Leave a Widow Wanting More by Charlie Lane

Chapter 20

Sarah had been tapping her foot for a quarter of an hour. So had Ada. But when Ada shot to her feet, shouting, “No, no, no, Mr. Bartholomew!” Sarah realized Ada tapped for an entirely different reason.

Ada objected to the way the children’s tutor spoke of King Henry the VII. He approved too heartily, or some such.

Sarah’s foot tapped because she couldn’t stop thinking of her own, objectively preferable Henry. When would she see him again? What would he be wearing? Not a cravat. Apparently, he left them off at home. And just how far would he go to avoid her? Yesterday, he’d managed to say precisely seven words to her, despite spending much of the day in her company. Those words were “yes,” “no,” “sounds delightful,” and “if you wish.” All had been in conversation about the children. The day before that had been worse. He’d taken the twins, James, and Pansy fishing. Sarah and the girls had stayed behind, and Henry had, in the end, only said “good night” to her as he went up to bed.

In the little time they’d known one another, she’d become acclimated to his challenging conversation, his ready openness, his good humor.

All gone now, boiled down to a few meager words a day. And certainly no touching.

Sarah’s bold attempts at seduction had failed. Fantastically. She’d thought lying naked in bed reading a book would be all it took. And she’d been right. His eyes had glowed with appreciation, his hands had vibrated with barely restrained desire. He’d wanted her.

But then, she’d botched it, turning a successful seduction into a debacle. One mention of childbirth, or rather, the avoidance of it, had sent Henry into a terrified panic.

“Are you sulking?” Ada asked, slipping back into her seat beside Sarah at the back of the classroom.

A bit. “No, why would I be sulking? Did you set Mr. Bartholomew straight?”

Ada nodded, pursing her lips into a thin disapproving line. “He’s not usually a fool. But once women pop up in the history books, he loses all perspective. He revels in the bloodshed.”

“Does he?” That would have to be fixed. Purpose surged through her. This was why she’d married Henry, was it not? To improve the lives of his children, to fix the broken family? At the very least, this problem would distract her from the problem of Henry himself. “Is he a suitable tutor for Pansy, then?”

Ada regarded the slight, bespectacled man across the room. “We should speak elsewhere. Of Mr. Bartholomew, but also, you should be made aware of some of the twins more … endearing quirks.”

“Perfect.” She loved putting plans into action. She’d learn about the children and their education and would soon be on her way to victory. As a bonus, such a conversation would distract her from thoughts of Henry.

Inside the spacious drawing room situated between Ada’s and Nora’s bedrooms, Sarah ordered her thoughts. Pansy’s education. The twins’ quirks. But also, Ada. The young woman was, it seemed, the Cavendish who needed Sarah’s help most, after all. One question bounced around Sarah’s head, begging to be asked, as it had been doing for several days. Why not ask it now? “Ada, why do you take such an active role in your sister and cousins’ education?” And everything else, really. In the two-and-a-half days since she’d arrived at Cavendish Manor, Sarah had come to realize that Ada was more mother to the children than some actual mothers would be. “Children in your station of life are often raised by servants, are they not?” Even Sarah’s mother had hired a wet nurse in the village to care for her until she’d turned five or so. “Why has your father not yet hired a governess?” And saved his daughter a cartload of daily work and worry.

“He did. I sent her away. I never had a governess as a child. I had tutors, of course, but Mama and Papa were always with me.”

Papa? Ada had not addressed Henry as such since Sarah had arrived. She only ever called him Father. Apparently, though, there had been a time Henry had been Papa to his eldest daughter.

Ada’s muscles softened and her eyes grew dreamy. “Mama took us on picnics and taught us to sew, and Papa taught us to swim and made sure the tutors took us seriously, even though we were girls. It took some time to find one willing to teach Latin to us. But he persevered.”

“Not surprising.” The tutors’ reluctance nor Henry’s perseverance. “You must not have been shocked when your father hired a young woman to be his assistant.” Sarah paused. Should she reveal her dislike of the young Miss Smith? She could find a kindred spirit. They could dislike Miss Smith together! “I must confess, however glad I am Henry has given her the opportunity to travel and learn, I’m not so impressed with the girl herself. She’s not very friendly, is she?”

