The Mistress of Trevelyan (31 page)

"Yes," I said softly, wondering myself if I was expecting too much to want Justin to heal and to be happy again. For I had to be honest with myself. If Robert had died, his death would have been a thorn in my heart that I don't know if I could have released. "Yes, I am scared. Being brave does not mean you are not afraid bad things will happen. Being brave is having fears, but still having the courage to live."

I held my hand out to him. "Come share today with us, and we will be secretly brave together."

Justin looked at my hand for a long moment, and just when I thought he'd say no, he unclenched his fist and put his hand in mine. When we stood, I saw Robert standing in the doorway, looking very serious.

"I always thoughted that you were the bravest and I was stupid for being scared," he said.

Justin's eyes widened.

I smiled and held my other hand out to Robert. "Maybe you two can share what makes you scared, and then maybe it will not be so scary."

Robert nodded as he took my hand Justin shrugged nonchalantly, but I could tell the idea interested him.

"Can we check our babies before we go?" Robert asked.

"If we hurry." The trip to the back of the garden didn't take long, and both boys were satisfied that their "babies" were doing quite well.

"I watered them and took care of them while you were sick," Justin told Robert. "I made sure they were well for you."

Robert reached over and hugged his brother. "Thank you, Jus. You're the bestest big brother."

Justin looked surprised. Then he hugged Robert back. It was the first real affection Justin had let himself express since my arrival at Trevelyan Hill.

Tears were still stinging my eyes as we rushed into the foyer. Benedict was waiting for us, hustling us to the carriage, but I still took a moment to glance at the glorious stained glass windows and whisper a prayer of thanks for that little sign of hope from Justin. I even gave the suit of armor a loving pat for guarding over the stained glass so diligently.

Once in the carriage, I found it most difficult to keep my mind on what Robert was saying to me as the carriage moved down the drive. My attention kept wandering to Benedict and how disturbing it was to be in the close confines of a carriage with him. I almost thought that riding Odin would be less intimidating. Almost

Benedict was so broad that he nearly took up the whole seat His long legs lay stretched across the floor of the carriage, close enough to mine that our calves brushed slightly with every bump in the road. He wore dark brown again, pants and jacket. His white ruffled shirt, crisply fresh, struck me as being at odds with the tiredness creasing his face. Robert's illness had taken a toll.

"Look, Miss Wovell, there's some pretty purple flowers. Can we pick them like last time and take them to our mommies?"

"Uh—" I hesitated, wondering what Benedict's reaction would be about going to Francesca's grave.

Benedict frowned, and a twinge of disappointment touched my heart. Didn't he realize how much Justin and Robert needed to express their feelings for their mother?

"Why don't we get a bouquet from the florist after we go to the bank? Picking wildflowers like a poor man is not what a Trevelyan would... do."

My cheeks flushed hotly. I hadn't considered that I'd taught Justin and Robert an action not in keeping with their position in life. In fact, in all of my teachings, I never once remembered taking their financial standing into consideration. Was I doing them a disservice?

Benedict's gaze shot to mine, surprising me as he winced, having realized he'd labeled me a "poor man." I smiled tightly back, suddenly too aware of the class difference between us. Seeing him only within the setting of Trevelyan Manor in many ways had masked that difference, which was odd. I would have expected the richness of his home to make it more pronounced. Instead, I could see that exposed to the dictates of society, the distance between us would become more glaringly apparent, like revealing my work-worn hands to the bright light of day instead of hiding them beneath kid gloves as I did now.

I told myself it was a good thing to be exposed for what I was, even by something so simple as picking wildflowers for graves. I was a woman of extremely modest means, who'd been born out of wedlock. A man of Benedict's breeding and money was a man that I could never hope to openly love.

The brightness of the sun dimmed a little, and a slight weariness threaded through my body. Constance had asked me if I believed in choosing one's fate, or if one could never change the fate to which one was born. I believed one could choose, but I now saw that change could only go so far.

"Roses," Justin said into the uncomfortable silence filling the air in the carriage. "I want to give both Miss Lovell's mother and my mother lots of roses."

