For the briefest of seconds, Gwendolyn’s eyes clouded and turned suspiciously bright, but then she smiled, although it seemed somewhat strained. “I’m afraid I won’t be here, darling. I need to go home.”
“You’re not going to stay and be our mother?” Priscilla pressed.
Gwendolyn blew out a breath as Ethel and Matilda sat forward in their chairs, their gazes locked on Gwendolyn. “I’m afraid not.”
Priscilla’s lips began to tremble. “Because we’re too naughty?”
“Of course not,” Gwendolyn said, cupping Priscilla’s chin with her hand. “You and your brothers are perfect just the way you are. It has nothing to do with you.”
“You don’t like Papa?” Samuel asked.
“That’s not it either,” Gwendolyn said, smiling ever so slightly. “Your father is a, ah, very nice gentleman.”
Priscilla wrinkled her nose. “Then why don’t you want to marry him?”
Gwendolyn shot a look to Ethel. “You could help me out here.”
“I have no idea how I’d go about that, since I believe you and Walter would suit each other admirably,” Ethel said.
“That’s hardly helpful,” Gwendolyn muttered, turning her attention to Matilda, who released a sigh.
“I’m sorry, dear, but I’m in agreement with Ethel. You are exactly what Walter needs, and exactly what Ethel and I need as well.”
Gwendolyn frowned. “Because?”
“You would never deprive us of time with the children,” Matilda said, exchanging a glance with Ethel. “We’ve discussed the matter at length, and one of my reservations about this Season was that Walter might marry a woman who didn’t want me, the mother of his late wife, involved in their lives. I know that wouldn’t happen with you, which is one of the reasons I want to encourage you to at least consider Walter’s proposal.”
“He never proposed to me.”
Ethel exchanged a look with Matilda. “I had a feeling he might have gone about that poorly.”
“Poorly doesn’t begin to describe it,” Gwendolyn said, before she returned her attention to the twins, who were looking as if they were on the verge of tears. “I don’t want either of you to be sad about my not becoming your mother. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you or that I’m not going to visit you. In fact, I’m going to encourage you to think of me as your Aunt Gwendolyn. You may address any letters you care to send to me at my parents’ house—where I’m going to stay for a while—to Aunt Gwendolyn Brinley.”
“We’d rather address any letters to Mother,” Priscilla whispered.
Gwendolyn rubbed a hand over her face. “I’m clearly not explaining this well, darling, but your father and I do not share a . . . well, special love between us.”
“But you said you thought he was nice,” Samuel pointed out.
“True, but what the two of you need to understand—and need to remember well into your adult years—is that, when a person is contemplating marriage, love is the most important aspect to consider. Yes, finding someone nice is to be considered as well, but if you’re going to spend every day for the rest of your life with someone, I’m of the firm belief mutual love should be involved.”
“You don’t love Papa?” Priscilla asked.
“That’s a question I’m not sure how to answer” was all Gwendolyn said to that, which left Walter feeling all sorts of bewildered.
Before he could contemplate the matter further though, Gwendolyn squared her shoulders, set aside the book, placed another kiss on Priscilla’s head, and did the same to Samuel as he settled in his bed.
“It’s well past time for the two of you to go to sleep,” she said. “And it’s time for me to return to my cousin’s cottage.”
“You won’t come by in the morning before you leave Newport?” Ethel asked.
Gwendolyn’s lip trembled for the briefest of seconds, quite like Priscilla’s had done only moments before, but then she lifted her chin and shook her head. “I think it’ll be best for everyone if I simply sail away. But again, I’ll visit you all someday, although probably not in Newport, which seems a bit hostile toward me these days.” She nodded to Ethel. “Would it be too much to ask you to tell Walter I said good-bye?”
Ethel began blinking rather rapidly. “You don’t want to tell him yourself?”
“It’s been an exhausting, emotional day, and I don’t believe I’m up for another discussion Walter might broach regarding an alliance. I don’t belong in society, and your family is firmly entrenched in it. That means it’s time for me to go, but I’d be ever so grateful if you would agree to say good-bye to him for me.”
Ethel’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears as she inclined her head, stepped forward, and gave Gwendolyn a kiss on the cheek. As Gwendolyn went to kiss Matilda, Walter turned and strode into the adjacent room, finding Oscar standing right inside the door, obviously eavesdropping. Putting a finger to his lips, Walter waited until he heard Gwendolyn hurrying down the staircase before he released a sigh.
“Well, that’s that, then,” he said quietly.
“No, it’s not,” Oscar argued, moving directly beside Walter. “Miss Brinley seemed distressed about leaving us and didn’t want to say good-bye to you in person. That’s telling.”
“How do you know it’s telling? You’re nine.”
“And old for my years, so you’ll simply need to believe me.”
“Even if I believe you, it doesn’t change the fact Gwendolyn’s determined to leave us.”
“True, but it can change what you do about her leaving.” Oscar shoved up the sleeves of his shirt. “All that’s left to do now is come up with a plan, and luckily for you, your children are very good with plans.”
Forty-One
“Opal Brinley has sent me yet another letter.”
Gwendolyn pushed herself up from the hay bale she’d been lounging on, contemplating her life for the past hour, and settled her attention on her mother, Finella Brinley, who stood in the doorway looking more than amused as she fanned the letter she was holding back and forth in front of her face.
“How many does that make?”
“Twelve,” Finella said, walking across the barn and taking a seat beside Gwendolyn. “In this latest letter, she demands I send her the life history of all of my children, complete with a listing of their accomplishments, and then extends all of us an invitation to join her in Boston for Thanksgiving dinner.”
Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose. “She wants us to join her for Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Apparently.” Finella grinned. “I have no idea what you said to a woman who has been a thorn in my side since I married your father, but good heavens, she does seem determined to turn over a new leaf. I will, of course, compose another long letter in reply, extolling all my children’s many accomplishments. Opal does, surprisingly enough, seem to enjoy my responses to her notes, making mention of little tidbits, which suggests she reads them thoroughly.” Finella tilted her head. “But again, I’m curious what you said to encourage her to turn over a new leaf.”