Chapter Twenty-Three
INA LEANED BACK against her workbench with a glass of wine cradled in her hand. In front of her stood Hero and Leander. Finished.
She’d spent two days sanding the marble after she’d finished the last of the detail work. Then there’d been half a day of rubbing it down with the raw side of a piece of leather, transferring the oils to the stone to give it a soft finish. Now the marble glowed like skin, and her tragic lovers looked almost like they could move.
She took a sip of wine, trying to enjoy the satisfaction of finishing the job she’d worked at for months, but she couldn’t help the sadness that crept in. She’d hoped to share this moment with Gavin, but she hadn’t heard from him since she’d left Oak Park.
Why would he want to see you? She’d been the one to leave. Not a day went by when she didn’t regret that decision of nearly three weeks ago, but she knew it had been the right one. Better to rip the plaster off the wound all at once than to subject them both to an agonizing bit-by-bit unraveling of their marriage.
At least that was what she told herself to get through the days. The nights were infinitely harder. All alone in her room, she lay awake wishing he’d come through the connecting door. Sometimes, when she could sleep, she’d start awake, hoping it was him, only to realize the sound was nothing more than the scullery maid laying a fire in the early hours of the morning. Each time a dark disappointment would spread through her like spilled ink and she’d huddle a little further under the covers to try to block out her loneliness.
She took a long draught of wine and then stole a glance at the packing crate that sat in the corner. In her bedroom, tucked between the pages of a book, was the note Gavin had sent along with the box. She’d taken it out time after time, rereading the affirmation of his faith that she was good enough to compete along with the best sculptors in England and across the Continent. All she needed to do now was give Norris the word that Hero and Leander were done, and he’d call upon the workmen, who’d winch the work into the crate and carry it off to the Society. It was the last step before the mysterious I.R.D. made her debut at the exhibition in barely two weeks.
A knock at her studio door pulled her out of her reverie. She looked up and found Norris waiting patiently for her.
“Good evening, Norris.”
“Evening, madam. I wonder if you might be home to Mrs. Sullivan,” he said.
“Mrs. Sullivan? What time is it?” she asked.
“Just past eight o’clock,” said the butler.
“Hardly the conventional calling hour.”
“She indicated it was urgent and a matter of some delicacy,” he said.
She sighed. “I’m sure it is. Please show her in.”
“Here?” he asked. He might as well have asked, “And while you’re wearing that?” considering that she intended to receive the grand lady dressed in her work clothes and covered in dust and polishing sand.
“If she’s going to call right now, then she can surely tolerate the sight of an artist at work.”
“Very good,” said Norris.
She set her glass down and retrieved its companion from the tray Norris had optimistically brought along with her wine and sandwiches. The butler hadn’t said anything yet—he was far too well trained for that—but he and the rest of the staff must have been wondering where Gavin was. Well, they’d have to become accustomed to the idea of working for a separated household.
She was just pouring the wine when Mrs. Sullivan strolled in in an elegant plum gown shot through with silver thread.
“Good evening, my dear Lady Barrett,” said the matchmaker a touch too cheerfully. “You must forgive me for dropping in on you like this.”
“That’s quite all right, Mrs. Sullivan. Wine?” she asked, holding out the glass.
“That would be just the thing.” The woman accepted and then turned to the sculpture. “Now, this is quite a triumph.”
Despite her melancholy, Ina warmed a little at the praise. “Thank you. I just finished polishing a half hour ago.”
“May I?” Mrs. Sullivan asked.
Ina nodded and watched as the woman circled the sculpture, scrutinizing it.
“The detail is incredible, so lifelike. And the thinness of Hero’s veil is incredible, almost as though you could believe it’s transparent.”
“Thank you,” Ina said. “I’ve admired Giovanni Strazza’s Veiled Virgin for some time now, although I’ve never been fortunate enough to see it in person. I’d hoped to emulate some of his technique.”
“The wonders of photography and its ability to increase our knowledge never cease to amaze,” said the matchmaker. “Will you be entering this in the Royal Sculpture Society’s exhibition?”
