but it did not seem to matter.
“It would seem, then,” she said, “that you had a good time.”
“I had the
“I am quite sure I would have,” she said.
“Did you enjoy the place Mr. Butler took you?” he asked her.
“Ty Gwyn?” she said. “Very much.”
“But you really ought to have come with us,” he said. “You would have had much more fun. Cousin Joshua…” And he was off again.
It was wonderful to see him happy and animated, his face bronzed from the sun.
But the day out had tired him. When Anne went looking for him after returning to her room to wash and change for the evening, she found him in his room alone, sitting on his bed in his nightshirt with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. He was looking listless and anything but happy.
“Tired?” she asked, bending over him to push back a lock of his hair and kiss his forehead.
“We are going home tomorrow,” he said.
At the foot of his bed, his trunk was almost completely packed.
She felt weak-kneed at the thought and sat down on the side of the bed.
“Yes,” she said. “It is time. We have been here a whole month.”
“I do not see,” he said, sounding aggrieved, “why everyone has to go home when we are all having such a jolly time.”
“But the trouble with jolly times,” she said, “is that they would lose their jolliness if they went on forever and become merely tedious.”
“No, they would not,” he protested.
And perhaps he was right. Who had first mouthed that piece of dubious wisdom anyway?
“Everyone else’s mama went today except you,” he said, the words coming rather jerkily from his mouth.
It was unlike David to be petulant. Anne was smitten with dismay-and guilt.
“I asked you if you minded my not going,” she said, “and you said no. I would have come if-”
“And everyone else’s papa went too,” he said. “Except Davy’s, who is dead. But he has his Uncle Aidan, who is as good as a papa because Davy lives with him and they do things together. They go riding and fishing and swimming and other things.”
“Oh, David,” she said.
“And Daniel lives with Cousin Joshua,” he continued. “Cousin Joshua is his
“David-”
“I did
Anne closed her eyes briefly. Why did all of life’s crises seem to come along when one felt least ready to deal with them? She was still feeling raw from a good-bye that had not quite been said. But this was of greater importance. She tried to focus her mind.
It was true that every time David had asked her in the past why he did not have a father she had told him that he was special and had only a mama, who loved him twice as much as any other mama loved her child. It had been a foolish answer even for a young child, and she had always known that she must do better eventually.
She just wished it had not happened tonight of all nights.
“Yes, David,” she said. “He is dead. He drowned. He was swimming at night and he drowned. I am so sorry.”
She braced herself for the question about his father’s identity that was surely going to come next. But it seemed there was a more important question to ask first.
“Did he love me?” he asked, his eyes like two large bruises in his pale face. “Did he do things with me?”
“Oh, my sweetheart,” she said, setting the backs of her fingers against his cheek, “he would have loved you more than anyone else in the world. But he died before you were born.”
“How could he have been my papa, then?” he asked her, frowning.
“He had…
Ten minutes later he looked up at her with sleepy eyes-and then smiled with pure mischief.
“I am glad you did not come to the castle,” he said. “Now I get to tell Mr. Keeble and Matron and Miss Martin all about it myself.”
She laughed softly. “And about cricket and boating and playing pirates and painting,” she said. “I promise to let you tell it all. It will be good to see everyone again, will it not?”
“Mmm,” he said.
And just like that, in the way of children, he was asleep.
Anne sat beside him until Davy and Alexander came tiptoeing in a while later.
One day soon David was going to think of the questions he had not asked tonight, and she was going to have to give him answers. She was going to have to tell him about Albert Moore. His father.
She shivered.
Glenys, sniffling just as if they had been mistress and maid for years, had insisted upon doing her packing for her. There was nothing to do now, then, except go downstairs to the drawing room to be sociable for an hour or two. And sociable she must be. No one must suspect that the visit to Ty Gwyn had been anything more than a pleasant afternoon’s outing.
But just so many hours ago-she counted them off on her fingers-she had lain with Sydnam Butler and it had been good. She
She ached with a sudden longing to have it happen again.
Was she quite, quite mad to have refused his offer of marriage?
But how could she have said yes? What did she have to offer him?
And what did he have to offer her but a dutiful willingness to take the consequences of what they had done?
“It is to be hoped, my love,” his grace said dryly, “that you will resist the urge. I have already got my boots wet this month, not to mention my unmentionables. I was hoping to save my neckcloth from a similar fate.”
She laughed and he tightened his arm about her shoulders.
They were walking along the beach close to the water’s edge as they sometimes did late at night after James had been fed and everyone else had retired and they might be assured of some private time for themselves.
“Nevertheless, I will be quite happy to return to Lindsey Hall,” she said.
“Will you?” he asked.
“It is home,” she said with a sigh. “I will be glad to go home.”
“Will you?” he said again, and he paused for a few moments in order to kiss her with unhurried thoroughness.
“Will you sell the white house to Mr. Butler?” she asked him as they walked on.
“It is not really a white house, my love,” he said. “I ought to have taken you over there and shown it to you.”