Adventure hurts.
Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler
“I won’t go back, Ida.”
Della sat on the bed, her hands folded in her lap, her expression firm.
Ida stood by the fire. She’d removed her gown, which was currently being cleaned by the housemaid whom Della had summoned on their way upstairs.
If Della could afford help, perhaps her life here wasn’t as desperate as Ida had imagined. Perhaps it wasn’t imperative that Della return to London.
But that would mean none of the sisters could get to know Nora, nor would Della have the opportunity to meet someone who would deserve her. Who would take care of her and Nora as they deserved.
Was she being selfish, to want her sister to return?
There was an element of that, certainly. Ida loved all of her sisters, and she wanted them to be in proximity to one another, even if two of them had gone off and gotten married, the traitors.
But more than that, Ida wanted to get the opportunity to give Nora all the love in Ida’s heart, to let Della know that her actions weren’t to be deplored but applauded—she’d gone off of her own volition, realized she’d made a mistake, and taken responsibility for what she’d done, refusing to let it define her.
Returning to London would give her the chance to announce that to everyone who still gossiped about the Duke’s Disgraceful Daughters, to show them that a good person can persist through adversity, that she isn’t knocked down when others think she should be.
“Let’s talk for a bit,” Ida said, trying to remember everything Bennett had suggested. “You want Nora to know your sisters. Eleanor and Alexander are so happy, and Olivia and Edward are even more revoltingly so,” she said, as Della smiled.
“You made a mistake,” she continued, with Della nodding agreement. “But that mistake doesn’t have to change your life irrevocably.”
“Doesn’t it?” Della asked in a resigned tone. “I cannot imagine anybody would welcome me back. Nor do I want to come back, not if it means facing those people and that gossip.”
Ida swallowed. It would be hard to argue against that, especially since she knew that her reputation would also be in tatters.
“What if you don’t have to face them? What if you can just—just live with me and Pearl and open a home for scandalous women or something?”
The reckless bravery of the idea would likely appeal to Della.
Della tilted her head in thought. Clearly considering it. Ida felt herself relax just a fraction.
Ida had not misread her reckless sister. It was that recklessness that had landed Della in this in the first place. Although it had also brought her Nora, who seemed like the light of Della’s life.
“I don’t know, Ida. I will have to think about it. And talk to Sarah, of course.”
Della rose, clearly finished with the conversation. Ida nodded, wracking her brain for more arguments to present.
Later, when she was more dry and therefore, hopefully, more persuasive.
The dinner that evening was the most unusual experience Bennett had ever had. Well, besides the event that had happened over the past few days, falling in love with Ida and all.
Lady Della and her friend, along with their two girls, all ate together, a rollicking, noisy event where everyone was encouraged to share their opinion and comments.
He’d never been with family that was so clearly adoring of one another, and also so convivial.
It was charming while also entirely overwhelming.
“Did you read the collection of Elizabeth Barrett Browning poems?” Della asked Ida, a sigh accompanying her question.
Ida rolled her eyes. “You know I have no patience for poetry.”
Della shot a mischievous glance toward Bennett. “I wasn’t sure if recent events might have persuaded you to try it again.”
Ida bristled visibly, although Della did not appear daunted.
“And it talks about those heartfelt emotions with such depth and strength,” Della continued.
“I’m glad you haven’t given up on love,” Ida said in a soft voice. “It’s just that I don’t want to read those things when—” And then she stopped, looking down at her plate.
When what? Bennett wanted to ask. When you don’t think you’ll have those things in your own life? When you are looking forward to a life with books and sisters and nothing else?
When you know you won’t compromise to have the kind of life that poems are written about?
Damn it.
“So how exactly did you come to get here, Ida?” Lady Della asked, wiping her daughter’s face with a napkin. “Butter goes on the bread, Nora, not your cheek,” she said with a grin.
Nora nodded, then put another piece of buttered bread in her mouth.
“Well,” Ida began, shooting a look toward Bennett, who cocked his head at her, “there was a carriage, and I took it.”
Bennett smothered a laugh.
Della’s eyes went wide. “There was a carriage. And you took it,” she repeated.
Ida waved her hand. “There’s more to it than that, of course.”
“I assume so,” Della said dryly as Mrs. Wattings tried not to smile.
“I was in the carriage,” Bennett added. Making Ida glare at him.
Della’s eyebrows shot up. “You were in the carriage? So you didn’t plan on coming here together?”
“Not . . . exactly,” Ida replied in a reluctant tone.