Ina took a delicate sip of wine before responding. “Women aren’t allowed to enter.”
Mrs. Sullivan threw back her head and laughed. “Somehow I doubt very much that a simple obstacle like that would stop you, Lady Barrett.”
“Ina, please,” she said. “It seems preposterous for you to address me so formally when you know all my secrets.”
The other woman smiled. “Then you must call me Moira. And I doubt very much I know all your secrets.”
Ina blushed. “Please make yourself comfortable. Norris said you had something urgent to tell me?”
Moira seated herself on the settee and took a sip of wine. “I may have fibbed to your butler that just to get in the door.”
“Is that so?” she asked cautiously.
“I have something important to speak to you about and, although it’s not urgent, I always believe it’s best not to tarry. I understand that Sir Gavin has remained at Oak Park.”
Ina’s heart squeezed and she felt sick to her stomach all over again. She should be used to it by now, given how often it happened.
“His responsibilities keep him there,” she said.
“And yet you’re here,” said Moira.
“My work requires me to be in Edinburgh, where my studio is.”
Sympathy softened Moira’s eyes. “Is everything all right, Ina?”
All at once, Ina began to shake. It wasn’t the delicate, quick chills that sneak up on one, but the hard, wracking ones that come from trying to hold back a sea of emotion.
The matchmaker silently stood, took her wineglass from her, and folded Ina into a hug.
Ina clung to her like a child, her hands wrapping around the pleats at the woman’s waist as though she could somehow be saved if only she hung on a little tighter. She’d tried to be strong the last weeks, but she was miserable. Utterly and undeniably miserable.
“There, there,” murmured Moira, softly stroking her hair. “Everything is going to be all right.”
“How can it?” Ina asked as her body quaked. “I can’t even cry properly anymore. It’s as though I’ve run dry of tears.”
“Tell me what happened,” said Moira.
“It was too hard,” Ina gasped out. “It was simply too hard.”
Moira lifted her face with a gentle finger hooked under her chin. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”
Ina nodded. “It was such a change, and I thought that it would ruin everything. Now my chance to tell him is gone.”
“There are always more chances,” said Moira.
Ina shook her head emphatically. “No. He doesn’t want me. He told me he was done, that I’d wasted too much time. And now I’ve left him in that horrible house with her.”
“With whom?” asked the matchmaker in confusion.
It was a small comfort to know Moira Sullivan didn’t know everything.
“Grace.”
“Mrs. Barrett?” Moira asked.
“He loved her once a long time ago, and she’s just the sort of wife he needs.”
“What sort of wife would that be?”
“One who’s bred to be a baronet’s wife,” Ina said.
“My darling,” said Moira with a smile, “Sir Gavin isn’t even a peer. It isn’t as though he’s a duke who must marry a woman whom fourteen different branches of his family approve of. And besides, that man loves you.”
It felt as though a giant had wrapped his arms around Ina and was squeezing all of the air out of her lungs. She’d struggled in vain over the last weeks to forget about her husband. Forget about all that had happened—as though she ever could. Now Moira wanted to drag all of it back up.
“He doesn’t love me,” Ina whispered. “Not anymore.”
Moira let go of her and planted a hand on either hip. “I’ve seen many forms of love, my dear, and I can tell you that a man as stricken as your husband doesn’t fall out of love that quickly. He loves deeply and forever.”
“But I left him.”
“And do you still love him?” the matchmaker asked.
“Yes,” Ina murmured.
“Then you’ll have to fight for him even if it means risking a broken heart,” said Moira. “Do you think you can do that?”
“It’s already broken. I don’t think it can hurt anymore.”
“Good,” said Moira with a smile. “Now, to wage a war for love, you’ll need to call in all the help you can get. Are you acquainted with Mr. Moray?”
“I am.”
“Then prepare your sketch pad, for here’s what we’ll do.”
Gavin hunched over his desk in his study, worrying over the account books.
He hated this. That was the truth. He hated what had seemingly come so easily to Richard and his father, and it no longer pained him to admit that. He’d rather be writing.
