Leave a Widow Wanting More by Charlie Lane
Chapter 18
Sarah had never clenched her entire body so tightly as she clenched her fingers around the reins.
It was quite official. She hated horses. She’d always wondered if by walking everywhere she missed some essential equestrian experience. Now she knew—most definitely not. Oh, horses were all right at a distance or nibbling sugar cubes from your palm, but underneath you, lifting you miles away from the ground and moving? No thank you.
“Sarah,” Henry’s voice rumbled from behind her. “Relax.”
How could she do that?
“Think about something else,” Henry admonished.
Again, how? She took a few steadying breaths and focused on their mission—the Coldrum Stones. She was about to see a part of England’s history. She enjoyed history. When it involved people, conflict, battles, petty jealousies, the stuff stories were made of. But this was not that kind of history. No wonder she’d never heard of the Coldrum Stones before. She’d probably skipped over those parts of the history books. Impossible to focus on them more than a few seconds even now, as they loomed, so she was told, ever closer.
Not close enough. She wanted off the horse now.
Sarah craned her neck to view her new stepdaughter and distract herself. “Ah, Ada?”
Ada rode not far from Sarah, her back straight, her control of the horse expert even to Sarah’s untrained eye. “Yes?”
“You’ve been to the Stones before?” Sarah asked.
“Yes.”
“Your father seems inspired by them. They must be impressive.”
“Yes.”
To which statement was the girl responding? And such effusive responses!
Sarah pressed on. “Do you enjoy them?”
“Not particularly.”
Ada would not help keep her mind off the beast beneath her. She turned to Nora, riding on her other side. Another natural horsewoman, it seemed. The girl and horse trotted as one.
“Do you enjoy the Stones, Nora?”
“Oh, yes. I ride here several times a year. It’s the perfect spot for a picnic. So atmospheric. Or do I mean picturesque?” The girl frowned, then launched back into speech. “Ada says Papa’s fixation with the Stones is morbid, but I think it’s romantic. It’s natural to miss the dead and to want to be closer to them. I think that …”
Nora continued, but Sarah stopped listening. Was Henry fixated with death? Illness certainly agitated him, or rather the possibility of illness in those around him. He’d written a book on the burial rituals of the Egyptians. He fixated on the Stones.
Sarah shivered. Why would Henry’s fixation on the stones have anything to do with a morbid fascination with death? She clutched the reins tighter to turn in the saddle and face Nora. “Nora, what are the Stones?”
“Oh! You don’t know? It’s a tomb. A burial ground.”
So, Henry was preoccupied with death. Sarah couldn’t help but agree with Ada. It was a tad morbid. She considered who she’d lost in her life. Her husband, her mother, her father, her mother-in-law. She’d never known her grandparents, so she couldn’t feel the loss of them. She’d cried for months after her mother’s death, and there had been times like right now, she wished for her mother’s guidance and advice. But she’d never let death interfere with the living.
But Henry had lost his beloved wife. A small child. How would she feel if she lost James? She flicked her gaze to her son, who rode alongside Henry, one of the twins seated in front of him. She might not ever be the same after such a loss.
James lifted an arm and pointed down the path. “Are those the Stones?”
Sarah whipped her body back around and lost her balance. “Ack! She flung herself in the opposite direction and leaned forward to clutch the horse’s neck. It whickered at her. “Shush, you.” The horse recognized a lost cause when it saw one and wanted to be rid of its rider. No doubt of that. It would buck her at the first opportunity. When she regained her balance, she looked down the path James had pointed toward.
At its end stood a pile of vertical rocks. The Coldrum Stones? She searched for something to be impressed by. They were tall. They stood upright. But still … a pile of rocks. She frowned as her horse carried her closer, ready to be at the destination and done with its rider. When the horse stopped, Henry appeared beside her, beaming first at her, then at the rocks, then back at her as he lifted her down from the saddle. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Ye-es!” she equivocated, sending a silent prayer to the heavens for the solid ground beneath her feet.
“Don’t worry. You’ll become a rider, yet.”
“Only against my will,” she grumbled.
But he strode toward the rocks, already out of earshot.
A snort near her ear made Sarah jump, and she carefully wrapped the horse’s reins around a low tree branch. The horse stared daggers at her as she walked away, its ears laid back against its skull, its hoof pawing the ground.
