“Come, man. Have you heard anything more about the tenant case?” he’d asked roughly.
“Yes…” He remembered pausing in confusion, partly because of the propriety of the situation, partly because he was distracted by Mrs. Hartley so close at hand. She smelled like honeysuckle. “We don’t need to speak of this now, though,” he recalled saying, “I know you’re at an event with your lovely bride—I can hardly imagine she finds it worthwhile to speak on such things.”
“If we allowed our women to decide what was worthwhile, we would all be talking about embroidery and children,” Jonas had shot back, throwing back his head in a coarse cackle.
Theodore remembered the look on Mrs. Hartley’s face—frozen, like a doll. She was so clearly used to such behavior and treatment, and knew the safest thing to do was to hide, not respond. Her face and neck did pale a bit, the only sign that his words had struck home, and the rubies at her neck looked like drops of blood floating in fresh cream.
“Surely that’s not true,” he’d managed lamely.
“Take care never to get married, my man,” Jonas had advised. “I can hear from talking you have a gentle way around you, and that works with neither horses nor women. They’ll get the better of you if you let them think they have any right to your heart. It’s better to be bold and to let them know where their place is, so there’s no confusion.”
That white face, those slender arms, the rubies, the blue eyes. Even now, they came back to taunt him. He should have said something more, should have spoken up for her. At the time, there was a pleading in her eyes he couldn’t deny. She was asking him to drop it, begging him to release the topic before it came back to bite her later—perhaps when they were alone. The thought had chilled him, but he’d said nothing.
The music had begun again, a sad, stirring waltz, and Mrs. Hartley, desperate, perhaps, to escape the conversation, had turned her little face up towards her brutish husband. “May we dance?”
“Again?” He’d shaken her off his arm like an annoyance. The most beautiful woman in the room, an annoyance. “I think not. Go with the barrister, darling.” There was a mocking tone in that “darling,” a hint that that was all she deserved—a barrister. He wanted to tell her no, to save her the embarrassment, but he feared to be rejected by a barrister was worse than to dance with one.
He remembered the way her hand felt when he took it, soft and fragile and quivering like a bird. “It would be an honor,” he said simply.
Jonas was already looking away, his eyes darting around in search of other prey. Theodore had led Hartley’s wife onto the floor, holding her respectfully, and gone through the motions of the dance like a man half asleep. Her nearness was disorienting, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that every step was draining something from her life source.
“How is Jinx?” he’d asked at last, trying to hit on a subject that might bring her some relief.
She brightened so minutely that he would have hardly noticed, if he hadn’t been examining her face very closely. “He’s well.” Her voice had been so tired. “He is probably missing me tonight.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t begrudge you an evening’s enjoyment.”
“Not at all.”
He wasn’t sure, even now, if she’d meant her son begrudged her nothing, or that the evening was not at all an enjoyment. He suspected both. At the end of the dance, as he had escorted her from the floor, she’d said something very quietly to him, like a child apologizing for wrongdoing.
“Mr. Pendleton, I’m sorry.” Her voice almost too low to hear. “I know this must have been an embarrassment to you.”
He had realized that she was linking her own shame with him. The thought cut him. He had turned to her, pressing her hand ever so slightly and looking into those eyes for one brief moment of connection. “A man could never be embarrassed to dance with a queen, and if given the chance only once in his entire life, he would be wise to remember it forever.”
They’d said nothing more, but he ruminated on her expression even now as he rode toward her with news of her husband’s death—it was the expression of a wounded thing that had gone too long without tending. Such a thing couldn’t stomach kindness when it was finally offered.
The lane narrowed, and he was suddenly there in front of the manor. The outside was elegant, a picture of wealth and status. He climbed out of his carriage and motioned for the livery boy to take it to the stables. He didn’t know how long this would take, but he didn’t want to risk Mrs. Hartley looking outside and mistaking his waiting carriage for a desire to flee the awkwardness of the situation.
Georges greeted him with the usual sober dignity and showed him into the drawing room to wait for the lady of the house. Somewhere down one of the halls, Theodore caught the sound of childish laughter and smiled to himself. Jinx was another favourite. He saw him even less than he saw Mrs. Hartley, but their few encounters had been riddled with jokes and childish antics. His smile faded as soon as it had come, thinking about a boy like that growing up without a father—even a father like Jonas.
He felt ashamed as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He had not seen Jonas Hartley with Jinx very often, and while he could rightly judge Jonas’ relationship with his wife and other philandering affairs, he didn’t know what kind of father the man had been. It was a sadness to grow up without a father, and he must not take that any less soberly than he did the news to the widow.
