Chapter 32

A ngelica rushed down the stairs, descending into the madness that had seized control of the household as her brother-in-law wrestled the three little ones, his frantic eyes scanning the parlor and corridor as he shouted for her again and again. Mama and Papa stood near the fireplace, their hands raised in placation as they tried to talk to him, but Clarence didn’t seem to hear.

Turning to her, he nearly knocked Evander over, who clung to his papa’s legs, whilst Daphne sat perched on one arm, sobbing into her papa’s neck, and little Baldwin was nestled in the other crook, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Where is she?” he demanded as he bounced the baby, though Baldwin continued to shriek. Clarence’s eyes were wide, begging for answers that Angelica didn’t have, but they didn’t settle long on her, continuing to scour the place as though the person would appear from the ether.

“Who? Guinevere?” she asked.

“Tell me where she is!” he shouted, which set the children bawling even harder, but just as he turned on Angelica, Mr. Knight appeared between them in the corridor, holding up his hands to placate Clarence.

“Easy, Mr. Cogswell, you are upsetting the children,” he said in a soothing voice. “Let’s discuss this calmly and see if we can sort it out.”

Drawing in a sharp breath, Clarence snapped out of his panic, his gaze falling to his children. In an easy movement, Angelica stepped forward and took Baldwin from his papa so the fellow could focus on the others, and she rested the babe against her shoulder; Baldwin arched his back and kicked his little feet, his head twisting this way and that as she patted his back and bounced him.

“Come,” said Mama, motioning toward the parlor, and the crowd shuffled in, though no one took a seat. Thomas sat on the sofa, his expression etched with concern, whilst Helen and Ophelia were seated beside him in the armchairs in varying states of interest, with the former showing too little and the latter displaying too much.

Meanwhile, Papa tried to usher Clarence to the sofa, but his son-in-law remained standing, clutching his other two children tight.

“Guinevere is gone,” said Clarence, a hitch in his voice bringing with it a sheen of tears. “She told me she was going to stay at Stoneleigh Cottage after the party, but I found a letter—”

Drawing in a sharp breath through his nose, he stuffed a hand into his coat pocket and yanked out a scrap of paper, holding it up to Mama and Papa.

“Perhaps we ought to discuss this in private,” whispered Angelica, glancing at her younger sisters and the children.

“If she is gone, then the whole village will know of it in a trice and there will be no keeping it from the children,” said Papa as he unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the lines whilst Mama read over his shoulder. Angelica thanked the heavens that Emily and her little ones were not in attendance. They could not protect them forever, but neither did the innocents need to be thrust into the middle of what was to come.

Baldwin let out a shuddering sigh, his head finally resting with his little nose and lips pressed to Angelica’s neck. Resting her cheek against him, she prayed with all her might that it wasn’t true; she knew it was a useless endeavor, but it didn’t stop her all the same.

“She has run away with Mr. Strickland,” said Clarence, his eyes vacant as he rested his hand atop Evander’s head, and his son clung tighter to his leg; the children were likely too young to truly comprehend, but clearly, their father’s frenzy had seeped into them. The poor dears were exhausted.

With a gasp, Mama covered her mouth and looked at Angelica.

Straightening, she watched her parents with wide eyes as Papa frowned at the paper and read aloud, “‘I thought I could surrender my heart for the sake of my children, but Angelica convinced me otherwise, and I know I cannot remain in a lie. I must be free…’”

Noise erupted at that, each voice speaking over the other in a cyclone of words. Angelica held Baldwin tight, her eyes widening even further as the world around her was swept away in a torrent. The sounds twisted together, filling her ears with such chaos that she couldn’t think, her body held in place as Guinevere’s words echoed in her thoughts.

“Quiet!” barked Papa. The noise died away as suddenly as it came, and all eyes turned toward her, causing Angelica’s blood to run cold. Memories sprang to her mind, and she sifted through them with the speed of a hummingbird’s wing as she tried to examine what she’d said and done to push her sister to this terrible choice.

“That is not what I said at all. I told her to give up Mr. Strickland and be happy with the family she has.” Turning her gaze to Clarence, Angelica swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You must believe me. I don’t know where she has gone, and I certainly offered her no assistance.”

Mr. Knight eased closer, and she felt his hand hovering at the small of her back, as though he was longing to place his arm around her yet not wanting to take that liberty. Angelica wished he could hear her thoughts, for she yearned for that strong limb to brace her.

