“Hmm, I see he did. I shall be sure to thank him when I say my prayers tonight. Poor child, you need to refresh yourself.”
“Oh, I would welcome that, Grandmother. You are kind.” Darcy held her grandmother’s hands and stood to leave. As she passed out the door, she looked back at Madeline. She liked her a great deal and looked forward to her time at Havendale. Already her grandmother had dozed off, with Maxwell now curled at her feet.
Mrs. Burke led the way to a modest guestroom. The floor creaked under their footfalls. The walls were plastered, painted dull white. Simple furniture decorated the room—a bed, nightstand, and a green high-back armchair near a small marble fireplace.
Already she had begun to feel at ease, being so warmly welcomed and accepted. Yet, she could not help feeling out of place and homesick for the Potomac and the green fields of home. She felt like a wild thing here, for the people she had met along the way, including Mrs. Burke, were of a more reserved nature. She was more expressive and open about her thoughts and feelings.
She had no idea where she fit in, or how she would adapt. But she had comfort in knowing her stay would be less than a year, even a matter of a few months.
She pulled out clean garments from her bag, shook out the folds of a simple dress of a deep nutmeg hue, and held it in front of her. She stared into the full-length mirror, telling herself she would always be Darcy of the rivers and forests. Then she undressed, washed the dust of the road off her skin, and brushed out her long hair until it felt silky again. A black ribbon lay on the dressing table, and she banded the locks up on her head, allowing some to grace her shoulders.
Carried on the wind that buffeted the house, a sound came to Darcy—a horse whinnied. She approached the latticed window, and peering out at the crest of a hill, she spied a man on horseback riding east at an even gallop. She stared. Her heart beat in her breast, and she glanced away in an effort to calm it. The horseman caused her to think back to the day when she first chanced upon Ethan astride the stallion.
Ethan. She could not forget him, no matter how hard she had worked to get him out of her mind.
An hour later, she went back down the hall to her grandmother’s bedchamber. Placing her palm against the door, she eased it open and stepped inside. She drew near her grandmother’s canopied bed and touched Madeline’s hand with the tips of her fingers. The old woman’s eyes opened and glanced over at Darcy.
“You are much improved,” said Madeline. “Sit beside me. I imagine you have many questions, but not tonight. Later, when I am feeling stronger. I am old.”
It disappointed her, for Darcy’s mind rushed with questions. But compassion—for an aged mind and body, and no doubt a heart that had ached many a year—took precedence over her desire for answers.
“I am expecting my nephew and his wife in a day or two.”
“Mrs. Burke told me about Mr. Langbourne and his wife. I shall be glad to meet them.”
“I do not imagine Charlotte shall be much company to you, Darcy. It is not because she possesses a dignified self-restraint. Something is amiss with her mind, for she is a frail creature and says little about anything that matters. Langbourne tolerates her, I suppose, but does not love her.”
“How unfortunate.”
Madeline let out a cackle. “She doesn’t seem to mind, for she is well cared for. What is love to the upper class but a whim? We are fixed up in England, and that is that. When I first met your grandfather, I felt nothing, no spark of anything. My love for him grew over time. I needed him, you see.”
How sad to not have loved from the beginning, to burn and ache for love. And by now, had Ethan entered into a loveless marriage? How her heart grieved to think of it, that he could have had her love instead of shallow regard. God had planted it in her, Darcy knew, a love so deep and virtuous that it could have been born only from the One that was pure, everlasting love.
Her fingers bent, Madeline lifted a gold locket from her chest, opened it, and showed