Page 48 of The Forgotten
“She did. She never questioned my judgment or argued with me. My word was law.”
“How fortunate for you,” Petra mumbled as they resumed their walk.
“It was very dull, if you must know. I enjoy a spirited argument.”
“Would you not have beaten her if she challenged you?” Petra asked. Cyril beat her mercilessly the few times she dared express an opinion different from his.
Thomas’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Of course not. A wife should respect her husband and defer to him, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t permitted an opinion of her own. God knows my mother always had something to say on every subject,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting in mirth. “My father always said that my mother was twice as cunning as any man. He heeded her counsel on many an occasion, and was never ashamed to admit it.”
“Sadly, my husband did not share your view of matrimony,” Petra replied.
“I’m sorry for that. You mustn’t fear me, Petra,” Thomas added. “I have no wish to hurt you.”
“I know, Thomas.”
No, Thomas had no wish to hurt her, but she was hurting nonetheless. Thomas could offer her not only a comfortable life, but a safe and prosperous future for her children. He would providea dowry for her daughters when the time came, and perhaps school her son in the business and make him a partner. Wool-trading would be a safe-enough occupation for Edwin. Maybe Edwin would even be able to take a bride. He’d need someone to look after him once he was a man grown. Marriage to Thomas would solve Petra’s every problem, but having Avery back in her life changed everything.
She was tempted to throw away a gilded future to spend time with a man who could never give her a life. After twelve years of denial, the passion had come back like an insatiable hunger, one that wouldn’t be satisfied with a few stolen hours. Petra ached for Avery every hour of the day, counting the moments until she could finally escape the mind-numbing boredom of Lady Blythe’s company and meet Avery for a brief rendezvous before returning to her own hearth. Avery had discovered an abandoned house close to the beach. The house was a one-room hovel with a packed dirt floor and a leaky thatch roof, but it served its purpose—it kept them safe from prying eyes.
In fact, there were quite a few empty dwellings in town, since the more cautious inhabitants of Dunwich moved further inland after the last big storm. Even the monastery had been moved from its original location at the end of the last century, the friars fearful that their house of worship would get swept out to sea. It would be too risky to meet in town, but the house by the beach was far enough from the nearest neighbor to guarantee privacy and lack of curious passersby.
Avery waited for Petra at their secret place twice a week, and Petra nearly howled with frustration when Thomas chose those days to escort her home. Having him away had been a blessing of sorts, but now he was back and he wanted an answer. The rational part of Petra wished that Avery would just return to Oxford. The longer he remained in Dunwich, the greater the chance that theywould be discovered, but the emotional part of her wished that he’d stay forever. She was truly happy for the first time since she was fifteen, and the thought of giving Avery up once more made her heart contract with sorrow. But there were dangers, and not only from without. She’d fallen pregnant once, and she might do so again. How would she explain away a pregnancy when she was a widow meant to be in mourning for her husband? The risk was too great.
Thomas stopped walking and turned to face Petra. His lean cheeks were ruddy with cold, and his eyes shone with hope as he gazed down at her. “Petra, I promised myself when we set out on this walk that I would just give you your present and not demand an answer from you, but truly I can’t wait any longer. I think you already know what your decision will be, so there’s no sense in putting this off. You either wish to share your life with me, or you don’t. No amount of waiting is going to change that. What say you?”
“I say yes, Thomas,” Petra replied, her voice firm and clear despite the turmoil raging in her heart. Had she been free to choose, she would have thanked him for his kindness and gently rejected him, but what choice was there? Refusing Thomas meant poverty, uncertainty, and possible disgrace. She’d had a few weeks of joy, now it was time to face real life again and think of her children.
FORTY-THREE
FEBRUARY 2014
London, England
Quinn smiled happily as she walked toward the institute. It was warm for February, and the rain of the past few days had given way to pleasant sunshine, reminding her that spring wasn’t far off. She was due to meet Gabe in a half hour to register Emma for the nursery school they’d chosen. It was close to the institute, which was convenient since Gabe would be able to drop Emma off and pick her up on his way home. The school was charming, and the staff left a very favorable impression on both Quinn and Gabe. Now that they had chosen a school, Quinn felt more at ease. It seemed utterly overwhelming at first, but things were starting to come together and the initial panic of suddenly having to raise a child was slowly giving way to a sense of order.
We can do this, Quinn thought as she strolled along. Perhaps she could even talk Gabe into having a celebratory dinner at that Mediterranean place they both liked, since it might be their last for a while. They were going to pick up Emma from Gabe’s parents tomorrow. Phoebe and Graeme were a little forlorn at having to part with Emma. She’d brought a ray of sunshine into their lives, but they saw the necessity of Emma being with her father and settling into a life in London. They called every night and put Emma on the phone to speak with Quinn and Gabe. Gabe dutifully reported on the progress of Emma’s room, and Quinn told her about the nursery school, describing it in the most favorable terms possible.
“I want my old school,” Emma wailed. “I miss my friends.”
“You will make new friends,” Quinn promised.
“What if no one likes me?” Emma breathed.
“Of course, they’ll like you,” Gabe assured her. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“Because I have a funny accent,” Emma replied. “Mrs. Edwards at the post office said so. She said I sound like a proper little Scot, and she can barely understand me.”
“Ah, Mrs. Edwards,” Gabe replied, clearly annoyed. “You pay no attention to her.”
“That’s what Granddad said,” Emma said. “He said she has a face like a smacked bottom.”
Quinn covered the mouthpiece and snorted with laughter. Leave it to Graeme to make the most inappropriate observation in front of a four-year-old. Quinn was sure that Emma would store that phrase and use it at the first available opportunity, most likely at nursery school. Quinn expected Gabe to say something very correct, but instead he burst out laughing and said, “She certainly does, and that’s on a good day.”
Emma’s tinkling laugh came over the line. She felt better, and that was that mattered. “All right. I’ll give it a go,” she promised. “Would Mum have liked this school?” she suddenly asked.
“I really think she would have,” Gabe replied.
“All right,” Emma said again, more subdued now. “I’m going to have my bath now. Bye.”
