Once Beloved (24 page)

As she prepared for church, Vanessa wondered if today would finally be the day when she saw Billy again. He hadn't been in any of the places she expected to encounter him, and he hadn't tried to communicate with her at all since her return. Busy with work, she told herself. She'd been busy too. So perhaps she'd been as much to blame for their missed reunion as he.

When Mother called up to her, she did her duty, rounding up her siblings and making sure they were all presentable. With the way they clomped down the stairs, you'd think they were a herd of rambunctious goats.

Billy would be by the park entrance. Waiting. She'd make some excuse about stopping to talk with friends. They'd have a moment behind the tall hedge to speak privately.

Since she'd returned with Aunt Helena from Marksby, unanticipated ripples of guilt flowed over her at odd moments. She loved him, didn't she? He was industrious and bold and full of cunning energy. But then, Hal's quiet confidence and easy manner would come to mind, and she'd waver.

Vanessa wondered what had happened between Aunt Helena and Mr. Lanfield. The precise reality of physical intimacy was still an obscure mystery to her, but she hadn't missed her aunt's appearance and demeanor on the moonlit nights when Auntie had snuck back into the house. Her aunt probably couldn't tell, but her emotions had shown easily on her face during quiet moments at the farm—those fleeting seconds of faraway thought, of blushing heat, of tiny and maddeningly enigmatic signs.

Since their return, though, Aunt Helena was a changed person. She hadn't had a spell since Marksby, even though she was going out of the house more and more these days. Auntie's newly acquired confidence was remarkable. This was the vibrant aunt she remembered from her childhood, the one who would take her and her cousins to play in the park on a whim.

Her aunt still had moments of hesitation and still sought to avoid crowded areas, but she seemed determined to focus on life and energy and happiness.

Still, she couldn't ignore the occasional look in her aunt's eye—the longing, the sense of something missing. It wasn't new, really—Auntie had carried that look for a long time after the death of Uncle Isaiah. But there was a difference now—a new sense of urgency, of regret. She couldn't help but think it had something to do with Mr. Lanfield.

Was it just the midnight assignations? Were they so significant?

Mr. Lanfield had been nothing but respectful and considerate toward her in the brief time she'd been in his company, but he'd obviously felt strong antipathy against Aunt Helena, as strong as any of the other villagers, at least at first. How did one trust such a drastic change in feeling? Yet he'd been kind, as his nephew Hal had been kind. He'd been protective and caring, and Auntie was obviously drawn to him, whether she willed it or no.

Could you desire someone you didn't like, didn't admire, didn't trust? Could you give your heart to someone even knowing there was no future in it?

Was that what she was doing with Billy?

He wasn't at his usual waiting spot.

A girl she'd thought was her friend shared some gossip about Billy being sweet to other girls. Whether the rumor was true, she couldn't find it in herself to care. Such coy and fickle games were a waste of her time.

As she returned home, Hal's open smile hovered in her mind's eye. Hal said what he meant. He was kind and attentive and didn't push. Hal was someone who inspired trust. She wondered what he was doing right then. Would he be walking amid the flock or galloping along the Lanfield perimeter? Would he be chasing that impudent ram and quelling mischief?

Hal was the kind of person who would respond if someone wrote him a letter. That thought bolstered her. She hurried to the writing desk, relishing the texture of the paper and the weight of the pen as her thoughts flew. She wanted to know if he thought of her, if he missed her, but mostly she just wanted to communicate with him and capture some of that companionship she'd felt between them during her brief visit. It didn't matter when she crossed out lines and words and started again; he might even be amused to see the workings of her mind that way. Hours and pages later, she felt a lightness she hadn't known since leaving Marksby.

