by Lenora Bell
“For now, why don’t we just go fly it?” suggested Edgar, with a grin.
Mari smiled. “A splendid idea.”
“Now then.” Edgar handed the spool of twine to Michel. “Stand with your back to the wind.” He positioned his shoulders. “Hold it by the bridle point.” He demonstrated and Michel followed. “Now let out the line!”
The kite caught in the wind, lifting easily, and Edgar showed Michel how to pull on the line to make the kite climb higher.
They all walked along the beach, the kite soaring and dipping ahead of them.
A strange feeling soared inside Edgar. Something simple and effortless.
He was happy, he realized.
He hadn’t been happy in a very long time.
He walked ahead, with Michel and the kite, but he was as connected to Mari as if they stood hand in hand, breathing in the same rhythmic cycle. “What’s this?” he asked, glancing down at the crooked letters scrawled across the damp sand. “Edgar and Mari.” With a wavering heart drawn around the whole thing.
Mari caught up, wiping at the letters with the toe of her boot. “It’s nothing. The children wanted to know our names.”
“I drew the heart,” called Michel over his shoulder as he tripped along the beach behind the kite.
Edgar caught up with him. “Why did you draw the heart?”
Mari and Adele fell behind, examining something in a tide pool.
Michel gave him a sidelong glance. “Dunno. Just felt like drawing one.”
They walked side by side, father and son, on the same beach he’d walked as a boy, with the same green kite leading the way.
“When I go to Eton, will I be able to come home on holidays?” asked Michel.
“I thought you didn’t want to go to Eton.”
“We’ve been talking, Adele and I, and we know that we have to grow up.” He puffed out his chest. “We’ll grow up. And we’ll have our own lives. It’s the way of the world.”
He sounded so much older than his nine years. Edgar almost regretted being the one to give him such a worldly outlook. “If you don’t want to go to Eton, you don’t have to go.”
“I think I do want to go. What’s it like?”
“Some of the boys will be bullies and some will be friends. But you don’t seem to have a problem defending yourself. They might make fun of your French name, though. You could change it to Michael.”
“No,” scoffed Michel. “If they laugh at my name I’ll teach them a lesson.”
“I’m sure you will.” Edgar took the kite string, manipulating the line to make the kite dance in figure eights. “I suffered my share of knocks at Eton. I was teased for being a namby-pamby ducal heir, but then I blinked and suddenly school was over.”
Time moved so swiftly.
He looked back at Mari. She and Adele were walking hand in hand.
In such a brief time she’d transformed his life. Everything she touched blossomed. His children, half wild when they’d arrived, wary and closed, now laughing and open.
His own heart, shuttered and frozen. Now cracked open.
She was the sun breaking through the clouds.
The patch of blue sky opening in his heart.
“They’re talking about Eton,” Adele reported. “I heard Michel mention the school.”
“Perhaps we can convince your father not to separate you.”
Adele shrugged. “Michel and I have been talking and we’ve decided it’s good for him to go. I’ll stay with you.” She placed her hand in Mari’s. “We’ll have lots of adventures, won’t we?”
“We most certainly will. And perhaps you’ll go to a private academy for girls. You’re just as clever as your brother, perhaps even more clever.”
“We’re both good at art and music but I’m much better at sums.”
“So you are. Perhaps you’ll be a mathematician and discover a new theory or two.”
“Or a poetess, like our mother.”
“Have you read any of her poetry?” asked Mari, softly.
“Yes.” Adele nodded, staring out over the sea. “She visited us several times and she always brought a book of her poems. She told us to memorize poetry, just as you have done.”
Mari’s throat clenched. The poor thing. So much sorrow for a young child to bear. Did she know how her mother had died? That she’d taken her own life?
Mari hoped she didn’t know.
