“Nothing. He concurs with Elizabeth’s plan. Victoria will return to New York this fall, and in the spring, she’ll wed Edward.”
“Does Victoria know this?” Claire asked.
“Not yet. Better to see the baby’s delivery over and done with, and then you’ll escort her home. She’ll learn of her fate while I suffer my own.”
“Are you afraid to go to Europe?”
“No. It’s a reasonable enough job for a man of my station. Father thinks I’ll be best suited for politics one day, and military service is always a plus,” he quipped. “Father always gets his way.” He picked up a stick and slung it into the bay. “Always.”
“I certainly didn’t when my father sent me away as a child. You are a grown man, Robert.”
He stared out over the water, watching as the sun sparkled on the waves. “Father has leverage. He’ll cut off all my funds, and he’ll do the same to Victoria if she doesn’t marry Edward.” A crooked smile teased the edge of his lips. “My sister and I excel at many things, but being poor is not one of them.”
In this moment, she felt sad for the whole Buchanan family. They’d all had such hope in January, and now they were all adrift. She threaded her fingers through his as they walked along the shore to the dock that stretched out into the bay.
Robert turned to her and carefully brushed a curl from her face. “You’re a beautiful woman. The most sensible woman I have ever met. I have always thought that about you, Claire.”
“I’m not beautiful,” she said gently. “I make the best of what I have in beauty and life, nothing more.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Claire. You’re a beauty. There’s Victoria’s beauty, the classical look, but it is fragile and will wither with time. You have a striking, unforgettable look that will only grow lovelier.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and as his hand lingered, she leaned her head slightly into his touch. “You’re too kind.”
A smile quirked the edge of his lips before his brows knotted. He angled his head, closed the distance between their lips, and gently kissed her.
She closed her eyes and thought about the first time Jimmy had touched her lips. He had tasted of honey. Smelled of sandalwood and salt air.
This kiss was simple enough, but it reminded her of loving Jimmy. And suddenly, she was so desperate to feel any connection that she couldn’t resist whatever this was.
Claire inclined toward him, allowing her breasts to rub against his chest. He cupped her face in his long hands and kissed her again. However, this time the touch wasn’t light or exploratory but betrayed a hunger she’d only glimpsed in him over the years. When he reached for her breast, whatever momentary spell she’d been under vanished, and Claire realized with painful clarity she was not in Jimmy’s arms.
She pulled back and moistened her lips. “I cannot.”
His dark eyes were sharp and pointed. “Why not?”
“I have a life of service with your family. And I won’t be the silly girl conscripted to the shadows whom you trot out when you feel bored.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “This isn’t about boredom.”
“Isn’t it?” She stepped back.
“What if I were to ask you to marry me?”
“I’d say you were a fool, and perhaps a cold compress on your head would cure that feeling. Your father would never allow it.”
He laid his hands on her shoulders. “I mean it, Claire. Marry me.”
“Why me? There’s a line of women in Newport who will make you a far better match, Robert. A life in politics isn’t feasible with a downstairs wife.”
“You’re smart, clever, and clearly very loyal. You would be the perfect wife for me. Marry me. Today.”
Reason told her to take a step back even as her mind swirled with the possibilities. “You’re not thinking this through.”
“I’m being very reasonable. I’ve never been more reasonable. We will get married today.”
“And then what?” She was forever looking beyond the next three stitches to the greater pattern.
He traced his hand over her shoulder. “My family will accept us in time, especially when the children come. The storm will pass, and my family will come around.”
Warmth from his hands warmed her shoulders. “Robert, you’re playing a dangerous game with me.”
He kissed her on the nose. “I’m not. I’m very serious. Never more serious. And I want to do it before I leave for France.” His hand slid to her belly. “If I should do something stupid and get myself killed, I’d want to know there might be a piece of me in you.” He took both her hands in his. “Marry me, Claire.”
And for the first time since she’d slept with Jimmy, she allowed herself to dream beyond the possibilities of just owning a small seamstress shop.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” Her tone softened as her mind wrapped around the possibility.
“And what else is new? A life with me will never be dull. Marry me.”
“Yes.”
He reared back and cocked his head. “You will marry me? Now? Today?”
“Yes.”
Robert wrapped his arms around Claire’s waist and, lifting her off her feet, twirled her around.
They were married in the chapel in Cape Hudson on a warm September day. Robert wore his traveling suit, and she wore Elizabeth’s wedding dress, which she’d so carefully packed away after the January wedding earlier that year.
The satin and beaded waistband reminded her of the love she’d felt when she’d sewn the dress. Each stitch, each fold and handmade lace had been infused with her love. Now she prayed that love would find a new life with Robert.
They spent their wedding night in a small inn, savoring each other’s bodies, eating roast duck and chocolates for dessert, and drinking wine and laughing. Their lovemaking wasn’t infused with passion but felt like a renewal of life.
The following day, Claire and Robert arrived back at Winter Cottage to find Victoria in her bed, clutching her belly.
“Help me, Claire,” Victoria said.
Claire held her. “I’m here. It will be fine.”
