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The sight of Stockton watching the guests with what looked to be displeasure on his face caused Simon to approach him.
“Is all well?” he asked.
Stockton’s expression smoothed. “Of course, my lord. The evening has been an amazing success, don’t you think?”
“So it seems.”
“I only hope none of the exhibits were damaged with this many people walking through.” His brow crinkled with worry.
Simon was puzzled by the man’s concern. “I do believe the goal of the museum is to have as many visitors as possible.”
“Yes, but not like this.” Stockton shook his head. “It will take us a week to clean up and make certain no exhibits have been harmed.”
“I hardly think so. It’s not as if the guests are a bunch of unruly schoolboys.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” His expression suggested otherwise. “The evening has gone very well.”
Simon gave a single nod and then walked away before he said anything more. Stockton seemed to have changed in the past month or two. He was no longer the enthusiastic director Simon had hired. What to do about it would have to wait for another time.
As a quartet played in another of the rooms and the guests continued to mingle, Simon searched for Norah, without success. Her sisters were still in the refreshment room, speaking with acquaintances. When several minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Norah, Simon grew concerned.
He moved to the rear of the museum and took the back stairs two at a time and returned to the exhibit to see if she was there.
He drew back the velvet curtain and found her alone, staring at the display. “Norah?”
She turned to look at him, blinking back tears despite her smile. “Simon. I just wanted to look at it again.”
“Is all well?”
“Yes.” She released a breath—half laugh and half sob—that hinted at the well of emotion she was obviously feeling. “Don’t mind me. I am caught up in memories, I suppose.” She continued to look at the items as if determined to keep her gaze away from him.
He drew nearer, wanting to offer comfort but uncertain how. “I’m sure you miss him. Do you miss your life there as well?”
If he didn’t know better, he would’ve almost thought she winced at the question.
“Parts of it.” At last, she turned to meet his gaze. “I know it’s terrible to say, but I miss very little of our life there. I miss my parents, of course. Terribly. So much so that at times, it’s difficult to breathe.” She waved a gloved hand before her face. Did she hope it might help dispel her tears?
“I understand.” That was certainly something to which he could relate. Though memories of his parents had faded, he still missed them so much. Missed what he thought their relationship would be if they still lived. “It’s the oddest things that bring them back. The smell of lavender. My father’s cologne. The tilt of a stranger’s head in the pew in front of me at church.”
Norah gasped and reached for both of his hands. “Yes. Yes, that’s it exactly. Grief comes when you’re caught unawares and pulls you down again.”
He nodded, turning his hands to hold hers. “The emptiness left behind is difficult to fill.”
“Impossible.” She looked down at their joined hands. “And yet…”
“Yet what?” He rubbed his thumb along her inner wrist through the glove, imagining her skin would be as soft as the satin.
She lifted her gaze to his, tears filling her eyes. “I didn’t love our life there.” She whispered the words as if they were a confession. “I couldn’t wait to leave. I was already searching for a reason to go. Some way to forge a life of my own.” Her expression suggested she was horrified to have felt that way.
“Norah.” He released her hands to draw her into his arms. “I think that is normal. We are born to make our own lives. Our own choices. Don’t you think? That doesn’t mean you didn’t love them.”
She nodded against his shoulder, her breath hitching. “I just feel so guilty about it.” She glanced over her shoulder as if to make certain they were still alone. “Please don’t tell my sisters.”
“I won’t, but you should share how you feel with them. Chances are they feel the same way.” He envied her having someone with whom she could discuss these feelings. He’d never had that.
Norah rested her head on his shoulder again. “Never. I can imagine how Ella would look at me. Lena, as well. I have enough guilt as it is.”
He had the feeling there was more that she hadn’t told him. But who was he to ask her to tell her secrets? Instead, he rubbed a hand along her back in an effort to comfort her.