“She made me memorize a poem she’d written,” said Adele. “She said it was a poem for me . . . for us. It was called ‘The Bells of Mary-le-Bow,’ and it began: When you hear the bells of Mary-le-Bow, this my child you will know, that I am watching over you, my heart ringing always, soft and low . . .”
Mari placed an arm around her shoulders.
“Do you think she loved us?” Adele squinted at the sea, blinking away tears. “Or were we like a ship’s anchor, weighing her down when she wanted to be free?”
“I’m sure she loved you.” Mari squeezed her shoulders. “You’re very lovable.”
“Do you think so?”
“Absolutely. You’re precocious and opinionated. You learn quickly and you feel things deeply. But you don’t make a very structurally sound sand castle.” They stopped at the two sand castles the children had fashioned earlier.
Adele’s had mostly crumbled away, but Michel’s stood tall.
“Michel’s is better,” agreed Adele.
“He’s better at putting up walls. Just like his father.”
She watched Edgar show Michel how to make the kite dance merrily.
“Do you think Father loves us now?” asked Adele.
“What do you think?”
“He’s here with us when he could be in London. He defended us when Grand-Mère was rude. He hired Miss Martin.”
She made her list as though she were adding up sums. Her face brightened. “He loves us.”
“What did I tell you? You’re lovable.” Mari squeezed her shoulders. I love you as well.
The children would grow too old for a governess. And Edgar would marry . . . and then where would she be? Wind tangled her hair and sand stung her eyes.
Edgar and Michel reeled in the kite.
“Come on,” shouted Michel, motioning for Adele to follow him. They chose long pieces of brown kelp and waged an epic battle, shrieking and running along the beach.
She and Edgar returned to the blanket and the umbrella.
“The children are so carefree here,” she observed.
“The sea gives you wider thoughts. Maybe I’ll solve the engine problem here.”
Was that the only reason he’d come?
“That’s not the only reason I came,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I wouldn’t be traveling with you and the children. I thought I had. Sometimes I’m so intent on my work that I forget everything else.”
“I understand,” said Mari.
“I haven’t been back to Southend since the fire.” The subject brought clouds to his eyes.
“Our estate was there.” He pointed at a distant bluff. “There’s nothing but a burnt husk left.”
“What happened?”
He was silent for a moment, his eyes hooded. “I can still smell the smoke. Feel it choking my throat. The memory never leaves you.”
“You were inside the house while it was burning?”
He crossed his ankles, leaning back on his elbows. “India and I were inside. My father started the fire.”
“What do you mean he started it? On purpose?”
He nodded tersely, his face closed and wary again.
She waited for him to say more. He remained silent, staring up at the sky.
“This place has so many joyful memories for me, and so many painful ones. But I’m glad to be here.” He stared into her eyes. “With you and the children.”
“Today, Adele told me she either wanted to be a mathematician or a poetess.”
He laughed. “Or both. Words like sums. Equ
ations like poems. A passionate nature balanced by pragmatism. I don’t fear for Adele. She’s very strong-minded.”
“She said she thinks she won’t mind if Michel goes to Eton.”
“He told me the same thing. If he can overcome his night terrors, he’ll be ready.”
“Give him time. Stay to the schedule. Explain any changes to him thoroughly, before they happen, if possible.”
“It’s all because of you, Mari.”
“It not all me. They respond to you as well.”
“I thought the children were frightened of me. I didn’t know how to interact with them, but now they seem to . . . like me.”
“Yes, they do.”
He laid his hand over hers on the blanket for a moment.
A brief touch, but her entire body responded, igniting with desire.
Oh Heavens. She was definitely in trouble. She’d given her heart to a devilish duke. Relinquished it completely.
This would end badly. But for now, with the sea stretching beyond their toes, she was determined to pretend that life could be simple.
“I wish . . .” he said, staring at the gray horizon. “I wish I could have held them as babes. Seen them grow week by week. Year by year. Helped them take their first steps. Collected their baby teeth in a jar.”
“You’re here with them now. You’re collecting new memories.”
