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“Oh, A
But it was her father who gave a lengthier reply.
“No,” he said abruptly. “No better at all. It was easier to believe that you had brought your suffering on yourself and then to feel relieved that you were coping on your own. It was easier to believe that you were better off where you were, away from the gossiping tongues of our neighbors. You did suffer and you did cope, and perhaps it really was good that you avoided the gossip. But no, I for one do not feel better about my treatment of you. I never have felt good about it. And now today, now that I have to look you in the eye, I feel worse-as I deserve to do. Don’t blame your mother. She would have come to you at the start, but I would not countenance it.”
“I ought at least to have written to you, A
“If it had not been for my extravagances at Oxford, you would not even have had to take a position as governess.”
“Sarah has always been miserable about the whole thing,” Henry said quietly. “So have I.”
“Well,” A
They were all on their feet and all hovering. The scene could degenerate into high sentimental drama at any moment, A
It was too soon yet.
But the time would come, she believed. They were all very much in need of pardon and peace. And, when all was said and done, they were family. And they had come today.
Sydnam was at her side and offering her his arm. She linked her own arm through it, half smiled about at the room’s occupants, and followed her mother from the parlor and up the broad wooden stairs, past her old room, and on to the room that had always been kept for such special guests that in effect it had almost never been used.
They had been deemed very special guests, then, had they?
After she had stepped inside the room, A
“I am glad you have come home, A
“Sydnam, if you please, ma’am,” he said.
“Sydnam.” She smiled nervously at him.
A
“Rest now,” she said when A
“Yes.” A
And then the door closed and she was alone with Sydnam.
“Excuse me,” she said, “but I think I am going to weep.”
“A
“Was painting again this difficult for you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said with conviction, kissing the top of her head. “And there is much anguish to come. I have only just begun, and the first effort really was quite abysmal. But I am not going to stop. I have begun and I will continue-to failure or to success. But failure does not matter because it will only spur me on to try harder as it always used to do. And even if I never succeed, at least I will know that I tried, that I did not hide from life.”
“At last,” she said, “I have stopped hiding too.”
“Yes,” he said, laughing softly again. “You surely have.”
The tears came at last.
Both the younger Jewells and the Arnolds remained at the manor for longer than the one night they had pla
David was in heaven. Though he dragged Sydnam off one morning to paint, taking Amanda with them, he was content to spend almost all the rest of his time with his cousins, particularly Charles Arnold, who was only a few months younger than he.
Sydnam went out riding a few times with the men after they discovered-through David-that he could ride. He found them all very willing to make his acquaintance. He had been prepared to dislike them-the elder Mr. Jewell no less than Henry Arnold, but though he had seethed with rage while listening to what they had to say to A
A
It would take time, Sydnam guessed, remembering how it had taken a while for him and Kit to feel thoroughly comfortable with each other again after their lengthy estrangement following his return from the Peninsula. But it seemed to him that A
She seemed happy.
And he? Well, he could not forget one thing A
How much of that was the truth and how much had been spoken entirely for the benefit of the man who had rejected her and promptly married her sister, Sydnam was not sure. But he thought he knew.
Yes, he was happy too.
They had intended to stay for a few days if they were made welcome, less if they were not. But A
Mrs. Jewell, who was clearly beside herself with delight to have her elder daughter at home, pla
And so the pla
And then on the eighth day a letter arrived for A
“It is from Bath,” she said, picking it up to examine it. “But it is not Claudia’s handwriting or Susa
“There is one way of finding out,” her father said dryly.
She laughed and broke the seal with her thumb.
“Lady Potford,” she said, looking first to the signature. “Yes, of course, I have seen her hand before.”
“Lady Potford?” Sydnam asked.
“Joshua’s grandmother,” she explained. “She lives in Bath. I have visited her several times.”
She read the letter while her mother plied Sydnam with more toast and then watched as he chased it around his plate with the butter knife.
“Oh, Sydnam,” A