The Keeper of Her Heart

by Stacy Henrie

  Could that be love?

  The prospect brought her up short. She hurried to a nearby stile and lowered herself onto the bottom step. Recognizing her love for Ned had been easy because it had come almost immediately—like a burst of light in a cold world.

  In contrast, her feelings for Hugh had grown gradually, like the sun’s morning rays, beginning with their letters and blossoming from there. But that didn’t mean those feelings were any less real or bright. Or rooted in a deep, resounding love.

  “I love him,” Ada whispered. “I do. I love him.” The relief and gratitude she felt at finally having an answer spilled out of her in a laugh.

  Her mother’s words from the day before returned to her mind and intruded upon her joy. She loved Hugh, yes, and his money would certainly help save the estate. But would one or both of them wonder someday which had been Ada’s true reason for marrying him? She didn’t want him doubting her heart or her answer.

  If it came down to having Stonefield or Hugh, she knew exactly which one she would choose—every time.

  “Which is precisely what I need to tell him.” Ada looked out across the nearby field. She didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to give him her answer, not when she knew her mind and heart now.

  Resolved, she climbed the stile and struck out across the field. The temperature remained cool and hinted at rain, despite the intermittent sunshine. Still, she didn’t want to walk back to Stonefield to catch a ride in their automobile. If she hurried to the factory on foot, she would likely get there before Hugh did, then she could surprise him with her news.

  She hardly noticed the countryside as she strolled purposely across it. Soon the rain began to fall, making her grateful once again that she’d worn a hat and coat. Her damp clothes and stockings couldn’t alter her spirits.

  By the time the factory came into view, though, she was shivering and wet. She had no idea how long the walk had taken, but she could see Mr. Nelson, the foreman, striding toward the factory entrance. Was Hugh already there too?

  “Mr. Nelson!” she called, increasing her pace.

  The man turned, his eyebrows hiking up. “Mrs. Henley? You’re here a wee bit earlier than normal, aye?”

  “I have some business that needs tending to first thing.”

  Mr. Nelson nodded.

  “Is Mr. Whittington here yet?” She held her breath, realizing she didn’t know exactly what time Hugh typically arrived.

  The foreman, thankfully, shook his head. “I doubt it. He’ll be along by seven, for certain, but he’s rarely here before that.”

  Ada exhaled with relief as Mr. Nelson unlocked the door and let her inside. She made her way to her desk and was delighted to see that Hugh’s office still sat dark and empty.

  After turning on the light, she removed her hat and set it on one of the chairs to dry. She rubbed her chilled hands together to warm them as she wandered the room. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been inside Hugh’s office countless times since coming to work for him. But today she saw the room and his things with new eyes. The eyes of a woman in love.

  She smiled to herself as she took a seat behind his desk. Her toes tapped out an impatient rhythm against the wood floor as she waited for him to arrive. Soon the sound of footfalls floated through the open door—much like in her dream. Ada’s heart beat double time beneath her dress.

  Clearly lost in thought, Hugh didn’t notice her right away, which gave her a chance to study him unawares through the open doorway. Weary determination radiated from him as he hung up his hat and coat and propped his umbrella against the outer wall of his office. The tired lines of his handsome face begged her to smooth them away. Perhaps her answer would.

  He entered his office and stopped short when his gaze met hers. “Ada? What are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Hugh.” She rose to her feet, her pulse careening recklessly again. “I didn’t know if I would get here before you.” She laughed nervously. “It was a longer walk than I thought.”

  He blinked in apparent surprise. “You . . . you walked all the way here? This morning?”

  “Yes, I needed to see you.” She circled his desk and stopped a few feet from him.

  Hugh frowned slightly. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.” An unexpected shyness crept over her, binding her tongue. “It’s just . . .”

  His brow furrowed with confusion, but he smiled patiently. “Must be rather important for you to come all this way in the rain.”

  How she loved his smile and humor—and everything that was him.

  Ada studied his face and found herself staring at his masculine lips. The memory of their kiss filled her thoughts. She wanted to kiss him again, right now, and every day after.

  Gathering her courage, she marched up to him, took his beloved face between her hands, and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth. Hugh hesitated only a moment before wrapping his arm around her and cupping the back of her neck with his free hand. The closeness of him, along with the rapid strumming of her heartbeat, warmed her completely.

  She eased back after a long minute, though she made sure she stayed within his half embrace. “I love you, Hugh Whittington, and I want to marry you.”

