Page 84 of A Touch of Charm
“I won’t be alone at home; we have a staff of fourteen people. I’m never alone.” She sighed as if it were a bad thing to have so much help. “There’s always something to do, someone to receive or call on, and readying to leave or upon my return—but my husband put me here to isolate me.”
“The life of a lady sounds like a chore to you.”
Anna gave him the look she used to have when Mama sent them to the nursery if they ate pudding in the kitchen before dinner.
“I did everything I was supposed to,” Anna said.
“And it doesn’t make you happy.” Andre didn’t need to ask; it was plain to see.
“Nobody ever asked me what would make me happy, Andre. Everyone assumed that following the aristocratic path was right for me, and now”—she stroked her belly—“if I bear him a son, I will have accomplished everything I ought at two-and-twenty.”
“And then?”
She raised her brows. “You’re the first to ask.”
“You seem to have an answer. Do you care to share it?”
She gave a half smile. He had her. “Well, I’ll be a mother. And Mother said she’d come to help. But I don’t intend to remain at Paul’s disposal.”
“Mother is coming to London? When?”
Andre’s heart quickened.
“I don’t know exactly. The last letter came from Father. She’d left Edinburgh and was going to Italy to visit Lorenzo. Papa won’t join us till Christmas.”
His parents were coming to London. He thought he should feel whole again, relieved they were alive and restored, but all he could think of was Thea. How would she react?
And where had she gone?
“I won’t remain in London when the baby arrives.”
“I beg your pardon? You’re leaving London?” How could he already lose the family he’d barely reunited with?
“As part of my marriage settlement, Papa ensured I’d have a castle in my name.”
“Where is it?”
“Not too far, only about a day’s ride by carriage. You could probably ride there in half a day when you wish to visit. And you shall. It has eight bedrooms and more than enough room for all of us when Lorenzo comes for Christmas.”
*
“Has she leftCloverdale House?” Andre asked every servant who passed. He feared Thea had run away and could be in danger, so he searched for her everywhere.
When the scent of citrus and damp earth wrapped around Andre as he stepped into the orangery, he heard her—soft, muffled weeping.
His gaze caught her instantly. Thea. She was folded into herself on a stone bench beneath a potted myrtle tree, the fragile lace of her handkerchief pressed tight against her face. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, and the sight twisted something deep in his chest. He’d seen despair before, countless faces contorted with pain, yet her tears struck him with unrelenting force.
Andre approached her cautiously, boots nearly soundless against the tiled floor. “Thea,” he murmured, his tone low, meant only for her.
She stiffened, startled, and quickly pressed the back of her hand to her cheeks as if to erase the evidence of her distress.
“Oh,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking. “Andre… I didn’t hear—”
“I’m sorry,” he interrupted softly, easing down onto the bench beside her. He made no movement to touch her, giving her space, though every nerve in his body urged him closer.
Her lips parted, but no protest came. Instead, she lowered her gaze to the crumpled handkerchief she twisted between her fingers, as though even looking at him might undo her. They sat in breathless silence for a moment, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and her uneven breaths.
“You don’t have to hold this alone,” he said finally, his voice gentle but firm. Her response was a sharp shake of the head, her knuckles white around the damasked fabric.