Mrs. Hartley arrived in due time, dressed in a pale white dress with her hair in a loose, girlish braid. She’d wrapped a blue ribbon around the end and had two pearl earrings hanging in her ears. He’d never seen her like this before. Around Jonas, she was always dripping with jewels and heavy silken fabrics, almost always wearing red. Here, she looked so light he had the sudden ridiculous urge to grab hold of her and keep her from blowing away. She smiled decorously, a light of confusion in her eyes.
“Mr. Pendleton. What a pleasant surprise.”
He had worn a dark cravat to deliver the news, and stood for a moment with his hat in his hands and his mouth working noiselessly. He saw her eyes travel to the cravat and then back again to his face. The confusion deepened. “Mr. Pendleton…?”
“You’re looking well.” No, that’s not what he’d meant to say. Why were the words not coming out correctly? He drew a breath and began again. “Mrs. Hartley, I have some news of a most sober nature. Perhaps you should sit?”
She shook her head innocently, concerned but still blissfully unaware. “Go ahead.”
“Your husband, Jonas Hartley—” There it was, the flicker of understanding starting into her eyes. Theodore took one last deep breath and plunged on before those eyes stole his nerve for good. “I just received word that his ship went down in the Atlantic. I am so sorry, my lady, but there are no survivors, and Mr. Jonas George Hartley is believed to be dead.”
The moment seemed to stretch into a million, and the woman across from Theodore seemed for a second to be transformed into a marble statue, her skin the colour of the cream dress she wore. She didn’t open her mouth, gasp, cry out, or even widen her eyes in the smallest bit of surprise. Instead, she blinked twice, took a staggered little breath, and crumpled at once toward the floor. He had seen it coming, and before he could make a conscious decision, he found himself there breaking her fall, catching her frail little body like the precious treasure it was.
Chapter 3
Alina swam slowly back to consciousness, her head fuzzy. At first, she took her time, uncertain where she was or what had happened, but as her memory returned she bolted awake, struggling to sit up on her elbows. There were hands on her, pressing her back down, and she heard the familiar voice of her maid, Willa.
“That’s it, my lady, lie back. No need to sit up so quickly.”
She was seeing double, and passed a hand over her face. There, that was better. She could see the parlour she’d known all her miserable marriage, the fireplace with its carved mantelpiece, the large arched windows, the
man in the corner—the man in the corner. She struggled upright again, this time pushing past Willa until she was somewhat composed.
“Mr. Pendleton, I’m so sorry.” She swallowed, her mind reeling. “You were telling me—I interrupted…I’m sorry to have to ask you to repeat yourself, but I must be very sure about what you have shared.”
“Of course.” He was across the room from her now, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the chaise, his long legs bent awkwardly. He stood and came to her side, taking the nearby seat and looking painfully sympathetic.
“My husband…?”
“His ship went down. I’m sorry to say it, but the message I received this morning left no hope of survivors.”
She swallowed, pushing back any lightheadedness. She was embarrassed and ashamed of her weakness, and saw that the situation would call for more courage and strength than she’d ever before needed. She straightened, and raised her chin.
“How did they find out?”
“It was an initial message, nothing more at present. In situations like these, often another passing ship or the area of destination will send initial correspondence, then, after a time, a further explanation will be given.” He was looking at her very closely, as though watching for signs of a possible further collapse. “Of course, I will bring you the first available information when it comes to my attention.”
She nodded and bit her lip. Her thoughts were going wild, jumping from the mundane to the intricate as though they had a mind of their own. Jonas…gone? The other day, when Jinx had crawled into her lap and confessed that he wished Jonas would never return, she’d felt guilty at the snag of agreement in her own heart. Life would be so much easier without Jonas in it—she was a well-situated widow, and she could now show her face in public without the scrutiny of who knows how many women he’d been with. She no longer had to fear his gambling debts, his—her thoughts broke off and changed gears in a stomach-lurching twist. Her mind filled with an image of the ship sinking to the ocean’s depths. Perhaps Jonas had been trapped in its embrace beneath the hold, or maybe he’d survived briefly on the surface before the ship’s great bulk pulled him under. It was too horrible.
She felt dizzy again, and slipped her fingers around the edge of the couch, gripping tightly against the wave of nausea in her gut. She was wicked to have thought even for a moment about the freedom his death would bring. A man had died, leaving his child fatherless. The situation could be viewed as nothing but tragic, and any effort to the contrary was cruel and thoughtless.