  “Truly?” When she nodded, he bent toward her, intent on another kiss.

  Ada pressed her finger to his lips. “I do have two stipulations.”

  “Should I be concerned?” he asked in a playful tone after kissing her fingertip.

  Smiling fully, she shook her head. “Not in the least.”

  “All right then. What are your stipulations?”

  Hopefully he would understand and agree with them. “First, I would like to continue working as your secretary, without wages. I love the work, but more importantly, I love the man I work with.”

  “I have no qualms with that,” he said, grinning. “Saves me the trouble of replacing the best secretary I have had to date.” He sneaked a quick kiss in before asking, “What is the second stipulation?”

  Ada drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My other stipulation is that we live at Whitmore House. Because,” she added with confidence, the words tasting right on her tongue, “I want to sell Stonefield Hall.”

  “Sell it?” Hugh’s eyebrows rose. “I can help the estate get back on its feet, Ada.”

  She placed her hand alongside his jaw, and Hugh leaned into her touch. “I know you could probably save it, but I don’t want you to ever think I married you for any other reason than my love for you.”

  His gaze searched hers, then, apparently seeing her earnestness, he dipped his head in a nod. “If you are certain, then I accept that stipulation too.”

  “I am.”

  He clasped her hands in his and drew her closer. “You didn’t wish to wait to tell me all of this tonight or tomorrow?”

  “I couldn’t. Not after I had figured out my own heart.” She laughed self-consciously. “So rain or shine, I had to come.”

  The slow smile he gave her made her stomach tumble with anticipation. “I believe that is as wonderful to hear as your answer.”

  His lips sought hers again, the promise of the future in his touch. Ada wished to linger in the moment forever. She could hardly believe that less than an hour ago she’d been sitting on that stile, wondering what her answer should be. Now it throbbed, true and firm, inside her. God had given her—given them—a second chance at love and she would do her best to never take that for granted.

  “I love you,” Hugh said when their kiss ended. “And I pledge to love you every day of my life, Ada.”

  Tears of happiness and hope filled her eyes. “I am praying that will be full of many, many more days.”

  “As do I, my love.” He brushed away a tear that escaped her lashes. “But whether many or few, we can welcome every day that we have.”

  He rested her hands against his chest, where she could feel the swift beating of his heart in tandem with her own. His contemplative expression made her wonder if he too wa
s thinking of Ned and Harry. “Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” she repeated before kissing him once more.

  Epilogue

  August 1919

  “Look right here, miss,” the man with the camera called to Rosemary.

  Ada gently squeezed her older daughter’s hand. “Keep your eyes on the camera, pet.” When Rosemary complied, Ada moved closer to Hugh, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. His other hand rested on the perambulator, where their three-month-old daughter Amelia Jane slept soundly, oblivious to the goings-on above her.

  “Now, everybody, look this way.” The photographer held the roll film camera with its black bellows at his waist. “Very nice. The house in the background looks quite lovely too.”

  A mixture of sadness and pride filled Ada at his words. Tomorrow Stonefield Hall would pass to a new owner. It had taken her and Hugh more than a year to find a willing buyer, but at last a man of means from York had seen the beauty and potential of the estate and had offered to buy it.

  Ada had been trying to think of some way to honor her childhood home and preserve its memories for her daughters. She had some knickknacks, a few pieces of furniture, and a modest number of paintings she’d brought to Whitmore House after she and Hugh were married. But she had no visual reminders of what the estate itself had looked like. Hugh’s suggestion to take a photograph in front of the red-brick house had been perfect and timely.

  The photographer lifted his chin long enough to shoot them a smile. “All right. Here we go.” He clicked the camera once, twice, three times. Ada soon lost track of the number.

  “How much longer, Mummy?” Rosemary whispered from the corner of her mouth. “My lips hurt.”

  Ada’s laughter was matched by Hugh’s as the camera clicked some more. After another minute or two, the photographer announced they were finished. Rosemary ran across the lawn to where Helena stood waiting for them.

  A feeling of sadness washed over Ada at the thought that her mother, who had passed away during last fall’s influenza epidemic, wasn’t there to join them in the photograph today. She missed both her parents. The three of them might have disagreed on many things, especially her and her mother over the sale of the estate. Victoria had been angry at Ada for weeks. Eventually, though, she’d come to see Ada’s decision for what it was, in large part with help from Helena. After that, Ada and her mother had developed a much closer relationship that had continued until Victoria’s passing.

