Earnton, he thought perhaps he should call on her as well. His mother’s sister was a woman of infinite resource, and he felt very much in need of her expertise.
***
There was a sagging bench in the narrow back garden of Henry Wylde’s former home. Unpainted, neglected, stuck in a corner behind a shed, it was like the rest of his place had been—awkward and comfortless. But it was hidden from the windows, and so Lucy used it as a place to hide when she wanted to cry.
She hated her need to weep. It made her feel weak and treacherous. But her resistance didn’t make it go away. Every so often, the lump rose in her throat and her eyes burned; circumstances loomed like a great wave rising over her head, ready to crash down and drown her. She just had to slip away and cry it out. The tears didn’t make her feel better, exactly—just less like she was going to burst into a thousand pieces. Her only comfort was that no one knew of her bouts. She couldn’t have borne the mortification.
On this particular evening, she had tiptoed out after readying Miss Charlotte for her evening party and seeing her off in a cab. The others were busy in the kitchen and probably thought she was still working upstairs. She wiped her eyes with her sodden handkerchief and sniffed. But the storm wasn’t over. Tears welled up again and spilled down her cheeks. Hiccupping sobs escaped her. She struggled to suppress them. Above all, she mustn’t be discovered.
As if the fear had brought it, a figure loomed over her in the growing darkness. At first she thought it was Mr. Trask. She leapt to her feet, groping for an excuse.
“Lucy?”
It was Ethan. Was that better or worse than exposure to his grandfather? Worse, Lucy decided. “What are you doing here?” It came out choked and sullen. But why was he creeping about, sneaking up on people? He didn’t even live here, though you wouldn’t know it half the time.
“You’re crying.” He sounded shocked.
“I’m n-not.” And then of course she was, harder than ever. She turned away. But he was blocking her escape to the house.
Ethan stood there, a great hulking lump, then he took a step forward and enfolded her in his arms.
Lucy froze. Obviously, she should shove him off and give him a blistering earful for his impudence. But the relief of those strong arms around her, the broad shoulder right there, seemingly designed to support her aching head, were so very tempting. And then his hand began to gently stroke her hair. “There now. What is it?”
Ethan held her without stiffness, without intrusion, as if there was nothing in the world he’d rather do. His hand moved softly on her hair, rhythmic and soothing.
Something broke open inside Lucy, and she let go the tears she had been trying to hold in. She didn’t understand what was happening at all. All she knew was—his touch magically made the crying a true release instead of a useless storm of emotion. She couldn’t resist. She gave herself up to the embrace, and leaned on him, and cried. His great, gentle hands held and comforted her. His body felt like a shield against every harm. The part of her that doubted and argued was stilled. Nothing seemed to exist but the two of them in the soft dark.
Some unmeasured time later, Lucy found herself sitting beside Ethan on the bench, his arm encircling her, her body tucked tight against him as if it had always belonged there. “Now, tell me,” he said. “If anybody’s hurt you, I swear I’ll…”
“No. It’s nothing like that. It’s stupid…” Lucy’s embarrassment over her weakness crept back. She had never been a weepy, clinging female, and she wasn’t about to start in.
“No, it isn’t,” Ethan declared.
Unable to help herself, Lucy blurted it out. “I heard your grandparents talking about going home. I didn’t know they were… temporary, like. I mean, if I’d ’a thought for a second. A ’course they want to go back to the country. Anyone would. It’s just I’ll miss them so…” Almost as much as she missed the countryside herself. She broke off, clenching her jaw. She would not cry anymore.
“Ah,” was all Ethan said.
She couldn’t see his expression in the dimness. Suddenly, she was afraid to say any more. She wriggled a little away, but his arm pulled her close again.