Della cradled her chin in her hand. “So how was it, exactly?”
“Uh . . .” Ida said.
Bennett leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. He couldn’t wait to hear what she was going to say.
Ida shut the door to the room Della had shown her, her heart constricting with all sorts of emotions.
Conflicting emotions, ranging from exhilaration at having been reunited with Della again to anxiety that she wouldn’t be able to persuade her sister to return with her to a heartsickness that felt as though it were taking over her entire body, knowing that Bennett was down the hall, again, but she couldn’t see him in that way ever again.
They were both so set in their respective lives. And she couldn’t shake the thought that even if he were to say something, anything, about how he felt about her, she couldn’t with any kind of good conscience agree.
She would ruin his life. It was dramatic, but it was also true.
She undid her gown, twisting as she reached some of the buttons. Wishing he were here to help. Wishing he were here.
But if he were there, they’d be doing things. Things that made her heart race, and her breasts get heavy, and her whole mind get filled with thoughts of what could never be.
There were many reasons why. She just had to remember them.
For one: What would happen when somebody he had to use his diplomacy on said something that irked Ida? She was bound to say something opinionated and strident, leaving Bennett to try to explain away his outspoken wife.
Or two: Or when his family responsibilities took him away when she needed him? Was that any kind of way to live a life?
Well, yes. But not a way to live her life.
He would ruin her life, too. Because if she had to watch herself she would be less than the Ida she knew she was meant to be—a woman who spoke her mind, who exercised her intelligence to help others, who refused to relent when she knew she was in the right.
That was why she had come on this journey in the first place, wasn’t it? Because she refused to accept that this was the way it would be. That Della would be lost forever to them. That they would never know Nora.
It was that stubbornness that served her well now, but that would invariably ruin someone’s happiness.
She couldn’t. She would not.
She heard a sniffle, and realized it was her. Damn it. She did not want to cry over it all, but it appeared that that was what was happening.
She got onto the bed, letting herself sob with abandon, falling into the heartache as thoroughly as she did anything.
The next morning, her eyes were weary, but at least she was resolute.
She had to return to London as quickly as possible, she knew, because the longer she stayed away the more likely it was that her reputation be ruined. Not that she cared about that, but she didn’t want to taint Pearl’s chances of finding a husband.
“Della,” Ida said, after finishing her tea, “may we speak? In private?”
Della glanced at Mrs. Wattings, who nodded in agreement.
“Fine. But I have to be finished so I can teach my pupils in about half an hour,” Della said.
Half an hour. Fine. She could do this. She was Ida the Intelligent, wasn’t she? The most argumentative of the Howlett sisters?
Della led her upstairs to her bedroom. It was a lovely room, with a large striped coverlet on her bed, paintings clearly done by a child tacked up on the wall, a few pieces of jewelry on the dressing table.
“You have made a good home for yourself,” Ida said, picking up one of the necklaces.
“Mr. Baxter knew those were cheap, so he didn’t bother taking them when he left,” Della commented ruefully.
“They’re pretty.”
Della smiled. “Nora likes to play dress-up with them.”
“Nora seems like a wonderful child. One I want to know better,” Ida said in a meaningful tone.
Della rolled her eyes, but gestured for Ida to sit down, sitting down beside her on the bed.
“Can I offer you a bargain?” Ida began, hoping this would be the argument that would work. “You know all the reasons I want you to return. Coming back to us, giving Nora more of a family, knowing the two of you are safe. But I have a selfish reason as well.”
She took a deep breath. “The thing is, my travel here was somewhat unusual, and I know that if I return by myself, I will be forced to marry Lord Carson, who has no desire to marry me. Nor I him,” she added, even though she knew she wasn’t being entirely truthful.
“You have no wish to marry him, Ida?” Della sounded skeptical.
Ida took a deep breath and lied to her sister. “No.”
“I don’t believe you,” Della said. “I believe you have fallen in love with him.”
“That might be true,” Ida admitted. Della was too smart, and Ida too bad at lying, to prevaricate. “But it doesn’t mean I want to marry him. You, more than anyone, know what that is like.”
“It’s not the same thing at all,” Della said in a scornful voice. She bit her lip, looking past Ida in thought. “I did not want to marry Mr. Baxter, not after I discovered who he was. Thank goodness he left before I had to throw him out. And thank goodness Sarah was here, she helped me through the worst of it.”
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”
“Thank you. It was my own foolishness, I know that. But I also know that I am impulsive and impetuous.” She smiled. “As it seems you are, since you tore off after me.” She frowned. “I know you stole a carriage, of all things, but how did you know where to go?”
