Marjorie Farrell (21 page)

Sam continued his occasional visits, and could not help noticing Nora’s low spirits. She was clearly going through the motions when she socialized with the family. Her eyes would come to life only when she was with her daughter, but on her own, standing with Lavinia and the other matrons, or even discussing a play with him, he sensed a lack of vitality. He imagined she must be very lonely. After all, she and Miranda had been companions for eighteen years. But he did not feel he had the right to ask her.

He wished Nora would turn to him as a companion. She clearly enjoyed his visits, but he did not feel she looked upon him as anyone central to her life. He was plagued by doubts that she would ever see him as more than a family connection, but he knew
—he was not sure how—that he must not push her.

By the middle of the Little Season, it became clear to Nora that Miranda’s marriage meant the end of their close relationship. She had, of course, anticipated changes, and the separation that would occur when her daughter married, but in the normal course of things, Miranda most probably would have married someone who lived in Hampstead or one whose London residence was more informal. The mothers in the village were able to drop in at all hours upon their married daughters. Having a daughter who was a countess, however, meant she saw her only on formal occasions, for even “intimate” dinners at Lavinia’s were formal. Miranda had of course visited her mother for lunch or tea, but it felt to Nora that these were flying visits, and that her daughter was preoccupied by the tightness of her schedule. The two women never seemed to get beyond small talk.

Nora had never wanted to be an interfering or clinging parent, so she never met Miranda with anything but a smile and the most amusing tidbits of news from Hampstead or the publishing world.

Had Nora known it, Miranda herself felt a sense of loss. It had been hard to leave her mother and start such an unfamiliar existence, but the weeks in Cornwall and Sussex had been lovely. Jeremy and she had become even closer, and she felt the pain of leaving her old life disappear. But in London, that cherished time with him was less. It was not fashionable to have one’s spouse in one’s pocket, no matter how recent the wedding. Jeremy certainly spent more time with her than the other husbands did with their wives, but it was inevitable that they would be together less. Miranda had become close to Ann Hume, and there was Judith, but she missed her mother. She was too embarrassed to tell Jeremy or Nora. Her mother seemed to be surviving quite well without her. She always seemed happy and full of the latest local gossip. And of course, she had her writing. Miranda would never worry about Nora, for she knew as long as she could write, she would be happy. But she did find herself looking forward to the holidays at Alverstone, when they would all be together and she would have the time to spend with both her new husband and her mother.

Joanna had returned from Scotland in mid-October and was concerned, though not surprised, at Nora’s state of mind. She had known that the change in such a close mother-daughter relationship would be difficult, but she only now realized, as Nora had, what Miranda’s change in position meant.

One afternoon, a few days after she had returned, she walked up to the cottage. Nora greeted her warmly, but there was a lack of energy that was beginning to worry Joanna. After they had chatted inconsequentially for a few moments, Joanna decided to come to the point.

“My dear, I am worried about you.”

Nora immediately began to deny any reasons for concern.

“No, no, don’t put up your guard with me, Nora. Is it Miranda’s marriage?” Joanna asked with such sympathy that Nora, who had been denying her state of mind for weeks, felt her eyes fill with tears.

“You are right. I am miserably lonely. I never realized how much distance this marriage to Jeremy would put between us. Miranda never has time for more than a short visit, and when I go to visit her, we have so little privacy that I leave quickly myself. I am so ashamed of myself, Joanna, for I never wanted to be one of those clinging females who would never let their children go. But Miranda is gone with a vengeance.” Nora laughed shakily.

“I can hardly picture you as clinging, Nora. In fact, that is precisely your problem. You try so hard to be independent that you deny yourself even the common feelings of loss that a mother would feel.”

“Oh, I know, we have been over this before. But I am afraid to feel them. If I really cried over Miranda, I fear I would cry myself away, leaving only an empty shell. And sometimes she gets so confused with my own mother. Or rather, I get confused and wonder who it is that I am missing, my mother or my daughter. And who am I, between the two of them?”

“You are a lovely woman who needs a life for herself now, and a different kind of companionship than that between parent and child. Has the viscount been to visit?”

