“Well, you look absolutely amazing. I can’t wait to show you off. Maybe I’ll have a sort of debut party for you and invite all of our friends. The women will be green with envy.”
“Thank you, Diana, but I assure you that won’t be necessary. I really just want to enjoy being home again.” Which was true, but I could no longer imagine myself slipping back into my old life, the Babs I’d been before Paris.
After my valise was stored in the boot of her roadster and we were speeding down the road, I asked, “How is everything in Ashprington?” although when she started answering I realized that I wasn’t all that interested in knowing.
“The gymkhana is next week, but I’ve already done all the organizing so you won’t have to worry about any of that. Just come and hand out ribbons, if you will. And there’s been quite an uproar at the WI about whether or not we should allow men into our ranks. It’s a good thing you’re back so you can settle all the ruffled feathers.”
She continued to speak as my mind wandered. I kept seeing Drew’s grin and thinking about how we’d both come to France to shake up our lives. I hoped he’d succeeded. Perhaps not in the way he’d hoped, but at least partially. My heart still ached when I thought of him, which seemed to be all the time. Your big, generous heart. It’s what I love most about you. I tried not to think about that, or Drew, at all. But that was like telling the tide to stay out, or the sun not to rise. All foolishness, really.
I became aware of Diana waiting for me to say something. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“I was asking you if you’d decided what to do with Langford Hall. The Dower House is lovely, and it’s quite silly for you to ramble around the hall all by yourself with the children gone. Not to mention the expense of upkeep. I don’t know how you manage, Babs, I really don’t.”
“I don’t either,” I said without thinking, startling us both.
“Well, that’s a start, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” I smiled to myself, feeling as if I’d just moved forward somehow, even if it had been just a few steps.
I felt her watching me and turned to meet her gaze. “What is it?”
“It’s you, Babs. You’re different. In a good way.”
She returned to watching the road, but I kept looking at her, recalling what Daisy had said to me when I went to her suite at the Ritz to read to her. “Do you think I’m strong?”
“Oh, Babs. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Have I never told you that? You have survived so much, things that would have crippled lesser men, yet here you are, stronger than ever. You’re like an oak tree in a storm, never bending, and creating shelter for everyone else. I have to admit to being quite envious.”
I stared at her for a long moment, waiting for her to tell me she’d been joking. When she didn’t, I turned my attention to the road ahead, wondering why she’d never thought to tell me before now, and then realizing that before Paris, I would never have believed her. I watched the familiar landscape slip by, each mile bringing me closer to home. I am a formidable woman, I thought. And I suddenly knew exactly what I needed to do.
A clock chimed somewhere in the house, startling me awake. I’d made the mistake of lying down, just for a moment, on the window seat where Kit and I had once watched the sunsets. Now it was two hours later, and I still had so much to do.
I stood, then straightened my skirt—one of the new ones I’d purchased in Paris—and headed for the stairs. I moved slowly as if this were the last time I’d have Langford Hall all to myself. I ran my hand down the curved bannister, pausing to admire the acanthus plasterwork that bordered the ceiling and the checkerboard pattern of the floor in the foyer. My finger absently rubbed at the nick in the wood caused by a vigorous game of jousting knights played by my brother Charles and Kit, using fireplace pokers. They were punished severely—whether for playing with actual weapons or for roughhousing indoors, I couldn’t remember. What I did recall was spending many a night imagining Kit in shining armor, fighting for the honor of wearing my ribbon on his sleeve.
I continued my descent, staring at the Langford ancestors on the wall, trying to read the expressions in their frozen gazes. I had taken Precious’s words to heart, the part about reinventing oneself, and had proceeded to do just that. I could now believe I had something to offer the world besides tea and gardening tips. Which I still did, of course. There were some things that would never change. The only difference being that they were things I chose to do.
The house seemed inordinately quiet, creaking uneasily in its new emptiness. Even Mrs. Finch and Walnut had deserted it for the Dower House to get it ready for my full-time occupancy. After my conversation with Diana, I had finally made the decision to deed the house to the National Trust, to allow tour groups inside to see the Georgian splendor of Langford Hall. They would not, however, be traipsing over the antique Exeter carpets or sitting down in the Chippendale chairs in the dining room. Everything would be roped off, the halls covered in plastic tarps, the Chinese silk wallpaper visible beneath clear plexiglass.
It was all awful, really. A house was meant to be lived in. To create new memories. But change was inevitable. For houses and people. It had taken two weeks in Paris to shake me out of my inertia. Two weeks transforming myself under the expert tutelage of a woman whose skill at reinvention was something of which I’d never know the full extent.
And two weeks spent falling in love. It seemed like such a short time to have that sort of deep connection, but there you have it. Kit had been my fairy tale, my knight in shining armor, my love a fantasy as insubstantial as the morning mist that blew across the lake. And I had been the salve for a broken heart, a place to lay his head when seeking comfort. To help him forget the love of his life. His Daisy.
But Drew was solid and real. A man whose heart was as big and giving as he’d claimed mine to be. He was the bridge over the messy lake of my life, and I’d been too blind to see it. I hadn’t watched him leave, so there was that. Which, according to Precious, meant we were bound to find each other again.
Precious had written once, letting me know that Drew’s father had died peacefully in his sleep after hearing that his name had been cleared. I was happy for Drew, that he’d been able to fulfill his father’s last wish. Precious had given me Drew’s address to write, and I did. Just a short note of condolence and my return address. I hadn’t heard back from him, and I told myself that I hadn’t expected to.
I moved to the kitchen, checking the cupboard to make sure the simple pottery dishes had been removed to the Dower House. Only the Limoges and Royal Doulton would remain with Langford Hall, placed on the dining table where only phantoms would dine.
I returned to the foyer and to the Langfords captured in oils on the walls, and felt no censure. It was almost as if they understood what reinvention really was. After all, hadn’t the old admiral changed from seafaring profiteer to country gentleman to begin the legacy of Langfords and Langford Hall? I imagined I could hear soft, polite applause as I ran my finger along the spotless mantel.
It was perhaps the sense of peace I’d received upon my decision to move that had enabled me to finally forgive myself. Daisy—proud, beautiful, strong Daisy—had understood. And forgiven me. It was my duty to honor her by living my new life the way she would have lived her own if she’d been allowed. It was my promise to myself. And to Kit. After giving Robin the gold signet ring, I’d visited Kit in the graveyard and told him everything, needing my conscience to be clear. I imagined him and Daisy finally together, and my heart had felt as full and ripe as summer fruit. As I’d turned to leave, I thought I’d smelled Kit’s pipe tobacco. I’d smiled, then whispered a soft goodbye as I let myself through the gate.