Ida grinned. “Well, it appears one of your students was practicing penmanship or something. I saw ‘Haltwhistle’ written on your latest letter. And since our mother was being our mother . . .”
Della’s eyes widened. “You mean she wanted to marry you off?”
Ida nodded.
“Not to Lord Carson, though?”
Would she have agreed if it were Bennett her mother had presented?
Likely not; her initial impression of Bennett was so different than what she thought now. She would have refused him with as much alacrity as she would have refused Lord Bradford, if he’d been offered the opportunity to propose.
“No. Even worse. It was to Lord Bradford. Do you remember him?”
Della wrinkled her brow in thought, then her expression cleared. “No. Him? He once explained that breakfast is first thing in the morning because it is when you break your fast. Only, he said in painstaking explanation, you don’t actually break anything.”
Ida gawked at Della for a moment before bursting into laughter. Della let out a peal of laughter as well, and the two sisters both collapsed onto the bed, holding their sides.
Eventually their laughter subsided, and Della’s expression turned serious again. “So you’re saying that unless I return with you you’ll be forced into marriage? How would that work? We’ll both be disgraced.”
“But we’ll be together,” Ida pleaded. “And all of those other arguments I presented, don’t forget about them. Aren’t we stronger together?”
“We are.”
Ida felt her heart lift at hearing Della’s confirmation.
Della continued. “You are as clever as always, Ida, presenting me with a request I can’t possibly refuse.” She reached over and took Ida’s hand in hers. “I will return with you, then, if only to ensure you won’t have to marry where you don’t want to. Not that I think for one moment that you would actually be forced into it, since I do know you, and your stubbornness. But I want Nora to know her aunts. All of her aunts.”
She looked up at the ceiling as she thought. “I expect we can stay with Eleanor. I do not wish to return to our father’s house, not until they’ve had a chance to decide how they feel about my return.”
She returned her gaze to Ida. “And I’ll speak to Sarah. I will invite her and Emily to join us, since they are my family.”
“Of course.” Ida hadn’t anticipated being joined by the other woman and her daughter, but if it meant Della wasn’t going to argue anymore about it, she would accept it.
She knew Eleanor would be thrilled to have Della and her friend and their children stay with her; Eleanor’s own baby was just a few months old.
“We can spend a few days here while Lord Carson obtains the funds and the carriage to bring us back. I might dry out by then,” Ida said in a wry tone.
“It is good to see you,” Della replied, squeezing Ida’s hand. “You don’t know what it means to me that you came all this way with your friend to find me. You must promise me, however, that once you are seen to be not at all compromised that you will allow me to make my own decision about my future. As I am helping you do with yours by my return.”
“Yes,” Ida responded immediately. “Of course. And if that means that you and Nora and Sarah and Emily come back here to your life, that is fine. I cannot promise I won’t join you, however.” Especially if it meant she would escape seeing Bennett being eventually married to the woman his life deserved—someone safe, and warm, and comforting. Someone who was everything that Ida was not.
“I’ll speak with Sarah and then I’ll start preparing for the journey.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “Nora will be thrilled.”
As was Ida. She and her niece had that in common then. Hopefully she would be able to get to know her niece. In London, with all of them together.
And if Della refused? Well. She should make certain to spend time with Nora now, since she might not get to see her again for a long time.
“My pa is a sailor,” Emily said.
She, Nora, and Ida had walked to the little pond at the edge of the property. Normally, the girls said, they weren’t allowed to come down there, not without one or the other of their mothers, but since it was their aunt—Emily had adopted Ida as her aunt as well—Della had said it was all right.
It gave Della a chance to speak with Sarah about London, and it gave Ida the opportunity to know her new nieces.
She hadn’t seen Bennett—Lord Carson, that is—yet that day, and she reminded herself that that was how it would be when they returned. She wouldn’t see him, he wouldn’t see her, they wouldn’t see each other.
Conjugating again? his voice said in her brain.
“Aunt Ida?” Nora asked.
Ida blinked as she focused on the girls. Both were staring at her wide-eyed, so apparently she’d made a noise or a face or something to indicate her scattered state of mind.
Wonderful. Now she was making small children question her sanity.
As she was questioning her choices.
The girls had brought paper boats to the pond, and were holding them over the water set to launch them. Ida didn’t have a lot of faith that the boats would do anything more than absorb water and sink, but she would not be explaining any of that to the children, whose expressions previously were those of excitement. Before Ida got odd and made them anxious.