“Why, yes, but what has that got to do with anything?”

“I rather thought he was interested in you, my dear. And he is just what you need. I liked him very much from what I saw at the wedding.”

“I don’t need a man in my life, Joanna. I have my friends, my writing, and when things calm down, Miranda, although in a different way.”

Ah, but you do need someone like the viscount, thought Joanna. Someone to help you learn to trust yourself again. A man very different from that wastrel Breen.

“And anyway,” continued Nora, “the viscount and I are just good friends. I doubt he is interested in me in any other way. He has plenty of opportunities to find female companionship. I am sure he has innumerable widows setting their caps for him.”

Joanna smiled to herself at this last. Nora’s tone had changed subtly, and Joanna was sure that underneath all her denials, there was some interest, however nascent. But there was something that held Nora back from allowing those feelings to develop. Something more than the habit of taking on all the responsibility herself.

Joanna had often thought over the years, and mentioned it from time to time, that Nora should revisit her home in Northumberland. Nora had always reacted strongly, claiming that there was nothing there for her. After all, her mother was long since dead and her father had virtually disowned her.

“Nora, I know you get upset with me whenever I mention this, but perhaps it is time to go back to Moorview. You yourself are saying that Miranda’s leaving brings back the loss of your mother. Even if your father did turn away from you, people change. He has a granddaughter he has never seen. Miranda has family and a heritage that she has only found out about. Would you deny her and yourself one last chance at reconciliation? You are a grown woman now, not a penitent young girl. Surely you could speak very differently for yourself today than you could eighteen years ago?”

Joanna was leaning forward, hands clasped in front of her to keep from pulling Nora into her arms. She knew that she was on dangerous ground, but somehow felt that it was at last the right time to say this. Nora, who had stiffened at Joanna’s words, gave a shudder and suddenly relaxed.

“Perhaps you have been right all along, Joanna. I know I could not have gone back before,” she said in a low voice, looking down at the floor. “But now?… Oh, Joanna, I feel so lost. Without Miranda, my life seems to have collapsed around me. Even writing has become empty. I am sick of my Lady Cordelias and Lord Soameses. I never want to describe a ball dress again!” Nora looked up with a smile, but with tears in her eyes.

“If I did go back, what would I do? Just walk up to the door and announce myself? My father could be dead, for all I know.”

“I think you could decide when you get there. You may find it is enough to be there in the countryside of your girlhood. You may wish to spend only a day or two, and visit your mother’s grave.”

“I will consider it this time, Joanna,” said Nora, getting up. “Perhaps it
is
time for me to go home.”

“And to forgive yourself.”

“Forgive myself?”

“Yes. I think that your new life cannot truly start until you stop doing penance.” As Nora started to protest, Joanna put her arm around her shoulders. “Hush, and listen to me, for what good are all my years if I cannot pretend to be wise! I know that you have said that you have no regrets about the past, for it brought you Miranda. But I think you feel something deeper than regret
—a shame that you let your passionate feelings blind you to the truth of Breen’s character. My dear, you were seventeen, you had just lost your mother, and, it seemed, your father. From what you have told me, Breen was charming, handsome, and, I think, loved you as much as he could have loved anyone.”

“Oh, but my love was so easy won,” replied Nora sadly.

“Yes, because you are a loving person. But you cannot spend the rest of your life alone in fear that you will make the same mistake again. Don’t say anything now,” added Joanna, as Nora started to continue her protest. “Think about my words later. And if you decide to go, let me know.”

Nora turned and hugged the older woman. “Whatever I decide, thank you for your affection, my good friend. I do not think I would have survived without you these past years.”

“It has been a mutual joy, Nora,” replied Joanna, kissing her on the forehead. “Now, be sure to let me know if you need anything should you decide to go.”

Nora wrapped her shawl around her and stepped out into the High Street to see Joanna on her way. The weather was beginning to get colder, and it occurred to her as she walked back into the house that did she decide to make the journey, she must do it soon, or have to wait to spring.

