He should have smiled at the sight of his parents—whole and gleaming and loving him—and he should have painted the beauty in this ballroom and not the darkness.
I’m sorry, Father.
“Me want to bring Baby here to play.” Mercy leaped from his lap and joined John on the wingback, laughing as she stepped on her brother’s toes.
Sorry I could not listen to you.Whether it was right or wrong, Simon did not know. But for all his dreading the encounter, for all his anxiety over returning empty-handed to a man who had forewarned him of failure…he had needed that.
He had needed to look Father in the eyes. He had needed to know that, after years of unanswered letters, the man still considered him a son.
Pain jabbed at his throat. Now he would never know.
Crack. Thud.John and Mercy must have jostled themselves too hard in the wingback chair, for wood splintered and their legs crashed through the seat.
With a look of chagrin, John scrambled out and pulled Mercy with him. “Sorry, sir.”
“Sorry,” echoed Mercy.
“Be careful.” Simon stepped over a stack of wooden boxes and motioned them to the window. “Come here and look.”
They hurried next to him, and despite another smallthunkof something knocking over, he grinned as they pressed their small hands to the tall sash window. “You can see as far from this window as you can see from the top of a mountain back home.”
“Me see sheep, Papa!” Mercy squashed her nose against the glass, the evening sunlight dancing in her curls. “Me see five. Me see six. Me see seven.”
“And horses.” John pointed across the brown, yellowed countryside, where a servant led two horses on a worn path. “Can I ride one please? If I’m good?”
“Yes. You can ride all of them if you wish.”
“I can?”
Simon clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “But not today. First, you must do as your nanny tells you. You will both have your own chambers tonight.”
Both stilled at the news.
Mercy tugged at his coat. “Papa?”
“Yes?”
“Me want to sleep with you.”
He shook his head no.
“Then me want to sleep with John.”
“She can.” John took his sister’s hand. “I mean, so she won’t be scared. So I can watch after her.”
Before he could answer, a tap came from the half-open turret door. A footman leaned inside. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but—”
“Step aside now, Hanson.” Mother’s voice. The footman swung the door open wider, and she filled the doorway with a tentative smile. “Are you all here, then?”
Simon stepped back over the boxes, urging his children with him. “You need not have climbed those steps, Mother. Had you a wish to see us, you might have asked.”
“I am blind, not crippled, my dear.” Despite the words, her breaths came fast, and she leaned upon her cane as if the journey up the winding turret stairwell had exhausted her. “This is only your second day home, and already I feel as if you are avoiding me.”
Guilt niggled him.
“But you are my Simon, always to himself. Perhaps I should have expected that.” She felt her way into the room. “May I see the children?”
“John, this is your grandmother.” Simon motioned John to approach the older woman, and though he stiffened as her hands swept down his face, his shoulders relaxed a bit at her soothing smile.
