Simply Love

That, at least, she could identify with.

“Every year I taught,” she said, “I would change something about the content and method of my classes, convinced that this time I would have a perfect year.”

“A

But David called to them before she could protest, and they made their way to him.

“The boat is still too brown, sir,” he said, virtually ignoring A

“Hmm,” Sydnam said. “I see what you mean. But the great thing about oils is that you can keep adding to what is already there. The boat looks almost new, does it not? How can you age it the way you see it there on the lake? Ah, but I can see that the wood is flaking away in places-you have captured that with your brushstrokes. Well done.”

“Should I try blending some of this color in, sir?”

A

They ate and drank everything after all the painting things had been cleaned and put away and the wet canvases left to dry on the easels. It felt like a blessed day to A

Of course, there was still the major problem of a marriage that was threatening to be a celibate one…

And then, quite without warning, when she least expected it, when all her defenses were down, she found herself confronted with the crisis she had known must happen one day soon now but for which she was still unprepared. David began to ask questions.

“You are my stepfather, sir,” he said, kneeling on one edge of the blanket and looking intently at Sydnam. “Aren’t you?”

“I am,” Sydnam said, pausing before taking another bite out of his apple. “I am married to your mother and so you are my stepson.”

“But you are not my real father,” David said. “He is dead. He drowned.”

“I am not your real father,” Sydnam admitted.

David turned his gaze on A

“What was his name?” he asked.

She drew a slow breath.

“He was Albert Moore,” she said, unable any longer to convince herself that he was too young to be given truthful answers.

“Why am I not David Moore, then?” he asked.

“I was never married to your father,” A

“But he would have married you if he had not died.” David frowned.

She could not quite speak the lie, and yet he was still too young for the bare truth.

“But he did die,” she said. “I am so sorry, sweetheart.”

Though she was not.

“Cousin Joshua is Joshua Moore,” he said. “He is my cousin, then?”

“He was Albert’s cousin,” A

“Daniel and Emily are my cousins too,” he said.

“Second cousins, yes,” she agreed.

“Mama.” He looked at her with wounded eyes. “Who else do I have? Mr. Butler has Uncle Kit and Aunt Lauren and Andrew and Sophie and Geoffrey and Grandmama and Grandpapa, but for me they are only step-people because he is only my stepfather. Who else do I have of my very own?”

Sydnam’s hand touched hers on the blanket and she realized it was not accidental even though the touch did not linger. He got to his feet and strolled closer to the bank of the lake, though he remained within hearing distance.

“You know Lady Prudence from Cornwall,” A

David’s eyes were wider and even more wounded.

“They never said so,” he said. “And you never said so.”

“I was never married to their brother, David,” she explained. “And when you are older, you will understand that that makes a difference. I did not wish to impose on them. But Joshua has told me that they all wish to acknowledge the relationship and welcome you as their nephew.”

It was not, of course, that she had not wanted to impose on them. It was that she had not even wanted to admit to herself that David had had a father and that he had been Albert Moore. But she had come to realize that what she wanted for herself was not necessarily what was good for David.

Ghastly as the thought was, Albert Moore had been his father.

“Do I have anyone else?” he asked.

She would not mention the dowager Marchioness of Hallmere, David’s grandmother, who no longer lived in Cornwall and who hated A

She drew in a deep breath again and released it slowly.

“You have a grandmother and grandfather in Gloucestershire,” she said. “Real grandparents-my mother and father. And an Aunt Sarah and an Uncle Matthew, my sister and brother.”

He was up on his knees again then and gazing at her with saucer eyes.

“And cousins?” he asked.

“I do not know, David,” she said. “I have not seen or heard in years.” But there was, of course, another uncle. And she had heard, though her mother’s twice-yearly letters were always brief and about matters that did not relate to the family.

“Why?” he demanded to know.

“I suppose,” she said, smiling at him, “I have always been too busy. Or they have.”

He continued to gaze at her, and she somehow knew what he would say next even before he opened his mouth to say it.

“But you are not too busy now,” he said. “We can go to see them now, Mama. We can. My stepfather will take us. We can go. Can’t we?”

A

She ought to have lied.

But no, it was time. He had a right to the truth.

“Perhaps we can go sometime,” she said.

“When?”

“After we have finished visiting here, perhaps,” she said. “But perhaps-”

“Famous!” he cried, jumping to his feet. “Did you hear that, sir? I have a real grandmama and grandpapa, and we are going to see them. I am going to tell Uncle Kit and Aunt Lauren. I am going to tell them now.”

“You had better take your painting things with you,” A

She hugged her knees tightly and bent her head to rest her forehead against her knees.

He wondered if she would have told David about her family and even agreed to take him there if he had not said what he had at the temple folly two afternoons ago.