He spent some time in his hothouse. His newest crop was finally in bloom, and the color, somewhere between an orange and a crimson, was spectacular. It was deeper than he’d imagined it would be. And yet he could not seem to feel the usual joy, even as he cut one of the more perfect blooms, inhaling its faint tea scent, before taking it with him.
Unable to sit, he paced the house, probably frustrating the staff. Definitely frustrating the staff, as Lopez had said as much. But he could not stop. He’d made another circle, when Michael’s voice from the entry hall halted him in his tracks.
“Do you have to leave?” his son asked.
Peeking from the front drawing room, Roger spied the child, standing with Miss Adler, who was dressed in one of the simpler gowns from her new wardrobe, a light blue wool, a gray cloak covering most of it, a bonnet already tied on her head, the bag she’d claimed too fancy in her hand.
Ready to depart.
“She has her own house and her own life,” his daughter said, redirecting his attention as she stood beside her brother, her small voice as delightfully officious as ever. “Besides, she can’t stay here now that Papa made her cry.”
Roger winced. How had he managed to make such a mess of matters? How could he not find a way for her to see? How could his love not be enough?
“Your father did nothing of the sort,” Rebecca said.
“That’s a lie,” Fannie accused. “I heard you. You both were hollering in the guest chamber, and after he left, you cried.”
“That has nothing to do with your father and all to do with me,” Rebecca said.
Her familiar scowl on her face, Fannie folded her arms over her chest, crushing the ribbon someone had neatly tied around her waist. “That sounds like a lie as well.”
Rebecca lowered herself onto her knees in front of his children. “Please understand that he did nothing wrong,” the woman said, her voice low. “And neither did either of you.”
She stared at his daughter for a moment. “Fannie, truly. I had a very lovely time here. The loveliest time. You all were wonderful hosts, but visits do need to end.”
“Why?” It was Michael who spoke the question out loud.
“Because my place is back on Mitre,” Rebecca said.
“Butwhy?” His son pouted. “Is it better there?”
“For me, but not for you,” she told him. “You belong here. I promise. After all, we don’t have almond custard or candied quince after most meals.” Her lips twisted into a rather charming half smile, which made Roger’s entire being ache.
Before either child could say anything more, there was a loud clearing of a throat as Marguarite entered the hall, brushing her hands upon her apron. “You two are supposed to be napping,” she declared. “Rachel has been looking all over for you.”
“But…”
“Say a proper last ‘good-bye,’ to Miss Adler, and go find Rachel before she tears her own hair out,” Marguarite said, clucking her tongue.
With small nods, both children whispered “good-bye” to the woman once more.
Roger’s throat stung despite the fact he’d not said a word. Suddenly, he had no desire to listen to the conversation any longer.
“Fannie, Michael, are you supposed to be down here?” he said, stepping forward. Michael raced toward him and wrapped his little arms around his leg. Reaching down, Roger lifted the boy into his arms.
“We’re saying good-bye,” Fannie said, remaining in her position, staring up at him. “You’re making her leave,” she chided.
“But she said that wasn’t true,” Michael, his only defender, at least by the expression on Marguarite’s face, protested, laying his small head against Roger’s shoulder.
“Miss Adler is choosing to return to her life, like it was before we exploded her house,” he explained, rounding Rebecca and the maid so he could stand at Fannie’s side as well.
“It was the fire that actually destroyed it,” his daughter corrected. “And ‘choosing’ implies there was an option for her to stay.” She frowned and took his hand when he proffered it.
“Never permit anyone to tell you that you aren’t clever, Fannie,” Marguarite said.
“You’re right,” Rebecca said, raising her chin a little. “The word ‘choosing’ necessitates an option.” She cleared her throat. “But you’re wrong that I did not have one. I did.”
A gasp escaped Marguarite’s lips.
