Her father blustered, “I loved your mother too much. I could not bear to see her in pain.”
“And I could? I was eighteen.” She forced herself to keep her voice steady, saw shame flood his eyes. “What matters now is this: I would have you trust that I know what is best for me,” she said. “This marriage is my decision. I choose to be close at hand when the boys need me, rather than exiled in Scotland.”
Her father pressed his fingers to his brow. “I pushed you to take this reckless course.”
She could not deny it. And yet the truth was more complex. “You set up conditions that forced me to face the fact that my life must change. It was inevitable, once you married Helen. But I have the right and the will to choose this path.”
“Grace?!”
The three adults all startled as Bennet’s cry rang out through the corridor, the boys obviously returned from their outing. The trio of brothers pelted into the room, breathless, their hair wind-tousled, cheeks flushed. “I knew I heard your voice!” Bennet whooped and Grace gathered him close, smelling the sweet scent of his hair, meadow grass, sunshine and sweat. His clothes were rumpled from play, a smear of dirt on his cheek. She instinctively brushed bit of grass from his hair and wondered how long it would be until she would be able to hug him again.
He pulled away enough to peer up at her. “Did you bring us a surprise from town?” His eyes gleamed in anticipation, and her heart squeezed.
“Lord Everdene and I left the present in the hall.” The boys rushed out, squabbling. Ethan and Avery were still tussling over the lumpy bundle when they carried it in.
“Good thing you insisted on buying the sturdiest item,” Lucien muttered.
Grace smiled as they unwrapped their new treasure unveiling a toy boat just the right size for their lead soldiers. “I thought it was time Lord Admiral Nelson had a ship that was seaworthy,” she said.
They crowed in delight as they furled and unfurled sails, admired the tiny cannons and fiddled with the hatches that led to captain’s quarters below. She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she continued. “I have another surprise as well.”
They turned to her, expectant. “Boiled sweets?” “Candy sticks?”
She stepped over to Lucien, linking her arm with his, needing to feel that strong presence bracing her. “You see, Viscount Everdene and I got married while we were in London.”
The boys stumbled back as if she’d struck them, but she went on, determinedly cheerful.
“It will take us some little while to get settled at Everdene, but as soon as we are, I shall visit for the day and we will have a grand time.” She fought to keep enthusiasm in her voice, but the slightest tremor slipped through.
Nanny burst into the room, breathless, her plump cheeks red with exertion, her bonnet askew atop curls growing ever more gray. “There you be, you little rascals! Begging your pardon, my lord. We crossed paths with Matty from the stables, and the ladswouldrace ahead the moment they heard Lady Grace had returned.” She dipped into a curtsey, looking from Grace to Lucien. “Welcome home, my lady. My lord. You three lads, up to the nursery to wash up and then you can show me this lovely ship your sister brought you.”
But the enthusiasm had drained from their little bodies. Even the precious toy listed at a melancholy angle as they followed Nanny’s orders. Their compliance was far worse than any fit of temper could be.
Grace felt her stomach lurch, the walls seeming to squeeze too close, as if she couldn’t breathe. All she could think of was getting away. From her father, from the boys, from the home that was no longer a haven.
“I have an errand to tend to as well,” she said, determined not to cry. “While Susan finishes packing my things, I wish to go visit Mama.”
“May I accompany you?” Lucien’s brow furrowed in concern.
“Not this time. I wish for a moment alone.”
He nodded. “Very well. Your father and I have matters to discuss, your marriage portion to settle.”
Normally, she would have bristled and wished to be a part of such a discussion, but not today. She hastened outside, still trying to draw air past the knot of grief in her chest.
Pausing at the carriage that stood in the crushed shell drive, she took out the book she’d left on the seat, the unopened note from her mother and a sprig of roses from her wedding bouquet pressed between the pages. Then she walked alone to the church where her wedding was supposed to have taken place. Shestopped beneath a willow tree in the fenced-in cemetery where a simple memorial marked her mother’s grave.
She’d waged her first battle without her mother by her side when the vicar had tried to thwart Mama’s last wish.
You must inter Lady Elliot inside the family crypt with the dignity due her name…
But Grace had refused to be bullied. Her mother couldn’t bear the thought of being in the crypt. She’d wanted flowers near her, willow fronds waving. Life still bustling around her. The scar on the earth had healed now, and wildflowers Grace had planted there thrived. She laid her pressed wedding flowers on the grave, and touched the epitaph carved in the stone.
Lady Barbara Elliot, beloved wife, wise counselor, loving mother.
A small bench had been built beneath the curtain of willow leaves, and she’d sat there often in the months after her mother had passed, praying for guidance. Now, she unfolded the rather faded missive that smelled of lilacs.
She bent her head to read.