I will sleep on it, she decided. In the morning, things will be clearer.

* * * *

That night she dreamed of her mother, a rare occurrence, for she had often wondered why she never had the comfort of her mother’s presence in dreams. In the dream, she was a child again, perhaps six or seven years old. She was walking down a dusty path, lost, and knowing she was likely walking in the wrong direction, but not knowing what else to do but keep on walking. She was crying as she walked, and did not hear the carriage wheels behind her. Before she knew it, she was being enfolded in her mother’s arms as her mother crooned to her and said, “Oh, Margaret, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Let me take you home.”

She awoke with dry eyes and that tight pain in the chest which occurs when one has been sobbing in a dream and the crying has not broken through into the daylight. Oh, Mother, if only you could take me home with you, she thought, and then slipped into a deep sleep.

* * * *

In the morning she awoke knowing she must go to Northumberland, and having decided, lost no time in making preparations. Luckily, she did have a small amount of money set by. Miranda and Jeremy had been very generous and given her several dresses, so she had not had to use her own funds for her recent socializing. She had enough to hire a chaise, but as she sat and thought about it, she decided she would go by coach. It was the way she had come south, after all, and it would bring back the past more vividly. It also left her with more money for accommodations, and to hire a private parlor when they stopped for refreshment.

There was an old valise in the back of her closet, the same one she had used when they left Edinburgh. It took her a while to find it, and she was just brushing the cobwebs off it and out of her hair when she heard someone coming up the walk. By this time, she was so thoroughly energized by her decision, and the rising sense of excitement combined with anxiety, that she was quite distracted in her greeting to the viscount.

“I seem to have come at a bad time,” he said, looking at the small piles of folded clothes. “Would it be better if I returned later in the week?” he asked politely.

“Yes,” replied Nora without thinking. And then: “No, no, I won’t be here later in the week, so you may as well come in now for a moment.” She was not so distracted as not to register that Sam had caught her once again with her clothes and hair in disarray.

“I am obviously disturbing you,” he said a bit stiffly.

“Well, yes,” she admitted in a friendly tone, “but I am ready for a cup of tea, and I
am
happy to see you,” she added as if in afterthought, “for I have a letter to Miranda that I can send back with you. So you are welcome, but I will have to ask you to put aside your dignity”
—she smiled—“and join me in the kitchen, since the parlor is too cluttered for us to be comfortable.”

Sam sat at the old deal table and watched her pump water, fill the kettle, and slice a loaf of plum cake. Very soon they were sitting cozily over cake and tea, the thin slices of cake disappearing into Sam’s mouth at the rate of three to Nora’s one.

“You were hungry, my lord?” she teased.

“Have I finished all that?” Sam exclaimed. “I fear I’ve demolished your plum cake, but it is so good.”

“That is all right. It won’t be left to get moldy when I am gone.”

“Yes…then you are going somewhere?”

Two cups of tea had given Nora a becoming flush, but she warmed even more as she said, “Yes, I am going home.”

“Home?”

“Northumberland.”

“This week?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Forgive me, I know I have no right to question you, but is this not a sudden decision? What of Miranda and the rest of the Little Season? What of the holidays?”

“Oh, I will be back for Christmas, of course. That is why I am leaving now. I will have to go right away, or the weather will be too wild to go before spring. And as for Miranda, she is coping well, it seems to me, and after all, has her husband to support her.”

“Is there some family emergency? I was not aware you had family left up north…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he realized he had no real right to question Nora about her personal life.

“No emergency, my lord. Just a strong desire to revisit my childhood home.”

And to revisit the scenes of her early days with her dead husband, perhaps? Had she met him in Northumberland? Had Miranda’s marriage turned her thoughts back to her own youthful happiness? Sam was amazed at the strength of his own reaction. He had envisioned an autumn of slow and relaxed courtship. Visits like this, waltzes which brought them close. And a leisurely few weeks at Alverstone to ensure a positive answer to his proposal. And now she was just stuffing a few dresses into an old bag and going north. She really is an outrageous woman, he thought. No wonder I love her!