Benedict cleared his voice, as if he had words caught in his throat and couldn't speak. "Roses it is, then. But why roses?"

"Because they have thorns," Justin said. "That makes them real."

Benedict lifted a brow my way, but didn't comment further. I bit my lip. This outing of fun and sunshine I'd been picturing to bring Benedict and his sons closer together wasn't off to a good start.

Thankfully, the next few hours progressed on a lighter note. At the bank, Benedict gave each of the boys twenty dollars and opened an account for them. And the bank clerk swore Justin and Robert to secrecy, claiming accounts for children weren't something they did for every customer. This impressed them immensely. The candy store and the florist followed. Benedict, Justin, and Robert each bought two bouquets of flowers, and at Benedict's insistence, I chose an arrangement of white and yellow daisies. We were on our way out when little Robert gasped. "I forgotted. Grandfather is watching over Mommy." He looked at his father. "Would he like flowers, too?"

I saw Benedict take a deep breath, as if the death of his father was still a fresh wound. "I had forgotten, too, son." Benedict took a whiff of the fragrant blooms cradled in his arms. I couldn't help but remember the night he held Robert and me, cradling us both with his warm strength. I blinked, refocusing on Benedict's words. "Your grandfather loved roses. They were his favorite. He even wrote a book about them."

"A real book?" Justin, who thus far today had only spoken when asked a question, drew closer to his father. "He liked roses, too, like me?"

"He loved roses." Benedict jostled the bouquets to one arm and set his hand on Justin's shoulder. "He went to Europe and chose the different roses in our garden at home."

"May I see the book and read it? Miss Lovell is teaching me to read."

"Yes. I also hear Miss Lovell has taught you how to play chess."

Justin nodded

"How about this afternoon we play a game and then read a little of what your grandfather wrote together?"

Justin nodded, but not even his reticence could hide the pleased gleam in his gaze.

Benedict squeezed Justin's shoulder affectionately. "Why don't you and Robert each pick out a rose to give to your grandfather."

"What color did he like?" Robert asked.

Benedict smiled. "All of them. So you will just have to pick out the two prettiest."

The boys ran back to the florist, asking to see all of the roses he had, and I rolled my eyes. "You know this may take them a while?" I spoke with a smile curving my lips that said I had all the time in the world. When it came to moments that brought Justin further from his isolated shell, I did have all the time in the world.

"You looked as if you needed a moment to rest anyway. Is this excursion too taxing?" Benedict motioned me to a chair at the front of the shop, and I sat, more tired than I'd realized.

"Heavens no. My constitution is—"

"In need of rest. Maria informed me that you kept Justin and Robert with you all afternoon yesterday doing lessons." His heated gaze examined me from head to toe, leaving a trail of fire behind. "I thought we agreed that you were going to spend this week recuperating."

"We only read, nothing strenuous." I'd only been able to tolerate lying in bed for so long before thoughts of Benedict in my bed sent me scurrying for something with which to occupy myself. Remembering what condition arguing with me induced in him, I thought it best to change the subject. "Writing a book is quite an accomplishment. I, too, am interested in reading your father's book.
The Romance of the Rose
is an interesting title."

Benedict's eyes widened. "You have seen the book then?"

"Yes. I encountered your mother in the library late one night. She had it with her."

"My mother had my father's book out?" More than surprise settled in his expression. He looked shocked. "She has not touched a rose since he died, much less his beloved book. It has been too painful for her. Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." I frowned. "Though she had given me quite a fright. The scrape of her cane had me imagining that a—"

I pressed my hand to my mouth, too late to stop or undo what I'd accidentally revealed. I forced myself to meet Benedict's gaze, thinking there might be a slight chance he hadn't heard. He had.

He stared at me over the top of the roses. "I beg your pardon?"

"I believe I said I was sure she had the book."

"Miss Lovell, I think you had better tell me what in damnation is going on." His voice, though lowered to a barely audible whisper, was sharp enough to slice through stone.