He gazed at her. “So I am.”
Just over those hills the road stretched back to London, back to the danger of discovery and the buried secrets of her past. Even if Edgar could accept her being a charity-school girl, would he ever be able to forgive her for deceiving him?
All she wanted to do was stay here forever, the four of them, in this land of make-believe.
Chapter 27
“Tell us a story about P.L. Rabbit, Miss Perkins,” Adele said later that evening, after Mari had tucked the twins into bed.
Mari perched on the edge of the bed. “Aren’t you too tired?”
“We’re not a bit tired,” said Michel, suppressing a yawn.
“Miss Perkins isn’t the only one who has stories to tell.” Edgar strode into the room. “How about I tell you one tonight?”
Garbed in black trousers and a black coat over white linen, he was so handsome it stole Mari’s breath away.
The twins made room for Edgar in the middle of the bed and Mari settled in a chair by the window. The light was beginning to fade from the sky.
Soon the sun would be gone and the moon would rise.
And she would be alone with Edgar. The thought shimmered in her mind like moonlight over ocean waves.
“Are you ready?” Edgar asked the children.
“Ready,” said Adele.
“Once there was a rocking horse named Sir Peter Teazle,” he began.
“That’s a silly name,” Adele said.
“He was a silly horse, because he had an impossible dream. He wanted to win the Derby.”
“A rocking horse can’t win the Derby.” Michel yawned.
“As I said, it was an impossible dream until one day, P.L. Rabbit appeared in his nursery. ‘Why so glum, Sir Peter Teazle?’ she asked, twitching her adorable little nose.”
“She’s not adorable, Father. She’s fearsome,” said Adele.
“She can be a pirate and still have an adorable nose,” he replied. “Now, are you going to keep interrupting me or can I tell the story?” he asked with mock sternness.
“Continue,” said Adele.
“‘Why so glum?’ P.L. asked. ‘I want to race in the Derby,’ said Sir Peter Teazle. ‘Well then why don’t you?’ asked P.L. Sir Peter gave her an incredulous look. ‘Because, can’t you see? I’m stuck on these wooden tracks and I can’t go anywhere at all.’ ‘Oh that’s easily solved,’ P.L. said in her confident, lilting voice. ‘All you have to do is believe, and anything is possible.’”
“Excuse me, Father,” interrupted Michel. “Is there going to be any bloodshed in this story?”
Edgar shook his head. “Afraid not. It’s a . . . romance, in a way.”
“Ew,” said Michel. “Romance.”
“Let him finish, children,” said Mari. Her heart had started racing at the word romance, and was attempting to gallop out of her chest.
“‘Have you ever tried moving your hooves?’ P.L. asked Sir Peter.”
Edgar shifted his long legs on the bed, to accommodate the fact that Michel had collapsed against his shoulder and his eyelids were beginning to close.
“‘Of course I have,’ replied Sir Peter. ‘Try it again,’ commanded P.L. The rocking horse tried with all his might. ‘It’s no use,’ he said, dejectedly. ‘Oh for Heaven’s sake,’ said P.L. ‘Just move your legs, you stubborn plow horse.’ And she gave him a mighty push. And do you know what happened . . . ?”
The sound of gentle snoring met his question.
Mari laughed quietly. “I think they’re asleep.”
Edgar caught her eye. “I don’t think they liked my story.”
“They’re exhausted,” she said. “I like your story. I’d like to know the ending.”
Holding her gaze, Edgar finished the story. “Sir Peter leapt off the tracks. ‘Well,’ he cried to P.L. ‘What are you waiting for? We’ve got a race to win!’ So P.L. hopped right onto his back.”
Adele lifted her head from Edgar’s shoulder. “And they won the race,” she mumbled. “Didn’t they.”
Edgar smiled. “They did, indeed. Though there were a great many perplexed gentlemen who had bet on proper horses, and studied all the odds, only to find that Sir Peter Teazle, a wooden rocking horse with a rabbit jockey on his back, went flying by everyone else and claimed the prize.”
