by Pendle, Eve
“Are you excited about Christmas?” Amelia asked from beside him, before he could say anything.
Edith nodded.
“Do you think your papa has brought you a lovely present?”
More vigorous nodding this time. “Dolly.” His daughter’s voice was a breathless whisper of excitement.
“Will your dolls have tea together?” Amelia asked.
A shake of the head this time. “Adventures.” She said it just the same way as he did when he suggested they go out together, ad-ven-tures, with all the emphasis on ‘ven’.
His heart tried to push out of his chest like a plant struggling to escape a cloche it had outgrown. He and Edith went on adventures to the glasshouse or the woods, and she wanted to take her dolls for adventures too. They were their special activity, and somehow just saying the word in Amelia’s presence invoked the thought of the three of them exploring the gardens together, Edith watching Amelia for how to hold her skirts out of the mud, or step over a stile gracefully.
“Adventures sound exciting for your dolls. Let’s hope your papa knows what you’d like.”
Their gazes met over Edith’s head and his heart jolted as though he’d forgotten again how lovely she was. She must charm all the women and children at her charity, just like she had effortlessly charmed Edith.
Reminded of his presence, Edith’s gaze slid around back to him expectantly, as if she thought he would reveal the German-made doll he’d bought her, with stunningly painted wooden hands and feet, and real hair. It was only when he noticed Amelia watching them with a wistful expression that he realized he’d picked a doll with blue eyes exactly like hers. He swallowed.
“You had better go to bed, so you can be ready for your adventures tomorrow. I can’t read to you tonight, but we’ll have a story tomorrow morning to make up for it.” He grasped Edith under the armpits and lowered her to the floor. She looked up at him wordlessly, waiting.
Edith wasn’t going to leave without him saying it. In front of all the dinner guests. Amelia would think him a weakly indulgent father who denied his daughter nothing since she didn’t have a mother. But perhaps that was closer to the truth than he would like to admit.
“Night-night, sleep-tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” He leaned down and kissed her little cheek. As he drew back, he couldn’t resist smoothing the stray wisp of hair out of her eyes.
Edith’s nursemaid led her away and Robert managed not to watch his daughter like a besotted fool, replacing his napkin in his lap and only checking once as she left the room.
“She’s a sweet child.” Amelia toyed with the little sprig of holly and ivy next to her place setting. “You must dote on her.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Was it that obvious? He picked up his knife and fork, but belatedly realized he’d finished his food. Discussing his daughter with Amelia was more than he could do. Not after seeing her speak so tenderly to Edith.
“I see.” Her tone was playful. “She isn’t sweet, or you don’t dote on her?”
He spoiled his daughter, that was the truth. Edith ought to have a brother or sister so she wasn’t the focus of so much of the attention. Honestly, it was what he had always wanted, a house full of giggling children. He’d once thought he’d have that with Amelia, but that wasn’t going to happen now. He couldn’t allow himself the folly of imagining the three of them together.
“Do you live here all year round?” he asked. The abrupt change of conversation rang hollow.
“I live in London with my great-aunt.” The hard edge had returned to her voice. She looked to her other side, where there was a lull in conversation. “Do you visit London at all, Mr. Harris?”
Amelia had been shy years ago, frequently not daring to voice her opinions to any but a select few. She’d been a wallflower, budding and hiding her beauty behind a screen of leaves. Since then she’d bloomed, and although she wasn’t a showy flower, she was strong. Being a companion and her charity work had obviously given her confidence. There would be no space in her refined London life for a quiet widower and his daughter. A good thing too, since he couldn’t marry again, as lovemaking was out of the question after he’d lost Isabella in childbirth.
It had been Christmas when he’d lost Amelia and by some miracle, they were together again at Christmas. Though it could never come to anything and it was years too late, he still wanted from Amelia what he’d desired five years ago. A kiss.
You can read the rest of A Pineapple in a Pine Tree now.