Ada cocked her head to one side. “Miss Smith? I … I’m afraid I don’t know Miss Smith.”

“Perhaps you know her best as Gwendolyn. She is your age. I suppose you wouldn’t let formality stand between you. Do I offend you, expressing my dislike for her?”

When Ada didn’t immediately answer, Sarah stopped trying to view the titles of a row of books across the room and turned toward her new stepdaughter.

Ada’s face burned red, her eyes pools of confusion.

“Ada? Is there something I should know about Miss Smith?” Was she, truly then, Henry’s mistress? Had Henry lied? Surely not! But Ada’s face spoke unfathomable volumes. Miss Smith’s name did not bring glad tidings.

Ada trembled and stood. She paced to the window then back again. When she sat, she seemed more composed. “I did not know my father had hired a young woman as his assistant. I knew about Jack, naturally. He’s a boy. My father’s heir. Of course, he would be allowed to travel alongside Father.” Ada slanted an innocent glance at Sarah. “She’s unpleasant, then, this Miss Smith?”

“To me at least she was.”

“Then I shall dislike her for your sake.”

“I think you should save such judgments until you meet her.”

Ada jerked around, her mouth dropping open slightly. “Did you just offer me a moral stricture?”

“Of course. It’s what mothers do.”

“Yes, but I’ve not had a mother in ages, and I’m quite sure I don’t need one now. At Cavendish Manor, I’m the one who offers moral strictures.”

“Do you like it?”

“Pardon me?”

“It’s just that constantly doling our moral advice is not very diverting.”

“Er, I mean, not precisely. But someone has to do it. And better me than the girl who can shoot a hole through a needle’s eye at fifty paces.”

“You mean Nora.”

Ada nodded.

“Your father mentioned she had a talent for marksmanship.”

“Oh? He mentioned us before bringing you here? Was that before or after he introduced you to his travel daughter?”

So, Ada suffered mightily from a jealous temperament. How best to fix the predicament? Truth, or a bit of it. “Before. And if it helps, he does not even call her by her first name. It’s Miss Smith for Henry, even though Jackson calls her Gwen.”

That seemed to pacify Ada. Her chest expanded with air and her hands unclenched in her lap. “I should ask Father to bring her home, introduce her. If you don’t mind, of course.”

“I can deal with one unpleasant girl for an undetermined length of time if it suits you.” Sarah laughed. “But we digress. We were speaking of the very thorough job you’re doing with the children. Your father told me he used to work from home. He didn’t travel often.”

“That’s true. I don’t remember him being away from home often when I was a child. A week here or there, two at most. But things were not the same after Mama and Calliope—” She swallowed.

Sarah laid a hand on Ada’s arm. “You do not have to speak of it.”

When she could speak, Ada said, “Thank you. Anyway, when both Mama and Papa had left me, and Papa sent the governess, I realized how different Pansy’s childhood would be from the one I had had. No picnics or swimming. No loving Mama or Papa to read her books and play games with her. So, I fired the governess and did it all myself.” She held herself completely erect, chin high, proud, defiant. Despite her dark hair and green eyes, she was the picture of her father.

“You are a saint. I … I don’t mean that patronizingly.”

Ada blushed, sinking into the chair a little. “Hardly. A saint would do her duty without complaint.”

“Then it’s all right to not be a saint.”

Ada’s laughter rang all the way up to the high ceilings. “Have I said yet that I like you?”

“Yes, but I’m happy to hear it again.” And she was. She’d discovered a pleasant though unexpected connection between the two of them. Both knew what it was to lose everything at young ages, to be thrust into difficult circumstances and make the most of them. Henry had saved Sarah from experiencing those dire straits once more. Now, Sarah could help Ada.

“Your father—I’m overstepping, I’m sure, but I must say—he loves you.” She remembered the special pockets sewn into his coat. “I know he does.”

Ada’s face clouded over. The girl would resist this conversation.

Very well. There were other subjects to be explored. “That’s between you and Henry, I suppose. But …” She hesitated. “I must confess to curiosity about your young suitor, the earl next door.”