She started to stick her tongue out at the beast but straightened her spine instead. Dignity, Sarah. Be an example for the children. She raised a haughty eyebrow at her equine tormentor, then turned to the stones. Sarah suppressed a yawn. Henry, on the other hand, stood enthralled. Sarah sidled up to him, wary of getting too close after their encounter in the map room. He radiated welcoming warmth one moment, and wintery cold the next. He might as well be on the continent already. She took Henry’s hand, anchoring him to the present and to her. He blinked at her in surprise, and she pretended not to notice when he tried to pull his hand from hers, pretended not to care he pulled away.
She tightened her grip on his hand. “I hate to say this, Henry, but your eldest daughter hates you.”
A deep primal sound lodged in his throat. “Would you like to hear an interesting fact?”
Sarah spoke softly, afraid to scare the wounded animal. “Yes, please.”
“Ada Constance Cavendish has not hugged her father in over two years.”
Sarah’s heart stuttered. She chose her words carefully, spoke them slowly. “Have you always had such a tense relationship?”
“No. She— When she was little, she followed me everywhere. Then even … even next to her mother’s deathbed. We mourned. One year. Then I left. A year later, my brother and his wife died. I brought the twins to Cavendish Manor and let Jackson travel abroad with me. The next time I saw Ada … she left the room. Every time I entered. She exited.”
The man had been eloquence itself in London. He’d had a final word for every occasion, a solid argument for every debate. Now he barely managed monosyllabic exclamations and primitive growls. Halting stops and ripped breaths punctuated what words he managed to string together. How to respond? She’d mourned when her husband had died, but she could speak of it now with ease, a little sorrow, some annoyance. He had denied her and James’s existence and ran off to die in war, after all.
But Henry, he’d lost someone he’d loved very much. Two someones. Sarah’s arms ached to wrap around him and squeeze his sorrow away, to pull him into the woods, out of sight of all the others, and kiss him senseless. She needed to do something to make him forget, to bring him back to the present, back to her. The woods beckoned, but the children’s shouts illustrated the danger of such a scheme.
She tried a different strategy. “You know, Ada is very good with Pansy and the twins. But she’s of an age to start her own family. Why has she not had a season?”
He sighed, but it sounded more like a frustrated growl.
Great Gutenberg!She’d stumbled upon dangerous territory again!
Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew I needed to remarry, but I put it off until my last visit home.”
“Because you still love your wife?” The words passed Sarah’s lips before they’d finished forming in her mind, and she held her breath as she waited for the answer.
She didn’t wait long. “Yes. She was a lovely woman. She deserved love.”
The day dulled though no clouds obscured the sun. Sarah bit her bottom lip to keep any other ill-fated words from escaping.
“I loved my first wife, but that’s not why I didn’t remarry.”
Sarah breathed deep, releasing her lip from its prison. “Why then?”
“I never stayed in England long enough to find a wife.”
“In my experience, it takes you a bit over twenty-four hours upon touching shore to get a woman to marry you.”
His eyes lighted with the first real warmth she’d seen in them since their lovemaking the previous night. “Ah, but I was lucky, Lady Eaden.” His hand in hers tightened, and he pulled her snug against his chest. He nudged her against one of the stones and cradled her cheek with his palm. She leaned into the embrace, closed her eyes, lifted her mouth, and prepared to taste him, smell him. Citrus and coffee, and—
“What in Hades is that?”
Sarah’s eyes popped open as Henry shoved her to the side, his gaze plastered to something on the stone behind her.
Sarah looked closely where he pointed. Initials bore deep into the rock—A+L.
Henry traced the letters like they were etched in poison. “This wasn’t here last time I was home.”
“I wonder who A and L are,” Sarah mused.
His eyes swept to Ada, spreading a blanket on the grass and opening a hamper. A vein Sarah had never seen before popped out on Henry’s forehead. And, oh my, there was another on his neck. “You were asking for the reason I’d decided to marry now.” He stabbed the letters. “This. AplusL could only be Ada and Lucas.”
“Lucas?”
“Heir to the neighboring earl.”
Just where was this going? His mind moved too fast, and Sarah scurried to keep up.
He stalked toward his daughter. “Ada has been getting close to him.”
“The earl?”
“No, the heir. Lucas. But I suppose he is the earl now. I forgot.”
“That’s nice. Not the death of a father, of course, which is what must have happened for the heir to become the earl. But young people falling in love. That’s—”
“He’s not good enough for Ada. That’s why you’re here. Arrange a London season for Ada and Nora. Find them husbands.”
