14. Estelle

14

Estelle

T he first week at the beach unfolded in one glorious sunny day after another. On the evening of our eighth day, we enjoyed dinner on the patio, the sun setting before us in shades of pink. We dined on fresh corn on the cob smothered in butter, cold fried chicken, and potato salad with dill pickles. Mrs. Bancroft and Penelope had been into town earlier, returning with the fresh ingredients for our supper as well as several bottles of Chablis. One of which had been opened and set into a bucket surrounded by chunks of ice.

Percival poured his mother and me a second glass of wine. We'd become more and more informal as the days passed. It had taken some convincing, but Robert and Penelope had agreed to taking a night off and had gone into town together for a local dance. I'd been watching their interactions carefully during our time at the beach and had come to a conclusion—a growing attraction simmered between them. I felt sure of it just this morning when I'd caught them in the pantry together. They'd jumped apart when I entered and Penelope, cheeks flaming, had run back into the kitchen.

For a moment, I'd stood in the pantry alone, overwhelmed by their obvious affection for each other. Of course, it took me back to the heady days of my courtship with Constantine. Was there any better feeling than falling in love? I'd been lucky to have had such a great love, even if I'd lost him in the end.

When I'd returned to the kitchen, Robert had disappeared, but Penelope was hunched over the sink washing vegetables.

"I'm sorry, Miss Stella," Penelope said. "I'm so ashamed."

"Don't be. Love is a gift. There's no reason to run from it."

Mrs. Bancroft had come into the kitchen then, cutting off our conversation. Tonight, though, when I'd helped Penelope with her hair instead of the other way around, she'd been lit up as bright as the sun. Apparently, Mrs. Bancroft had given her blessing, encouraging them to attend the dance together.

Penelope wouldn't hear of it until she'd spent the afternoon frying chicken and making the potato salad for our supper. In the end, though, Robert and she had gone into town in the car. I'd watched them leave together and said a little prayer to keep them safe and open their hearts to the possibilities of love.

Thus, it did not surprise me when Clara made an announcement at supper. She'd just finished her second corn on the cob, some of which remained on her buttery chin.

"I saw Robert and Penelope kissing." Clara picked up both of her finished cobs and pressed them together, wriggling them against each other. "Like this."

I hid a smile behind my napkin and exchanged a glance with Mrs. Bancroft. She did not seem surprised by this announcement. However, she appeared much less amused than I.

"Clara, that is not appropriate," Percival said sharply.

Clara dropped the cobs back onto her plate but appeared undeterred by her father's tone. "Then Penelope started crying and she ran back inside."

"Where were you when you saw all of this?" Mrs. Bancroft asked.

"Over there." Clara pointed to the corner of the porch where Percival had hung a rattan chair for Clara to lounge in while she read or drew pictures in her notebook. "No one remembers I'm there." She grinned. "It's a good hiding place."

"Right in plain sight," Mrs. Bancroft said wryly.

I was stuck on Penelope crying. Why had a kiss made her cry? Was it unwelcome? Or was she racked with guilt over her growing feelings? A romance between the two of them complicated the household, but it wasn't insurmountable, surely?

"Why was Penelope crying?" Percival asked, as if his daughter would know the answer.

As usual, Clara astounded me with her understanding. In turns out, she did know the answer.

"She thinks it's wrong because they work together," Clara said. "Is it?" She wrinkled her adorable nose, peppered with nutmeg-hued freckles from our time at the beach. "Penelope gives her family money, and it would be very bad if she were let go."

"Did you hear all that?" Mrs. Bancroft asked.

Clara shrugged and widened her eyes innocently. "I can make myself quite small when I want to."

"For heaven's sake," Percival said, glancing at his mother. "We have a little spy among us."

"Really, Clara, you mustn't eavesdrop," Mrs. Bancroft chastised. "It's very bad manners."

"I can't help it if my ears hear." Clara's bottom lip trembled. "Or that people forget there's a kid around."

"Well, don't make a habit of it," Mrs. Bancroft said, less harshly.

A single teardrop caught in Clara's bottom lashes. "Yes, Grandmama." Clara wiped her hands on the cloth napkin in her lap and then asked if she could get up so she could come sit on my lap.

I was as shocked as the other two adults, but pleased too. She wanted to sit on my lap for comfort. What a nice feeling, I thought, to be wanted. However, not wishing to interfere, I kept quiet, other than to smile at Clara.

"Is it all right with you?" Percival asked me.

"Of course." I scooted my chair a few inches back from the table to prepare.

"Yes, you may," Mrs. Bancroft said to Clara, after a glance in my direction.

Clara got down from her own chair and headed to the opposite side of the table where I scooped her into my lap. The little one rested her cheek against my collarbone and sighed. "Are you tired?" I asked.

"No. I'm wide-awake." A wide yawn proved otherwise. "I want Stella to put me to bed tonight."

Percival raised his eyebrows at me. I shrugged and nodded. "I'd be happy to tuck you in."

"Did your mother tuck you in?" Clara asked me.

