‘I’d rather be playing poker,’ Joe grumbled while sitting across the card table from his sister.
‘So would I. However, whist is what most gentlemen play and you will not want to seem inept at it. It’s an easy game to play if you pay attention.’
‘I’m sorry. My mind was wandering.’
‘And I know where to.’
Perhaps she did, but he did not wish to speak of it so he pretended to be studying the cards.
‘To Olivia,’ she continued, ignoring his attempt to avoid the discussion. ‘That is the way of it when one is in love.’
‘I’m not in love. And how would you know the way of things?’
‘Of course you are. You just have not recognised it yet.’
‘But you do?’
‘It is rather obvious.’
‘I cannot be in love with her. There is no future for us.’
She waved her hand between them, signifying that in her opinion this important detail was irrelevant.
Sir Bristle turned his face towards the door, lifted his nose and sniffed. His tail thumped heavily on the rug.
Voices, speaking softly, rose from the first-level hall.
Joe had no doubt that his expression looked as puzzled as Roselina’s did.
Sir Bristle stood up from the rug, then trotted to the doorway.
‘Who could be calling that he would be acquainted with? And at this hour?’ For clearly whoever it was, was someone he knew.
Light-sounding footsteps tapped quickly up the stairs. A small, black-gowned figure stepped into the room.
‘Mama!’ Roselina exclaimed.
His sister jumped up from her chair, ran to Ma and held her tight, hugging and weeping joy all over her. ‘I cannot believe you are here!’
In her excitement, Roselina failed to really see their mother.
She was dressed head to toe in black. Her eyes were clouded, her mouth turned down in sadness.
Esmeralda Steton was in mourning.
Pa was not with her.
Moonlight streamed through Olivia’s chamber window. Sitting up in her bed, she watched the eerie and yet beautiful play of light and shadow in the room.
It was late. She ought to be sleeping, but something was amiss, although she had no idea what it might be. There was just a persistent sense of foreboding, or unrest, which was not due to anything she could identify.
The house was quiet. Victor was asleep. She knew because she had checked in on him three times since she had tucked him into bed.
None of the servants seemed to be up, either, which sometimes indicated that someone was ill.
The house was peaceful. She was not.
Flinging off the quilt, she went to her mother’s chair, snuggled into the cushions and gazed out the window at the garden below.
Perhaps with daylight the disquiet would go away.
All of a sudden, she sat up tall and stared hard out the window.
Someone was in the garden.
Josiah sat on the bench beside the fountain, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook as if he were weeping.
But why? Something was very wrong.
Roselina! Had something happened to her?
Olivia ran towards the chamber door, snatching her robe from the bed in passing. She stepped into her slippers while dashing down the hallway and nearly tripped over the hem of her robe.
By the time she neared the fountain, she felt sick with dread, her stomach squeezed in a horrible fist.
He must have heard her steps on the stones, the rasp of her laboured breathing, but he did not look up.
‘Joe?’
Head down, he reached for her. His hand trembled. She rushed forward, clasped it and sat beside him. Turning sideways, he wrapped her up, buried his face in her neck.
While he was not weeping, his tears dampened her collar. She stroked his hair, held him close and rocked him like she would do Victor when he was hurt.
Although this was not like holding Victor. Hugging her child close, caressing his hurts away, was not the same.
The need to offer Joe comfort was more compelling. She could no more walk back into the house right now than she could send her baby away while he was still clinging to her.
Clearly, Joe was in need of her.
Whatever troubled him went far deeper than a scratch. This hurt was much worse, she feared, and not so easily consoled.
After a long moment, she patted his back and drew slightly away, but only far enough to look into his eyes.
They were red and puffy. Even in the moonlit shadows, the intense grief gripping him was clear to see.
‘What is it, Joe? What has happened?’
He shook his head, tried to speak, but could not.
She drew him to her again, whispered close to his ear, ‘I’m here. Rest your heart, I’m here.’
Yes, just so—she felt the tension leave his body as he sagged into her.
Hugging him close felt so right, so natural. Letting him weep against her was an act of deep friendship—and perhaps more than that.
