Page 124 of The Sisters of Sea View
He glanced at her sewing. “No baking tonight?”
“Had not planned to.” She glanced up from her needle. “Unless ... have you a special request?”
He sent her a knowing glance. “I think ye have enough guests making special requests.”
“I won’t mind.” To herself, Sarah added,Not for you.
“Well then. I am partial to shortbread, should you want to try something new. The thin and crisp variety, favored by Mary, Queen of Scots.” He grinned. “And yours truly.”
Sarah made no promises but knew she would not be able to resist making some for him.
When next Viola walked over to Westmount, she was confused to see a post chaise waiting. Miss Truman, attired in carriage dress, hat, and gloves, set a stack of bandboxes on the front step under the porte cochère. Her mother, meanwhile, handed a valise to the postilion, who carried it to the chaise.
Pulling her veil over her face, Viola walked up the path. “Miss Truman, are you leaving? I thought you and your mother planned to stay a few more days at least?”
Miss Truman’s eyes glistened with tears. Her mother’s expression, however, was tight with resolve.
“Oh no.” Viola asked, “What happened?”
Miss Truman pressed her lips together, then said, “I am afraid I ... ended our engagement.”
Breath escaped Viola like a punctured balloon. “Ohh...”
Her mother lifted her pointy nose in the very picture of hauteur. “And can you blame her? No. No one who has seen that man would blame my beautiful daughter for crying off. That my angel should have thrown herself away, consigned herself to be a recluse’s constant companion and helpmeet—his nurse! And her, in the bloom of youth? No. It would be too cruel. If anyone dares call her a jilt, they shall feel my wrath!”
“Mamma, don’t go on so.” Miss Truman sent Viola an apologetic glance, then gently urged her mother down the path. “Do give me a few minutes to say good-bye to Miss Summers in private. I shall join you directly.”
“Very well, but don’t tarry. The sooner we leave here the better!”
When the older woman had entered the chaise, Miss Truman turned back to Viola. “Please forgive my mother. She can be rather vulgar when roused to my defense. Like a lioness with a threatened cub.” Miss Truman shyly met Viola’s gaze through the veil, then looked away again.
“I hope you don’t think too badly of me. Some will, I know.Abandoning one of our own wounded heroes in his hour of need. I did try. I came here resolved to remain faithful to my promise. I stifled my revulsion and determined to make the best of it. The scars I might have grown accustomed to in time, as you said. But his dour manner? His reclusive nature? No. I would have chafed under the isolation.”
Viola was torn by conflicting desires: to upbraid the girl, or to embrace her. “H-how did the major take the news?”
“Oh, he is ... Well, he puts a brave face on it. One never knows how the man is truly feeling, does one? I would not be surprised if he appears to you completely unaffected, even relieved.” Again the young woman’s eyes filled, but she managed a smile and pressed Viola’s hand.
“Good-bye, Miss Summers. Take good care of him.”
Her? “I ... will do what I can.”
Viola watched as Miss Truman walked away and joined her mother inside the vehicle. As soon as the door closed and the horses moved off, Viola let herself into the house and walked directly to the major’s room. She supposed she should have stopped to ask Mr. Hutton or Armaan how the major fared, and if he was in any state for company. But she was too worried to wait. What if his self-worth had been shattered by the vain chit? What if he believed himself unworthy of love? Believed no gentlewoman would ever have him?
She knocked on the partially open door, expecting either a curse or, worse—no answer at all.
“Come.”
She tentatively inched open the door, fearing to find him back in bed or sprawled in an armchair and drowning his sorrows in a bottle of brandy.
Instead, she found him at the desk, writing a letter. Writing to his lawyer, perhaps, to pursue a breach of promise suit? Or already writing to Lucinda Truman, pleading with her to change her mind?
He glanced up. “Ah, Miss Summers.”
“How are you bearing up? Miss Truman is young and foolish and too much under the sway of her mamma. Please don’t break your heart over it. You will recover in time. I promise.” Impulsively, she took his hand and lowered herself, sitting on her heels beside his chair and looking into his face, willing him to value himself as she did.
“Miss Summers, I ... am touched. Apparently you met with Miss Truman as she departed?”
“I did, yes. And she told me. Don’t be vexed. I am glad to know. I want to help.”
