Triumphant Love: Banished Saga, Book Nine

by Flightner, Ramona

  “Oh, please, Teddy,” she moaned, as she arched into his touch. “I’ve missed you.”

  He kissed her again, their months of discord momentarily forgotten in their shared passion.

  * * *

  Teddy had tugged the throw blanket from the settee to cover them, and he rested on the carpet with Zylphia in his arms. As they had forgotten to lock the door, he gave silent thanks that his staff was well trained and knew not to enter his study when he and Zylphia were inside for an extended period of time. He kissed her head and continued to run his hands over her silky shoulders and upper back.

  “You’re so brave, Teddy,” Zylphia murmured, her soft breath blowing on his chest. “If anyone’s been a coward, it’s me.”

  “Shh, my darling, stop talking such nonsense,” Teddy murmured. “If this is because you did not want to return to Washington, you know I don’t agree.”

  She rubbed her face against his chest and kissed him softly. “No.” She turned her head so she could meet his concerned gaze. “I was convinced you wanted out of our marriage because I can’t give you what you most want.”

  He shook his head in confusion. “What I most want?” His hold on her tightened. “I have what I most want in the world right here in my arms. Anything else would be a surfeit of happiness.”

  Her brilliant blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “How can you say that when you look at Ro and Perry with their baby? How can you not look at me and wish I could give you a child?”

  Teddy stroked a hand over her cheek and into her hair. “I could just as easily ask you how you don’t look at me and wish I could give you a child. Perhaps something’s wrong with me.”

  Tears leaked out from the corner of her eyes. “Oh, Teddy, I want a baby with you.”

  He pulled her down to rest her head against his chest and rocked her to and fro. “I know, my love. I know. And I believe we will have a child someday,” he whispered, “but you must believe it too.”

  She relaxed into his embrace. After many moments, as the fire crackled beside them and cast a soft glow over them, she whispered, “What we suffered was horrible enough. I can’t imagine the pain Parthena and Morgan are going through.”

  Teddy groaned and buried his face in her hair before raising his head to look at her. “I promise you this, Zee.” He waited until she met his gaze. “I promise you, no matter what happens, I will always stand beside you. I will exult and mourn beside you. Never will you be alone.”

  She scraped her fingers over his cheek to his jaw. “Don’t let me freeze you out. I see P.T. doing that to Morgan, and I don’t know what he’ll do.”

  “I know I’m asking you to face your worst memories again, my darling, but you are the one friend who could help her out of her grief. You’ve lived through a similar loss.”

  Zylphia shivered as she snuggled under the blanket and curled against him, her silence her tacit agreement.

  * * *

  Sophie sat in her rear sitting room, as she preferred to write letters at the desk overlooking the green space abutting her neighbors’ homes. She also enjoyed escaping the increasing sounds of traffic on Beacon Street that permeated her more formal sitting room at the front of her house. A fire was lit in the grate; a vase of hothouse yellow roses sat on one corner of her desk, and she tugged on the shawl covering her mauve dress as the wind howled outside. “April,” she muttered to herself in disgust.

  “Why do you detest April?” asked a deep voice from behind her.

  She swiveled in her chair, her disgruntlement fading at the sight of Morgan Wheeler standing in the doorway. She nodded for the butler to go. “I had thought you’d avoid me forever, young man.”

  Morgan stepped inside and shut the door behind him, preserving the warmth of the room. “I’ve been a fool. I’m trying to mend my ways.”

  Sophie harrumphed and tapped her pen on the desk as she watched him prowl the small sitting room. He moved to the fireplace, ignoring Zylphia’s beautiful painting of the cliffs of Newport hung over it, to stare into the flames. “If that were the case, you’d be at home, having found peace with your wife.”

  He made a sound rivaling any of disgust she could make. “I don’t know as that is possible, Sophie. I’ve never known anyone to hold on to hurt the way she can.”

  She waved her hand around. “You’ve not spent enough time with women. We hold on to hurts until we have them torn from us.” She smiled at him and motioned for him to sit. “You’ll give me a crick in my neck, even if you aren’t as tall as one of those McLeod boys or Teddy.”