“Nothing, girls. Sorry. Just remembering a story I heard.”
“You’re going to tell us your story.” Nora spoke in a commanding tone. Yes, she was rather like her aunt, wasn’t she?
Also, Ida didn’t have a story in mind. She wasn’t good at this whole prevaricating thing, was she?
“Emily, you said your father was a sailor?”
The little girl nodded.
“And you are here launching ships!” Ida could feel herself clutching at straws.
But she had done this before, hadn’t she? Talked at length about a topic just because someone mentioned something tangential to it?
“Do you know that in the Americas they call our sailors ‘lime-juicers’?”
Both girls shook their heads. Of course they didn’t know that. Ida had only stumbled upon it in a periodical she’d read at Mr. Beechcroft’s, one from New York that mostly contained shipping news. No wonder they’d never heard it.
“What is a lime-juicer?” Nora the Inquisitive asked.
She really was an excellent child.
“Well, you know what limes are, don’t you?”
Emily frowned and shook her head again. Nora beamed and folded her arms over her chest. “I do.”
“Do you want to tell us?” Ida asked.
Nora looked hesitant. “I think it’s green. And it’s food.”
“It is,” Ida replied, suppressing an urge to list all of the green food items in her mental inventory. That could take several hours, and it wouldn’t be useful toward helping the children understand now.
That she had to suppress the thought at all meant she hadn’t entirely lost her urge for pedantry. She’d have to be mindful of that. There was no reason to dissuade learning in the young just because the older teacher was determined to show just how much she happened to know.
“A lime is a member of the citrus genus.” Not that they would know Linnaeus either. “In order to organize things, we put them into categories. Like your hair ribbon, Emily, is like Nora’s hair ribbon. Only they are not the same hair ribbon, or it would be very difficult for both of you to wear them.”
The girls looked at each other and giggled.
“A lime is similar, but not the same, to lemons and oranges and other members of the citrus genus. It’s got a green outside and a lighter green inside.”
“What do limes have to do with sailors?”
Ida beamed at Nora. “That is a very good question. Americans noticed that our sailors, sailing in the British Navy, ate a lot of limes. Well,” she amended, knowing the girls wouldn’t care about absolute accuracy but not being able to leave a misapprehension alone, “they actually put lime juice into their grog.”
By this time, the girls had abandoned their boats and were seated on the grass, one on each side of Ida. Nora was leaning her head against Ida’s arm, while Emily had hold of Ida’s hand.
It felt so different from anything she’d ever experienced before.
It felt strange and wonderful, and her heart constricted. This was what it would be like if she had children of her own. Not that she was planning on having children; if she wasn’t planning on getting married at any point in her life she wouldn’t be considering children.
She was not Della, after all.
But the thought of it, of having a young mind or minds to nourish and grow . . .
“What is grog?” Nora said, interrupting Ida just as she thought she might burst into tears.
“Grog?” Ida blinked, her brain recalling what she knew so she could report it accurately. “Grog is a drink that sailors drink. Perhaps your father has had it, Emily.”
Emily gave a shy smile.
“It’s rum mixed with water. I heard that it is named after some admiral because he wore a coat made of grogram. What the French call gros grain.”
The girls’ expressions were puzzled. No wonder, since she had just given the worst possible explanation of the word grog.
“We should get back,” Ida said, getting up to her feet.
If she was going to confuse the children, she could do that just as well at Della’s house, where he might be.
Not that she wanted to see him.
You can’t even lie to yourself properly, a voice chided in her head. A voice that sounded a lot like Pearl’s.
She wished, suddenly, that she had some grog. She would drink it until she could not think anymore, and then she wouldn’t have to be bothered with thoughts of him and children and what could never be.
But she didn’t have grog. What she had was an undecided sister and a gentleman with whom she didn’t want to do the honorable thing, no matter how much she truly did want that.
She took the girls’ hands and began to walk back toward the house, feeling the alternating tug of her heart as it cycled through what could and would not happen.
Lecturing about life and the natural order of things was far less complicated than living life.
Contradictorium Idatum, indeed.
Bennett had left the house early that morning, not wanting to torture himself by seeing her. Even though it was torture not seeing her, but that was a different type of torture.
No doubt she could have explained the cognitive differences.
He smiled even as it hurt to think about her.
Never mind that it was already torture to be wearing his clothing from the day before, which was still damp from the rain. The alternative to that, however, was venturing into town in Lady Della’s dressing gown, which he didn’t think the town was ready for.