“I didn’t think you had…” Clarence mumbled, his body seeming to collapse in on itself. “Not really. I had hoped…”

Papa folded up the letter, handing it back to his son-in-law as though it were a bit of afternoon post. “I give you my word that we had nothing to do with this matter, but as tragic as this is, wouldn’t it be better for you two to part ways if you are both so unhappy?”

Clarence straightened, his eyes shooting up to meet Papa’s as he gaped.

“I cannot believe she would do such a thing,” whispered Mama with a shake of her head. “How could she give up on her love like that?”

“Would you rather she live in misery?” asked Helen with a furrowed brow.

“I, for one, am proud of her,” said Ophelia with a grin. “She refused to surrender to the pressures of society— and even her own sister —to snatch up her happiness.”

Angelica’s wide eyes darted to her youngest sister, unable to comprehend the words yet feeling the condemnation in Ophelia’s tone, as though Angelica had greatly betrayed Guinevere.

“True,” said Mama, her shoulders lifting. “That takes great bravery.”

Angelica stared at them, her face a mask of horror as they discussed the merits of Guinevere’s choice, whilst her husband was still so dazed that he didn’t seem to hear a single word, his eyes simply reading and re-reading the letter.

“How can you say such nasty, terrible things!” she said, glaring at her family. “Guinevere isn’t some heroine in a story, escaping a villainous trap. She is a mother who abandoned her children to chase after her selfish desires, and that is not praiseworthy!”

With that, she leveled a hard glare at Ophelia, though the girl ignored it and primly brushed off her skirts.

“That is unfortunate,” said Papa, as though it were a mere inconvenience. “But I admire Guinevere for choosing to live honestly—”

“What is honest about carrying on with another man in secret?” demanded Angelica. “What is honest about breaking the promise to love, honor, and cherish your spouse? What is honest about sneaking away in the dead of night?”

“Better to be honest to your heart than to live a lie,” said Papa with a scowl. “And if you knew anything about love, you wouldn’t question her decision, Angelica. Guinevere has made the difficult choice, and I applaud her for that—”

“Tell me you are jesting,” said Thomas, his eyes wide as he stared at his father. “You cannot stand there defending her for making such a selfish decision. And when Angelica—who is showing more sense than any of the rest of our family—dares to speak the truth, you dismiss her opinion off-hand? Guinevere did a terrible thing! Do not defend her!”

Angelica’s heart soared at the sight of her brother rising to her defense and standing firm with her. Though she didn’t need the confirmation to tell right from wrong, knowing she was not alone in her stance helped to loosen the knot in her stomach (as much as it could whilst her brother’s and father’s voices rose).

“I told her she ought not to settle down,” said Mama, throwing her arms to the heavens. “Guinevere’s spirit was too large for such a limited life.”

That jerked Clarence from his stupor, and he crumpled the paper. “Your daughter is a conniving hag who has destroyed not only her life but that of her entire family!”

And with that, the children dissolved into tears again, and Angelica couldn’t bear it a moment longer. Lunging forward, she snatched Daphne from her father, settling the child in her other arm, and nodded at Evander to follow her.

“Come now, sweetlings,” she said, pasting on a bright smile as though they were going up to the nursery for a bit of fun. Daphne settled into her aunt’s hold easily, though Angelica’s arms struggled to keep hold of the two children whilst climbing the stairs, the simmering anger forced her muscles forward as they made their way to the top of the house.

The nursery was blessedly empty, and Angelica led Evander to the little cot that stood on the far side of the room. The child’s breath hitched as he sat, and Angelica settled Daphne onto the pillow before crouching in front of the little boy whose features were the twin of his mother.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said in a singsong voice.

Daphne pushed off the pillow and cuddled into her brother’s side as she fit her thumb into her mouth. Evander stared back at Angelica, his eyes looking far older than those of a child not yet three years old.

“Where is Mummy?” he asked, and Angelica fought to hold onto her happy expression, forcing back the gathering tears.

“She’s on a little trip at present, but she wanted you to have some fun with your Aunt Angelica.” Making a show of reaching into her apron, she waggled her brows. “What do you think I have in my pocket?”

Daphne straightened, smiling around her thumb, and held out her other hand. “Treat!”

Careful not to jostle Baldwin, Angelica lifted out two of the licorice bits she kept secreted there for emergencies, and Daphne snatched hers up before lying back down on the pillow. Evander gave little sign that he noticed it, though he opened his mouth when she offered it, his eyelids blinking heavily as he fought against the exhaustion coursing through him—their nap was long overdue.

Carefully, she shifted Baldwin so he sat in the crook of her arm and guided his elder brother to lie down beside their sister. Pressing kisses to their foreheads, Angelica prayed she might know what to do for the little dears, all whilst knowing that those who were most innocent often bore the brunt of the consequences of adults’ actions.