  Morgan collapsed onto her settee, pushing aside a decorative pillow to rest against its back. He crossed his legs and drummed his index fingers on his legs in an anxious tattoo. “Tell me what to do, Sophie.”

  She set aside her pen and heaved herself up to move to a chair across from him. When she had settled, she hooked her cane over her chair’s arm and studied the younger man. His broad forehead was now lined with wrinkles, and she knew they weren’t from laughing. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his previously well-tailored suits hung on him, as though he’d lost a considerable amount of weight. “You look terrible.”

  He shrugged. “None of that matters. Parthena is worse than I am.”

  Sophie made a grunt of agreement. “I fear you are correct. I spent only a few minutes with her last month, and she was not well.” After a moment of silence, Sophie murmured, “I cannot tell you what to do, Morgan. What I would say is that you must break through her shield of pain.”

  “How?” He ran a hand through his thick chestnut hair. “She hates me.” His eyes flashed with irritation as she shook her head in disagreement.

  “Parthena hates the world right now. She resents anyone who still sees joy.” Sophie reached out a hand and patted Morgan’s knee. “You’ve allowed her to wallow for too long.”

  Morgan jerked as though Sophie had stuck him with a sword. “How dare you imply that we cannot mourn as long as needed over the death of our daughter. How dare you imply that I’ve harmed my wife further.” He glared at Sophronia, who merely met his glower with a raised eyebrow. When she failed to react as he expected, his anger evaporated, and he slumped farther into the settee. “I don’t know how to reach her.”

  “She feels she’s lost everything.” Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. “And she has lost an important part of herself. Not only your daughter, whom she adored and loved. But her vision of who she was. She’s no longer a mother.” Sophie tapped her cane on the floor as she corralled her feelings. “I can’t begin to imagine what that feels like.” She stared at him a long moment, her aquamarine eyes filled with sorrow. “But I know what it is to lose a husband. To lose the support of the man who I thought would be by my side for the rest of my life.”

  “I feel I’ve already lost her, and she’s living in the same house with me.” Morgan’s hands shook as he gripped his head, his elbows on his knees.

  Sophronia gaped at him, as though startled by a revelation she’d had. “Then there’s no reason for you to stay. Move out.”

  He stared at her, as though she’d gone crazy. “I can’t leave her. That would be the ultimate betrayal.”

  She let out a deep breath. “She’s already left you, Morgan. In spirit. In every way that a wife can leave a husband, except she’s still physically occupying the same space. Show her what she will lose. For I know Parthena, and I know she doesn’t want to lose you.”

  * * *

  A few evenings later, Zylphia stood beside Teddy at a function in a fancy matron’s mansion in the Back Bay. Mrs. Althorpe had wealth nearly beyond measure, thanks to her husband’s investments in coal, although her penchant for elaborate parties and frequent refurbishment of their mansion had led some to wonder if she wouldn’t beggar the man.

  The public rooms had marble floors, except for the parquet ballroom floor, and there were marble pillars and expensive wallpaper all the way from China. The dark overly carved furniture popular in the previous decades had
been replaced with modern furniture of simpler lines, lacking adornment, although it looked out of place in the ornate gilded rooms.

  Zylphia sighed with pleasure as she listened to the tasteful music and watched couples dance on the parquet ballroom floor. She sipped at the sweet punch and saw the men sneaking off to a side room, probably in the hopes of discovering a hidden cache of liquor.

  “They’re not very subtle,” Teddy murmured, as he followed her gaze. “They better hope they aren’t caught.”

  She shrugged. “I highly doubt the upper echelons of society are where the authorities will look to conduct a raid.” She lowered her voice. “More’s the pity.”

  He chuckled and whispered in her ear, “Careful, for your own father would be in peril.”

  She flushed and nodded, as Aidan had casks of whiskey stored in his home in the Back Bay. “So it’s rumored. But, even though I resided there for over a decade, when I snooped around one day, I never found them.”

  Teddy’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “That’s because he had a hidden room made.” He kissed her head and continued to whisper in her ear. “And only told me in case something happened to him. He didn’t want all that whiskey to go to waste.” He squeezed her hand when her eyes flared with panic at the thought of anything happening to her father. His hold on her tightened as a voice interrupted their quiet interlude.