Emotion welled in Mari’s chest.
She could be reading more into the story than Edgar wanted her to, but it seemed to be about an obdurate man who was stuck in his tracks, treading the same path, and someone urging him to break free, to forget about his rules, to believe in himself.
Seeing him with the children here at the beach was satisfying some deep need in her. To see them become a family. To know that even though he was gruff and huge and intimidating, he had a heart wider than his shoulders, big enough to love these children, and gentle enough to protect them from life’s disappointments.
She knew that when she left, he would always be there for them.
“They’re fast asleep,” he whispered. He eased his way off the bed, tucking the counterpane around the children.
They left the room on tiptoes. Harriet, the maid the hotel had provided, was sitting outside the door.
“They’re sleeping,” Mari told her. “I’ve no doubt they’ll slumber the night away. They’re stuffed full of oysters and sunshine.”
They’d shared a simple meal at a seaside restaurant where the proprietor had recognized Edgar.
“Very good, madam,” said Harriet.
Mari and Edgar walked down the corridor toward the sitting area with its glass doors overlooking the sea.
“A walk on the beach, perhaps?” Mari asked. She didn’t want the evening to end. “To watch the sun set and see the moon and the stars come out?”
“I can see the stars right now.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “And we can watch the sun set from this window.”
Mari shivered from the touch of his lips brushing her flesh and the promise in his eyes. “I’ll just be a moment. I need to . . . wash up.”
The children weren’t the only ones with sand stuck everywhere. She needed to at least splash herself with water. And brush her hair, which was tangled from the wind and salt spray.
“I’ll only be a moment,” she told Edgar.
How had everything become so mixed-up and tangled?
Edgar paced the length of the room and back again. He should leave Mari a note telling her that he’d gone to bed. And while he was at it, he could leave her the damned letter that he’d somehow completely forgotten to give her during the lazy, sun-soaked day.
He could
leave the letter from the lawyer, and the note, and be gone in the morning.
It was all too much, this togetherness and tenderness. Where did he think it would lead?
You know exactly where it’s going to lead. And you’ve been guiding it there, pushing your acquaintance, your friendship, down intimate paths. Telling her secrets. Telling the children stories while she listened with stars in her eyes.
Yes, that’s what he should do. Write her a note and leave. That was the right and gentlemanly thing to do. It had been a mistake to come here.
No, it hadn’t been a mistake. The day had been perfect.
His mind veered one direction, and then the other, until the door opened and Mari reappeared.
She’d changed into a glowing ivory-colored gown and the moment he saw her flushed cheeks and freshly-brushed auburn ringlets pinned atop her head, he knew: he could no more leave her tonight, than the stars could leave the sky.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply. “That gown suits you.”
“One of Lady India’s cast-offs.” She performed a curtsy, holding the sides of the filmy white dress and swishing the frothy hem over her ankles.
She wore dainty white kid slippers with red rosettes at the toes.
“You look utterly delectable,” said Edgar.
“It’s the shoes,” she replied. “They appear to be made of frosting and rose petals. I think this gown must have been meant for a grand ball and a blushing debutante.” The words were light. Teasing. But he heard the ache beneath her words.
She’d never had a season. Never been a debutante dressed in white.
“I never attend balls,” he said. “They’re highly overrated. But I would attend one if you were there, dressed in this flimsy bit of sea foam. I’d take your dance card and I’d write my name on every line.”
She swatted his arm with an imaginary fan. “Your Grace. Such scandalous talk. You’re making me feel quite wicked.”
Mine, his brain asserted. Mine to claim for every dance.
They stood side by side in front of the windows, watching the light fade.
The gray sea shimmered with the last rays of the setting sun, like the final words of a poem.
Pale mauve and dainty shell-pink faded into the gloaming.
