Page 69 of A Lovely White Christmastide
“I…” she trailed off, not sure how to convince him. Going home did not hold the appeal it once had.
“Beth, before we left Haverton, Julianna told me how content you had been, that you had smiled and laughed more than you have in the past three years. She held no malice for you and begged me to convince you to stay.”
Tears burned in her eyes. Years of controlling her feelings, and yet the last few days she’d become a veritable watering pot.
“Why didn’t you?” he asked.
The question pushed a tear through her lashes and down her cheek. “Because he does not love me.”
“Who?”
“Lord Bingham.”
Silence met her pronouncement. Time ticked by and finally she peeked up to see a soft smile on her father’s lips.
“You mean the man who stared after our sleigh until he could not see it anymore?”
“He did not.”
“He most certainly did, and you would have seen him yourself if you had not been so intent on the road ahead.”
Had he really watched until they had disappeared into the trees? “But he does not believe in love.”
“One need not believe in love to feel it. Love comes whether we wish for it or not. Yes, we can help it along, but sometimes love comes softly, whispering into our hearts light and soft as a feather. Over time it multiplies and one feather becomes thousands. Individually they might not seem like much, but stuff all those feathers into a coverlet and the weight will warm and comfort a body all their days.”
Beth pulled away from his grasp and crossed to the fire. “What a strange metaphor, Papa. Feathers and love?”
He chuckled. “Perhaps, but have you considered your Lord Bingham may only sense the love of a hundred feathers? Maybe he needs a few thousand more to feel the weight.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Go back, Beth. You will never know if he loves you if you do not give love time to grow. Add a few feathers to that stack.”
Picking up the fire poker, she moved the coals around. “I’m scared, Papa.”
“Now that I can understand. Might I impart one more word of wisdom?”
She turned to face him. “I hope you never stop imparting your wisdom to me. Would that there was no such thing as death so Mama could add her piece, too. Heaven knows I could use it.”
He smiled. “Your mama always did have good advice, and frankly this wisdom was hers first. I saw a fair amount of battle by the time I married your mother, but until I knew her love I never feared death. It was only me, after all. No one watched for my return. But that first battle after we wed, I found myself frozen in fear—not something any gentleman wants to admit. But I wrote to your mother about my fear. Weeks later I received a short missive. ‘Then go scared,’it said, ‘and do whatever it takes to make it back to me.’”
Beth scrunched her nose at the callous answer, but her father moved to her side.
“Your mother taught me two lessons with those words. First, fear or not, there are some things we need to do. And second, my first priority in life was to make it back to her loving arms.”
Those dratted tears were back. Beth sniffed. Her parents had shared such a beautiful love, even if others did not understand it.
“Thank you for passing on Mama’s words, and for coming back to all of us… even after she was gone.”
“Now that is your uncle’s fault,” he grumbled. “One I probably should be grateful for, considering the circumstances. If I’d had my way, I would have died there on that field. Then I’d be back with your mama.” He sighed and placed an arm around her shoulders. “But I would have missed this moment to pass her wisdom on to you.”
She leaned into him. “So are we both going to be brave?”
He cast her a comically gruff sidelong glance. “Are you saying if I swallow my pride and show your uncle some gratitude, you will return and face that baron of yours?”
“He is not my baron, Papa!”
“Not yet.” He waggled his bushy grey eyebrows at her, and she laughed softly. “Have some faith, my dear, and open that generous heart of yours.”
