September, 1819
The sun danced on the horizon on an unusually warm evening, as Ernest stood on the entrance steps of Whitstone and waved farewell to Barrington. In the months since Ernest married Henrietta, the builders completed the renovations to the palatial estate, and his bride put her own decorative touches on the place, when they retired to their summerhouse, which made it truly their home. As he studied the elegant décor, he reflected on his life, and he realized he had everything he ever wanted.
He was closer than ever to his brother, he wed the woman of his dreams, and they purchased a home near Garring Manor. And every night, he endeavored to produce a member of the next generation of Howes, although his labors proved fruitless. The work was good, so he was not complaining.
“Did Barrington depart?” Ah, his charming wife strolled into the foyer. Just looking at her made him want to cry. “Did you remember to send the silk shawl I made for Florence?”
“Yes, my brother is en route to Garring, and he has the package you so graciously wrapped.” From his coat pocket, he withdrew an envelope. “By the by, a missive was delivered for you, and I intercepted the messenger at the front gate, as I returned from the race.”
“Did you best Barrington?” With a feminine smile, she approached, slipped her arms about his waist, and inclined her head to receive his kiss on her cheek. “Or are you going to pout all evening, as you did after your last contest? I warn you, I will not tolerate your sulking about, when I have arranged a lovely dinner in our sitting room.”
“But I thought you could not resist my pout, and you compensated so admirably for my disappointment.” In play, he ravished the swanlike curve of her neck and savored her answering giggle. “And if memory serves, you labored into the wee hours of the morning. Given I won today’s challenge, what say we celebrate with a repeat performance?”
“Food, first, as I am famished.” As if to impress upon him her point, her belly grumbled in protest, and he laughed.
“All right, my little bird.” In play, he swatted her bottom, and they ascended the stairs. “What news from London?”
“Not good, I suspect.” She tore into the envelope, unfolded the stationary, and hummed. “Just as I feared, we are swamped with new orders for the impending Season, and Mr. Fairley wants to hire six additional seamstresses.” When he opened the door to their shared private apartment, she strolled inside and huffed. “More than twenty bolts of silk were ruined by the leak in the roof, and Mrs. Hogart has commissioned an entire wardrobe for herself and for Margaret, because she is convinced one of my gowns will land her daughter a husband.”
“I submit it will take more than one of your fabulous creations to snare some poor, unsuspecting fool to marry into that family, and there is only one Archibald Kleinfeld.” In the sitting room, he noted the small table for two, set near the windows, and the candles. So, he was to be seduced. “Although she possesses a tidy fortune, and that is enough to entice several prospective candidates.”
“Actually, Margaret is quite lovely, in her own way.” From her escritoire, Henrietta collected her inkwell, pen, and paper. Then she took her seat, which he held for her. “What she requires is a unique collection to emphasize her assets.”
“And a new music tutor.” He snorted with laughter.
“Now, now.” As she sketched, a familiar habit, she furrowed her brow, and Ernest assumed his place just to her right, because she preferred to keep him within reach, and that was fine with him. “Do not be rude, because I think Margaret is sorely underestimated by the ton, and I would lend my aid to her cause.”
“You have become quite the society lady, my fetching bride.” Indeed, she was in demand, yet she remained the same sweet-tempered girl he adored. “Are you planning to venture into the marriage mart business?”
“Not a chance.” She cast a side-glance. “You may commence the service, as I just want to note a few ideas before I forget them.”
“All right.” He drew the napkin from his plate and discovered a small bundle. “What is this?”
Henrietta merely shrugged.
With care, he unfolded the brown paper, studied the item, reflected on the significance—and froze.
“I am thinking of producing a new line of clothing.” When he glanced at her, she shimmered with unmasked joy. “Do you believe I shall find equal success with children’s garb?”
For a few seconds, Ernest struggled to respond, because he feared he might make a cake of himself. “Does this mean what I pray it means?”
“Yes.” She nodded once.
“Darling.” In a flash, he pushed from the table and knelt beside her. “How do you feel? Are you well? Are you tired? Should I summon the doctor?”
“Ernest, calm yourself.” She giggled and kissed him. “I am beside myself, and we feel fine, but you are white as a sheet.”
“I am worried about you.” Lifting her in his arms, he peered left and then right. He strolled into their inner chamber, paused at the foot of their four-poster, frowned, and then returned to the sitting room. “Bloody hell, I am going to be a father.”
“My love, I beg you, put me down before you drop me, because you appear on the verge of swooning.” At last, he returned to his chair and settled her safely in his lap, and she wound her arms about his neck. “Shall I fetch you a brandy, because you look like you could use a drink.”
“No.” He tightened his hold. “Do not leave me, as I need to hold you.”
It dawned on him then that he held his wife and their babe in his grasp, and he bent his head and wept without shame.
“Ernest, my sweet husband, do not cry.” As usual, she knew just how to appeal to him, as she bestowed upon him a series of flirty kisses along the crest of his ear, continuing along the curve of his jaw. “You are going to make a wonderful father, and we are going to do this together.”
“As we have done everything, my little bird.” Twining his fingers in hers, he brought her bare knuckles to his lips and then pressed her open palm to his cheek. “Do you know that I wake, every day, and search for you? That there is still a tiny bit of doubt that this is our life?”
“Yes, because I do it, too.” She rested her forehead to his. “But it gets easier, with each passing morning, when I wake to you, and you hold me in your arms. And at night, when I fall asleep in your unyielding embrace, I know you are here. I only wish I could find a way to prevent the nightmares of your father’s abuse that still plague you, because your torment breaks my heart.”
“But you compensate admirably.” He gave her a gentle squeeze, as so many possibilities sprang to life. “And I am so excited about your news. If it is a girl, I am going to spoil her. Of course, you will dress her. And it if it is a boy, I am going to mentor him, and teach him all he needs to know to survive, but I will never hurt him.”
“You will do your best, and that is all anyone can ask.” She rubbed her nose to his. “Do you know what I want to do?”
“What, sweetheart?” No matter the request, he would give her anything. “Tell me what you want.”
“Do you remember how we used to sit on the floor, behind the sofa, in the back parlor, and eat the extra scones and strawberry preserves left from your mother’s afternoon teas?” When he nodded, she grinned and gazed at the table. “What say we dine on the carpet, as we did then? Only now we have no fear of discovery or retribution, and we can linger as we choose.”
“I love that idea.” He lifted her from his lap.
Working in concert, they resituated the meal, with place settings arranged in a less than elegant yet comfy presentation. She kicked off her slippers, and he doffed his boots and coat. As he collected a couple of large, fluffy pillows, she poured the wine. With their feast spread before them, he supported her, as she knelt and eased to the cushion, and he squatted beside her.
“It seems like yesterday, does it not?” She inclined her head and opened her mouth, as he fed her a juicy morsel of roasted chicken. “And you are still taking care of me.”
“That is my chief priority.” Footsteps in the hall caught his attention, and he halted, mid-chew and stared at Henrietta, as she mirrored his stance. For a brief instant, tension weighed heavy, until all fell quiet.
In unison, they blinked.
Then they burst into laughter.
“Old habits really are hard to break.” She daubed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “For a minute, I sought a hiding place.”
“As did I.” He chuckled and then sobered, as he surveyed their suite, bedecked in an odd array of their combined personal effects, indicative of their mutual existence. Indeed, they were two like souls, so perfectly matched as to render the distinctions between them invisible, despite everything they endured. Not even an eleven-year separation could divide them. “But there will be no more running for us, because we are as one, and the future is ours.”