannot imagine losing a spouse . . .”