Wincing, I took a deep breath. How did I always seem to end up in the middle of things? In some ways, I felt as if I'd betrayed Mrs. Trevelyan's confidence, though I knew she held no loyalty to me. "Um, I think perhaps you misunderstood me, Mr. Trevelyan. I meant to say—"

"Miss Lovell, please do not argue with me further. We are in public." His voice sounded strained, reminiscent of his confession in his study.

"Here?" Shocked, I dropped my gaze, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Still, I thought it best to be prudent. "Very well, in light of your condition, I will concede. Your mother was walking with the aid of a cane, but it is her secret to tell when she's ready and not mine. So could we not mention this and put this with the other thing that never happened?"

"Miss Lovell, I fear we are both doomed. You are as big a fool as I."

I blinked. What had he meant by that cryptic remark? And why did he appear to be laughing at me?

"We've the two bestest roses ever." Robert held his prize, a large, deep pink rose. Justin followed. I noticed he carried a big red bloom, but this time he didn't have his hands fisted around the thorns.

Benedict and I both exchanged a look that mutually ended our conversation for now; but it was far from over. I marched out to the carriage, wondering why he thought he was the only one who could do something and then pretend it didn't happen. Didn't I have the same prerogative?

By the time we approached the Trevelyan family monument, I'd put the conversation from my mind. It warmed my heart to see that being here this time was easier for both Robert and Justin. Robert chatted about the angel watching over his grandfather and mother. Justin, still quiet, kneeled near his mother's grave, his hands loosely clasped—a marked difference from before.

Benedict, on the other hand, stood between his father and his wife's graves, looking like an overdried hide stretched between two sticks, so taut it might crack at any moment.

I left Robert and Justin and moved to where he stood. Unsure of what I could say, I stayed silent, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from touching him. I set my hand upon his shoulder, feeling his heat through his coat and my gloves.

He didn't turn to look at me, and I was thankful. For even this small impropriety in a public, though empty place had my cheeks burning. The dark of night hid barriers that were too glaring to overcome during the day. Perhaps that explained our fall into passion during the midnight mists surrounding Trevelyan Manor.

"I have never read his book. Before he died, I resented his interest in roses. He lived and breathed them, ignoring all else to the point that the Trevelyan fortune was nearly gone.  We never understood each other. He and Stephen were a lot alike." He spoke reluctantly, as if the words were being pulled from him by an outside force.

"What happened to him?"

"There was a storm at sea. The ship went down. There were no survivors."

I shivered, and Benedict shook his head, as if to awaken himself. I hesitated only a moment before I leapt to where I knew I should never tread, but I had to hear it from him. I had to hear him tell me of his wife. "Tell me about Francesca," I said softly.

"There's nothing to say." Benedict jerked away from my touch as if wounded, his expression guarded, his mouth grim. "Justin, Robert, let's go. We have still to visit Miss Lovell's mother's grave."

Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them back as I curled my hand into a fist. I felt as if I'd had the wind knocked from me. I followed them from the cemetery, thinking that I'd lost something within its shadows. Or maybe all that I felt existing between Benedict and me was merely the illusions of a spinster's heart. I would never know unless he decided to tell me what lay beneath the fire in his dark eyes. But even then, if all that I thought he felt turned out to be false, what I felt for him would never change.

And as I left the cemetery behind, a thought scraped over my heart. If Robert and Justin's mother were still alive, and I was their governess, I'd have loved them the same. And Benedict, too. If he'd been married, I would have loved him still. For love didn't come upon command, but grew where it chose.

It was not a reassuring realization. I'd like to think that if he'd been married, this fire between us would have been nothing more than a fleeting gleam of light destined never to shine. Surely I had that much fortitude. At least I prayed that to be so. Had Stephen thought the same and failed?

As we got into the carriage, I glanced Benedict's way. Even as I wondered if I'd ever have the courage to ask about Francesca again, I knew I didn't have the right to do so.

The ride to my mother's memorial park passed quickly, and as I approached her grave, my steps slowed. In the time since her death, I'd changed from the woman I'd been, and I wondered if she would recognize me today. I liked to think so. She'd always looked upon people's hearts to see the potential within. Robert and Justin rushed ahead, setting their rich flowers at the foot of the grave. Benedict slowed his gait to match mine.