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She giggled. “And then what will you do?”
He thought of Lady Emeline and how she argued with him every chance she got. He thought of how far apart they were in rank. He thought about the fear she tried to hide, successfully with everyone, it seemed, but him. He thought about how startled she looked when she fell apart in his arms, as if she couldn’t fathom not being in control of everything around her, including her body. And he thought about the sadness he sometimes saw in her eyes. He wanted to hold that sadness, cradle it and comfort it until it turned to happiness. He wanted to feel her hands on him again, like the night she’d bound his broken feet, soothing him, laying her balm on his soul. She’d warmed him. She’d healed him.
And he knew what he would do. He grinned at his sister. “I’ll marry her, of course.”
“WHY ISN’T MR. Hartley home yet?” Daniel asked.
Emeline looked up in time to see her only child poke a piece of paper into the fire in her room. The paper caught and Daniel dropped it just before the flame reached his fingers. The burning sheet fluttered down, fortunately landing in the hearth rather than on her carpet.
She paused in writing out a series of last-minute instructions for the party tonight. “Dearest, would you mind not setting Mother’s room afire? I don’t think Harris would be particularly pleased.”
“Aww.”
“And I’d rather you not burn up your fingers. They are quite useful, you know, and you might need them in later life.”
Daniel grinned at this silliness and came over to climb into a chair near her desk. She winced as his shoes scraped against the satin chair cushion but decided not to comment. It was nice to have him here with her again after being separated so long.
He leaned on her desk, his chin in his crossed arms. “He must come back soon, mustn’t he?”
Emeline looked back at her writing, struggling to maintain a composed expression. She didn’t have to ask who Daniel was referring to; he was a tenacious child and obviously wouldn’t give up the subject of their neighbor—her lover—easily.
“I don’t know, dear. I’m not privy to Mr. Hartley’s plans.”
Daniel scratched one finger across her blotter, wrinkling his nose as he made an indent in the paper with his fingernail. “But he is coming back?”
“I assume so.” Emeline inhaled. “I believe Cook was making pear tarts in the kitchen today. Perhaps you should go see if they are done.”
Usually the mention of freshly made tarts would be an immediate distraction for her son.
Not today. “I hope he comes back. I like him.”
And her heart contracted. Three simple words and she was reduced to near tears. Carefully, she laid aside her pen. “I like him, too, but Mr. Hartley has his own life to lead. He can’t be always around to entertain you, to entertain us.”
Daniel was still watching his fingernail, his bottom lip beginning to protrude now.
She tried to make her voice cheerful. “There’s always Lord Vale. You like him, too, don’t you? I can see if he’d escort us to Hyde Park.” Her son’s lip protruded farther. “Or...or to a fair or perhaps even fishing.”
Daniel cocked his head to look at her skeptically. “Fishing?”
Emeline tried to picture Jasper with a fishing pole, standing beside a rushing river. Her imaginary Jasper immediately slipped, flailed wildly, and fell into the river.
She winced. “Maybe not fishing.”
Daniel was back to pressing half-moon shapes into her blotter. “Lord Vale’s all right, but he doesn’t have a big rifle.”
Faint praise indeed.
“I’m sorry, darling,” she said softly.
She looked down at the papers scattered on her desk, at the instructions she’d been writing, and her vision blurred. She felt as if her heart were breaking. Damn Samuel for ever coming into their lives. For seeking her out at Mrs. Conrad’s salon that first day, for talking to her son so gently, for making her feel again.
She gasped at the thought. That was the real problem. He’d made her feel again, cracked the shell that had hardened around her emotions and left her defenseless and vulnerable. She was too raw now, her skin too soft. How long would this feeling last? How long before she could grow another shell? She looked at Daniel, her beautiful boy. He was growing so fast. It seemed like he’d been a tender little babe only yesterday, and today she worried for her furniture with his big shoes. Did she even want to shield herself from emotion again?
Impulsively, she leaned forward, her head nearly touching his. “It’ll be all right. It really will. I’ll make sure it is.”
One side of his face scrunched up in thought. “But can it be all right with Mr. Hartley?”
“No, dear.” She straightened and turned so that he wouldn’t see the sadness in her eyes. “I don’t think it can.”
