A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(93)

“Mother.” A voice from the periphery pierced their bubble of silence. “Mother, I’m here.”

Heads lifted. Augusta had arrived, bringing with her a fresh reserve of womanly efficiency. Toby absorbed the accompanying wave of relief. He gratefully moved aside, offering his sister the seat beside their mother.

“Oh, Augusta.” The older woman slid from Miss Osborne’s shoulder to meet the waiting embrace of her daughter. “Augusta, I loved him.”

Augusta soothed her, with soft touches and soft words. Mumbling some excuse, Miss Osborne bolted from the room. A heartbeat later, Joss followed her, leaving Reginald and Jeremy to make strained conversation amongst themselves.

And Toby just stood there, alone.

Hetta lurched from the room, pausing in the foyer to borrow strength from the carved walnut banister. Clinging to it with both hands, she bowed her head to her sleeve and wept. Noisily. She wished she could have made it a bit further away before breaking down, rather than dissolving in tears six feet from the parlor door. She wished the emotion tearing her to pieces were a more altruistic empathy for Lady Aldridge in her time of mourning, or grief for her own long-dead mother—but it wasn’t. It was envy, mixed with fear. Envy for anyone who knew the comfort of lasting affection. Fear that she would live her whole life and grow into an old woman with no one to mourn.

And no one to mourn her.

Strong hands gripped her shoulders. Every muscle in her body tensed.

“Go away,” she choked out, without lifting her head from her sleeve. She didn’t need to look up. She knew who it was.

“No,” came the predictably contrarian reply. “No, you need to be held. I’m going to hold you.”

There was no fight left in her, no more pride in the way. A word, an embrace—whatever scrap of affection he offered her, she would gratefully accept. The strong hands turned her away from the banister, and then strong arms folded her into his chest.

She burrowed her face into his coat and sobbed. “Oh, Joss.”

“Shhh. It’s all right.”

His hand went to her hair, stroking and soothing. As no one had soothed her in a very long time, since before her mother took ill. He released her name as a deep, soulful sigh, and his whole body relaxed, making a soft place for her. She breathed deeply, too, inhaling the comforting scents of clean linen and masculine spice.

He murmured comforting words as she wept, and Hetta tried desperately to stem the flow of her tears, so she might hear them.

“What you said to Lady Aldridge … it was brave of you, Hetta. I know it wasn’t easy, but you gave her some peace.”

She sobbed again, and he held her tight.

“What an ass I’ve been,” he said. “I’ve treated you so ill. Can you ever forgive me? I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”

“No, you were right,” she said, wiping at her eyes. She was only too glad to share the blame for their arguments. Perhaps now they could be friends. “I know I should be more feeling with my patients, with their families, but…” She made an impatient gesture with her hands, indicating her red, swollen eyes. “But it’s difficult. Just look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

He thrust a finger under her chin and tilted her face to his. Oh, how unfair that he should be so composed and handsome when she was a teary disgrace.

“I am looking at you,” he repeated, “and I can scarcely understand—how can this tiny, delicate woman possess so much strength, so much intelligence and courage?” His hand lifted to her cheek, brushing away a tear. “All this, and such lovely eyes.”

No. Surely he wouldn’t be so cruel as to tease her again.

His hand caught her chin. “No, don’t dare look away now. Do you know how those eyes have haunted me?”

Hetta shook her head, suddenly afraid to blink.

The corner of his mouth curved. “At first they annoyed me, no end. They were always staring at me, asking me questions I didn’t want to answer. Then I found myself wanting to stare back, ask questions of my own, and that irritated me even more. Then Bel recovered, and suddenly you weren’t coming around anymore, and I found myself”—he sighed heavily—“missing them. Intensely. That made me angriest of all.”

“Because you felt disloyal to her.”

“God, no.” His arm tightened around her waist. “Because I felt alive. Suddenly, painfully alive, when I’d invested so much time and effort, making myself dead to the world. Because I began to yearn for things I swore I’d never seek again. You can’t know how I resented you for it.”

She choked on a laugh. “I think I have some idea.”

“I’m sure you do, to my shame.”

“I never thought you a curiosity,” she told him, needing him to understand. “I tried not to stare at you, really I did. But you’re so handsome and attractive and … and I just couldn’t help it.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Hm.”

Hetta held her breath, waiting. Then she said, “I hate it when you say that, with that smug, enigmatic expression! I don’t know what it means, and—”

“Shh.” His thumb covered her lips, then brushed over them in a tender caress. “It means I’m going to kiss you now. All right?”