The floor was cold, but she sat beside the cot, leaning over the children to brush the hair from their foreheads as she hummed a quiet tune she’d sung to their mother when she was little. There were words to the song, but Angelica didn’t trust her voice at present.

Baldwin quieted first, turning towards her as his eyes drifted closed, and when he was truly gone, Angelica settled him beside his siblings. Daphne was quick to follow, but it took another minute before Evander surrendered to his fatigue.

And that was when Angelica allowed the tears to fall.

*

Julian stood like a statue as the Callaghans tore into one another. All traces of the loving family he’d known vanished, leaving great fissures forming between them. The more they spoke, the more Julian’s stomach churned, seeing them in all their unbridled glory as they expounded on love and freedom as though Mrs. Cogswell’s action had righted some injustice in the world.

If this was the example of marriage and romance that Miss Callaghan had been given, then it was little wonder that she feared his advances so very much. This twisted, unholy version was nothing like what he knew, and Julian’s throat tightened at the thought that he’d ever considered any of these people (except her eldest brother, who stood firm against their father and mother) worthy of admiration.

This sort of life was not one of freedom, but of being trapped by one’s desires—a monster that required constant attention, never satisfied and forever longing for more.

Julian glanced at the place Miss Callaghan had been standing, only then realizing that she’d made her escape with her niece and nephews. Turning away from the others, he took the stairs two at a time, the furious sounds fading with each flight, and when he slipped into the nursery, he spied Miss Callaghan on the floor, leaning against the cot that held those three little treasures. Her hand brushed gently across their foreheads, and a soft tune rested upon her lips, though the notes started and stopped with each of her shuddering breaths.

And she thought herself incapable of love? Julian’s heart burned at the sight of her tender ministrations, seeing to those whose hearts were bound to break the most in the coming years—even while hers cracked wide open.

A creak of the floorboard, and she glanced at him, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears. Jerking her gaze from him, Miss Callaghan swiped at her face and cheeks, and as she drew in a shaky breath, she met his eyes once more with a scowl.

“This is what love does, Mr. Knight,” she whispered, her words hard and sharp. “It turns people selfish, making them ignore everything but their own heart. It doesn’t matter who they hurt as long as they get the happiness they think they deserve.”

Slowly, Julian moved to her side as she glared at him, and he quietly slid to the floor beside her. Miss Callaghan continued to unburden her thoughts, railing against love, marriage, and everything else her family espoused, and he welcomed it; there was nothing else he could do for her but serve as the focus of her anger at present, so he set aside his pride and listened.

When her words slowed, Miss Callaghan’s eyes still burned as though challenging him to disagree, though her lips quivered ever so slightly.

“For all that your father claims to be a poet, he doesn’t understand English,” he said.

Her expression slackened, though a puzzled frown still pulled at her lips.

“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word love, and as far as I can see, no one in your family—except your elder brother—seems to, either,” he said.

With a huff, Miss Callaghan turned away from him and looked at the sleeping children, her eyes filling with such concern that it was a wonder that she didn’t see just how much passion burned within herself.

“Love doesn’t hurt others, it doesn’t take, and it certainly does not change on a whim.” Drawing in a deep breath, Julian considered how to describe it. “It prevails through the difficult times and binds hearts together in an unbreakable bond, whether friend to friend, brother to sister, or husband to wife.”

Raising his brows, he added, “But then, I know you know that, Miss Callaghan. I know you see the difference between that which your family teaches and the truth. For all that you feign indifference and aloofness, your heart loves far deeper than most.”

Miss Callaghan drew in a shaky breath. “I said the same thing to Guinevere, yet still she left.”

“That is because she loves herself most, and one cannot love others properly if one is forever placing oneself first. That is true of any type of love: platonic, filial, or romantic.”

Pressing a kiss to the babe’s forehead, Miss Callaghan looked at Julian. “I cannot decide if I am angry at Guinevere or sorry for her. She may be happy with her decision now, but the consequences will come for her eventually.”

“You can feel both, but that doesn’t change the fact that you still love her,” he whispered.

Miss Callaghan’s breath shook, and her chin trembled. Julian required no further invitation, shifting so he sat beside her, and without hesitation, she slid into his hold as her tears fell. Shuddering, she surrendered to the emotion, weeping for her sister, her brother-in-law, and the sweet children beside her.

Julian rested his head against hers, silently holding her as the pain washed over her, and he longed for some way to heal her broken heart.