Page 41 of Binding Their Hearts

Henry settled the tea tray on the small table beside the front window. Outside, Jay and Alice raked crumbling oak leaves toward a faded green tarp—apparently in a race of some sort. Jay, touching the tarp first, spun in a circle with the rake raised overhead. Alice, a few seconds behind, dropped her rake. Darting close and planting her hands on Jay’s ribs, she got him to stand still for a light kiss.

“You could be out there with them.” His mother, delicately perched on one of the matching antique keyhole chairs, poured the tea. “You needn’t sit inside and keep me company.”

“I delight in your company, Mother.” He took his own seat, the handcrafted walnut still sturdy more than a hundred years after some ancestor had decided the set worth purchasing. Good to know making intelligent long-term choices ran in the family. “And they could use the time to relax. It’s been a difficult few weeks.”

She hummed softly, her gaze on his partners and her hands tented around the teacup. “I appreciate that you warned me in advance about his family situation. The poor boy.” Clicking her tongue, she turned back to him and patted his hand across the table. Her hand held a chill despite the thick cowlneck sweater she wore. “You know you’re welcome to bring him here more often for mothering and fussing. Alice, too. I do enjoy seeing you all together.”

“That’s good to hear, as I may do just that.” The smile overtook his face faster than the words, and he allowed the genuine pleasure to suffuse him until it seemed certain to overflow. “Particularly now that they have accepted my proposal of marriage.”

His mother’s hands flew toward her face; she covered her mouth just as a girlish squeal pealed forth. Blinking rapidly, she waved him over. “Henry, oh, my darling boy, how wonderful.”

He knelt for her embrace. Age hadn’t diminished her strength, but she’d become so slight. Had she lost weight? A lack of appetite could signal any number of ailments. “It is indeed.”

“I’m pleased that you’ve finally seen reason. I won’t say I told you so—”

“No, certainly not—”

She swatted his arm, then rubbed away the nonexistent sting before she let him go. “But have you begun making decisions yet? A spring wedding after mud season might be lovely—in the garden, perhaps? Beautiful colors emerging from winter slumber, the birds nesting…” She gazed into the distance as he reclaimed his seat, her fingers grasping an imaginary pen. “We could move into the conservatory or the music room if there’s rain. Hmm, we ought to make a catering reservation. Phyllis’s daughter runs a…”

Two ceremonies might be a necessity. He hadn’t fully accounted for how powerful his gratitude would be in the face of her robust support. Or how eager she would be to take part in the planning and preparation. His brother’s wife and her mother had planned much of that wedding, he supposed. His mother had no daughters, though not for lack of trying and hoping and mourning. Heaviness descended on his chest, a pressure blocking his breath. A chill beat at him, an ancient flutter of panic.

“Darling, I’m sorry.” Mother straightened against the chairback and raised her teacup. “I’ve gotten ahead of you, haven’t I? Tell me your plans.” She sipped slowly, watching him with the patient, kind gaze he’d known all his life.

He measured each word carefully, lest the old ghosts rise to haunt them both. “A bit, though your enthusiasm is most welcome and appreciated.” He lifted his own cup and inhaled the citrus scent of Lady Grey. “We’ve only just gotten engaged, and time has been short this week.”

“Yes, yes, the house hunting—how exciting for you all!” Her eyes gleamed, but their spring green likely hid reams of plans already forming for the reception and the society guest list.

Wouldn’t they just be the talk of the town for weeks. He sipped his tea, the subtly sweet wave hot but manageable. He wouldn’t allow busybodies to discomfit Jay or Alice with their nosy whispers. In such an old family, so reputable, such deep roots? They’ve the older son to carry on the legacy. It’s true, then, the younger has two spouses? Never heard such a thing. He’s an artist, that one. You never can tell.

He would have to brush off his enigmatic smile to deploy at any gathering. Repeat the truth often enough, and with suitable confidence, and his unconventional marriage would simply be labeled personal eccentricity left well enough alone. Perhaps they might attend the ballet with Mother before Christmas and set the gossips’ tongues wagging. By spring he and his spouses would be passe.

She dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, the crisp white linen only mildly paler than her skin. “Tell me about the homes you’ve seen, then, and we shall table all talk of the wedding for now.”

“I actually have one wedding-related request to make of you, Mother.” Here now was the true reason he’d stayed behind while Alice and Jay started the day’s work. The end result would be a surprise for them.

“Oh?” She clasped the napkin, her smile brightening.

“Whatever the ceremony, it will be largely symbolic rather than legal—”

“Henry, darling.” Mother folded her hands in front of her and leaned forward in her seat. “All weddings are largely symbolic. That is their purpose, to loudly announce one’s commitment in front of a community intended to hold one accountable.” She waved her hand dismissively. “The paperwork is an entirely separate matter.”

“As I was saying, yes.”

His smile likely matched hers, conspiratorial and impish.

“I’ve always said you have a keen mind, dear.”

“As such”—he raised a quelling brow as she sipped her tea in all innocence—“I would like the symbol of our union to be meaningful and worthy of the promise I am making them.”

Her shoulders twitched as she gasped. “Jewelry. Oh, this is a delightful day. Come, come.” She stood with moderate haste, beckoning him up even as he leapt to his feet out of manners instilled in him since childhood. “Upstairs, we’ll be quick about it, and then I’ll turn the heat up under the soup and you may fetch Alice and Jay for lunch.”

He caught up within a matter of steps and took her arm to escort her up the stairs. “Nothing too dear, Mother. I may need to repurpose the pieces to fit my intent.”

“Henry.” The look she delivered sent him back in time in an instant, erased the lines on her face and transformed the white of her hair to chestnut brown. “The collection will be part of your inheritance eventually. I’ve already decided. You may as well get use of it now.” She balanced one hand along the banister as they rose. “My mother’s set will do perfectly—an anniversary gift from my father. Their first year, because paper was nonsense, he said, too easily torn asunder, and the stones would remind her of the years he meant to have with her whether they reached them or not.”

He knew the set well; his mother still wore them on occasion. The intent matched his precisely. He’d come late to this match, nearly forty, and every year with Alice and Jay would be precious. Still— “It’s too much, Mother. Those are far too—”

“Meaningful, Henry darling. Of course they are.” At the top of the stairs, she paused and leaned into him. “The people and the history are what make them so. I quite like the idea of seeing them on the three of you, renewing those promises.” She laced her fingers into his. “I’m only giving you something you would have someday anyway. You are giving me—” Her voice caught; her fingers tightened. “Another son and a daughter to love.”

---