Something rustled in a nearby bush. A young kitten ventured into view, but spotting them, scampered for shelter.
She wanted desperately to ask after Roselina, but did not dare. He would speak when he was able. Between now and then she would simply be here, hold him and pray that her presence gave him ease.
It seemed a long time passed before he drew a deep breath, leaned back against the bench and stared up at the moon.
‘My father.’ His voice was hoarse, as if the very words ripped his throat. ‘He’s gone—dead.’
Not Roselina, then. Her relief vanished from one heartbeat to the next. Joe loved his father.
‘I’m so very sorry.’ Common words to console uncommon grief. She only hoped he felt how sincerely she meant them.
He nodded, silent again. He drew her close to his side, curled his arm around her, holding on to control but barely.
The kitten came out again, crawling stealthy towards them. It batted at the tassel on her slipper, then dashed off once more.
She was grateful for it. Sometimes in the midst of overwhelming sorrow something so normal kept the world from flying apart.
‘How old do you think it is?’ Joe asked. Not because he really cared to know, but because the asking enabled him to take a step back from the edge.
‘Only about six weeks, I imagine.’
‘I wonder if Victor would want to play with him.’
‘He would, of course, but he’s asked for a steer.’
He looked at her then, fresh tears shimmering at the corners of his eyes. ‘Our mother came from America to tell us. She is with Roselina. I think they have both finally fallen asleep.’
‘You should try, Joe.’
‘No. For me, sitting out here makes it seem like I’m keeping watch. Don’t know what for, but it seems right to do it.’
‘Shall I watch with you or would you like to be alone?’
‘Stay...please.’
She nodded and it was the last either of them said for several minutes.
‘He didn’t suffer, Ma said.’
‘It’s a comfort knowing, I think. It was for me when Oliver passed away. He was happily playing cards and then—he was just gone. I’d swear he was still smiling over the winning cards he was about to play. But Oliver was nearly always smiling.’
She reached up and twined her fingers in his where they lay on her shoulder. In the moment she found she needed comfort as well.
Grief had a way of sneaking up on one, bringing up the hurt all over again.
‘We knew Pa was not feeling as strong as usual, but no one knew how sick he was. The doctor said it was probably his heart and such a slow decline it was hard to notice day to day. He went to sleep one night and then he didn’t wake up.’
‘Your poor mother. She must have been devastated.’
‘Ma is small, like Roselina, but as strong as a prize fighter when she needs to be.’
‘Also like your sister, I think.’
‘They do know their own minds.’
‘I’ll pay a call tomorrow to offer my condolences. But only if you think it will be a comfort. I would not want to intrude.’
Very gently, he squeezed her fingers. ‘I cannot speak for anyone but myself, but, yes, I would find it a great comfort. Please, Olivia...do come.’
‘I will then.’
For a long, quiet time they looked at the moon.
‘What do you think, Olivia? Are they up there somewhere, can they see us down here, know what we are up to, how we ache for them?’
Of course she did believe that. Had she not heard her brother laughing at her from time to time? And if he was laughing it meant he was happy.
‘I’m completely certain of it. No one is more convinced of it than Victor is.’
She shifted her gaze from the moon to Joe’s face. Pure, clean light accented the lines of grief at the corners of his mouth, bringing back too clearly the feel of having her heart cleaved in half in the hours after her brother’s death.
Oddly, she had not felt that way when her husband died. Then again, perhaps it was not so odd.
‘You will know why he believes it,’ she said, continuing with her thought.
‘That his uncle sent me? If it is true, I’m flattered. If nothing else, I’m greatly complimented that Victor would feel that way about me.’
‘I only hope his attention—oh, honestly—his devotion—is not a burden to you.’
‘No, he is a sweet child. His attention could never be that. Don’t worry, though, I will not lead him to believe there is anything Heaven-sent about our meeting.’
Olivia blinked, pressed her lips tighter to keep from—well, she did not know what—but there was her brother’s laughter. She heard it as clearly as she heard Joe sigh.
