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Chapter 17
Lavinia returned to the sittingroom and resumed her seat, picking up the small square of embroidery she pretended to work on when doing needlework was socially called for. Hannah had always done any of their necessary sewing, although she’d taught Lavinia enough basics to muddle along.
Delia picked up her own neglected needlework, stared at it, and tossed it aside. “I never could understand the great interest women take in poking needles and thread into fabric day in and day out.”
“It has something to do with wanting clothes to wear,” Hannah said.
Susan and Rebecca burst out laughing. Lavinia might have thought the exchange humorous, but she was still reeling from the fact that they’d be moving to Primrose Farm the following week. In a week’s time, she would have no more reason to see Lucas, and she would be the one to cry off the betrothal in order to protect his gentlemanly honor.
“Iknowit’s required for having clothing, Hannah,” Delia replied. “But how many cushions and pillows and such can a person cover with embroidery before one goes completely mad?”
“I agree with you wholeheartedly,” Susan said, earning a glance from Lady Thurlby. “Which is why I chose to read this afternoon.”
“I don’t mind sewing. I’m making a few new things for the baby,” Clara said.
She held up the tiny gown she was working on, and Lavinia’s heart felt a new pang. She’d never considered having children before. For so long, her life had consisted of mistrusting and avoiding men and merely surviving. Now she had the opportunity to have the normal life that she’d never thought possible.
A husband and a baby . . .
“That’s so precious,” Delia said, admiring the tiny gown. “I never had children. Never married either. Some people don’t realize what’s right in front of them until it’s too late.” She looked directly at Lavinia. “That is why I’m so delighted our dear Lavinia has found her perfect match in your son, Lady Thurlby. When Arthur and I first heard of their betrothal, we were beside ourselves with joy. Were we not, Hannah?” She turned her fairy queen gaze on Hannah.
Hannah glanced at Lavinia before replying. “You and Artie were very enthusiastic,” she said.
Lavinia bit her lip.
“As we still are,” Delia said, nodding with satisfaction. “When I see the love these two young people share, it fills my soul with a bittersweet longing, but I shall rejoice in knowing they will be sharing something wondrous and beautiful that I wasn’t privileged to have.” She sighed dramatically.
Of course she did.
Lavinia wanted to take her from the room and throttle her—if she didn’t think it might break every brittle bone in Delia’s body. She was laying it on too thick. There was something in that little speech of hers, with its poignant tone of regret—especially when she knew full well the betrothal wasn’t real—that was intended to turn the screws even tighter.
“Were you ever in love, Miss Weston?” Clara asked.
“Oh, yes,” Delia said, staring off into the distance like any accomplished thespian would. “Thoroughly, deeply in love. But things don’t always turn out as we’d wish, now, do they? We mustreachfor love when it isright before us.”
And there it was.
That little wisp of an exasperating woman was bound and determined to make Lavinia’s fake betrothal a real one since fate hadn’t granted her with her own happy ending. Bless her little interfering heart.
“I’ve been so impressed with how the children have taken to both you and Mr. Drake,” Lady Thurlby said as she rethreaded her needle. “The boys especially seem rather keen for his company.”
“Arthur has always enjoyed the company of children,” Delia said. “They have such wonderful imaginations, you see.”
“Mr. Drake does seem rather imaginative—I daresay I’ve never seen the like from a grown man before,” the viscountess said.
Hannah snorted and bit off the end of her thread with her teeth.
“I must confess I was rather uncomfortable with his . . . antics . . . at first,” Isobel said. “Even yesterday my little Sarah wasn’t sure what to think when he pretended to be a bear and charged after Edmund and Isaac Junior, roaring with his arms outstretched, when the children were outside for their daily constitutional. Of course, according to Sarah, the boys thought it great fun and created some sort of invisible bear trap to catch him.”
“I wondered where he’d gone,” Delia said thoughtfully. “The children. I should have realized.”
“Is it a good thing, do you think, for a grown man to cavort with children in such a manner every day?” Clara asked hesitatingly. “The children seem delighted, but is it something they should encounter with such regularity? Isaac recalls imaginative escapades with his brothers—playing pirates and explorers and such—but not with his father, although I know Father Jennings spent quality time with his children. I am trying to understand.”
“I shall speak to Artie,” Lavinia said. “He should have consulted with both you and Isobel before imposing himself upon the children and Mrs. Wynn. Wouldn’t you agree, Delia?”
“I’ve never had to consider it from a parent’s point of view—all I can say is that I’ve known Arthur Drake for nearly fifty years, and in all that time, I’ve never known a kinder man whose greatest delight is making others happy, especially children.”
“I’ll speak to him,” Lavinia said again when it appeared Delia’s speech hadn’t entirely reassured Isobel and Clara.