Husbands who weren’t Lucas, presumably.
Sarah ran to keep pace with him, but he’d reached the edge of the picnic blanket and his daughter before Sarah caught up. “Henry,” she yelled after him, “you don’t know it was her.”
If he heard her, he didn’t respond. “Ada Constance,” he roared.
Ada looked up, startled by her father’s tone.
Henry pointed at the stones. “Did you do that?”
She considered his question for an uncomfortably long space of time before speaking. “No.” She shrugged and returned her attention to the hamper. “As you well know, Father, these stones have been here for who knows how long, and I’ve only been here for six and twenty years.”
Sarah swallowed the guffaw that rose in her throat, but not before a hiccup of a laugh escaped.
Henry swung toward her. “Not funny. That”—he pointed to the rocks again—“is history.”
Sarah suppressed another laugh. “It was a little funny.”
Ada grinned. “I was proud of it. What about you, Nora, did you find it funny?”
Nora pulled herself up tall, the better to look down her nose at her sister. “Absolutely not, and I will not be dragged into this. Come along, children.” She shooed Pansy and the twins away from the blanket and hamper and gestured for James to follow. “We will return when they are argued out.”
Thomas toed his shoe in the dirt. “But I want a scone.”
Nicholas nodded, his head like a leaf bobbing in the wind.
Pansy quietly slipped her hand into the hamper, pulled out the object of her cousins’ desire, and slipped it into her pocket. Her eyes widened when she saw Sarah had caught her. Sarah smiled and looked away.
As Nora and the children wandered off, Henry paced back and forth like a caged animal. He stopped in front of Ada. “Did you do it?”
Ada stood and faced her father toe to toe. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
He scoffed. “A plus L. Carved into the rock. Are you telling me it doesn’t stand for Ada and Lucas?”
“It does not. I did not do it.”
“And who else would it be?”
Ada lifted a single finger. “Aaron and Lucy?” A second finger joined the first, then a third, and fourth. “Alexandra and Liam? Albert and Lorraine? Abner and Laura?” A fifth finger shot out. Oh my, she would be on to two hands soon. “Andrea and Lucif—”
“Enough!”
Ada’s body stiffened.
Sarah’s did, too. She didn’t know Henry very well, even though it felt at times like she knew him to his very core. Was he … would he turn out to be a violent sort of man?
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then opened them again, focusing on his daughter. “I don’t believe you. You and that boy are thick as thieves.”
Ada shrugged. “There’s no one else around to be thick with, Father. If I’d had a London season—”
“You will now, so wipe that boy from your mind.”
“We could have gone to stay with Aunt Lola years ago—”
“And leave Pansy and the twins here alone?” Henry huffed. “Besides, Lola’s a scandal maker. I don’t trust her.”
Sarah wracked her mind for a solution. A London season might not be enough to appease the young Ada, it seemed. She appeared to want more. But what? Perhaps … “Would it really be such a bad thing to put off travel for one season, Henry?”
“Yes, Father, would it?” Ada’s wide-eyed innocent expression belied the deadly edge of her words.
Henry threw his hands into the air. “I told you both! I. Cannot. Stay.” He stomped away, but seeing the stones angered him anew, and he stomped right back. “How could you, Ada? Those stones are history!”
Ada threw her hands up, looking just as her father had moments before. “I didn’t do it,” she ground out. “But believe what you wish. I have no influence on you.”
“What does that mean?” Henry turned to Sarah. “What does she mean?”
And just how was she supposed to know the inner workings of the mind of a girl she’d only met the day before? She should walk away and let the two stubborn Cavendishes work it out for themselves, join Nora and the others in their retreat. But someone had to fix this mess. Sarah stayed put, looking from one proud, dark-eyed outline to an even prouder green-eyed one. Mouths of father and daughter set mulishly.
Then Ada’s face fell. Her eyes grew distant as she reached into the hamper and offered Sarah a scone. “For one of the most brilliant men in the world he’s often quite a beef-wit,” Ada mumbled.
Sarah couldn’t argue. The man did not understand emotions. But that didn’t mean he was void of them. She’d seen his fear. She’d seen his longing. His hurt. He had plenty of emotions in that big heart of his. He just didn’t know what to do with them.
Henry clearly needed her help.
But so did Ada. Sarah felt like a shuttlecock blown about in the wind. If she chose to side with Henry, she’d upset Ada, and she’d be seeing a lot of more of Ada than Henry in the future. But if she sided with Ada, Henry would feel … well, she wasn’t sure how he would feel. But she wanted him to feel her support, too.