  “How disappointing to learn the rumors of your reconciliation were correct,” Owen Hubbard said, a sneer in his voice. “I had hoped to hear of your imminent divorce.” He stood with a glass in his right hand and a cigar in his left. His white tie tuxedo was a shade lighter than the customary stark black, most likely from frequent launderings and from the inability to purchase a new suit. His honey-gold hair had a heavy coating of pomade that made the creases at the corners of his eyes stand out and enhanced the air of dissipation that clung to him.

  Six years ago, he had vied for Zylphia’s hand in marriage, when he had hoped she would set aside her ardent dedication to the suffragist cause. He had never forgiven her for choosing Teddy and for losing any hope of a valuable business contact in Aidan McLeod.

  Zylphia looked him up and down with a disparaging smirk. “Why, Mr. Hubbard? It’s not as though I would ever find you remotely interesting.” She took a step closer to Teddy, his arm now wrapped around her waist in an unseemly display of affection for Boston high society.

  Teddy glanced Owen over with a derisive glint in his gaze. “I see your dabbling in the war effort did not prove as successful as you’d hoped.” The scorn in his voice provoked a flush on Owen’s cheeks.

  “You have no right to judge, Goff. If you had done your patriotic duty and supported the war effort as you should have, then …” Owen sputtered.

  Teddy shook his head, his silver eyes gleaming with disgust. “I did my duty. Unlike you, I fought in the War. And then I bought legitimate war bonds. What I didn’t do was speculate.” He shrugged. “How are things with your fair wife?” He looked around with an air of innocence. “I’m surprised she isn’t hanging on your every word.”

  Owen’s flush darkened as his blue-green eyes sparked with ire. “She’s indisposed this evening.”

  “Please inform her how devastated we were at her absence,” Zylphia said, with thinly veiled sarcasm. Her expression brightened as she saw Parthena approaching. “P.T.!”

  Parthena leaned forward to embrace Zylphia, who had extracted herself from Teddy’s hold. “Hello, Zee.” Parthena’s hazel eyes were devoid of all emotion as they raked over her brother-in-law. “Owen.”

  Owen gave a barely perceptible nod before storming away.

  Zylphia raised a hand in an attempt to hide her giggle. “Oh, is it awful of me to find his current distress entertaining?”

  Parthena looked at her with a hint of fond exasperation. Otherwise she remained distant, as though an impermeable barrier separated her from everyone in the room, even though she stood with her arm linked with Zylphia’s. “You’ve always enjoyed vexing him. And his distress has only ever brought us glee.” She sighed. “I just wish my sister hadn’t married him.”

  “She’s reportedly indisposed,” Teddy murmured, grimacing after taking a sip of the punch. “However, I fear she either was encouraged not to come or chose to avoid tonight’s entertainments.”

  Morgan strolled up to them in his polished white tie tuxedo, his chestnut hair perfectly coiffed. His brown eyes shone with momentary distress as they beheld his wife, before all emotion was masked behind feigned indifference. He stood inches shorter than Teddy, although he was more muscular from his routine boxing matches at his club. He rubbed at the dimple in his jaw as he watched Owen scurry away. “Since his marriage to Eudora, he never wants to be near us.”

  “Not since Teddy married Zee,” Parthena said. “He’s horrible, and I wish my sister had never been convinced to wed him.” She sighed and glanced around the room, noting that the other partygoers were giving them a wide birth, as they stood in a small alcove with plenty of privacy. “Is it true what they say about his finances, Teddy?”

  Teddy cleared his throat and shrugged. “I fear it is. His debts are mounting, and the creditors are circling. I’m uncertain he’ll continue to be able to pay for his expensive home on Marlborough Street.”

  Parthena sighed. “Well, all Eudora and my parents cared about was the appearance of money. The appearance of success. I wonder how they will react when that is taken away from them?”

  Teddy shared a long look with Morgan. “I’d change my locks and ensure my staff understood they were not welcome to live with you. I can imagine their justifications for moving in with you.” He saw Morgan’s jaw tighten, and Parthena paled.