"No. We had a nanny. She tucked us in." I couldn't remember my mother ever coming into the nursery to say good night to my sister or me. "My parents often entertained in the evenings, and she didn't have time."

"How sad," Mrs. Bancroft murmured.

"I didn't know any different," I said. "It never occurred to me that parents put their children to bed until I came to live with all of you."

"Papa likes to be with me," Clara said.

"Yes, he does. Lucky you." I kissed the top of her head, which smelled of the sea breeze and sunshine.

Clara yawned again and nestled closer to me, her warm breath tickling my neck.

"I can take her up now," I said.

"Yes, please do," Mrs. Bancroft said. "We should all get a good night's rest. In fact, I may retire early myself. I've started a wonderful book and could use some quiet time."

"Does this leave me all alone to clean up the dishes?" Percival asked, teasing.

"I'll come down and help you," I said, glancing down at a nearly asleep Clara. "I have a feeling I'll be done shortly."

"Here, let me take her up for you," Percival said. "'She's too heavy for you to carry up the stairs."

Mrs. Bancroft remained seated while Percival and I headed inside and up the stairs. When we reached Clara's room, I helped her change into her nightgown and brush her teeth. Percival turned down the bed and Clara climbed inside, mumbling about a story.

"I usually read to her," Percival said. "What story do you want tonight?"

"Peter Rabbit," Clara said, snuggling into her pillow. "Come sit, Papa. Stella will read to us."

"Bossy little thing," Percival said under his breath as he settled next to his daughter.

I moved the rocking chair in the corner of the room closer and opened the book I'd found in the stack on the dresser.

"This was one of my favorites too," I said, opening to the first page of Beatrix Potter's gem.

"No, you can't sit there," Clara said. "I have to see the pictures." She patted the bed on the other side of where her dad lay propped up against the headboard.

I froze for a moment. If I did as she asked, I would be dangerously close to Percival. For the most part, I avoided getting too near him. I'm not sure why, other than I didn't want our relationship to be misconstrued by anyone. The lines were becoming blurry for me when it came to the Bancrofts. I was growing increasingly attached to each of them.

They were not my family. I had to remind myself of that daily. Even if they treated me as such, they didn't know the entirety of my story. Not that they needed to. My family had sent me away. They were no longer part of my life. I could pretend they didn't exist much easier when no one knew the truth of where I'd come from. It wasn't an outright lie, simply an omission.

"It's all right," Percival said. "I'll sit in the chair. There's not enough room for all of us."

Clara pulled the covers up to her chin and peeped up at me. "I'm ready."

I lay down next to Clara, carefully arranging my skirt to keep it from hiking up my legs. Once again, I opened the book and began to read. Minutes later, Clara was asleep. I gingerly removed myself from the bed and bent over Clara to plant a kiss on her forehead. I'd never done that before and found it to be as natural as breathing.

Percival turned off the lamp by her bed and we tiptoed from the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. We walked down the stairs to the first floor to find Mrs. Bancroft had cleared the table and must have headed to bed, because she was nowhere to be seen.

"Shall we clean up?" Percival asked.

"Yes. We don't want to Penelope to come home and find the dishes undone."

I filled the sink with warm, soapy water and went to work on the plates and silverware. Percival dried, using a hand towel left on the counter. Briny air drifted in through the open windows. We spoke softly so as not to wake Clara or disturb Mrs. Bancroft. Our conversation was nothing of consequence, going over the events of the day, chuckling over various Clara antics, then gossiping about Robert and Penelope.

"Do you mind their romance?" I asked as I handed him the last plate.

"Not in the least. We can adjust living arrangements should they decide to marry."

"Why does the idea upset Penelope so?" I asked.

"A lot of people are depending on her," Percival said. "She doesn't want to risk losing work that helps to support her family. Regardless, I shall have a talk with Robert tomorrow and let him know that he doesn't need to worry about us. I'm sure Mother will do the same with Penelope."

"Wouldn't it be wonderful if they married?" I asked, dreamily. "And had a baby."

He didn't say anything until he'd put away the plate and folded the towel. "It would be nice to see them happy."

I lifted my gaze to observe him. He'd folded his arms over his chest and leaned his backside against the sink.

"What is it?" I asked softly.

"Nothing, really. It's only that I wish I were less jaded."

"About love?"

"Yes. When you fall in love it seems that nothing could ever go wrong…"

"But then it does."

"For us, anyway." He smiled, lifting on shoulder. "Maybe others will have more luck."

"I certainly hope so," I said, matching his light tone.

"Would you like more wine? We could go outside. It's a full moon tonight."

"Yes, please."

We returned to the patio where Percival refilled our wineglasses. "Come, let's go down to the sand."

I nodded, following him out the grassy area that overlooked the sea and down the skinny path to the stretch of sand. He hauled chairs down to the beach the first day we arrived. Now he dragged them to a spot a few feet from the incoming tide.

"Sit?" Percival asked.

"I don't mind if I do." I sank into the low chair, kicked off my shoes, and buried my feet in the cold, dry sand.