‘He’ll believe it is true no matter what, Joe.’
‘Will you keep doing that?’
‘Doing what?’ What was she doing other than sitting here and being a friend?
‘Calling me Joe.’
Oh, she had been doing that! And doing it so naturally that she was not aware of the slip. She could hardly switch back to calling him Josiah now. Not even if she wanted to. Which, to her surprise, she did not. It would be awkward.
‘I’ll call you Joe.’
‘Good, then.’ He leaned his head so that his cheek rested on her hair.
For a while all she could hear was his quiet breathing, feel the rush of it stirring her hair.
‘Will it always hurt so much, do you think?’
‘I think so, but from what I can tell it will not happen as often—and, as odd as it seems, sometimes it will make you smile.’
‘I feel like I will never smile again. I know that’s wrong, but it hurts so blamed much I don’t know how to see my way through it.’
‘Live little moments between the sadness, I think. As time goes by the living gets longer and the sadness shorter.’
‘If we didn’t love so much, it wouldn’t hurt this way.’
‘And yet we choose to love.’ All of a sudden what she said, and said with all sincerity, hit her hard. This was not the way she had been living her life since Henry’s betrayal. To the contrary, she had hidden from anyone who might cause her heartache.
‘I suppose, when you look at it just so, it is a privilege to grieve so deeply.’ Oh, please let this make sense, she thought. ‘Some people never love enough to be able to ache this way.’
‘A comforting pain?’
‘Perhaps, yes—and yet it hurts all the more for it.’
He began to quietly weep. He was so still about it that she would not have known except that her hair was being dampened by his tears.
She sat still, silently holding his hand because sometimes the wave of sorrow needed to be ridden until it left you breathless, gasping on its barren shore—and yet after it somehow able to breathe again.
After a time he let go of her, but only long enough to change position so that he was gazing down at her.
He lowered his mouth and kissed her, very slowly, very gently.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, his tears salty on her lips.
‘Living—for just a moment—I am living.’
Joe came into the dining room the next morning, not to eat, but because his mother was there.
He did not expect to see Roselina up and dressed, but she was, sitting close to Ma and staring at a slice of toast on her plate.
Ma was slathering jam on it and telling his sister she must eat it.
Seeing him come in, she stood, came to him and kissed his cheek.
‘Good morning, Joe.’ She tugged his arm, leading him towards the dining table. She pointed for him to sit so he did.
Ma turned towards the sideboard, industriously loading a plate with food. She set it front of him, but he had to look away. Sadly there was no escaping the mingled scents of eggs, ham, jam and clotted cream.
Ma looked well. But, of course, she had had a bit of time to adjust to what had happened—no, not adjust. That might never happen, but to come to terms with it.
Joe wished time would somehow advance to this time next year so he would feel—what?
Better, was all. Just better. And he had last night, in the brief instant he was kissing Olivia. For those few seconds the pain lessened.
‘You must eat, my boy—look, Roselina has licked every bit of jam off her toast.’
‘Can’t stomach it, Ma.’ There was something he needed to ask, had to know. ‘It has been more than a month since Pa—’ it hurt to even say the word ‘—since he died. You ought to have sent a telegram. We’d have come home right away.’
‘I suppose I ought to have, you deserved to know first thing, but it was—when it came to it, I simply could not put those words into print. This was news you needed to hear from a heart that loves you.’ She clasped her hands in front of her, looking at them both as if she needed absolution.
‘It is all right, Ma.’ Roselina gave Ma her bravest smile. ‘I’m glad you told us first hand.’
‘It is just as well that I am here, my loves, otherwise you might starve.’
Without looking at his plate, Joe shoved a fork of something in his mouth. Ma looked strong and in control, but it had not been so long ago that she would have been where he and Roselina were this morning—trying to cope with a world dumped on end.
He ate until the food was half-gone because the last thing he wanted to do was cause his mother more heartache than what she had already been through.
Apparently satisfied that he would not starve, she turned her attention on his sister. ‘Are you happy here, Roselina? Have you found a young man who suits your fancy?’