Ada’s face brightened a bit, then fell into a look of distant pity. “Lucas lost his father a few years ago, too.”

Funny how Ada had done that twice now, referred to losing her father as if he had died. Sarah stored the observation away to deal with later. “How sad. How did he die?”

“The doctor says his heart simply gave out.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Ada nodded. “Lucas and I have known each other since childhood. I used to think he was a bit stuffy. But he’s a man now. And he needs someone to help him through his grief.” She frowned. “He travels back and forth between London and Trottiscliffe at the moment, working to update his home and lands.”

If the earl was not at home, it would be some time before Henry received a response to his invitation to chat. “You don’t see the earl often, then?”

“He’s quite busy.”

“Ah.”

“As am I.”

Should she tell her that Henry planned to intervene? Ada would, in all likelihood, be spitting mad. Better to start out her relationship with Ada on a basis of honesty, but why disrupt the tenuous peace that had settled around Ada and Henry over the last two days? Such a revelation might impede the healing process. Besides, with the young earl so occupied, perhaps he would not get Henry’s letter until after Henry had left the country. Yes. A likely scenario. No need to stir the pot with mischief that might never happen.

Sarah patted Ada on the arm. “But you will have much free time in the coming days and weeks and months. And once we get to London, there won’t be such a distance between you two. He’ll be there, too, yes?”

Ada smiled weakly and nodded.

“It will all work out for the best.”

“What will work out for the best?” Henry stood framed by the doorway, his broad shoulders sucking the very air from Sarah’s lungs.

Sarah stood. “Oh, everything I suppose. We were just discussing the children’s education.”

“Is something amiss? Should I speak with Mr. Bartholomew?”

Ada huffed. “He’s been maligning Queen Elizabeth again.”

Henry scowled. “I’ve told him—”

“So have I, Father. But he’s probably not going to listen to either of us, and there are not many more tutors willing to teach girls than Mr. Bartholomew. We’re stuck with him.”

Henry continued scowling.

“Speaking of women and educational opportunities.” Ada slid her father a sly glance. There was a drop of poison in it. “Who is Miss Smith?”

Great Gutenberg.They’d never heal their wounds at this rate. “Henry!” Sarah trotted toward him. “I still have yet to see the library at Cavendish Manor. I assume you have one.”

Henry turned his attention from his daughter to Sarah and scoffed. “Of course. And it’s as good, nay better, than Hopkins Bookshop.”

She tapped him on the forearm, thrilled by even that small contact. She let her fingertips settle there, on his hard, lean muscle, and felt her pulse rise. Why did she find his mere arm so mesmerizing? All that crisp hair and corded muscle and sun-bronzed skin … She swallowed, reluctantly lifting her gaze from his arm. But then she saw his face, his firm lips, his square jaw and white-gold hair. A tingling low in her belly joined her skittering pulse and she became a crashing symphony of physical reaction. One of his still-gold eyebrows shot up, questioningly, at her intense perusal.

What had she been saying?

Take me?

No.

Take me right here, please?

No.

Ada, leave now because I’m going to—

She shook her head to dislodge the fantasies multiplying beyond her control. The library. Henry had said it outshone Hopkins Bookshop. Unlikely. But she must check. Especially if it meant much-missed alone time with her new husband. She caught her breath, quieted her pulse, and met him with a clear gaze. “Prove it to me?”

He offered her his arm after a brief hesitation. No one but Sarah may even have noticed it. But it said much. He didn’t want her touch; he avoided her company. But he must feel it, too, the energy coursing between them!

He looked toward Ada. “Will you accompany us?”

Sarah suppressed a huff. She wasn’t blind. She saw Henry’s machinations quite clearly. He used his daughter to avoid being alone with Sarah.

Thankfully, Ada did not appear to want to perform that function. “No.”

Henry waited for more. He waited in vain. Ada picked up a book on a table and buried her nose firmly inside it.

Lovely girl.

Sarah pulled Henry out the door. Ada needed time alone, and Sarah really did want to see the library. And perhaps, while she was at it, she could convince Henry celibacy was not the answer.