  “No,” Morgan said in a low voice. “They will never be welcome in our home.”

  Zylphia squeezed Parthena’s arm, then sought to distract her. “Have you noticed, Parthena, that, although Mrs. Althorpe appears to be as eccentric as rumored, she has yellow roses everywhere?” Her smiled dimmed when Parthena gave an uninterested shrug of her shoulders.

  “It’s not as though being pro-suffrage is radical anymore, Zee,” Parthena said. She slipped her arm from her friend’s hold. “I see someone I must speak with. If you’ll excuse me?” She wandered away without waiting for a response from them. Morgan trailed behind her.

  Zylphia turned into Teddy, fighting a shudder. “I hate that she’s so distant.”

  He ran a hand down her back, urging her closer. “I know, my love. She’s brittle and bitter. I think, if she were pushed, she would break. And then perhaps she would heal.”

  Zylphia turned to hug Teddy, uncaring of those who were shocked at her embracing her husband at a ball. “I hope so. She and Morgan can’t continue on like this.”

  Teddy made a soothing noise as he held her close, his gaze tracking the desolate couple as they moved around the ballroom.

  * * *

  Richard laid on the sofa, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the ceiling. It seemed everyone was asleep except him. He rested on his back, his arms on his chest, as he let out a deep breath, pondering his uncle’s advice. I’ve said this before, and I’m sure I will say it again, my boy. There is no shame in survival. No shame in being thankful you were spared. Richard fought tears and the memory of the cries of those who had also been injured and of those who had died in the molasses flood.

  He froze at the sound of a creaking floorboard. He knew his son Gideon had a sweet tooth and suspected him of sneaking downstairs for another sliver of the delicious chocolate cake Flo had made them for dessert. He frowned as he focused on the noise, realizing it came from his bedroom, rather than from the boys’ rooms. Rising, he tiptoed into the kitchen.

  Florence sat with her back to him, her shoulders slumped, the pitcher of milk at her elbow. On the verge of leaving her in peace, he froze upon hearing a quiet sob. When her shoulders shook, he took a step toward her. “Flo?” After she jumped at his quiet word, he placed a hand on her shoulder, attempting to soothe her. �
��Shh, my love. Whatever it is, it will be all right.”

  She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “It won’t, Richard. Not this time.”

  An icy coldness filled him at the despair in her gaze. “What’s happened? Whatever it is, we’ll get through it. I love you.”

  She sobbed, flinging herself into his arms. Holding her close, he kissed the wild mass of her hair. “Flo, my darling Flo,” he soothed, as he rocked her from side to side. “Shh, my love. It will be all right.”

  Her hands played over him, running along the smooth muscles of his back before clinging to him. “How?” she stuttered out. She mewled in protest when he tried to ease from her hold. “No,” she protested. “I haven’t held you like this in so long.” Her voice broke as he slipped from her arms. “Please.”

  “Shh, my darling. My lovely, darling Flo,” he murmured in a voice thickened with tears. “Don’t cry.” He swallowed. “There’s no need to beg for my attention. I’m here. I’ve always been here.”

  She shook her head and met his astonished gaze. “No, you haven’t, Richard. You’re here for the boys. You help them with school and then play and wrestle with them. You sing lullabies to Agnes and rock her to sleep.” She swiped at her cheek and sniffled. “And then you pat me on my head and watch me go to our room. Alone.” Her eyes shone with disillusionment and hurt.

  Richard knelt in front of her, cupping her cheeks with his callused palms. Although he always scrubbed his hands when he left the blacksmith shop, they carried a hint of soot on them. “No, Flo. You’re not alone. I’m here. Right here. Protecting you and our children.”

  Pounding one hand on his shoulder, she shook her head. “No, you’re not. You keep yourself separate from me. You won’t let me soothe you. You … hide from me.”

  His blue eyes shone with desperation, anger, and pleading. “Dammit, Flo. I thought you understood.” His hold on her face tightened for a moment before relaxing. He released her and sank onto his haunches, his hands on his thighs. “I will not risk harming you again. I will not be the cause of your distress.”