Already that day, he’d sent a letter to his bank, asking for funds, and then found a stable where he could rent a carriage and horses. The proprietor had been suspicious, at first, but had warmed to him as soon as Bennett gave his title and the amount he was willing to pay.
Then he found a place to sell him a suit—not one as good as the one he was wearing, from Mr. Holding. But it was dry.
His business finished, he walked back to Lady Della’s house, moving swiftly when he thought about seeing Ida, and then slowing his pace as he thought about her.
About them, and this magical journey they’d been on. That was about to end.
“You’ve returned,” Mrs. Wattings said as he stepped into the house. “Lady Ida is waiting for you in the sitting room. Just there,” she said, gesturing to the room they’d first gone into the day before.
Lady Ida. Had she spent all morning thinking about him as well?
He nodded, stepping quickly into the room.
It was surprisingly cozy, with rugs scattered on the floor in front of the fireplace and the sofa. A well-worn desk was at one end, while a bookcase that appeared to house both adult and children’s books was in the other corner.
She stood in the middle of the room, clasping her hands in front of her, her expression nearly blinding in its joy. So it was unlikely she’d been thinking about him after all. He shouldn’t be disappointed, and yet he had to admit wishing she were slightly less happy.
“You’re back.” He saw her swallow, and he braced himself for whatever she was about to say. “She and Nora will come with us. And Mrs. Wattings and Emily.”
“Everyone is coming to London?” So her mission would be fulfilled. And his adventure would be over. He sat down heavily. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you were able to convince her, I know how insistent you can be, but I have to admit to being surprised in this case.”
Ida’s expression was almost bashful. As though she was pleased by the compliment, but not quite sure how to react. “I told her that if she didn’t return that I would be entirely compromised.” She lifted her chin as she took a deep breath. “That if we returned alone there was no way for us to avoid marriage. I know neither of us wants that.” She lifted her chin again as though to dare him to challenge her statement. Did she want him to?
“You are certain about that?” he asked, getting up but not allowing himself to go to her, to take her in his arms as he wished to. This had to be entirely her choice. He wouldn’t do her the disservice of arguing with her. She deserved that respect.
She nodded. “I am.” She walked to him, slid her hands under his coat to draw him close. He breathed in the scent of her hair, felt the warmth of her body.
He was going to have to give all of this up? It hurt already.
She spoke in a voice that resonated with emotion. “I have enjoyed spending time with you, far more than I anticipated. But I am not for you, and you are not for me. We both know you require a certain type of lady, and I will not, nor would I ever be, that person.”
His chest tightened, and he swallowed hard against the words that clogged his throat—what if you could change, what if I could change, can’t you at least try?—because he knew what his family and his situation demanded, and he knew she was right.
Damn it, she was always right. And was right for herself, as well.
She would be miserable if she tried to change for him, and he couldn’t allow her to do that. Never mind she’d likely refuse anyway.
So instead of speaking he lowered his head and kissed her. Softly, tenderly, as though this was the last time their lips would meet.
Likely it was.
Dear god, this hurt. But not as much as it would hurt if he had to watch as she shrank into someone she was not, merely to fit in. The Ida he loved would become diminished, day by day, until she was just a shell of her previous self.
He heard her make a small noise, and he held her, breaking the kiss as he rested his chin on her head. She held him tightly, pressing her face into his chest. “I wish it could be any other way, I do. But I have obligations to my family, and so do you.”
She exhaled. “Besides which, I cannot be the soft and gentle wife you want. The soft and gentle wife you need in your life.”
He couldn’t speak. The woman he loved, whom he was fairly certain loved him, was being sensible about their future, was refusing to compromise. He wouldn’t want an Ida who was willing to compromise—that wasn’t her, that wouldn’t be the woman he loved.
So this was it.
This was their good-bye.
“Thank you,” he said in a soft voice.
“For what?” she asked, raising her head to look him in the eye. She arched a brow, clearly trying to lighten the moment. “There are so many things you could be thanking me for.”
“And you me,” he retorted smugly, liking how her cheeks colored at the recollection—of his bringing her pleasure, of their shared intimacy.
“But I am thanking you for ensuring both of us are free to choose,” he said in a serious tone of voice, “and for reminding me that you are the strongest, bravest, most intelligent woman I know.”
“Oh,” she replied in a low voice. “Thank you.”
Ida hadn’t expected a broken heart to feel so . . . broken. She walked upstairs, her pace slow, her thoughts churning. He respected her too much to argue with her, that was obvious.