S
haring tea with the Needlework ladies above Evans Books, Helena continued to rebuild her shattered heart. Her work and her friends served as another supporting layer, reminding her of where she belonged, of how she was needed. Bartholomew was home with the boys for a few days longer, and she could immerse herself in the trials and tribulations of the less fortunate. Her life was complete, and she wanted for nothing. She didn't need the strong arms and gentle blue eyes that pierced her dreams and left her tense and panting. She didn't need his stalwart presence bolstering her spirit, soothing her panic. Not anymore. Since her time in Marksby, her debilitating fear of the world had eased. She'd attended a performance at the Lyceum with Marissa, and she'd even braved the Lowther Arcade, as a treat to the boys, without any assistance from her dearly protective coterie. She didn't need a man, any man, to be the head of her household. Not even a man who'd, in many ways, brought her back to life.

Honoria appeared in the doorway with an odd expression. Then again, odd expressions had been characteristic of her friend since her return—small, intimate smiles when Honoria thought no one was looking and a generally unguarded effusiveness. The woman carried herself with a new and reassuring sense of contentedness. And it was no wonder. Her dear friend was in love. With a viscount, of all people. She supposed that if someone like Honoria, who'd been so wary, so detached, could fall in love again after the loss of her husband, surely . . . No! She raised a castle turret in her mind to block that line of thinking.

“Helena, someone is here to see you,” Honoria said. Were her eyes dancing? Must be a trick of the light. She tried not to notice the way her pulse quickened, the way it pounded so strongly she could feel it in her temple.

“Is it one of the boys?” she asked, as she moved toward the stairs, even though she knew it was a silly question. If it were any of her sons, he would simply come up with Honoria.

“No, I don't recognize the gentleman.” With a small grin, her friend paused dramatically.

Helena corrected herself; her friend had been mesmerized or possibly possessed by a demon. She tried not to notice the tiny flip her stomach made. “Did this gentleman give you his name? Isn't it exceedingly odd that someone would come to find me here?”

“Lanfield, I believe his name is.”

When she tried to respond, nothing came out. Her chest felt so tight she couldn't breathe. Yet this wasn't the same type of panic she'd experienced before. Daniel had come for her! She rushed down the stairs, unsure of what to say or what to think, and almost stumbled near the bottom in her haste. Forcing herself to slow down, she gripped the railing tightly and considered the moment. She was being ridiculous. This solved nothing. She couldn't leave, and he couldn't stay. Pasting a polite smile upon her face, one she hoped wouldn't show her inner turmoil, she pushed through the curtain and stepped into the front of the shop.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Martin. It is a pleasure to see you.”

Despite everything she'd told herself about the impossibility of caring for Daniel Lanfield, her spirits crashed when she saw the man at the counter. Gordon Lanfield stood there, twisting his cap in his hands. Her disappointment was so acute that she couldn't bring herself to speak. A petite woman next to him took the hat from him and grasped one of his hands firmly. She couldn't see the woman's face, nor could she hear the words the woman spoke to him.

“Hello,” Helena croaked. Pathetic. She must seem like a fool.

“Pardon us for surprising you thus. I contacted your sister when we arrived in London, and she told me we could find you here. We want to speak with you. But, first, please allow me to introduce my wife, Ruth. I should have done so while you were visiting the Grand-dame, and I beg your pardon. You might recall Ruth from our younger days.”

His demeanor was surprisingly deferential, especially considering their last confrontational meeting. What could he and his wife possibly want with her now? How else could she atone?

“Of course,” she said, tamping down her unruly emotions. “I remember you fondly, Ruth!” And she meant it. She could still see the sweet, meek girl she had been; the passage of time had given her a mature grace that suited her.

“And I you, Helena. I'm sorry we didn't meet during your trip. There never seemed to be a fitting time,” Ruth said warmly, coming close and giving her a buss on the cheek. Her surprise at the affectionate greeting must have shown on her face because Ruth added, “All these years, I have owed you a great debt. I cannot thank you enough!”

Surprise transformed to shock as she tried to decipher Ruth's statement. Everyone from Marksby hated her, the Lanfields more than anyone else in the village. She'd had no false expectations about being welcomed with open arms. Gran's unconditional acceptance had been more than she'd even dreamed. But for someone to thank her?

Gordon interrupted her thoughts, saying, “How are your children? I'm sure being separated from them was difficult, and I trust they missed you something awful.”