She sent one of the boys for the midwife and remained at Victoria’s side as the contractions came faster. It took less than three hours for the little slip of a girl to give birth to a healthy, squalling boy who was well over eight pounds.
Electric light flickered in the room as Claire washed off the baby, taking great care as she swaddled him just as she had with all her siblings. She searched for traces of Jimmy in the little face and imagined the babe’s frown mirrored his father’s.
As the midwife cleaned up, Claire carried the baby into Robert’s room, where he waited by the window overlooking the bay.
“Is he healthy?” Robert asked.
“He’s perfect.” As the child greedily tried to suckle her finger, warmth and love nearly stole her breath away.
“You’ve arranged for his care?” His signet ring clinked against the glass in his hand.
She raised him up to the light. He was the last piece of Jimmy on this earth, and she wanted to keep him for herself. “Would you like to hold him?”
He shook his head. “I’m not very good with the little creatures.”
“I all but raised my siblings. They aren’t as delicate as you think.”
“I’d rather not.”
“He’s your nephew.”
“He’s not mine. He’s Victoria’s mistake.”
“Robert, he’s no mistake. He’s your flesh and blood. I would like us to raise him as our own.”
He shook his head as his brow arched. “Do you really think my father would allow that? Our marriage will test his patience. Raising Victoria’s bastard would send Father over the edge.” He finished his glass. “The sooner we get rid of the child, the better.”
She clutched the baby to her breast and felt him begin to root. “Do we need your father? We can do this on our own.”
“I’ll not
risk my future to raise my sister’s bastard. And I want you to swear you will never tell anyone about him. If word leaks out about this child, my father will punish us all, including the boy.”
She was losing Jimmy all over again, and yet she couldn’t find any words.
He gripped her wrist, his fingers biting. “Swear to the secret.”
Tears burned her eyes. “For the child’s sake, I swear.”
He rose, that bright smile blooming again. He brushed a curl off her forehead. “Now, take the boy. I’m sure someone is waiting for him.”
The someone was already preparing the cradle for the boy and washing clothes that would be his. Claire knew the boy would be loved, but as she turned to leave, she realized she would never love her husband.
She bundled the baby up and carried him to the small cottage at the end of the sandy road. The front of the property was filled with boats in need of mending, and the house was full of children and laughter.
Sally Jessup hadn’t quite weaned her son, Aaron, who was almost seven months old. She’d reared the three older boys while her husband worked two jobs to feed the mouths he had. Sally opened the door, and with Eric standing beside her, she beamed when she saw the baby.
“It’s a boy,” Claire said.
Sally’s smile widened. “Another boy. Well, I certainly know what to do with boys.”
Claire knew Sally would love the boy just as her own flesh. But that didn’t soften her resentment as she recalled the moment she’d laid Michael in this woman’s arms. Drawing in a breath, she gently placed the baby in Sally’s arms. “Yes, you’re good with boys.”
Sally peered in the blanket at the small pink face and touched his button nose with her fingertip. “I’ve heard rumors from the Buchanan house about this baby.”
“I can’t say, but you’re a smart woman, Sally. You will know the right thing to say.”
“Where’s Miss Vic—the mother?”
“She’ll leave the cottage soon. She won’t return.”
“And she has agreed to this?”
“She has.”
“What about your husband?” Sally said.
“He wants the same.” Claire dug into her satchel and pulled out an envelope filled with cash. “This will help with your expenses.”
“You can keep your money,” Eric said. “We’ll take him regardless.”
“I know,” Claire said. “That’s why I’m giving him to you.”
With tears in her eyes, Claire bent over and kissed Jimmy’s son and left, vowing that the boy and all his children would want for nothing.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lucy
January 17, 2018
Lucy stood in the center of the house, feeling a restless energy. No wonder, with the move, the cottage, the kid, the funeral. The list was growing. But knowing why she was unsettled didn’t make it go away. She could pick up and leave, like Beth had done when she couldn’t handle the energy building inside of her, or she could make the best of it like she always did.
“Natasha, how well do you know this cottage?” she asked.
Natasha looked up from her sandwich and shrugged. “Pretty well.”
“What does that exactly mean?”
“I know it really well. When I was here alone, sometimes I’d look around. I didn’t take anything. I was just curious.”
“I believe you. Have you ever been in the attic?”
“Sure. It’s got some neat stuff up there. Trunks, old furniture, a mirror. Kinda cool.”
Lucy retrieved her flashlight and clicked it on and off several times. “Want to go exploring? I’ve only glanced up in the attic, and I need a break from videos.”
Natasha gobbled the last of her sandwich and gulped her juice. “Yeah. Come on, Dolly.”
The dog looked up at Natasha and wagged her tail.
“Lead the way,” Lucy said.
Natasha dashed up the first, second, and third flights of stairs with the dog on her heels, barking and wagging her tail. Lucy followed, not quite sure what her expectations were for this adventure.
On the third floor she paused to look. There were ten rooms, but all were smaller. Each room was painted white, and the furniture, if there was any remaining in the room, consisted of a twin bed with dresser and mirror. Every other room had a dormer window allowing natural light.