She chose her words carefully. “I thank you for the scone, Ada. And for telling the truth. Your father is merely worried about you.”
“He’s not worried about me. He’s worried about his precious history.”
Henry threw his arms into the air. “Someone has carved their initials into rocks that have been standing for hundreds of years. Maybe even thousands! The hubris! The unmitigated audacity!”
Ada rolled her eyes and mumbled into a scone. “He cares about those rocks more than he cares about us. Always has.”
Sarah wasn’t sure Ada meant anyone to hear her words, but Sarah did.
And Henry did, too. His face fell, his ruddy skin paled. “What?” He sank to his knees beside his daughter. “Is that truly what you think?”
Ada shrugged and continued nibbling her scone.
For a moment, it seemed like he might reach out to Ada, pull her into his arms. Instead, he walked away.
Sarah watched him disappear then reached out and patted Ada’s hand.
“Thank you for believing me,” Ada said.
“Was it the truth?”
“Yes, it was the truth. I don’t blame you for doubting me. You barely know me. But my father should know me better. He should know I would never deface something like that. Never!”
“Just so. Shall we call the others back?”
Ada nodded decisively, her gaze turned in the direction her father had disappeared.
“Would you like to wait for him? See if he comes back?”
“No. It’s easier to enjoy things when he’s not here.” Ada reached into her skirt pocket, and Sarah saw a corner of a book peeking out. The Iranian poetry?
Sarah lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “I don’t believe you really believe that.”
Ada smiled, a small, brave thing. “But I must.” She took a deep breath. “I am glad you’re here. For entirely selfish reasons I’m afraid.”
“Well then, we have something in common. I’m here for entirely selfish reasons as well. I’ll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours.”
“Deal. You go first.”
Sarah blushed. “I have no money, and I lost my job.” She hadn’t felt mercenary when she’d accepted Henry’s offer. But saying it out loud made her feel like the worst fortune hunter. “I’m not a fortune hunter, I swear. I didn’t set out to marry your father. But when he offered …” She shrugged. “I couldn’t say no.”
“He’s a very persuasive man.”
“Precisely.” Sarah looked at her hands in her lap, searching for the courage to ask her next question. “Do you hate me?”
Ada treated Sarah to a long, hard look, then her green eyes softened. “No. We all must do what we must to survive. Besides, you don’t seem like a fortune hunter. Tell me, when was the last time you had a new dress?”
Sarah looked down at her laundry-day gown, thought about the ruined, buttonless gown in her bedroom, and groaned. “I don’t remember, if you can believe it.”
“I can. I have some old ones we can alter for you until we go to London.”
“I get the sense you’re hoping to visit the capital sooner rather than later?”
Ada grinned. “As soon as possible, thank you!” She dropped her gaze to the ground and picked grass shoots idly. “That’s my selfish reason for approving of your presence here. I want a season. I—” She choked on some emotion, and Sarah reached across the space between them, covering Ada’s hand with her own. The young woman’s eyes trembled with tears. “I don’t want to take care of the children anymore.” A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, and she dashed it away with the back of her hand. “Do you think me horrid?”
“No. Not at all. I think it’s natural. You’re young, not yet married, but have been a mother for half a decade now. It’s not fair.”
Ada turned her hand around under Sarah’s and tightened her fingers, uniting their hands. “Thank you.”
“I think we’ll rub along together famously.” Sarah meant it. She felt less sure of other things. This Lucas, for one, and what he meant to her stepdaughter. He was clearly of no consequence if Ada craved a London season. Perhaps Henry need not worry so about the matter.
“Me too.” Ada’s gaze shot over Sarah’s head, then she raised an arm in welcome.
Nora, James, Pansy, and the twins marched over the hill.
Pansy rushed forward. “Sarah, where did Papa go?” She dropped to her knees beside the blanket.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Sarah replied.
Pansy was not appeased. She inched closer. “Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“Why did Papa leave?”
An excellent question. Children were oddly astute, and it seemed Cavendish children doubly so. Unfortunately, Pansy’s question required a complex answer Sarah did not feel prepared to supply. So, she stuck with simplicity, with the half-truth. “He was upset about the vandalism of the stones.”
“Do you think we can fix it, so he’ll come back?”
Sarah didn’t know, but she would certainly try.