Moray had been remarkably understanding about his altered situation, asking him only to let him know when he would return to Edinburgh. Therefore, the only writing he’d done had been of endless letters to solicitors and other men of fortune with whom he wished to do business. It was becoming soul-crushing, and the longer he stayed here, the more he feared he’d lose himself in the estate.
At least so long as there were accounts and decisions to be made with Chase, he could stay busy. That was the only thing that had kept him from jumping on a train and heading straight back to Edinburgh after Ina. Well, that and a considerable dose of pride.
Her leaving still hurt with a power he hadn’t expected, but now it mingled with his own guilt. He’d driven her away in a cloud of his own anger and frustration. He’d waited for seven years to finally earn her affection. Couldn’t he have waited just a little bit longer?
But what if she never came to love him?
The truth was, he couldn’t bear the thought of living without her any more than he could stand the idea of a lifetime pining for her under the same roof.
He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease a tension headache that threatened. Just another hour burying himself under these damned ledgers and then he could retire to his room with a brandy.
He was just dipping his pen into his inkpot when he heard the soft pad of women’s slippers on the carpet of his study. He expected it to be Mrs. Riley, but instead it was Grace.
A long time ago, her appearing before him in a quiet room would’ve been a dream. When he was just eighteen and freshly returned from school, he’d lived and died by her whims. A stolen kiss on the cheek could send him heavenward just as a perceived slight could shatter his confidence. She’d controlled him with the wave of her little finger, for he was too lovesick to think clearly. How that had changed.
“Hello,” he said, putting his pen down and rising.
“No, please don’t get up,” she said hurriedly.
He settled back in his chair. “Is there something I can help with?”
She handed a letter across the desk to him. “A letter came for you in the second post. It’s from Edinburgh. I thought you might wish to see it immediately.”
His heart skipped a beat when he turned the envelope over, but instead of Ina’s delicate, looping writing, it was Moray’s speedy scrawl.
“Thank you,” he said, setting it aside. He’d look at it after he was done with his work. His friend’s lively gossip about the newspapers, Eva, and all of their acquaintances would provide welcome respite.
When he glanced up, Grace was still standing before him, hands twisting.
“Is there something I can do to help? You need only to ask,” he said, for, though she wasn’t the woman at the center of his world any longer, she was still his brother’s widow. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a spouse in such an unexpected way. A trick of fate, and Grace’s entire future had shifted. He remembered she’d always been a proud woman and knew she wouldn’t appreciate his pity, but he could give her his kindness.
She gestured to the chair across from him. “Might I sit for a moment?”
“Please do.”
The pause gave Grace enough time to compose her thoughts, purse her lips, and nod. “I realize that it must be odd to be living here in the same house as me.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. All I ever wanted for you was happiness, and I’m glad you found a life with my brother.”
A sad smile played over Grace’s lips. “Years ago I couldn’t imagine you saying something so gracious.”
“We all change,” he said.
No one more than me.
Right after Gavin’s mother had coldly informed him that Grace would marry Richard and Grace herself had confirmed it, he hadn’t been able to stand the idea of being in the same room as her. She was the reason he’d left Oak Park that night—not his father, his brother, or his mother. It had been all Grace.
It was strange to think that she’d had such a hold on him, when now he could look upon her as nothing more than his sister-in-law. Time had helped, but mostly it was Ina. He’d thought he loved Grace back then, but he now knew he’d loved the idea of her more than the reality.
Ina was an entirely different matter. He’d known her as a friend and understood her flaws almost from that first day. That first day when she’d leveled her impertinent gaze at him and declared he was interrupting her serious work as a sculptor, he’d begun to leave Ashington, his family, and Grace far behind.
When he’d finally realized he was in love with Ina, he’d lived for her. He still did, despite his best efforts to put her behind him.
“I fear that some of us change less than others,” said Grace with a little smile. “Sometimes I think I’m still that seventeen-year-old girl you used to write letters to.”
He hardly knew what to say to that, so he just sat and let a grieving woman speak.
