“No,” Amaryllis and Gladys answered at the same time.
Lenore shrugged. “Then how do you know whether we have princesses there or not?”
They both blinked at her in awe as they stepped into a well-lit kitchen. Scents of fresh bread and recent cooking filled the air, plucking hard at Lenore’s heartstrings. The kitchen was in cheerful disarray, with pots and dishes waiting to be scrubbed, remnants of supper still on the counter, and what looked like a small pile of laundry that needed to be washed in one corner. The room was instantly crowded as she and Phin and the girls bustled in. It was the first time in over a year that Lenore felt as though she’d entered a home.
“Do you want tea?” Gladys asked when she saw Lenore staring at the stove. “Princesses drink tea, don’t they?”
“Not this late at night,” Phin said, taking Lenore’s bag from her and nodding for her to move on to the hall. “It’s nearly midnight. We should all be in bed, fast asleep by now.”
“Hazel made me move in with Amaryllis so that you can have my room,” Gladys said, frowning for a moment before brightening. “I was so vexed, but to have a real princess sleep in my bed….” She ended with a dreamy sigh.
“There are no peas in it,” Amaryllis assured her. “I know princesses don’t like sleeping in beds with peas.”
Lenore laughed out loud in spite of her conflicted thoughts as they shuffled into a hallway and toward a staircase. The girls were crowding her and Phin didn’t seem to want to move more than a few feet away from her. The result was that they all formed one comical clump as they moved through the house.
At least, until they passed a parlor downstairs that smelled faintly of camphor. Then Phin paused.
“What are you still doing up?” he called into the room in a voice that was as cheerful as it was strained.
That alone would have caught Lenore’s attention, but when he put their cases down and marched directly into the room, her curiosity was piqued enough to follow him.
For the second time that evening, her heart dropped into her gut and she found herself near tears in an instant. Waiting in the parlor was a man with straggly, white hair and a pale, drawn face. He was sitting—or rather, propped—in a chair by the fire and tucked up with quilts and pillows. His stare was blank, and his mouth sagged open. Phin marched right up to the man, taking his handkerchief from his pocket without a second thought and wiping a small trail of saliva from the man’s chin before embracing him as tightly as he could. Lenore couldn’t tell if the old man was aware of the gesture at all.
“Father, you’re looking well,” Phin said, setting his handkerchief on the table beside the man’s chair and brushing his fingers through the man’s hair. “I’d like you to meet someone very dear to me,” he went on. “This is Miss Lenore Garrett, from Wyoming. Remember, I wrote to you about her. Hazel read you those letters, I trust.”
Phin beckoned for Lenore to approach. Lenore swallowed and did as she was asked. Only when she saw a slight flicker of movement in Phin’s father’s eyes did she realize that he was at least somewhat aware of what was going on around him, though not very.
“How do you do?” she asked, putting on her best smile and reaching for his hand as it rested on top of the quilts covering him. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”
He didn’t reply. He barely moved. A sound of some sort came from his throat. Lenore assumed that was the best the man was capable of. It was heartbreaking, particularly as Phin gazed down at his father with a combination of adoration and utter grief.
“Miss Garrett will be staying with us for a while, Father,” Phin said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I really should show her to her room, since it’s terribly late. You two.” He turned to his sisters. “Can you help Father to bed?”
“Can’t we stay up and get Princess Lenore to tell us stories of the Wild West?” Gladys asked. “That’s the least we deserve, since you didn’t bring Lionel home with you.”
“Are there wild Indians where you are from?” Amaryllis asked.
“You can ask her all those questions tomorrow,” Phin said, shooing them away from Lenore. He squeezed his father’s shoulder as he passed his chair, gesturing for Lenore to follow him. “For now, help Father to bed.”
The girls groaned and complained, but did as they were told. As they worked together to shift Mr. Mercer out of his chair, Lenore noticed a narrow bed in the corner of the room.
“I should have warned you about Father as well,” Phineas said once they were alone in the hall.
“I remember hearing that your father was ill,” Lenore said, overwhelmed by it all, “but I had no idea he was this ill.”
“The doctors have no idea what it is or how long it will last,” Phin said, running a hand over his face. He took a deliberate breath before saying, “I sometimes forget how dire the situation is, and then I come home.” He glanced toward the parlor’s doorway.
Lenore couldn’t help herself. She stepped into him, throwing her arms around Phin and hugging him for all he was worth. She needed to feel his solidity and strength, and she needed him to see that she cared.
The worst part of it was, there was so much she could have done. She saw it now as clearly as if the sun had come up and illuminated every part of the house. Her inheritance could have changed the lives of the Mercer family in innumerable ways. Unlike the fortunes of other Dollar Princesses, if she had had the freedom to marry Phin, her money would bolster a family, not just a flagging and outdated estate. And she knew with painful certainty that she could, and likely would, fall madly in love with Phin’s entire family the way she’d fallen head over heels for him.
Yes, love. She had to admit it to herself now, after seeing Phin at home. What she felt for him wasn’t mere lust or overheated friendship. She didn’t just want him as a bedmate or a co-conspirator. The more she discovered him, the more she was certain what she felt was brilliant, beautiful, inconvenient love.
“That isn’t the reaction I expected,” Phin laughed, closing his arms around her in return. “I rather expected you to—”
She silenced him by lifting to her toes and slanting her mouth over his with all the hopeless passion that boiled away inside of her. Her heart and soul longed for him so deeply that it made every part of her ache. He was quick to kiss her in return as well, holding her close and parting her lips with his to tease his tongue against hers. The passion between them was undeniable. It was enough to make her believe she could do wild, risky, utterly mad things.
“I’m overwrought,” she said, stepping back and pressing a hand to her chest. “I miss home. I really should go to bed.”
The twitch of his kiss-reddened lips told her he wanted to joke about her going to bed with him, but the sound of the girls helping his father to bed in the parlor and that of Hazel marching into the kitchen, presumably after taking care of the horses and wagon, meant they wouldn’t be able to get away with anything inappropriate.
“I’ll show you up to Gladys’s room,” he said instead, nodding toward the stairs.
Lenore followed him, knowing full well she would never be able to sleep, as full of turmoil as she was. But underneath the despair and heartbreak, a new urge had filled her. It was an urge to be brave, to do something that would either get her killed or start her life anew. Bart was in England now, after all. And though she was certain he was after blood of one sort or another, maybe, just maybe, circumstances had changed enough that, instead of being content merely to stay away from him, she would have the courage to ask him for a divorce.