“And what doyouwant to do?” Edward asked gently after a few moments. “Not your mother, or Henry, but yourself.”
Robert ran a hand down his face tiredly. The question should have been simple. It was something that he had not thought about in years, though, and he was surprised to find that he did not know the answer.
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment or two. “To be happy, I suppose,” he said with a hollow chuckle. “What does anyone want?”
Edward nodded. “We all wish for happiness, it is true. And perhaps it is foolish to think that we know what will make us happy. Sometimes all that we know for certain is what would make usunhappy.”
Robert inclined his head. “That is true enough,” he said with a small, humorless smile. Being thrust into society with Mama’s expectations weighing on his shoulders made him unhappy. Talking to socialites with whom he had nothing in common did too, as did hearing Henry criticized by his mother. But what options did he have? He had to involve Mama in Henry’s care, and he had to believe her that she knew what was best, since he did not seem to know himself.
The proprietor arrived with a selection of sandwiches and Robert helped himself, chewing thoughtfully on one filled with ham and cheese. He recalled the delicious dinner of the previous night, and his lips lifted in a smile as he remembered Miss Brooke sitting opposite him. She had a surprisingly hearty appetite for a slight young woman, tucking into her food.
“You must be acquainted with your wife’s cousin a little?” he asked when Edward offered no topic of conversation.
Edward shrugged. “Sadly not. I only made her acquaintance two days ago. She was hardly ever in society before.”
“Oh?” Robert sat straighter, recalling something she had said. She had mentioned that she was unused to crowds. “She seems very confident for all that she was so isolated,” he mused.
Edward inclined his head. “Confident and competent, yes,” he agreed.
Robert nodded. Memories of Miss Brooke flowed into his mind, vivid and rich. He remembered how she gazed into his eyes, how she laughed. He recalled the way the candlelight played on her hair, painting reddish highlights. He groaned. Guilt was going to poison him.
If Edward saw his pain, he did not say anything, simply sipped the drink he must have ordered while Robert was musing.
“Do you think that one should mourn forever?” he asked Edward after a long moment. “I loved Elizabeth with all my heart—I still do, though she has been gone for five years. I still weep, sometimes. Does she know, do you think?” he asked carefully.
Edward lifted a shoulder. “Some might say no; that she is in Paradise and she knows only bliss. But myself? I think sometimes that the curtain of Heaven parts a little and those who are gone can look down and smile on us.” He paused and the words sank into Robert’s heart.
He looked up from the table to see Edward watching him. A small smile played across Edward’s mouth. “Iknowthat Papa saw me hit a six at Cambridge on the cricket field,” Edward said with a smile. “I am quite sure of it. The only six I ever hit. I almost heard him laugh.” He looked down, eyes shining with warmth.
Robert nodded. “I feel certain of it,” he agreed. Edward’s father had passed away when Edward was twelve. The two of them had been very close. One of their longstanding jests was cricket—Edward's apparent lack of proficiency.
Edward nodded. Robert let out a breath. He too, felt sure that those who were departed could see one sometimes. And that troubled him. Elizabeth might know of those happy moments talking to Miss Brooke, and she might object. It felt wrong, and perhaps it was wrong, too.
“Do you think they disapprove, sometimes, of what we do?” he asked carefully.
Edward chuckled. “No. Of that I am quite sure. Perhaps they shake their heads sometimes,” he added with a laugh. “But I feel sure that all of that is behind them. Our bodies know weariness and fear, worry and anger. But do our souls? I somehow doubt it. I think that all that remains when we are no longer mortal, all that we carry with us, is love.”
Robert swallowed hard. “Mayhap,” he agreed softly. His heart twisted. His love for Elizabeth was there in his heart as ever. He felt sure that she must still love him, too. But would she understand?
I wish I knew,he thought silently, staring out of the window. He did not wish to make her feel betrayed.
Edward lifted his glass, tipping back his drink. “Well, one thing I do know,” he said slowly. “And that is that your son can doubtless already play cricket better than me.”
Robert grinned. “We shall test this notion,” he replied, grateful to bring the conversation back to lighter things. They sat and talked and ate sandwiches, fortifying themselves for their imminent return to the house and all the guests. They both felt sure that they would need all the strength they could muster for another round of parties and entertainments.
Chapter 8
“...and those tables will all need to be moved that way. We need to put the big trestle there.”
Caroline’s voice was clear as crystal in the large space of the ballroom, her neat, clipped words audible even over the hustle and bustle that disturbed the usual calm of the house. Servants in black livery moved tables, maids dusted, and the housekeeper was instructing some more maids how to lay out crockery on the long trestle table. Sarah, standing in the doorway, blinked at the noise and frenetic movement.
The big chandeliers hung high overhead, the crystals winking dully in the morning light that flooded in though the high windows. Caroline stood in the center of the room, her small form marked out in the sea of black and white uniforms by the orange dress she wore. Her hair was arranged in curls, a ribbon in rich yellow ocher showing near the front. She was instructing the footmen who were carrying the tables. The whole house was filled with brisk activity and Sarah could not help feeling a twist of anticipation in her belly about the ball.
“Over here. We need the space there for the musicians. If we put the musicians in the front, it’s too far from the dance floor...oh!” She stopped, spotting Sarah by the door. “Cousin! Come in, dear Sarah, please do.”
Sarah tensed. She could see, despite her cousin’s friendly and welcoming smile, that she was busy. She had been looking for her, hoping for a word or two after the dinner party they had. Caroline’s words about the duke had played through her mind again and again throughout the night, stopping her from finding rest. His face haunted her. She could not stop thinking about him and if anyone could tell her more about him, it would be her cousin.
“Caroline,” she stammered. “I did not wish to disturb you. I...” she paused as Caroline shook her head.
