realize I’m just existing here. I haven’t really painted in years, haven’t flirted, haven’t slept past dawn because God knows, somebody has to get the bread in the ovens, will she, nil she. I haven’t heard a foreign language, unless you count the Yorkshiremen who came through last summer. I’m dying by inches here, no matter how much I love you and Allie.”
“You’re tired,” Sara said. “We’re all tired, and you need and deserve a break. Go to Oxfordshire and exorcise Gabriel’s ghost.”
“Will you manage?” The question North had asked Polly herself wasn’t nearly adequate to cover all it needed to.
“Manage the house, of course. Lolly and her mother will keep the kitchen functional, and once Beckman goes, there really won’t be much housework. It will be back to weekly dusting, weekly laundry, weekly marketing.”
“About Beckman.” Polly glanced around and saw they would not be overheard. “You are making a mistake with him, Sara. Just as I made a mistake thinking I could be happy cooking at Three Springs for the rest of my life.”
Around them, passengers secured their luggage at the back of the coach, then climbed inside.
“I’m older than you,” Sara temporized, “and I had my chance to wallow in my art, Polly. Beckman is an earl’s son, and my past leaves me ill-suited to be anything more than a diversion for such as he.”
“You are being ridiculous. You think you’re doing this for Allie, or for me, but, Sara, I
“Maybe he wouldn’t, but then what, Polly? He should be on about his life if anyone should, but instead of walking away puzzled, he’ll feel honor bound not to walk away, and that’s worse.”
Polly resisted the urge to shake a woman who didn’t know when to think of herself. Above them, one of the porters cursed roundly as a bag came tumbling down, nearly striking a half-grown boy.
“For the love of God, Sara. You think you know, you think you can predict another’s heart, you think you’ve made the best choice, but it’s all so much arrogance and cowardice driving you. Talk to the man, I beg you. If not for my sake or yours, do it for Allie’s. She’s in danger of shifting all the affection she had for North onto Beckman, and he’s ready to bolt as North has.”
“Allie’s affection lies with you, Polly.”
Polly held up one gloved hand. “Don’t play that card, Sara. We agreed not to trade in that coin, and we’ve done well by each other so far. I love you, I want you to be happy, and I am begging you to talk to Beckman. Please.”
The head porter called “five minutes” as the fresh team was backed into the traces. Beck came striding out of the inn, Allie’s hand in his as she trotted to keep up with his longer paces.
“We bought you lots and lots of goodies, Aunt!”
Beck bent down and hefted Allie onto his hip to close the distance more quickly, the sack of food from the inn’s kitchen in his other hand.
“Your trunk is loaded?” Beck set Allie down when they reached the coach.
Polly nodded at the luggage rack on the boot. “Up there. Hug me, Allemande, and promise to be good. I will want to hear about your paintings.”
“Good-bye, Aunt.” Allie hugged her fiercely around the waist. “You’ll write and tell me of all the things Papa collected?”
“I promise, Allie. Sara.” She hugged her sister but said nothing more.
“And you, Beckman.” Polly turned to him. “Walk me to the leaders.” She gestured to the powerful pair in the front harness. Beck obligingly held out an arm and led Polly away. In the noise and bustle of the inn yard, the short distance was enough to make their words private.
Polly glanced back at Sara and Allie. “I can’t ask you to look after them, but I can ask you to be patient. There are things Sara needs to…”
Beck stilled her with a single finger to her lips. “I know, or I know much of it, and if Sara won’t confide in me, I can’t make her.”
“You can encourage her,” Polly said. “You can understand she’s been alone with her burdens so long she doesn’t know how to put them down. I was little more than a child, Reynard worse than a child, and then Allie came along…”
Polly let the words trail off, lest she say too much. From the look on Beckman’s face, perhaps she’d said too much already.
Beck had a retort ready for Polly’s little homily. He was mentally building his defenses day by day against the moment he’d leave Three Springs, but Polly’s words hit him low in the gut. He knew what it was to keep making foolish decisions out of sheer emotional exhaustion, bad habit, and lack of obvious alternatives. That kind of inertia and despair had damned near killed him.
“I can’t make her trust me, Polly. I’ve tried what I know to do, and she remains steadfastly opposed to confiding in me.”
“Try confiding in her yourself.” Polly leaned up and kissed Beck’s cheek. He hugged her to him briefly before he handed her up into the window seat he’d reserved for her.
“Safe journey, Polonaise.” Beck’s height put him more than level with the window. “And, Polly? I got a brief note from North in the morning post, and he’s reached his destination safely, though he didn’t elaborate. If I hear further, I’ll let you know.”
Polly’s face broke into a surprised smile as the coachy cracked his whip and the horses clattered off at a bone-shaking trot.
Allie slipped her hand into Beck’s. “You made Aunt smile. What did you say?”
“I wished her safe journey and told her if I heard more from North, I’d let her know.”
“Will you let me know?”
“He’d want me to.”
“I really miss him.”
“I know, princess. I miss him too.”
Late August would have been the last precious weeks of the summer lull, because the fruit and grain weren’t ready to be harvested yet, except Beck’s red winter wheat had to be planted before harvest. He was glad for the backbreaking work of plowing, glad to fall into bed exhausted every evening after his soak or swim, glad for a way to numb himself that did not involve liquor or worse.
He was not glad to toss much of each night away, despite his burning fatigue. He willed Sara to come to him, and more than once, sat up, grabbed for his dressing gown, and started down the dark corridor toward her room, only to stop himself.
He’d done nothing to deserve her mistrust and much to earn her trust. Polly’s last words rang in his memory though, urging him to confide in Sara. As he tried to rehearse what that might sound like, he gained an appreciation for the magnitude of the task he was requiring of Sara. He was still wrestling with himself mightily when the weather turned autumnally cool, then rainy, then downright chilly.
“Fall grass will come in good for this rain,” Angus observed.
“And the wheat will get a nice start,” Beck agreed as they stood in the barn, listening to the rain drumming on the roof.
“And then we’ll bring in the corn and be glad for winter. Those boys of Lolly’s must have grown four inches each this summer.”
“Polly’s cooking and lots of fresh air.”
And it could have gone on like that for hours, meaningless small talk, cleaning the harnesses
“Keep an eye on the infants.” Beck shrugged into an oilskin. “Allie cheats terribly, and the boys are only so gallant.”
