be brought to justice. None of those details, however, could Lila burden her bereaved sister with. “I hate crowds.” A panicky laugh built in her throat. “I don’t even like the sunlight anymore.”
“Well, it is a good thing we reside in England, where the sun is as rare a commodity as our mother’s smiles,” her sister drawled, startling a laugh from Lila.
Sylvia joined in.
When they’d settled into a comfortable silence, Lila squeezed her sister’s hand. “Thank you.”
Sylvia blushed. “Oh, hush. I’m your elder sister. Elder sisters have a responsibility for cheering up their younger ones.”
And what of the responsibilities of younger ones?
Shame filled her. “I should have been there for you, Sylvia.”
Her sister made a sound of protest. “Stop. You are here, aren’t you?”
But even Lila’s coming to stay with her sister had been a product of her not wanting to retire to the country. “That’s not enough,” she said insistently. Lila had been so consumed in her own pain and past and suffering, how much had she truly been there—as her sister needed? “Upon Norman’s death, you deserved more from me, as a sister and as a friend.”
A little sheen glazed Sylvia’s eyes at the mere mention of her husband’s name. What pain her sister must have known. And how very self-absorbed Lila had been. From those first tragic days of Norman’s death to the discovery that she’d been with child . . . to the delivery of that child. Lila had been locked away, too afraid, using that fear as an excuse as to why she couldn’t be there for those she loved. Just as she’d used it as a shield when Hugh had come to her yesterday and sought her help . . .
“There’ll always be room enough in life for regrets, I’ve learned,” Sylvia said in a soft voice. “What I’ve come to also learn is that we have today and can make it better than yesterday.” Her sister held her arms open, much the way she had when Lila had found herself met with a stern scolding by their parents and governesses for some mischief or another she’d gotten herself into.
Lila hugged her sister. “I’m sorry.”
“Tsk. Tsk. Listen to your big sister,” she said when they drew apart. “There’s no place for regrets. There is a place, however, for both of us to make new beginnings. Even if there’ll always be pain and sadness there, there can be joy, too.”
There can be joy, too . . .
“Do you know,” Lila began in muted tones, “when I sought out Clara, I believed music represented my path back to the living.” A wistful smile tugged at her lips as she thought about the night she’d put her request to the other woman. The courage it had taken Lila to leave and seek the former madam out. The hope she’d found in being there. “I will always love singing and playing the pianoforte.” Since she’d been a small girl, she’d lost herself in the strains of song. “I saw both as the key to my happiness.” Lila looked squarely at her sister. “And then I realized . . .”
“What?”
“It isn’t music or song that truly fills a soul. Oh, they are pastimes I will forever enjoy, but my life these past nine years has been empty because of the absence of family or friends.” And she’d not realized just how very large the void had been . . . and how very much she’d missed laughing and loving and conversing and . . . simply existing amongst the world.
Hugh had shown her that.
“Does this discovery have something to do with your duke . . . and the reason for your sadness . . . ?”
Lila sucked in a long, slow breath. “It does.” Because when she again imagined a life for herself, it was one with Hugh in it.
I love him.
“You love him.”
Shock held her immobile.
She loved him. She loved him for being a man of convictions. For being loyal, and for not having treated her as though she were a fragile flower to be tucked away and protected and—
Lila’s breath came in sharp, sporadic bursts.
Sylvia joined her. “Love leaves a person with that feeling, doesn’t it?” her sister murmured, stroking her back. “Alternately giddy and wanting to toss one’s biscuits.”
Aye, that it did. “There could be far worse things than falling in love.” Like losing one’s only love . . .
Those words hung in the air as true as if they’d been spoken.
“Either way, he’s not come