“And you are happy, Thomas?” Eleanor asked, her eyes searching his eyes.
“Yes,” he said with conviction. “Remarkably so.”
“Good. That’s all I wanted for you. What she would want for you.”
Elizabeth. For a moment their thoughts sped backwards, to their shared tragedy. To a nightmarish train journey from Oxford to Devonshire…and a greater nightmare awaiting him at the end. It would have been just as difficult for Eleanor, though, watching helplessly with the rest of her family as her beloved sister slipped away. Except that she’d had the chance to say goodbye…
He said with difficulty, forcing words past a sudden tightness in his throat. “It’s always— haunted me, that I didn’t reach her in time. That she was gone before I arrived.”
She caught his hands in hers, squeezing them gently. “Hush—you came as quickly as you could. And there was nothing you could have done! Pneumonia is like that, the doctors say. Horribly swift—but at least she did not suffer in the end.”
So they’d told him at the time—and he’d always wondered if that had been a kind lie, meant to console the otherwise inconsolable. But he wished it had been true for Elizabeth’s sake; that at the last, she’d simply fallen asleep in one world, to wake again in the next. “I loved her.”
The declaration came out husky and not entirely steady.
“I know.” Eleanor lowered her head to brush a kiss across his knuckles.
He took a breath. “And—I love Amelia too. Being with her is like…seeing the sun again, after a week of rain.”
She nodded, her eyes brimming but a faint smile curving her lips. “Then, I’m happy—truly happy—for you.” She cleared her throat and said more briskly, “So, have you set a wedding date? Your family’s been remarkably close-mouthed about the details so far.”
“Amelia’s doing—she’s determined not to steal her sister’s thunder. But we’re planning on an autumn wedding—late October or early November—in New York.” He smiled. “She would very much like a grand affair, and I’m of a mind to indulge her.”
“Very uxorious of you!” she teased. “So, you’ll be going over soon, I imagine?”
“Right after James and Aurelia’s wedding. Amelia is convinced I’ll find New York artistically stimulating—and she could be right. But most of society will be in Newport for the summer, so we’ll be spending some weeks there as well.”
“I’ve heard Newport can be lovely at this time of year, though I’ve never been there. You must write and let me know how you find it.”
“Very well. And I’m sure Amelia would also be glad to write you.”
“Talking of whom, I’ve kept you from her quite long enough,” Eleanor said. “And Warrender probably wonders where I’ve disappeared to, as well. Let’s go back inside.”
“With pleasure.” He offered his arm and they left the terrace together.
Within moments of their reentering the ballroom, Lord Warrender materialized to reclaim his wife and whisk her off for the set starting to form on the dance floor. Looking around for his fiancée, Thomas spied her in a quiet corner with her twin, both of them admiring Amelia’s ring. James stood behind Aurelia’s chair, watching the sisters with undisguised affection.
Amelia’s face brightened when she saw him approach, and she rose with alacrity to meet him. No Englishwoman would have shown her eagerness to be with him so openly, he mused, and while some might find such behavior forward, he found it deeply flattering—even satisfying, in a curiously primal way. There was indeed something to be said for American directness.
“Well, sweetheart, did your sister approve?” he asked, offering his arm.
“Completely.” Again she held out her hand to admire the play of light on the stones in her ring. “She was especially impressed to learn you’d designed it yourself. And she thinks we’ll be very happy together.”
“I think I’ve managed to convince Eleanor of the same thing,” he told her.
“Have you? Oh, I’m so glad! I know she very much wants you to be happy. Would the Warrenders come to our wedding, do you think?”
He considered the matter, then nodded. “Yes, I believe they’d be willing to make the crossing for it. By the way, Eleanor would also like it if we both wrote to her about Newport, as she’s never been there.”
“No? Well, then, I’ll be sure to do so. Not that there will be much to report, besides some Society gossip,” she added, shrugging. “Nothing really dramatic ever happens in Newport. Shall we go and join the dancers? I think they’re setting up for a polka now.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Thomas replied, leading her onto the dance floor.
Acknowledgments
Self-publishing is a leap of faith that I might not have made without the support and encouragement of those authors who leapt first and generously shared their knowledge, skills, and experience with those of us still clinging to the ledge. Thank you all.
Thanks are likewise due to Lucinda Campbell of LK-E-Book Formatting Services for her skills and her patience. And to M. S. Fowle of Melchelle Designs for creating the cover of my dreams.
I also want to thank my family for their support. My sister, for spinning plots with me. And Angela, Queen Beta, who willingly reads and critiques everything I write.
And if you’re reading this book now, I thank you too.
About The Author
Pamela Sherwood is an avid reader of multiple genres (horror excepted) and aspires to be a prolific writer of multiple genres (again, horror excepted). In a previous life, she earned a doctorate in English literature, specializing in the Romantic and Victorian periods, and taught college-level literature and writing courses. At present, she writes historical romance and fantasy. Her books have received starred reviews in Booklist and Library Journal, and Waltz with a Stranger, her debut novel, won the Laurel Wreath Award for Best Historical Romance in 2013. Pamela lives with her family in Southern California, where she continues to read voraciously, spin plots, and straddle genres to tell the kind of stories she loves.
Visit her on the web at http://pamelasherwood.com, facebook.com/PamelaSherwoodAuthor, and twitter.com/pamelasherwood
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