Tears came unbidden into her eyes. She felt Willa hovering near at hand, fussing over her with a handkerchief and some smelling salts.
“My lady, would you like some tea? Something to eat?”
She shook her headed, blinded by confusion. What now? There was no handbook for something like this. She didn’t even know the state of her husband’s—late husband, she reminded herself with a shiver—finances. She didn’t know what would happen to her son’s future. She swallowed, wanting to be sure.
“There’s definitely no chance he survived? I’m sorry to ask again…”
Mr. Pendleton leaned in and looked for a moment as though he was going to take her hand to comfort her, but she knew he would not. Theodore Pendleton had been as much a part of her life as Jonas had in the recent years, and she had seen enough of his honor and integrity to know he would never risk impropriety for the sake of momentary comfort. He was a tall man, strong beneath his conservative jacket, and handsome. She had noticed that before with a guilty twinge—noticed his kind brown eyes and his thick brown hair falling over them. It was hard not to notice when he and Jonas were standing side by side in business as they always were—the contrast did not do the late Mr. Hartley well: Jonas was short and square, he was loud while Theodore was quiet, and harsh where Theodore was kind.
Even now, having to deliver such dreadful news, Theodore’s face was pained for her. Alina could see that he wanted to take away the reeling horror and confusion, but she knew as well as he did that nobody could ever take that confusion away. She had wondered many times before if this decorous Mr. Pendleton knew the extent of her husband’s wrongdoing. She had blushed before to think that perhaps he knew more than even she did, as he’d been handling their family finances for years and would doubtless have seen Jonas’ indiscretions. Today, she couldn’t find it in herself to be embarrassed. She had to stop thinking about herself, had to start thinking about—
“Mama?”
Jinx. She sat upright and turned to the little boy standing in the doorway. His eyes were large and innocent, merely showing surprise at the sight of an unannounced guest in the living room. She blinked, knowing in a moment he would see something awful written on her face, and knowing she’d never be able to hide it in time.
“Jinx. Sweetie,” she began, stuttering to a stop.
“I’ll take him, miss,” Willa said fretfully. “We’ll go to the garden, and you and the gentleman can keep talking. I’ll bring him back when the gentleman’s gone.”
Alina knew Willa meant well, but as she turned a glance in Theodore’s direction she had second thoughts. Perhaps it would better, after all, for Jinx to hear the news of his father’s death with a male role model nearby. “Uncle Theo” had long been a favorite of Jinx’s, and she thought he might be a stabilizing force.
“Mr. Pendleton, would you consider staying here while I share the news with Jinx?” She kept on, despite the sound of Willa’s disapproving gasp near at hand. “I think it would be better received if you were in the room.”
“Of course,” he responded without hesitation.
“My little man,” Alina called, using their endearing pet name. “I need you to come over here to Mama. I have something to tell you.”
Jinx walked over with slow, serious steps, already sensing something off-kilter in the usually cheerful room. He stopped just short of his mother and stood in front of her, hands crossed behind his back.
“Jinx,” she began, her voice shaking, “you remember your papa left on a ship a few days back?”
He nodded.
“Well, Mr. Pendleton has just brought the news that an accident has happened and the ship has gone down at sea.” She was doing nothing to soften this for the child, but she didn’t have any more information, nothing to ease the blow. She decided to finish as quickly as possible. “Your papa will not be coming back.”
Jinx’s lip began quivering. “He…went down?”
“Yes, do you understand what I’m saying?”
For a long, agonizing moment, the little boy said nothing. When he did, his voice was so quiet both Alina and Theodore had to lean in to hear clearly. “Papa’s dead,” was all he said.
“Yes, my dear boy.”
Jinx burst into a fury of tears that took Alina somewhat by surprise. He’d never been particularly fond of his father, but you would not have guessed it from the well of emotion on his young face. He threw his hands over his face and sobbed, his shoulders shaking. Alina reached out to pull him close, but he backed out of her reach, saying over and over. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mama.”
“Why are you sorry?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise. “Jinx, what do you think you did wrong?”
“I said it,” he sobbed, hiccupping on his tears. “I said I didn’t want Papa to come back, and he didn’t.”
Without turning around, Alina could sense Willa tensing beside her. She looked to the side and caught a look of pure compassion on Theo’s face. He reached out, as she could not, and took hold of Jinx’s elbow.
Longing for a Liberating Love: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 3