They would not stay for luncheon, Elliott said when they were invited.
He had some business to attend to on his estate during the afternoon.
Margaret, Stephen, and Katherine all came downstairs to see their sister and brother-in-law on their way though they did not step out onto the terrace as the rain had settled into a steady downpour.
There was not one moment in which Vanessa might have had a private word with Margaret. Or if there were - they might have held back on the stairs and let everyone else move out of earshot - then Margaret pointedly avoided it.
One of life's great ironies, Vanessa thought as she climbed into the carriage and Elliott took his seat beside her. She had married him four days ago in order to leave her sister free to hope.
But now all hope had been shattered forever.
It would have been far better for Meg if Crispin Dew had been killed in battle.
One hated to think such a horrible thing, but even so… "You are feeling homesick?" Elliott asked as the carriage moved off down the driveway. "Oh." She turned her head and smiled brightly at him. "No, of course not. Finchley Park is my home now." She held out her hand and he took it and held it on his thigh while they proceeded homeward in silence.
Would she be married to him now, she wondered, if Crispin's letter had arrived five or six weeks ago instead of just yesterday?
Or would it have been Meg sitting where she was now?
She could feel the warmth of his thigh through his pantaloons and her glove, and she was secretly glad that the letter had not come sooner.
How /could /he? How could Crispin Dew have treated Meg so shabbily?
She leaned slightly sideways and took comfort from the solidity of Elliott's shoulder. She swallowed hastily when she heard a gurgle in her throat.
15
VANESSA was still feeling depressed. It was not something she allowed herself to feel very often. There was almost always something to do, someone with whom to talk, something to think about, something to read that would elevate her mood. And there was almost always something to wonder at, something to smile over, something to laugh about.
Laughter was so much better for the soul than glumness.
But just occasionally depression hit like a stone wall. Usually it was because there was more than one cause and it was virtually impossible to avoid.
Her honeymoon had come to an end. And though the unexpected happiness that had filled her days and nights at the dower house and the lake might surely be brought back to the main house with her and taken to London tomorrow, she could not rid herself of the notion that now all would change, that she and Elliott would never again be as close as they had been there.
If that had been all, of course, she would have firmly shaken off any low spirits that threatened. It was up to her to see to it that her marriage worked. If she expected things to change for the worse, then almost certainly they would.
But Elliott had gone off for the afternoon to take care of some estate business. It was perfectly understandable. She did not expect him to go walking and boating and picking daffodils with her every afternoon of the rest of their lives. But it was a bad time just now today for her to be left alone.
Crispin Dew had married a Spanish lady in Spain.
Meg must be desperately, devastatingly unhappy, but there was absolutely nothing Vanessa could do to help her. The suffering of a loved one was in many ways worse than one's own suffering because it left one feeling so very helpless. She knew that from bitter experience.
And of course /that /thought, the thought of Hedley, sent her running up to her bedchamber and rummaging through her large trunk, which had been brought over from Warren Hall but not yet unpacked because it was to go to London tomorrow. Just where she had placed it with her own hands after carefully wrapping it, she found the object she had almost decided to leave behind. It was only at the last moment that she had slid it down the left front corner.
She sat down on a love seat and opened back the velvet cloth that kept the treasure safe from damage. And she gazed down at the framed miniature of Hedley that Lady Dew had given her after his death.
It had been painted when he was twenty, two years before Vanessa married him, and just before it became obvious that he was really very ill indeed.
Though the signs were apparent even then.
She ran one finger about the oval frame.
His eyes were large, his face thin. It would have been pale too if the painter had not added color to his cheeks.
But even then he had been beautiful, as he had to the end. His had been a delicate beauty. He had never been robust. He had never been able to participate in the more boisterous games of the other children in the neighborhood. Though strangely he had never been teased or victimized by them. He had been widely loved. /She /had loved him.
She would have died in his place if it could have been done.
Those large, luminous eyes gazed back at her now from the portrait. So full of intelligence and hope. /Hope/. He had not given it up until close to the end, and when he had finally let it go, it had been with grace and dignity. "Hedley," she whispered.