Although she had to admit to wishing that he had argued, that he had told her how he felt about her.
Would she have changed her mind?
She knew she’d be tempted. To spend the rest of her life with him, in his bed, having their children. Especially after seeing firsthand what it would be like to converse with a curious child.
But she knew it wasn’t possible, not the way they both saw their futures. He would return to being the responsible member of his family, and she would forge her own path, refusing to submit to anyone else’s plans.
Besides which, even if she had agreed, she knew herself too well to think she would have been able to be the wife he needed. Eventually she would make her opinion of someone or something known, ruining his chance of success in one area or another. Perhaps all the areas, given how forthright she was.
And then she would destroy what he was trying to do. The good he was trying to create.
She couldn’t live with that possibility, no matter how much she loved him. She understood duty and honor and responsibility so much more now, thanks to him. She knew it was her duty to keep his future clear and direct.
She wouldn’t want him to have to monitor her words to make certain she wasn’t going to offend anyone. He’d be kind, and diplomatic as he told her why she couldn’t or shouldn’t say something. But it would fray their relationship, and she wanted an equal partner, not a manager.
It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though.
She began to turn the handle on the door to her bedroom when she heard a voice in the hallway.
“Lady Ida?”
Ida shifted to see who it was. She knew it wasn’t him, and that was all her brain could process.
“Della asked me about returning to London.”
It was Mrs. Wattings, who stood halfway down the hall, wearing a gown in a serviceable color that nonetheless managed to make her look elegant.
The woman was beautiful; only perhaps as old as Della, with wide dark eyes that looked almost haunted. But she had a tentative smile on her face, and Ida couldn’t help but warm to her. Not to mention how she’d come to live in Haltwhistle, of all out-of-the-way places. And found, apparently, a best friend in her sister.
Ida was struck by Mrs. Wattings’s words. “I didn’t realize you had lived there before. Della didn’t mention that. Or perhaps she had, but I hadn’t expected someone like you.”
The woman nodded as she spoke. “I can imagine someone like me is not who you’d expect to find with your sister.”
Ida opened the door to the bedroom and gestured for Mrs. Wattings to step inside.
“But we got to talking,” Mrs. Wattings continued, “and found we had so much in common. It wasn’t possible to stay in my current lodgings, so when Della asked if we could share this house, I jumped at the chance.” She smiled at the memory.
Ida sat on the edge of the bed as Mrs. Wattings lowered herself into a chair to the right of the door.
“Oh, but you were asking about London.” Mrs. Wattings got a faraway look in her eyes. “Yes, I was there before Emily was born. I met my husband there.” A sad look crossed her face, perhaps explaining Mrs. Wattings’s haunted expression. “He brought me here before going out to sea again.”
“Ah,” Ida replied. She wouldn’t pry, but she was desperate—as she always was—to know what had happened.
Was her husband lost? Had he left? How long had he been gone? Was Mrs. Wattings still holding out hope for his return, or had she accepted what might have happened?
Yes, she was distracting herself with someone else’s story. But it was better than sobbing on the bed again.
“I have family there, but it’s not family I particularly wish to see.” Which only made Ida more desperate to know more. Curiousulus nasus, indeed. “But Della spoke to me about going back, and giving your family the chance to know Nora. And I thought my family should at least meet Emily. Even if they don’t wish to have us in their lives.”
“Won’t that be painful for you?”
Ida heard the woman swallow before she answered. “Yes. But Della and I have become a family here, so Emily will never be without love. And my younger brother—he was too young when I left to understand the choice I had to make. I want to give him the chance to make the choice again, to let us in his life. Della says she will work on finding Sam. My husband.”
Ida bit her tongue to keep from asking more questions. It was enough, sometimes, for people to talk to her. She didn’t always have to be demanding information. That was another thing the past week or so had taught her—she should listen as well as speak.
No matter how many questions she wanted to ask, or how much advice she wanted to give.
Mrs. Wattings shook her head. “I don’t know why I am telling you all this, except to say I understand how important family is, and that is why I know it is important for Della to go back. And for us to return as well. That you and your friend can provide the means for us to do it makes it impossible to refuse. So thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” That was the second time in less than an hour that Ida had been thanked, and she didn’t think she had ever had that happen before.
Even if one of the thankers was thanking her for not marrying him. She would perhaps not dwell on that too much.
“Well, we should be able to depart in a few days, provided Lord Carson can make the necessary arrangements.”
And then the adventure would be over.