Catching Captain Nash (Dashing Widows #6)(43)
“I don’t keep sophisticated hours, Lady Norwood.” Anything but. Lately the sheer predictability of her days had begun to pall.
When she was a girl, she’d become interested in scientific agriculture, and since then, the rhythms of planting and harvest had ruled her life. Her brief marriage seven years ago had caused barely a hiccup in the endless seasonal work.
“I don’t either.” Lady Norwood closed the door and ventured into the room. “I’m looking for something to read. I know Caro keeps the latest novels in here. I won’t disturb you.”
Amy rarely sought female company, although she loved her sister Helena who slept upstairs, no doubt blissfully, in her husband’s arms. But something about the bleak, lonely dawn left her dissatisfied with solitude. “No need to go. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Lady Norwood cast her a searching look, before a smile of startling charm lit her face. She wasn’t exactly pretty. Her long, thin nose had a definite kink, and her eyes and mouth were too large for her face, but she was dauntingly stylish. Next to her, Amy always felt a complete frump.
This morning was a case in point. Lady Norwood wore a filmy cream gown, trimmed with bands of satin ribbon, deep green to match her remarkable eyes. With her loosely gathered fair hair, she looked like the spirit of spring, even as the year moved into winter.
Whereas Amy had dredged a frock ten years out of date from the cupboard in the bedroom she always used at Woodley Park. She’d assumed at this hour, she wouldn’t run into any other guests. She was sharply conscious that the dress was faded and worn, and too loose for her. At twenty-five, she was slimmer than she’d been at sixteen.
“Thank you. I’d love a cup of tea. Morwenna speaks so fondly of you, Lady Mowbray. I was looking forward to this house party as a chance to get to know you.”
Amy crossed the room to the tray a footman had just brought in and poured two cups. “Please call me Amy. Lady Mowbray is my late husband’s mother.” Who lived in Brighton, and fussed over her ten pugs, and found little common ground with the practical young woman her son had married.
Lady Norwood turned something as mundane as accepting a cup and saucer into an act of breathtaking grace. Amy stifled an unworthy pang of envy. Not even her best friend—if she had one—would credit her with a shred of elegance. Somehow this morning, that seemed a shame.
“Very well, Amy. And you must call me Sally.” She sipped her tea as the door swung open.
“Morwenna,” Amy said in surprise, placing her tea on a side table and stepping forward to embrace her lovely, fragile sister-in-law. The body in her arms was so thin, Amy feared it might break if she wasn’t careful. “You’re up early.”
“You know I don’t sleep much these days.” The willowy brunette focused her large blue eyes on Sally and managed a smile. “Good morning, Sally.”
“Good morning, Morwenna.”
“Have some tea.” Amy filled another delicate Wedgwood cup. There were four on the tray. The footman must have guessed she’d have company. “I’m sorry you had a bad night. If it’s so difficult for you to see the family, you don’t have to come to these gatherings. Everyone would understand—although we’d miss you.”
Bitterness twisted Morwenna’s lips as she took her tea and sat on a brocade chaise longue near the fire. Although all three women were widows, only Morwenna wore mourning. The dense black emphasized her ghostly pallor. “I doubt it. I’m well aware that I’m a constant reminder of sorrow.”
Grief stabbed Amy. Sharp. Painful. Accepted, but unsoftened by time. “The sorrow is always there for us, whether you’re here or not.”
Robert Nash, Morwenna’s husband and Amy’s brother, had been lost at sea three years ago in a skirmish with pirates off the Brazilian coast. At first, because Robert had been such a larger-than-life character, everyone who loved him had held out hope of his survival. But as month followed month, the grim truth of his death became undeniable reality. When the navy had ordered him into the South Atlantic, Robert was newly married to this charming Cornish girl, who had since become a beloved member of the Nash family.
Morwenna cast her a sad smile—sad smiles were her stock in trade these days. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply his family had forgotten him. I know you haven’t—but you all have other concerns, other people to occupy you.”
Amy hid a wince. Because she didn’t. Not really. Her estate ran like clockwork, and her steward and staff were so well trained in her methods that they could manage without her, indefinitely if necessary.
Devil take this strange humor. Why on earth was she so discontented? Envying Sally’s style. Even envying Morwenna, who at least had known love before losing it.
Amy and her late husband had been good friends, despite the age difference, but the stark truth was that she’d married him to join him in his farming experiments. When Sir Wilfred Mowbray passed away five years ago, agriculture lost a great innovator. Amy had grieved over a man more mentor than husband.
Her marriage had been her choice, but on this dismal day, she couldn’t help thinking life should hold more than cattle breeding and crop rotation. And she’d never thought that before.
“Kerenza enjoys seeing her cousins.” Sally sat next to Morwenna. “I know you miss Robert, but you’re lucky to have a daughter to love.”