“They did, yes, but they're fine,” she said cautiously. “My oldest is back from sea for a few days.”

He cleared his throat and said, “How nice.” Ruth returned to his side and tugged him down by the shoulder so she could whisper in his ear. He cleared his throat again and said, “I never thought you'd be back, not after everything. It was a shock to see you.”

He sounded sincere. She couldn't detect any of the bitterness or anger she'd seen at Daniel's home. If anyone had a right to be angry, a right to ignore her or berate her, it was Gordon.

“It's a joy to see Ruth with you,” she responded honestly. “You dear lady, you were a lovely girl, and I've no doubts you're an excellent partner for Mr. Lanfield. Exactly what he needed.”
Exactly what I couldn't be.
“And I thank you for your many kindnesses to my grandmother. Time has taken such a toll.”

He nodded and looked down at Ruth with a fondness so intimate that she felt mildly uncomfortable witnessing it. “Ruth's a good woman, better than I deserve.”

“I'm sure that's not true. I'm sure you two are well matched. You've always been a good man yourself. And you needed someone who would be devoted not only to you but to the Lanfield farm.”

He stiffened, as if she'd insulted him. Only then did she realize the resentment was still there, a faint but unmistakable undercurrent.

Ruth spoke gently in the breach. “That is why I owe you thanks. If you hadn't run off so impetuously with your handsome and worldly captain, I never would have married Gordon.” She touched his face fleetingly and looked up at him adoringly as she said, “You caused my sweet husband pain, and yet I cannot fault you for it because your elopement ultimately led him to my door. We have strong, beautiful children, and we've built a wonderful life together. None of it would exist but for your decision to follow your own heart. You allowed me to follow mine.”

“I don't deserve your thanks,” she replied. “If you please, why are you both here?”

The woman raised a brow at her husband, and he said, “We decided to visit London. We've never been here, and the farm is all in order.” When he seemed reluctant to continue, Ruth jabbed a finger into his chest. He took his wife's hand and met Helena's gaze, his expression free of the rancor he'd exhibited in Marksby. “Fine. The truth is . . . Daniel has not been the same since you left. We—well, Ruth—thinks he cares for you deeply and suffers the loss of you. We—well, Ruth—would like you to communicate with him. Send him a letter or perhaps a package of sweets or even one of these damn books.” He gestured wildly at the bookshelves.

“Gordy,” Ruth said, a warning in her voice.

“Sorry, love. Sorry, Mrs. Martin.” He looked suitably regretful.

“Tell her all of it.”

“I lied to you, Mrs. Martin. Daniel had no malicious intent, no dastardly plan to engage your emotions. I didn't trust you, and it pained me to see how you could so easily hurt him. I thought it best to force a clean break between you, but it hasn't worked at all. . . .”

When her husband trailed off, Ruth came up to her and took her hands. “My husband has a good heart, and he only wants what's best for Daniel. Now it seems that what he needs most is to have you in his life. You couldn't have known this, but during your stay, he was more alive, in a way I hadn't seen since his wife abandoned him. You brought him back. And now he's drifting back toward that flat detachment he'd fallen into. We cannot lose him again.” Throughout her plaintive little speech, Mr. Lanfield periodically bobbed his head in agreement.

Something in her chest tore at the thought of Daniel alone again in that isolated house.

“You both came all this way just to tell me that?”

“As surprising as it may sound, and to my husband's disappointment, Daniel seems to need you.”

“Your anger is justified, Gordon. I wish there had been some other way, but were I in your shoes, I would have protected my sister with tooth and nail from someone I perceived as a threat.”

“As if I need validation from the likes of you?”

“How can I make amends? After all this time, Gordon, what must I do to earn your forgiveness?”

“I want nothing from you. My wife and children need nothing you could provide.” But then his voice and expression softened, as he drew Ruth's hand to his chest. “There is one thing I believe you can do that might bring my family joy. Give Daniel a chance. Open your heart to him. Send for him. We've seen how changed he is with you, and we want him to have the same kind of happiness Ruth and I have.”