AllFreeNovel
Share Us
*
Why had shenot? Why had she allowed a month apart when it was one of only a few left to them before the baby’s birth in the spring? The knowledge that he would be focused on studies in which she could not share? The desire to prove that she was not afraid to be alone and pregnant? A need to show him that the baby did not make her more dependent on him?
All of those things, perhaps. And he had not tried to persuade her, merely asked and accepted her refusal. But she had told Harris the truth. There had been no quarrel, just a tender if tearful parting, a promise to write, and then passionately looking forward to his return for Christmas and their “secret” time alone together.
And now, she longed for him with a force that made her whole body tingle, from her insides to her fingertips.
In the end, she ran out of time to take Vicky for a walk, for she spent too long thinking and staring at Mr. Cartaret’s card and the rose petal. And she may have thought of Dragan, though wishing would not bring him to her any quicker. She wondered if there were even trains running still from Scotland.
While she thought and speculated and missed her husband’s company, as well as his sharp, creative mind, she did her best to decorate the house for Christmas, hanging trails of ivy above the mantelpieces in the drawing room and the dining room and adding as much bright holly as she could find. She hauled a large, fallen tree branch from the back garden through the kitchen and into the hall. Here, she abandoned it temporarily under the step ladder, for she suddenly realized the time and had to run upstairs and change into a more festive gown.
She had promised to attend the Christmas party in St. Giles for the children of the poor and denizens of the soup kitchen where she helped the local, charitably minded vicar, Mr. Wells.
So she donned her dark green dress with its many wide petticoats and wore it with the bright red Paisley shawl, which had been a gift from her sister Azalea. Then, she shoved her violin into its case and said farewell to the sulking Vicky.
It was on her mind, as she hurried down the lane, to look out for the flower sellers, who were largely selling holly and mistletoe, along with a few expensive hothouse flowers for those who could afford it. But some might sell Christmas roses, like the one in the dead man’s hand.
Suddenly, she stopped in the lane and turned back. From here, she could see part of the garden belonging to the house on the other side of her back garden. Belonging to the people who had once lived in her house. Westley was their name. When they had inherited the bigger house from Westley’s parents, they had sold off the smaller dwelling.
And in their side garden, visible over the lane wall, was a Christmas rose bush laden with blooms of just the right shade of pink.