I looked out to the ocean and drew in a deep breath, overcome by the beauty of the night. Stars twinkled from a velvety, deep blue sky. The moon hung low, a soft golden orb, peeking above the line where the sea met the sky and bathing everything in an ethereal silver light. The moon's reflection danced on the gentle, rippling waves and their frothy crests that rhythmically crashed against the shore. A warm, balmy breeze carried the salty tang of the sea to my lips.

"I used to think I was the moon," I said. "My sister was the sun, all yellow light and warmth, whereas I thought of myself as elusive, mysterious—like the moon. Isn't that silly?"

"Not silly at all. You were trying to figure out your place in the world—who you were and who you hoped to be. Because of the way you were treated in comparison to your sister, you assumed you were the moon instead of the bright, shining sun. But perhaps you're a million sparkling stars that in combination far outshine the sun."

"If I am a star, I would be one who falls from the night sky never to be seen again." I hesitated, caught up in the metaphor. "A falling star at midnight."

"I'd not let you fall. I'd catch you before you crashed and put you in my pocket for safekeeping."

My eyes stung, enchanted by this man with the golden tongue. "I'd stay in your pocket, safe and warm, and not cause any trouble at all."

"No, no. You're meant to sparkle, not just for me, but for anyone who finds themselves lost. You should never be hidden away. Nothing so beautiful should be." He reached out to briefly place his fingertips on my bare wrist. "You've made me feel less alone, even though you're not mine to keep."

I held my breath, as if that would magically erase these feelings for Percival that had washed over me under the glow of the traitorous moon. Steady, loyal Percival. He made me feel safe and forgiven for my mistakes. I wanted more of him. Not just the sight and smell and sound of him, but the touch and taste, too.

I was a bad person. This longing for a man I could never have proved it once and for all. He was a married man. Married to a very sick and helpless woman. What kind of monster was I?

No, this was not happening. These feelings were only a delusion. We were caught in the light of the moon, and it had lied to me, tickled my imagination into believing in something that wasn't true. Percival and I were lonely and broken and thus drawn to each other.

You're a fool if you believe that , I thought . An utter fool. You've fallen for him. Little by little, it had crept up on me. Not in a hot blaze like Constantine but a subtle, steady, and dare I say, sneaky way that warmed but didn't burn.

"Stella? Have I lost you?"

"No, I'm here." My voice shook slightly. "I was thinking I'll remember this night for the rest of my life. I've never seen a prettier sight than the one before us."

"There will be more like this."

"No, not like this one."

"Why do you say that?" Percival asked. "The moon always returns."

"Because this one has you sitting next to me."

A wave and then another crashed to shore before he spoke. "Yes. I understand."

"Do you?" I asked, breathless. Was I alone in my yearnings, or did he feel something too? A pull toward me as strong as the ebb and flow of the ocean?

His voice floated toward me as soft and deep as the silky indigo sky. "I believe so. Beauty's amplified when witnessed with someone you care about." He paused and everything went still for a moment or two as I waited for what he would say next. "Someone you might love if the circumstances were right."

Three more waves crashed to shore. Someone you might love. I had so many things I wanted to say to him, but I couldn't. Some words should not be spoken, even if they're expanding inside you, begging to get out.

"We shouldn't speak of it," I said.

"No."

"Once I leave your family to go on with my life and leave you to yours, we'll be strangers again. I'll think of you, perhaps, during the full moon, and remember the splendor of the evening and know that it is all I have left of our time together. A memory." Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes at the thought of no longer seeing the Percival, Clara, and Mrs. Bancroft every day. "It's been a privilege to be part of the family, for however long it lasts, but it will hurt when it ends."

I heard him sigh and turned to see him lift his glass to his mouth. Moonbeams washed over him, giving his skin an almost luminous quality. Shadows played delicately across his chiseled features, hiding his expression.

He twisted in his chair to meet my gaze, his eyes reflecting the light of the moon. "If I could, I'd give you a thousand more evenings such as this one. But soon, you'll be swept away by a worthy man. One who is free to love you." He reached out to touch my arm again briefly. "I wish you all the happiness in the world, even though it will hurt to see you fall in love with a man who can give you everything. As selfish as that sounds, it's true."

"In this world made up of schemers, thieves, and liars, you are a rare man of honor," I said. "Strangely enough, qualities like loyalty to family and integrity are the very reasons I hold you in such high esteem."

"I can't be my father. I can't make the same choices he did and look my daughter in the eye. No matter how much I might want something. Or someone."

"I would never ask it of you. Or of myself."

We sat quietly for a few minutes, our silent agreement thick and heavy between us. Although I could barely make myself do it, I rose to my feet, grabbing my shoes and the empty wineglass. "I'll go up now. We'll not speak of this again. For all our sakes, we must pretend we never had this conversation."

"Good night, beautiful Stella. Sweet dreams."

I walked up the sandy trail toward the house with a heavy heart. At some point, I would have to leave the Bancrofts before any of us became further attached. The problem? I had nowhere to go and every reason to wish to stay.

Still, I told myself, I'd made it this far by choosing what was best for my baby. Doing the right thing was all I had left. No one could take it from me.