“I think she’s eager to get back to Everwell,” he said, so matter-of-factly it sounded harsh to his ears. “She’s packing now.”
“And what about you?” Hollis asked, his older eyes narrowing, as if he had a thousand things he wanted to say but had decided to hold his tongue.
Beau paused, choking back an unexpected pang of emotion. Christ, when did he turn into such a blubberer? Frank only valued two emotions—anger and tenacity. Tears were for women and weak men. But here were two men standing in front of him, their bodies hard and lean from working the land, and both of them seemed to have no fear of their own soft hearts.
“I just found a family I didn’t know I had.” And the glimpse of a future he never could have imagined. “I’m sorry to go.”
“I’m always going to be here for you,” Hollis said, then pulled Beau in for an embrace. Beau drank in the affection, allowing it to feed him, bringing some lightness and some strength to his heart, which seemed to be torn in a thousand horrible directions. “But right now, you have to take care of your family. So let’s go get that done.”
Beau unwillingly broke the embrace. There was work to do—a sister to console, a trial to endure, and a company to manage. Beau had always known the company would be his. It had been a fate he’d accepted, even though he didn’t want it, which was selfish in the extreme. He was being gifted a massive machinery for making money and he wanted to just walk away from it like a spoiled child with too many beautiful toys. But he was equally certain that if he wanted to turn his attention to something else he could, and those doors would be open for him the moment he chose to do it.
He had risked nothing to have everything. Madeline’s words washed up on his skin like a January freezing rain. … The world is happy to open whatever door you choose to walk through. It doesn’t work that way for me.
If only he could show her that he would open every door and fight off every obstacle so she didn’t have to.
They all piled into the cart and headed back to The Grove. On the way, he thanked Annie again for the absolutely beautiful evening she’d put on for Madeline. An evening worthy of her loveliness. Annie had waved it off, as if it was nothing, even though he knew perfectly well it had not been. Beau was struck once again by this need, so urgent it felt like it was going to burst out of him—to show her how appreciative he was. When he returned, he would talk to Daniel about it and find a way to recognize her in a manner Annie might truly appreciate.
By the time they had arrived, the front door was open, and there were already two travel trunks sitting by the front step. Madeline had wasted no time. There hadn’t been much to pack—he’d arrived with so little, and most of it had been hardly the wardrobe of a man who would spend his time mending pergolas and cleaning out attics and scrubbing floors. But he’d liked the work just the same—and as he packed away his best twill pants which now had a few little holes that Madeline had mended, something in his heart flashed and hardened into resolve. Somehow, he would find a way back here. In fact, he emptied out the very small chest of drawers but left his favourite pair of socks as a token.
Madeline moved about with the same efficiency she’d displayed from the moment they’d started this journey. He wanted to make some kind of conversation with her, something to lighten the mood, but she was content in her silence, and he didn’t have the heart to impose on it. Both of them seemed to be in a kind of mourning.
There was no time to think about it now. He had to return to Halifax briefly to ensure, as Dominic asked, that Madeline was safely delivered to Everwell, before departing almost immediately for Saint John. There, he would hug his sister and somehow refrain from tearing Neil into pieces. After two hours of scrambling, they were in the cart, trundling down the winding lane, past the canopy of maples, their leaves lazy in the midday sun. The cart bounced them around, and all of them were quiet. He caught Madeline looking up at the house, a subtle swallow in her throat and a flush on her freckled cheeks.
She looked at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He wanted to reach out for her, take her hand, comfort her. But even as their gazes locked, she stiffened before turning away. It stung, a reminder him of all those times he’d been with Frank, who’d held back his approval like a carrot on a string, always pulling it out of reach.
He pushed the thought away and turned his attention to the road. Frank was dead, and Neil had killed him. The past, and the mess of the present, had to be dealt with before Beau could even begin to dream about his future.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Maddy stood on the platform at the Windsor station, a couple of feet from Beau, two tickets to Halifax in her hand as they waited for the late afternoon train. Any relief that had come from the news of Neil Sweet’s arrest had been tempered by the riot of emotion of the night before. As part of Beau’s family had been torn apart, he’d also found another. Maddy had come to know what it meant to be worshipped by a man so much that he would be tempted, under the intoxication of a full Buck moon, to offer her a dream.
A dream she could not accept.
She’d hurt him. Hurt him in a way she could not ever imagine hurting a man. But he would recover. Maybe she would too, in time. She would go back to Everwell and tend her roses, read her books, and watch over everyone. It would be enough.
It had to be enough. Pursuing a life at The Grove was far too risky, especially with Nelson close by. One word from him and he could ruin not only Maddy, but Everwell by association. She’d given everything to Everwell because they’d given her everything she’d lacked for so long—friendship and respect. She could not repay it by leaving them vulnerable.
The Chandlers stood with them on the platform, their presence a welcome distraction from the strain. Beau was leaving them with promises to return as soon as the trial was over.
Preoccupied with watching the crowd, Maddy caught only half the conversation. The story of Beau’s innocence would not make the papers for at least another day, and when she’d gone to buy the tickets from the ticket booth, she’d pulled down one of the public notices about Beau that had been nailed to a nearby pole. Until the news of Mr. Sweet’s arrest was widely circulated, Beau da Silva still had an attractive price on his head.
The train whistle rang for boarding, and after the hugs and promises for visits were exchanged, Maddy took a moment to thank Annie for the beautiful birthday supper.
“Will we see you again?” Annie asked, taking Maddy’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You seem very heavy.”
“I suppose I am,” she said, not wanting to burden Annie with an emotional mess of her own making. “I think I unexpectedly fell in love with The Grove, and I’m sorry to leave it.” She’d unexpectedly fallen in love with Beau da Silva, too.
“I hope not for too long,” Annie replied. “I think the gardens at The Grove will miss you.”
With the luggage stowed, Maddy and Beau boarded the train, going directly to their compartment, which would allow them some privacy. As they settled in, the discomfort in the air made every sound and movement fraught with awkward tension. The jubilance of the evening before was twisted and tempered by sadness.
It was temporary, she reminded herself. Once they returned, Beau, the Chandlers, and The Grove would all be a memory. A story to tell. It wouldn’t have a happy ending, but through the lens of time, there might be a memory or two she could smile back on.
She pulled out a book, mostly to hide behind, for there was little hope for her to be able to concentrate on poetry now. For his part, Beau was wrapped up in a copy of the Halifax Chronicle, reading through the business section, the only sound the rattling of newsprint. On the back page, was an advertisement for J Barsalou & Co. Imperial Soap, taunting her with a future she would not have. She found herself staring at it, and at him, waiting for him to say something. To say anything.
His silence shouldn’t have caused this dull ache to settle in her chest. She shouldn’t have been wishing he might prod her into a smile with a joke at his own expense. And she most definitely shouldn’t be trying to formulate a question about the markets just so he might speak with her.
Before she could contemplate any question, her spine began to tingle with awareness. A porter stood at the compartment door, which he’d begun to open. Perhaps it was nothing—a second confirmation of tickets, or a question about their comfort or an unexpected delay, but the train was moving with no sign of slowing down and no whistle indicating a problem that would require anyone to go door to door.