“This is where the servants lived,” Natasha said.
“Claire’s room was on the third floor at the end of the hallway.” Lucy paused at the door and opened it, stepping in. She moved to the dormer window and stared out over the property that stretched to the paths leading to the lighthouse and boathouse. How many mornings had Claire stood here and watched Jimmy?
“Are you coming?” Natasha said from the doorway. “The attic is right here.”
“In a minute. I want to see what Claire saw over a hundred years ago.”
She then joined Natasha in the hallway, where the girl opened the doorway to the attic and then clicked on a light and tossed an imp’s grin back at Lucy. “Come, if you dare, my lady. This is where the ghosts of Winter Cottage dwell.”
Lucy clicked on her flashlight and placed it under her chin, knowing the light caught her hair and shadowed her face. “I do dare. Do you, child?”
Natasha laughed. “I don’t scare that easy.”
“One of my many jobs was to give ghost tours in Nashville. I can tell a scary story.”
Natasha shook her head. “Ghosts and goblins don’t scare me. Besides, if there were ghosts, my mom would have come back and given me some sign. And she never did, so no such thing as ghosts.”
“Fair point.”
The stairs were made of rough pine wood, and the stairwell walls were covered in an unfinished bead board.
“How often have you been up here?” Lucy asked.
“Five or six times. I don’t rush it because I know I’ll miss something.”
“And you’ve been to the basement?”
“I have. But it’s not as fun. That’s mostly crammed full of lawn equipment and outdoor furniture. Nothing as cool as the attic.”
Lucy flipped a switch she’d not noticed before, and more lights flickered on.
“The house was the first to have electricity in the town,” Natasha said. “And it got its running water from a bunch of wells and a couple of cisterns.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I asked Mrs. Reynolds. I like to hang out in the library, and she likes to talk about the cottage. She’s worried it’s going to die.” Natasha walked toward four large black wardrobe trunks. “I know she’s glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad someone is happy.”
“You might look a little flaky, but once the town gets to know you, they’ll figure out you’re just like them and here to save the house.”
The girl’s faith in Lucy was unsettling. “Natasha, I haven’t made any promises. You understand that, right?”
Natasha shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. Ready to see the trunks?”
“Seriously, Natasha, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“I know. I get it.”
The girl’s attention seemed to have shifted to the first four-foot-tall trunk. It would have taken a grown man to move it while empty and perhaps two or three when it was filled with garments and shoes.
“Have you ever looked inside these?” Lucy asked.
“Never got around to it, but I’ve always wanted to.”
Tucking her flashlight under her arm, she opened the trunk’s lid. Inside were clothes carefully covered in muslin garment bags, hanging on hooks. She ran her hand along the bags’ fabric, thinned by age, and thought about all the clothes Mrs. B had worn in her videotapes. She had been a woman who cared about appearance, and she would have cared for her clothes, saved them as cherished friends.
Releasing the fabric ties at the top of the bag, she unfastened each large button until the bag fell open to reveal a burgundy satin suit jacket, trimmed in fur around the co
llars and cuffs. The waist cut in sharply and was belted with an embroidered strip of satin. The skirt flared at the hips and fell to just above the ankles.
Lucy ran her hands down the sleeve to the cuff and turned over the edge to find dozens of perfectly neat hand stitches.
She rested her flashlight on the top of the bureau and removed the jacket from a hanger wrapped in satin. The coat smelled of mothballs, but the richness of the fabric was too much to resist. Carefully she slid her arms into the fabric sleeves. The fabric stretched smoothly over her back, allowing her to fasten the three buttons at the fitted waist.
“There’s a mirror over here,” Natasha said.
Lucy faced the oval mirror, which was streaked where the silver backing had faded. She didn’t know much about fashion, but she knew this dress had been made before Jimmy had died.
In the jacket she found herself straightening her shoulders and feeling different. It was hard to wear such a lush jacket and not feel special.
“I’m trying to picture Claire arriving here and wearing this.” She ran her hand over the cuffs trimmed with fur. “She spent days, maybe weeks choosing an outfit, whereas I showed up in torn jeans and a Nashville T-shirt. But then Claire had to prove her worth to the town that had sent her away.”
“Pretty fancy,” Natasha said.
“It is. You want to try it on?”
The girl’s eyes were equally hesitant and excited. “You think Mrs. B would mind?”
“I don’t think so. I think in a lot of ways, she was just like us.” She slipped off the jacket and slid it on Natasha’s thin frame. Standing behind her as they both looked in the mirror, Lucy brushed the shoulder and straightened the collar.
Natasha studied the covered waist buttons. “And she made this herself?”
“She was a seamstress.”
Lucy helped Natasha out of the coat, rehung it on the padded hanger, and replaced the muslin cover. For the moment she’d worn the jacket, she’d felt different. She wasn’t some commoner raised by a single mom who’d spent her life scraping by. She was special.
She flashed her light around the attic, letting it go where it may. Whatever she did with this cottage, she would have to do something with the clothes. Perhaps a museum or a collector. Hank had been clear he wanted the property and the water access. The cottage and these treasures didn’t fit into his plan.
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