The way Ma smiled and talked like life was normal made him think it might be that way again. All they needed was time to come to terms—to say goodbye.
‘A few.’ Roselina blushed when she said so.
‘I cannot wait to hear about them.’ Ma kissed Roselina’s cheek, reached across the table and squeezed his hand. ‘We will go on. It might not seem like it now, change can be difficult. I understand this, but change we must.’
One change would be that they would be going home before Roselina married her nobleman.
Needs were that they must depart for home as soon as possible. The running of the ranch was all up to him now. Perhaps he could hire a reliable man to oversee Haversmere. Yes, was there not already a fellow who did it for Pa?
Or surely Olivia would know someone.
Olivia—he had not thought to part company with her so soon. Knowing he must hit him hard. Like a blow to the gut. There was only so much parting a man could take in a short amount of time.
He would not think of it now.
‘I’ll arrange passage for home this afternoon,’ he said, surprised that he was not more eager to do it. ‘I’m sorry, Roselina. I know how you and Ma had your heart set on a fellow from here.’
Roselina nodded, accepting his decision with a great deal of grace. She really was one of the best people he knew. Lord Mansfield was not likely to take the news half so well.
‘Joe.’ His mother touched his hand, patted his knuckles. ‘You are Baron now in your father’s place. You are Haversmere.’
That detail had crossed his mind along with a thousand others over the past day. The importance of it dimmed, being jumbled up with everything else pressing upon him.
As Joe grew up, his father’s title had seemed something from another world—a duty he attended to each year. Even though Pa had discussed it with him, taught him what was required of a baron, to Joe, his father was a rancher first. His life in England seemed no more than a duty he attended to in order to spend the rest of the year at home with his family.
‘I’m Joe Steton from Wyoming.’ There was nothing more to say in answer. ‘I always have been, Ma.’
‘Not always, you were born at Haversmere. The place is your birthright and your sister’s. Haversmere was always close to your father’s heart. He would not have left at all, you know, except that he feared for you.’
‘Why would he?’
‘Your grandmother was adamant that it was the wet climate that killed your mother—you know that much.’ Yes, Pa used to talk about it. It seemed his grandmother had let everyone know her opinion of Haversmere and of Pa. ‘In his grief he half-believed it. Do you have any memory of falling in a river, Joe?’
He shook his head, not sure what that had to do with anything. He had a queer feeling in his gut when she asked, but no memory of such an event.
‘It is not surprising. You were very small. But you took sick afterwards, extremely sick. You must imagine how that scared him happening so soon after your mother’s death.’
‘He never talked about it.’
‘Well, I believe it is because he was looking forward and not back. We were building our new lives, son. But you must understand that he still loved Haversmere. It never quit feeling like home to him.’
‘I can understand it.’
Ma reached down to pet Sir Bristle, who was asleep halfway under the table near her feet. He had the distinct feeling she was avoiding his gaze.
‘I will not let Pa down. I’ll care for everything the same as he did.’
‘Yes, and you will do it well.’
An odd sensation—a new odd sensation—fisted his gut. Something in his mother’s words did not set right.
She looked back up at him, her fingers clenching the dog’s fur so tight her knuckles turned white.
‘I have sent your father’s body to Haversmere for burial.’
Joe’s heart began a slow crawl up his throat.
Roselina stood, her hand clutching the lace collar of her gown.
The silence in the room was broken only by Sir Bristle’s tail sweeping the rug.
‘Why, Mama?’ Roselina asked.
‘It was your father’s wish. He used to tell me it is what he wanted.’
‘We will bury him there, then.’ The unsettled feeling continued to grip his gut. ‘Is there something else, Ma? You don’t look yourself.’
She stood up, pressed her hands to her middle. Joe thought she tried to contain their trembling.
Why would she be trembling?
‘As much as it was your father’s wish to come home, it is my wish to not be separated from you ever again. There will be no ocean between us. Our home will be Haversmere.’ She took a very deep breath, let it out in a rush. ‘I have sold the ranch.’
