Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge

and the acceptance of death and the solace that one could find in the eternal love of God. In the rush of memory the reality of it all became focused and Eleanor felt the tears well behind her eyes for a husband who had been a good man and a friend.

      She was crying. Cristo could see the tears mopped up by a kerchief that looked suspiciously masculine. He saw the way her hands shook and saw the tremors in her throat as she swallowed back grief and tried to find strength.

      Asher was speaking now as the Carisbrook representative and Cristo simply listened. The sun slanted in through the window, covering everything with a strange light, and the Bishop, noticing it, relegated such a shimmer to the way of our Lord and the golden glow of redemption.

      A letter of sorts stuck out on one corner of a substantial array of flowers and Cristo determined the end of a rainbow drawn across it.

      Florencia’s handiwork, perhaps? He wished that he might have seen more of the final goodbye to the only father she had ever known; as Eleanor stood, their eyes caught, hers plainly visible through a lacy veil.

      Shock and want spread across something he could only explain as utter helplessness and his fists clenched at the material in his jacket so that he would not reach out. His breath shook with relief as she turned.

      Florencia’s dark eyes were staring at the floor and for that at least he was glad. On her feet she wore little black boots with three buttons on each side of the opening. The right one was scuffed at the toes.

      And then it was time to go, time to step forwards and offer individual sympathies. Cristo was pleased Bea and Taris went before him with Ashe and Emerald behind, for sandwiched between Wellinghams he felt a little less visible. The day outside through the glass at the window was cold but blue. The leaves on the trees that lined the driveway were beginning to bud, light green against the limbs of winter.

      He would come to give his condolences and she would have to touch him. He would come with his public face and his private thoughts, a man with a lot of reasons to keep the distance he so obviously sought.

      Did his promise to stay away from her still exist now that Martin was gone? With Florencia’s name secured for eternity would he wish for any more contact between them?

      Another more worrying thought also occurred. Would Florencia recognise him as the one who had come into the warehouse to save them?

      Beatrice-Maude came first and Eleanor felt indifference in the way she clasped her hands.

      ‘I am sorry for your loss, Lady Dromorne.’ Only that. She passed by as quickly as was considered proper and her husband lingered for a second or so longer. Then Cristo was there, his hand held awkwardly.

      ‘Please accept my condolences.’

      Her fingertips rested in his, the gloves they both wore a barrier to everything. He had not so much as raised his eyes to see her, his hair the colour of a spider web in the light.

      Just this second.

      Just this chance.

      Her fingers clamped over his in a motion all of their own, desperate, reckless, melded into a knowledge that should she not try here, she might lose him for ever.

      ‘Please …?’

      She could not say more for her throat had closed up into thickness and the words just would not come. Beside her one of Martin’s cousins coughed.

      Releasing his hand, she felt him slip away, from her, the side of his face and then the back of his head, his gloved hand reaching out to the next person in the line and the same words upon his tongue.

      ‘Please accept my condolences.’

      The air was so thin she could barely find breath, only him, here and then gone, only his touch through two layers of fabric and every single part of her longing for more.

      Her fingers burned anger into his soul. More than nine months had passed since they had last seen each other and the time for an apology for her lack of contact was far and away over.

      Even a letter might have sufficed.

      He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on other things. The gilded carved cornices in the ceilings and the tall windows with their elaborate heavy curtains.

      ‘We need not stay longer.’ Asher turned to him, concern and worry written on his face, though Emerald had hung back and was now speaking with Eleanor.

      ‘I should not wish to listen to the Bishop Pilkington every Sunday,’ Beatrice said as they reached the carriage and Taris laughed.

      ‘Fundamentalism has a form of judgement, Bea, that is often fashioned in a wavering zeal. He sounded young. Young enough to be saved by his vacillating faith, would you say?’

      ‘Hell would have to freeze over first,’ Ashe cut in, ‘and I for one can’t wait for a drink.’

      Eleanor saw that the Wellinghams were laughing, their happiness in her unending sorrow almost a sacrilege.

      ‘A very dear friend of mine has a house in High Wycombe that you would be most welcome to use. It is small, you understand, but very beautiful. A sanctuary, if you like.’ Emerald Wellingham held her hand in a way that was endearing.

      ‘Thank you for the kind offer, but—’

      ‘Being alone in the city, Lady Dromorne, is very different to being alone in the country. Just remember that. Besides, no one would question your business there. I would make very sure of it.’ Turquoise eyes bore into hers and Eleanor got the impression she was trying to say something completely different. ‘If you should change your mind, I would be happy to hear from you and remember that things are not always exactly as they seem.’

      Eleanor could not quite determine the Duchess of Carisbrook’s motive in the warning. All the rest of the family had passed her by with only the most cursory of greetings, but this woman was almost ardent in her advice. Disengaging her hand, she stepped back.

      ‘I thank you again, your Grace.’

      ‘Emmie. It is how my friends call me.’

      Eleanor stayed silent.

      ‘My son Ashton is just a little older than your daughter and we have puppies at the town house at the moment. Perhaps your little girl might like to come and play with them?’

      Eleanor smiled. It was hard to remain distant under such an onslaught of friendliness.

      ‘Puppies?’ Florencia pushed herself forwards. ‘I love puppies.’

      ‘Do you indeed, my dear? Then it is settled. Your mother must bring you to visit before they grow too large and you miss them altogether.’

      ‘Can we, Mama? Please can we?’

      In the face of all the sadness and tears Eleanor found herself nodding her head and arranging a date and time for the following week. Even though they were in mourning it would be a quick and private visit and it would be nice to see laughter again on her daughter’s face.

      Chapter Sixteen

      Dressed in unending black, Eleanor exited the conveyance that had been sent by Emerald Wellingham to pick them up. The previous week had been difficult for the timing for her leaving the Dromorne properties was tighter than she had hoped, as Martin’s cousin wished to inhabit the family seats before the end of July.

      Oh, granted, Martin had left her with enough money to procure another property, but the speed of change was unsettling, all the decisions she needed to make alone daunting and dispiriting.

      It was as if the black of her clothes had leaked into her blood, despair and dullness leaving their mark upon her. Taking in a breath, she admonished herself. She had options and possibilities and Florencia, far from being depressed by losing