“I know it must be hard to believe, but rejecting you was the most difficult decision I’ve ever made.” Her eyes fell to her lap while her fingers played with the edges of her cuticles. She stopped and spread her hands out on her skirts as though trying to calm herself. “You must believe that the decision wasn’t entirely mine.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Of that I’ll never be sure.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, a touch defensively.
“We always have a choice, Grace. We could’ve married. I would’ve become a teacher or lecturer at a university and written when I could. We could’ve lived on my salary. It wouldn’t have been the luxury either of us had known growing up, but I was willing to make that sacrifice to be with you.”
The expression on Grace’s face became pained. “It sounds so easy when you say it like that.”
He shook his head. “It would’ve been hard on both of us, but I would’ve gone to the ends of the earth for you. I believe that’s what I told you when I proposed.”
“I—I know.”
“Do you remember what you said to me when you rejected me?” he asked.
“Gavin, please don’t think that I meant any of those things,” she said.
“But you did,” he said. “You told me that I was the second son. You told me that I’d never live up to be the man my brother would be. That I’d never own an estate like Oak Park. That I could never give you the life that you wanted. And at the time everything you said was true.”
“There was no love between Richard and me.”
That surprised him. “How could there not be? You’re beautiful, Grace. Surely he saw that.”
She scoffed. “There’s more than beauty in this world, Gavin. You should know. You wrote about it.”
“You’ve read my book?” he asked.
“I ordered it from London. I wanted to see what the man I rejected had made of himself. And then you became a baronet.” Grace paused. “One who is in need of a hostess.”
All his senses went on alert. “I have a wife.”
“And she’s not here,” said Grace.
“What are you saying?”
She held her head up high, her eyes meeting him directly. “We could have something of what we lost all those years ago. We could have an arrangement.”
“I have a wife,” he repeated, shocked she’d even suggest becoming his mistress. As though he’d ever be disloyal to Ina.
“And I have nowhere else to go but Oak Park. My parents are dead, and my brother hardly speaks to me. He’s still resentful I wouldn’t intercede on his behalf when he was selling a piece of land to Richard. There’s no one for me. But we could start again. I know how to run a house like Oak Park. I could be your hostess. People would think you’re being charitable to your brother’s widow. No one would have to know.”
“I would know,” he said sternly. “And I’d never do that to Ina.”
She held his gaze for a long moment before shrugging one of her elegant shoulders. “You’re so certain—a man whose wife has left him.”
He felt sick that she’d thought he might ever be open to such a suggestion. He’d never betray Ina that way. Even knowing she’d walked away, he loved her too dearly.
“Grace, I will happily find you a place in Ashington to live and a companion to keep you company, but I think it would be best if you left Oak Park,” he said.
She rose from her chair and glided over to him. “Your charity isn’t what I’m after. I want you.”
Grace slipped a hand around his neck and moved as though to settle herself on his lap. Gavin jumped out of his chair, knocking her back a few steps.
“You forget yourself,” he said.
“Don’t tell me that you haven’t thought about this,” said Grace with a laugh. “What it would be like.”
“Not for many years, and I don’t intend to start now. I love my wife,” he said.
“And yet she’s gone,” Grace said, taking a step toward him.
He stepped back. “That changes nothing.”
For the first time since he’d arrived at Oak Park, he saw the tiredness around Grace’s eyes. She sighed. “As though there was any doubt I chose the wrong brother, you continue to provide me with more proof.”
“You should go,” he said. He wanted her out of his office. Just being alone with her after she’d suggested starting an affair felt disloyal to Ina.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep away. I’m not a woman who enjoys courting rejection,” said Grace. Out of the pocket of her dress, she pulled a small envelope. “You’ll forgive me for not handing it over right away, but I’d hoped this conversation would end differently.”
He stared at it for a moment, not knowing whether he wanted to take the letter. With a small snort, Grace leaned over and left it on the table.
He was still staring at the envelope when she shut the door behind her. He didn’t trust Grace. She’d learned too many of his mother’s tricks in manipulation.
Blindly, he drew Moray’s letter to him. He’d read that now. Then he’d drink himself into a stupor and wonder how the hell his simple, straightforward life had fallen apart so spectacularly.