“And a household teeming with servants is not part of it.”
“Is this because of your father?” Felix cast out his hand, his finger dragging across her upper arm. “You do not have to grieve alone.”
“My father has nothing to do with it.”
“Stubborn Caro.”
“Perhaps a little bit to do with it,” she admitted. Surprising to say that out loud. What else would she tell him? Because the patient way he waited for her to speak, the admiring, teasing way he’d called her stubborn—it made her want to pour out her soul. She folded her hands in her lap and spoke to them. And what if telling him this little shadowy secret appeased him, made him realize he could leave?
She could try.
“We traveled,” she said. “All the time, as you know. I met so many different people and explored so many different places. It shaped me into who I am, gave me a sense of the world, and its people many do not possess. Yet… it would have been nice to have a home, a place to return to. Siswell Abbey was as close as Chloe and I got to something like that. Those summers at your grandfather’s house, the only stillness in our lives, the only… permanence.”
Somehow his hand had stolen into her lap, his fingers stretching toward her until his hand engulfed hers. He squeezed.
“My father gave us everything but a home to return to between journeys, and I suppose that was a lesson, too. Our travels taught us that differences between others were not frightening. That the world could be cold, but that we could make small corners of it warmer for some. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a safe home, you know.”
“You want Hawthorne to be your home.”
“It will be a home. Warm and lovely.” She scowled. “Once we get all the windows replaced.”
“And dust banished.”
“And there’s a banister or two in need of tightening.” She sighed. “I need Hawthorne to bring to life the final lesson my father taught me. It is as much a memorial for him as it is my hope for the future.”
He nodded, his hand snaking out of her lap. “I understand now your determination. And I”—he tugged at his already loose cravat—“know what it is like. To lose. And to grieve. And to heal.”
Did he, though? The way he tiptoed around this house, shadow-eyed… she was not convinced he’d mastered that last part. The healing part.
“Will you open the note, Caro-mine?” he asked.
“You mispronounced it.”
“Don’t think I did.”
Caro-mine.
She jerked away from him, worried she’d do whatever he asked in that moment. “What is wrong with you, Felix?”
His gaze flickered to her lips. “I think I might be obsessed. Will you read my note?”
“Oh!” She jumped to her feet. “You are a scoundrel. If you think you can usethis morningagainst me—”
“I’m not against you.” He sat up straighter, his eyes clearing. “I’mwithyou. I want to help.”
He wantedcontrol. That, an entirely different thing. “Will you interview for footmen tomorrow? A butler?”
He shook his head. “I’ve sent to London for those.”
She paced across the room, as far from him as she could get.
“I will not be here to protect you, so I’ve made arrangements to hire fellows who can. Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s inspired the idea.”
Oh no. “What idea?” She braced herself for a blow.
“Former soldiers and boxers, bruisers who know how to throw a punch. The intimidating sort.”
“No! Felix.” He’d hired big, violent beasts of men who very well might terrify the women Hawthorne was meant to protect, to soothe and support. “I did not agree to that.”
