Mantheria breathed in and out deeply, her heart beating irregularly.“Adjusting.He says very little and hasn’t cried since the night his father died.I know that he is mourning deeply, and I wish I could help him more, but he only lashes out at me.”
“Where is he now?”
Touching her throat, she lowered her head.“He stomped off to the nursery a quarter of an hour ago.I think I shall send a note to my father and ask him to take Andrew riding.”
Papa seemed to be the only person that Andrew liked now.With everyone else, including her, he was churlish.Mantheria wondered if it was because her father was a man.Or that her son found solace in being with his grandfather.Their relationship had always been close.Papa loved his children and grandchildren even more than his animals.And her son, since he could toddle, had adored the animal menagerie at Hampford Castle.
Sunny held her hand tighter.“Healing will take time, and Andrew knows how much you love him.”
“I do.”
“Perhaps I could take him shooting at Gunther’s or teach him archery?”
Mantheria’s heart warmed for her dear friend who had stood by her for so long.She squeezed his hand back.“That would be wonderful.Andrew is obsessed with all things Roman since Matthew gave him soldier figurines for his last birthday.And the Roman soldiers did use bow and arrows, did they not?”
He nodded.A smile played on his handsome lips, and Mantheria guessed that she was showing her ignorance of Greek, Latin, and the classics.Miss Cluess’s school for young ladies had barely covered history, and they had read a little Horace, but no other classical poet.They’d spent the majority of their time on comportment and manners.Miss Cluess had impressed upon her students that it was important to be a good conversationalist (and an even better listener), but that a woman should never strive to be considered a bluestocking.Overly intelligent or learned women were scorned by Society and the subject of philosophers’ ridicule, such as the influential and popular French writer Jean-Jacques Rousseau.
Sniffing, Mantheria shook her head.“At least, I know that the Romans didn’t have pistols.So, I suppose Gunther’s is out of the question, but archery would be a wonderful distraction for Andrew.I believe that the great soldier Achilles was shot by an arrow in the ankle, and that was how he died.”
She had Matthew to thank for that story.He’d told it to Andrew, and her son had repeated it to her at least a dozen times.
Sunny’s lips split into a grin.“Yes, his heel, or the warrior’s one weakness that proved to be his downfall.”
“Only one weakness?I wish that I could say the same about my own flaws.”
A funny sort of light came into her friend’s eyes.“I do not think that you have any weaknesses or flaws.”
Swallowing down a sigh, Mantheria did not correct him.In fact, it was rather nice that one person in the world did not find fault with her.How lucky she was to have Sunny as a friend.
They spent the rest of the afternoon reading through the other cards sent by her would-be consolers and suitors, and they laughed until they cried.
Mantheria was sorry to see Sunny go.
It was as if he took all of the sunlight with him.
* * *
LeavingMantheria’s house in Mayfair, Sunny fingered the heirloom engagement ring that he’d so foolishly brought in his quizzing-glass pocket.He’d always been an idiot when it came to Mantheria, and he still was.She washisAchilles’ heel, but he’d learned from his childhood not to ask for love from a crying woman wearing all black.
With a long sigh, he placed the ring back in his jacket pocket.It was much too soon after the death of her husband, even if Mantheria had been separated from Glastonbury for eight years, and Sunny had loved Mantheria for an even dozen.How he regretted missing her coming-out ball all those years ago.His regret had turned to anger when the late Duke of Glastonbury was rumored to be seeing his mistress again, only months after his marriage to Mantheria.Then anger became torment as Sunny realized how much he loved her, and that she was legally and lawfully wed to another man who did not love or appreciate her.
His fears of marriage and his ability to be a good husband had been nothing compared to the despair of seeing the woman he loved unhappy.Surely he could have done better at being a husband and father than his own papa or Glastonbury.Sunny, at least, would not have mounted a mistress.
Although Mantheria separated from her husband, she’d remained faithful to her marriage vows.And despite longing desperately for her, Sunny couldn’t help but respect Mantheria’s dedication.All he could do was support her in any way that she asked.Sunny had come to all of her dinner parties and danced with Mantheria at every ball.Being near her was as necessary as breathing to him.
And she had called him adear friend.
Was it possible that Mantheria did not know that he still loved her?That he would always love her?Despite all of his doubts, debts, and insecurities?
Hailing a hack, Sunny climbed in and asked the driver to take him to his London house.He would visit Mantheria tomorrow and comfort her.Day by day, he would slowly convince her that his love was even better than his friendship.
2
Mantheria didn’t dare leave her house the next day for fear of Society’s whispering tongues or the possibility of seeing unwanted suitors who pretended to care about her grief.She would not have remained in London after the funeral if Becca had not become engaged.Their sisterly relationship was still tender, and Mantheria wanted to show her love and support by attending Becca’s engagement ball.Which was only in six days.She could hide in her Mayfair town house until then.
She would go to the ball, but she wouldn’t dance.As a new widow, she couldn’t.But Mantheria could smile and converse with her family’s guests and show her support of the marriage.
After the ball, she and Andrew would travel to Avalon Palace, the main seat of the Duke of Glastonbury, for the majority of the summer months.It would be wonderful to be in her own home.Mantheria wouldn’t have to feel guilty for not being the wife Alexander wanted, nor for failing all four of her sisters: Frederica, Helen, Becca, and Elizabeth.