“Good.” He sighed and leaned back again. “Another?” He motioned to the brandy glass. She offered it forward, and he topped it up from the carafe the maid had brought for them.
“One thing,” she whispered as she took the glass back from him. “What would you do, do you think? If you ever met him?”
Allan poured out a second glass of brandy for himself, buying himself some time, so he could debate his answer. He lifted the glass to his lips and knocked back a large gulp.
He could picture in his mind all so easily what he would do. He imagined some nondescript gentleman before him, probably clothed completely in black, with a mean face. Allan would have struck up straight on the jaw then again on the nose. With the man prostrate on the ground, gripping to a broken nose, that would just be the start. If he had his way, the man who hurt Frederica would never be able to walk or touch another woman with his hand again, and perhaps then he would have felt some satisfaction in life.
A little justice would be served.
“I don’t know,” he lied to her. “Let’s hope we never have to find out.”
CHAPTERTWENTY
Allan peered through the doorway into the parlor, not daring to enter.
It had been three days since Frederica had been to see her parents, and each day, she seemed to be growing worse. Though she came to breakfast and dinner, sat with him, and even managed the occasional little smile, she did not talk freely.
Even now when she was sitting with her maid, Lucy, and the two were talking together about the renovations on the house, she was lackluster in conversation. Pale and wan and lacking in energy, she was lost.
A distant bell rang in the house, and Allan turned away, unable to stare at his sad wife any longer. He burned with anger as he walked away, all that fury directed at her parents.
When he reached the entrance hall, the butler had beaten him to the front door, opening it wide.
Stephen stepped in, and at his side was Peter, who was waving one of his favorite wooden horses in the air.
“Uncle Allan!” Peter declared happily, releasing his father and running forward.
“Hey,” Allan said happily, reaching down and lifting his nephew up under his arms. “What have you got there?” he asked, pointing at the horse.
“My horse,” Peter said. “I’ll be a great rider when I’m older. I’ve told Pa as much.”
“That he has,” Stephen agreed, walking forward with a laugh. As he reached Allan’s side though, his laugh faltered a little. “Are you all right?”
“Well enough. Come, let’s get something to drink.”
Allan led the pair of them outside into the rose garden. As Peter ran off with his horse, a footman trailing behind him to make sure he didn’t fall into one of the rose bushes, Stephen and Allan shared a pitcher of lemonade.
“Out with it,” Stephen said, waving a hand at Allan. “In this brief moment of respite, come, tell me what is bothering you.”
“Frederica is wandering around this house like a ghost,” Allan muttered, shaking his head. “Something happened. What, I cannot tell you, for it is her tale to tell, not mine, but ever since, she has acted as if she isn’t really here at all. She’s too trapped in here —” He tapped his own temple. “I don’t know what to do to bring her out again.”
“Forgive this question, Allan. If Dorothy were here, she’d shout at me — probably curse at me too if she thought no one else was listening — but I have to ask as your friend.” He checked around his shoulder then leaned toward Allan. “Do you think you and Frederica can be happy together? Someday?”
The question took him so much by surprise that he didn’t answer right away. He stood there, staring at his lemonade, stuck for words.
“If you think it possible, then I’d suggest doing something about it. Perhaps giving her a way to show that she could be happy here. If you think that you will never be happy…” Stephen sighed and took Allan’s shoulder. “I would hate to see you miserable in your life, Allan. You deserve to be happy in your marriage.”
“There’s so much talk of happiness and misery these days, I feel as if I am going to drown in it. You know, doctors call it the melancholy. Have you heard of that?” Allan asked with exasperation.
“I have heard of it. Do you think that is what you and your wife suffer from at present?”
“No.” Allan shook his head quickly. “I know what you are saying, Stephen, but I do think we could be happy together. There have been moments in this house where we have been happy.”
He thought of Frederica’s first few days here, how much they had laughed together, how he would sit with her as she played the piano and she would come walking with him in the garden.
Then there was that kiss…
For all of her insistence for him not to kiss her again, she had kissed him back. It offered him a glimmer of hope.
