And yet she could not surrender fully to that sorrow. The stubbornest of all human conditions—hope—was aiming its rays down upon it, threatening to shrink it like a puddle after the rain.
It scared her breathless.
Superstitiously, she refused to turn to examine too closely the reasons for her hope. She could still feel within her a steely filament of resentment and hurt. She clung to that like a lifeline, because it seemed the only refuge from the terrible fear that she had fallen in love with her husband five years too late.
She sat gingerly down on the bed and closed her eyes. She let her hand wander over the coverlet, reliving the smooth heat of his hips beneath her hands as she arched them to take him more deeply into her body. She already knew she wanted to feel the entirety of her skin against his.
That sound he’d made when he’d kissed her last night... that primal, anguished relief—the memory swept through her and nearly made her sway. How terribly lonely he must have been all these years, too.
Lust and longing, hope and fear, tightened her chest.
What if he was spending the day regretting the previous evening?
Then again:It could be even better, he’d said.
No matter the cost to her, before she left for New York, she wanted to know how.
“Will everyone be in tomorrow night?” Delilah asked the general gathering in the sitting room that evening. “Helga is going to market tomorrow morning and we thought we’d get a definitive count for dinner.”
The Dawsons were at their usual table, gazing into each other’s eyes. The ladies and Lucien had clustered around Mrs. Pariseau, who had plans to read aloud their next nightly chapter ofThe Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. Delilah and Angelique were knitting; Alexandra and Dot were embroidering samplers. Alexandra had decided to attempt to stitch a rather complicated fountain from her imagination.
Captain Hardy had settled in across from Delacorte for a game of chess.
Only Magnus was still out when the boardinghouse residents gathered in the sitting room that evening after dinner.
“I think me and the missus will be in and out all day tomorrow,” Corporal Dawson replied to Delilah.
“And in and out. And in and out again, I imagine,” Mr. Delacorte said pleasantly.
Captain Hardy gave him a little kick under the table.
“How did everyone enjoy the donkey races?” Lucien interjected hurriedly.
“Donkeyraces!” Mrs. Cuthbert exclaimed. “You went to a race between donkeys?”
Everyone in the room stifled a sigh.
“Mrs. Cuthbert, if I may ask... what are yourfavorite pleasures and pursuits?” Captain Hardy asked very, very mildly. Deceptively mildly. It had probably taken all of his discipline not to emphasize the word “are.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I visited London only to see my old friend Mrs. Pariseau.” She said this as though she’d made a heroic sacrifice. Mrs. Pariseau smiled neutrally. “But usually I find it very peaceful and pleasant when things are predictable. If staying in one place is good enough for a tree or a pond, it’s good enough for me.”
This was so very nearly profound it gave everyone a moment’s pause.
“But trees and ponds change with the seasons, often dramatically,” Alexandra said gently. “Perhaps it’s all right if you do, too. Leaves fall. Blossoms bloom. Ponds evaporate. Tadpoles live in the pond and frogs appear. And I won twenty pence on Shillelagh,” Alexandra added, to answer Lucien’s question.
He whistled appreciatively, teasing her.
Mrs. Cuthbert reared back. “My dear, gamblingandjail? I’m beginning to think that Colonel Brightwall must have taken you on in order to reform you.”
This was funny, indeed. Alexandra currently had a bit of a burn on both sets of cheeks (the top set from whiskers, the bottom set from carpet) due to vigorous lovemaking.
“I’ve learned a thing or two from him,” she confessed. “And I rather hope to learn more.”
“I suspected as much,” Mrs. Cuthbert sniffed.
“And Dot won ten pence,” she added cheerfully.
Mrs. Cuthbert swiveled her head toward Dot, eyes huge. “Et tu, Dot?”