  “I’ll have the film developed this week, Mr. Whittington,” the photographer said.

  Hugh nodded. “Thank you. Baxter will drive us all back to Whitmore House now.”

  “Give me a moment,” Ada said, laying her hand on Hugh’s arm.

  He placed his hand atop hers. “Saying goodbye?”

  “Yes,” she whispered from her suddenly tight throat.

  “I’ll help get Mama and Rosemary and Amelia into the car.”

  Thanking him, she walked back toward the house, tilting her chin to gaze at the familiar walls and windows. She’d lived most of her life here, save for seven years in London and the last fifteen months at Whitmore House. Tears blurred her view of the red brick.

  She wasn’t just saying goodbye to Stonefield Hall today. In many ways, she was saying goodbye once again to her parents and to her childhood.

  Ada sensed more than heard Hugh approach from behind, then she felt his hands rest reassuringly on her shoulders. “So many, many memories,” she said in a tear-choked voice.

  “I know.” He pressed a light kiss to her hair. “Are you sure you want to sell it? You can still change your mind.”

  She turned to face him, love enveloping her sadness. “If you mean do I regret choosing you over the house . . .” Ada pressed a firm kiss to his mouth, not caring that the photographer, the chauffeur, and their family looked on. “Then the answer is, and always will be, never, Hugh Whittington—no matter how many memories this place holds for me.”

  “A fact I cherish every day,” he murmured, his brown eyes full of tenderness. “I love you, Ada.”

  “I love you too.”

  Her life had turned out far differently than she’d expected when she had walked down this same drive nine years ago. She had loved, and lost, and loved again. And through it all, she’d discovered a strength and courage insider herself that she hadn’t known she possessed. She had learned about faith too and what it really meant to experience God’s loving care, especially during the most difficult days of her life.

  Gazing at the house one last time, she drew in a deep breath and released it. “I’m ready to go,” she said as she slipped her hand into Hugh’s.

  There would likely be difficult days still ahead, ones filled with some measure of loss like today and others that required good courage. That was true of any life lived to its fullest. But as Hugh smiled tenderly at her, she also knew there were many bright and beautiful days in store for them too.

  Author’s Note

  During a research trip to England in 2013, I visited the Imperial War Museum in Manchester. While there I purchased a fantastic little book called First World War Britain by Peter Doyle. I researched much about World War One for my Of Love and War series, but there were details in Doyle’s book that I hadn’t known. I wrote Ada’s story, in part, to share these fascinating details of life in England during the First World War.

  The flat in London where Ada lives is based on one from the Latchmere Estate housing project in Battersea. Concerned about the living conditions of the working man, a number of politicians oversaw the building of houses and flats that were far better than the city’s overcrowded, dismal slums. The houses and flats in the Latchmere Estate each had a bath scullery, a boiler and range, and electric lighting.

  The bank holiday of August 1914 actually was four days long. Greatly concerned about a financial panic in the wake of Britain declaring war on Germany that same week, the government extended the regular one-day holiday to four—and successfully averted any disaster. People were actually depositing money the day after the holiday instead of withdrawing it, as had been feared.

  After Belgian refugees arrived in London in October 1914, there were a number of German butcher shops and bakeries that were looted. This was only a portent of things to come. With the sinking of the RMS Lusitania in May 1915, there was even greater rioting and violence against Germans in London.

  Like Ada, there were women who worked during the war to help recycle old paper. I found this detail while looking through some intriguing pictures in a Daily Mail article that highlighted different jobs women were employed in during the war. In one picture, women were taking apart giant railway ledgers, and in another they were standing atop massive piles of paper and sorting through them.

  When we normally think of London being bombed, scenes of World War Two come to mind, but the city was also bombed during the First World War—by zeppelins at first and later German airplanes. During one such bombing, a bomb did, in fact, hit a school in Poplar, East London. Eighteen children were killed, most of whom were younger than six years old. A collection was taken up to help provide the grieving mothers and their surviving children with a two-week holiday in Berkshire.

  Prior to World War One, secretarial jobs weren’t typically filled by women. However, like many aspects of life during this time, the war would open up careers to women that had once been largely filled by men.

  Stonefield Hall and Whitmore House are both my fictional creations, as is the boot factory. There is a factory in Wales, still in operation today, that made boots for Australian soldiers during both world wars.

  Britain has long held a fascination for me. My hope is that through Ada’s story readers will get a real sense of the country’s beauty and what life was like during this interesting time in its history.

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