the best of her and she began to explore the old house. She went from room to room, each much the same as the other, clean and void of life. She ascended an oak staircase sleek from years of footfalls tramping over the steps. It led to a third floor. Two chamber doors were there, and after she opened the first and entered the room, she realized it had been her father’s bedchamber. Books were stacked on a table near the window. Clothes hung in the sandalwood armoire, a layer of dust on the shoulders of coats and shirts. It was as he had left it. She ran her hands over the fabric, and then closed the doors.
She heard footsteps and turned. Mrs. Burke stood on the threshold with a candlestick in her hand. “I intended to give you a tour of the house, Miss Darcy. But I see you could not wait.”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Burke. I could not help myself. I thought perhaps you had gone to bed.”
“No, I’m up late every night. There’s no need to be sorry.”
“This was my father’s room, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
“It looks as though it has remained just as he left it.”
Mrs. Burke touched the stack of books and sighed. “These were his favorites. And over here are his clothes. Everything in this room belonged to him, and he left it all behind for love.”
“He must have loved my mother very much to forsake everything for her.”
“Do you know the story, Miss Darcy?” Mrs. Burke set the candle down.
“No. But I imagine Grandmother will tell me about it— when she is ready.”
Mrs. Burke strode over to the window and drew apart the curtains, allowing the moonlight to come inside. “She has stayed tight-lipped about her feelings ever since your father was disinherited.”
“What did my father do to deserve such rejection?”
“Mr. Morgan did not approve of Mr. Hayward’s choice for a wife. He said Miss Eliza was below his station, and she had no money to bring to the marriage. Along with this he heard through his connections that Mr. William was in support of the American rebellion.”
“I know that to be true. But he was my grandmother’s son by her first marriage. Why did his beliefs matter to Mr. Morgan?”
“He would not have his heir attached to a traitor. He believed Mr. Hayward would be influenced, end up supporting the Revolution, and thus bring the family even more shame.”
“What happened then?”
“Mr. Hayward defied his father. I remember your grandmother crying as she watched him leave the house with only the clothes on his back.”
Darcy sat down on the edge of the bed. “She said he swore she’d never hear from him again. He should not have treated her so badly. It wasn’t her fault.”
“Yes, well after Mr. Morgan passed away, she tried to find Mr. Hayward, but failed. She gave up all hope that he would ever write to her.”
“I am sorry she could not find him. He should have written, regardless of how they fell out.”
“Indeed. But Mr. William wrote to her as often as he could, although she did not hear from him through the duration of the war. So few letters ever made it to England or to America those years.”
“My parents must have had a passionate affection for each other in order for him to defy his father and leave England. It must have been strong, like a fortress against a storm.”
“Hmm, more like a hurricane, Miss Darcy.” With a smile, Mrs. Burke picked up her candle, and together they left the forsaken bedchamber.
“We all should be so fortunate as to have a man love us as much as he loved your mother,” said Mrs. Burke outside Darcy’s door.
Darcy leaned against the jamb before going in. “That he would give up his inheritance for love is a noble thing … Good night, Mrs. Burke, and thank you.”
After Mrs. Burke stepped away, Darcy went inside the room that had been lovingly prepared for her. Moonlight flowed through the window, spread over the quilt covering the bed, and touched upon the pillows piled against the bolster. She thought of Ethan. Her love for him rose like a crashing, angry sea, gripping her with such longing that she put her hands over her eyes to suppress tears. If only he could have loved her that passionately, given up Miss Roth and her fortune, defied all and stayed with her. No, his was a love that was as fleeting as windswept clouds. But Darcy’s