He might have remained where he was for hours, stunned and disbelieving, had Mr Bowmeyer not entered the room.
‘You have callers, my lord. Lady Olivia and Master Victor.’
For as brief as Olivia’s visit had been, Joe found that her presence grounded him.
In the instant when he thought he could not go on, her smile encouraged him—reminded him he could.
Even Victor’s presence felt like a salve. When the little boy tugged at his jacket, wanting attention, he could not very well dive into a pit of sorrow.
The visit was short and he had not had an opportunity to tell Olivia of the ranch being sold. For some reason it seemed important to share the news with her.
‘Some reason’ being obvious when he gave it a few seconds of thought. Olivia Cavill Shaw was important to him. She was the one he could speak to when everything was chaos. He’d had friends, he’d had lovers, but in Olivia he had both.
Although he did not reckon she saw herself as such. But they had kissed which made them more than mere friends.
This afternoon, so many questions ate at him. His mother had explained, but still, he needed to speak more about it with her.
Why would she do such a thing? Sell his home—his life?
At the moment Ma was in conversation with Mr Bowmeyer, but as soon as she finished Joe went to her.
‘Will you walk with me in the park?’
‘Thank you, Mr Bowmeyer. I do appreciate your service.’ Bowmeyer nodded, then left the parlour. ‘A walk will be lovely, but I only have a short time. I’m to meet one of your sister’s beaux. Lord Mansfield—do you know him?’
He helped Ma put on her coat before they went outside. Even though it was sunny this afternoon, there was a chill.
‘We have met, first at the opera, and now every day since. Are you sure Roselina is ready to receive callers?’
While they crossed the street a nippy breeze bit through his shirt and pebbled his flesh. He ought to have worn a coat, but blame it if he didn’t need a distraction from what was going on inside him.
He couldn’t say that he welcomed the discomfort, but he did need it to keep from living completely within his head.
His mother slipped her hand into the crook of his arm when they entered Hyde Park.
‘Perhaps we should have brought Sir Bristle along. I have truly missed that dog.’
‘Everyone would think he was a wolf on the prowl. Better to keep him inside.’
‘London is very lovely. Your father always said it was, especially in the spring.’
‘Mayfair is, but parts of the city are not so blessed.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard that as well. From all I understand, it is quite nice up north, though. Did you know your father always told me Haversmere was a bit of heaven on earth?’
‘I wonder why you never came with him?’
‘I could not have an ocean between us. I felt the same then as I do now. We are family and meant to be together.’
‘I hear what you are saying—but, Ma, the ranch was your home as much as ours. Why would you sell it?’
She stopped walking, placing her small hand on his vest. There were blue veins showing in skin that looked more fragile than he recalled.
‘Listen closely, Son.’ Brown eyes the colour of melted chocolate pleaded with him to. ‘I did not make the decision easily. Nor did I make it out of grief—and believe me, I did and do grieve your father. But you must understand that the ranch is not my home. You and your sister are my home. The thought of being separated from either of you—I could not. I think perhaps you did not realise how difficult it was for me over the years. Every time your father went away I feared it might be the last time I would see him.’
‘I did not know you worried, Ma.’
‘Good, it was my intention that you would not. But crossing an ocean is risky business—it was even more so years ago. I never knew if he would come home safely until I saw him galloping up to the front porch. And even then—Joe—there was always a part of him that remained here.’
‘I didn’t know that, either.’
‘You were a child, such a thing was not for you to know. Then later you assumed he felt the same as you did about the ranch. Why would you not?’
She straightened his vest, then they walked on.
‘All you ever knew was the ranch, but think of it, Joe, Haversmere has been home to the Stetons for many generations. Had your mother not died, your father would have carried on that way and never come to America.’
‘You are my mother.’
‘And you are my son. It is why I sold the ranch.’ She crossed her arms over her middle while they walked. ‘I could not have you go away every year like your father did, especially with Roselina in London, married and having babies. I could not have.’
A gentleman nodded in passing. Somehow both he and Ma found an answering smile.
‘Don’t you see?’ she continued. ‘You would have found yourself as torn as your father was, once you married. Besides, it is only fitting that your children be raised at Haversmere.’
Marriage—children?
Olivia’s face flashed in his mind. The image of her smile felt like refuge. It did not seem a bit odd that he should see in her the home he no longer had.
He would be saying some goodbyes in his heart over the next few days—to the land and the herds—to the hands who had worked side by side with him.
At least he would not be saying goodbye to Olivia. She was the bright spot in all the heartache.
‘Who did you sell to?’
‘Our neighbour, Tom Holden. We already shared grazing land so, when he offered to buy me out, it was only natural to say yes. Of course, at first I did not. Truly, Joe, I gave the matter a great deal of thought. The land transfer won’t be official for another week or so, but I have given my word on it and I will not go back. It is the future we must look to now.’
He nodded and they walked on without speaking. She probably knew thoughts and emotions were whirling around inside him with the chaos of a tornado.
‘There is a bit more you should know.’
What could there possibly be? Had she arranged him a marriage, or purchased him a commission in the Royal Navy? Sold Sir Bristle to a travelling circus? What?
‘A letter came from the estate manager at Haversmere. Something is not right at the estate and he is asking for your father to come with all haste.’
‘What isn’t right?’
‘“Mischief afoot” is what he wrote.’
‘Did he mention what it was?’
She shrugged. ‘Very little, but one thing he did say is that planks from a bridge over the brook had been chopped halfway through. Three lambs fell in the river and had to be fished out.’
‘There must be more to it than that for him to ask Pa to come quickly.’
‘According to your father, mischief near Grasmere is a rare thing. It was only ever the increasing number of tourists tramping here and there that troubled him. So he did take the estate manager’s concern seriously. As weak as your father was when the letter came, he tried to pack a bag—’
She bit her lip, blinked hard and was silent for a moment. ‘At any rate, the more quickly we go to Haversmere, the better. It is what your father would want.’
It was not what Joe wanted. He longed for the wide open spaces of home, the rugged land and the tall, sky-kissing mountains, wanted it more than his next breath.
His next breath came, though, and here he was looking somewhat like any other gentleman strolling in Hyde Park.
‘What shall we do about Roselina? Her Season has only begun and there are several young dandies vying for her attention,’ he pointed out.
Faced with leaving Mayfair, he was suddenly hesitant to do it. It was no great mystery why.
Olivia Cavill Shaw.
‘She will come with us, of course. Let’s just see which among them will be devoted enough to follow her.’
Would she? There was no reason for her to. Olivia’s place—her home—was here. Since Joe did not have a home it hardly mattered where he went, but she had every reason to remain where she was.
But then, Ma had not been speaking of Olivia.
‘Mansfield, he might, but most of the young fools are so caught up in high-society posing, they would not be likely to.’
‘All the better then. We will see who cares for her.’ Ma smiled over at him. ‘And what about you? Has there not been a young lady who has captured your attention?’
‘Since I thought I was going home I would not have encouraged anyone’s attention, let alone sought it out.’
Not that his heart had not become entangled anyway.
‘Well, my son, now you may!’
A sliver of something hopeful pierced his gloom. He let the conversation drop while he let it glow for a moment.
‘I feel a bit like the Grim Reaper bearing so much bad news, and I’m sorry for it. But I have every reason to believe I will see you happy again. Just give it some time, you will see.’
He thought of the grave in Kensal Green Cemetery. His father had been so distraught he had crossed an ocean in order to outrun his grief, and his fear. Yet Pa had lived a good life, a happy one with Ma.
Surely he could honour his father by doing the same?
‘You are far from being the Grim Reaper.’ He put his arm about her shoulder, leading her across the street and back to their rooms. ‘Facts are what they are. I’m only sorry that you had to face all of that alone.’
‘It was—’ He figured she was trying to find a way to say that it was all right. It was what mothers did, tried to make things right. But it was not all right. Ma had been to hell and back.
‘I’ve got you now,’ he said and felt her lean ever so slightly into him. ‘You will not be alone again.’