Abiding Love: Banished Saga, Book Eight Page 5

  Parthena watched him as though mesmerized. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Lucas tilted his head to the side, contemplating her comment with confusion. “Of course not. My Vivie gave birth to our daughter, Elizabeth. I want to be here and to support her as much as I can. I’m already at a disadvantage as I can do little to nourish her.” A wondrous smile bloomed. “But I can soothe her and hold her and let her know how cherished she is.”

  Parthena bit her lip as she blinked away tears. “You really love her, don’t you?”

  Lucas nodded, his gaze warm, but with no hint of passion as he beheld the woman he had once loved. “Yes. It didn’t take me long to realize what a gift she was. She is.” His tender gaze met Parthena’s. “Surely you realize that you and I would have driven each other mad within a year. We shared music, but our desire to perform, to excel, would have eroded any regard we had for each other.”

  She swiped at her cheeks and shook at his words. “I—I must admit I’ve never thought about it in that way.”

  “Thena, I won’t lie and say that I never loved you. That I was mistaken in my regard for you. I loved you, and Vivie is aware of that. But it’s all in the past. Vivie and our daughter are my future.” He watched Parthena with a fierce intensity. “I need to ensure you understand that.”

  She watched him. “I do.”

  His brows furrowed as he was unable to hide his concern. “I’d wish the same for you.”

  Parthena attempted a smile, but it was brittle and did little to reassure him. “Morgan and I … Well, let’s say, we’ve come to an understanding. He’s been supportive of me and all I do for quite some time now.”

  Lucas frowned at the vague description of her relationship with her husband. “I hope it’s more than companionship for you, Thena. You deserve more than that.” He squeezed her arm. “I must see how Vivie and the baby are.” He brushed past her, leaving her alone.

  * * *

  Lucas crept into the bedroom where his wife and daughter slumbered. He knew the time soon approached when baby Elizabeth would awaken with a cry, demanding to be fed and changed, but he relished this time to study her. He traced a finger over her button nose and her pink cheeks, and marveled at the luminescence of her skin. “My little pearl,” he whispered as he bent to kiss her head.

  He turned to the bed to find his wife watching him. “Hello, my Vivie. My love,” he whispered. He kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed, pulling her close. “I’ve missed you.”

  She giggled. “You’ve only been away a few hours.” She sighed with contentment as she relaxed into him. “I’ve never known such joy.”

  “That doesn’t even begin to encompass the depth of my feelings,” he whispered into her ear. “Thank you, Vivie. For Little Betsy. For loving me.” He kissed her ear. “I can’t imagine life without you.”

  She sniffled. “Nor can I,” she whispered. “I want to remain in this room, cocooned in our happiness.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, as there is strife outside these walls.” He frowned as her contentment seemed to fade. “What is it, my love?”

  “Oh, Parthena and Savannah had an argument. It’s as though I’m a prize, and they are fighting over who has the right to me.” She tucked herself into his side. “Why can’t they get along and understand I love them both?”

  “Savannah will always mistrust your sister because of me, Vivie. Nothing will change that. And that will cause your sister to feel cornered and to attack Sav where she is most vulnerable.” He shrugged. “I spoke with Parthena a few minutes ago.”

  When Genevieve tensed, he scooted down in the bed so they were face-to-face. “I needed to ensure she understood that, although I once held her in high regard, she was my past. That you and our baby are my present and my future. That I’ve loved you since almost the moment we eloped.” He stroked her cheek. “I wanted there to be no doubt in her mind about how I felt.”

  She smiled, arching up to kiss him. “Thank you, Lucas. I imagine it was a difficult conversation.”

  He shook his head, gifting her with a wondrous smile. “Not in the least. It’s the truth. I love you, and she needs to understand that.”

  “I’m thankful she feels the same for Morgan.” She nuzzled the side of his neck.

  “Does she? She spoke of them coming to an understanding and enjoying a companionship with each other today. That doesn’t sound much like love to me,” Lucas said.

  Genevieve kissed him on his neck. “Trust me. A greater depth of emotion exists between them than she’s admitted to.” She kissed him again before drifting to sleep in his arms.

  Chapter 3

  Two weeks later, Morgan entered the room he’d been using as a makeshift office in Lucas and Genevieve’s house, stopping when he saw Parthena sitting with her niece in the crook of her arm. She cooed to her niece and kissed her nose, smiling with encouragement at her gurgling noises.

  “Sounds more like she’s spitting up than anything else,” Morgan said as he teased Parthena. He closed the door behind him and approached the desk piled high with papers. He stopped as he beheld Parthena. Her straw-blond hair gleamed in the shaft of sunlight, and she appeared the picture of health. His breath caught as he watched her, fighting visions of her upon her release from the workhouse.

  “You’re a perfect darling, aren’t you?” Parthena asked her two-week-old niece who had fallen asleep. Parthena rose, settling her inside a small crib near the edge of a settee and close to a heating grate. When her niece showed no signs of stirring, Parthena focused on her husband, finally noticing his intense regard of her. “Are you all right, Morgan?”

  He nodded. “I like watching you with our niece.”

  She smiled. “I like that you consider her your niece,” she teased.

  His smile faded, and he turned toward his desk and sat at the chair behind it. “We are married, Parthena. I hoped you had come to believe your family was my family.” He focused on the papers in front of him, although he failed to see them.

  Parthena moved to stand beside him. She ran a hand down his arm before moving behind him to give him a shoulder rub.

  “What are you doing, Hennie?” he snapped as he spun to confront her, the swivel chair squeaking as he moved.

  Her hands fell away, and she backed up a step to avoid being thwacked by his chair before stilling her movements. “I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you. I’ll leave you to your work.” She stifled a shriek as he grabbed her arm and yanked her to him. The baby continued her slumber as they spoke in low voices.

  He exhaled twice before he spoke. “I’m in a wretched mood. Forgive me,” he whispered.

  She traced a finger over his eyebrows, going from one to the other with a featherlight caress. “Is it your business?”

  His shoulders slumped. “If only it were that simple.” He met her gaze, his filled with longing. “I entered this room and saw you holding a child, a baby, and …” He closed his eyes. “And I yearn.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. “I had no idea you desired to be a father.”

  He chuckled humorlessly. “I never did. Not after my childhood. But you make me believe again, Hennie. And that’s a very dangerous thing for a man like me.”

  “Why?” she whispered, her fingers now stroking through his hair.

  “Because I know you have no regard for me. Not truly. Nothing beyond passion anyway.” When she began to protest, his glare silenced her. “I heard you speak with Lucas the other day. I didn’t mean to, and I intended to back away when I heard you talking, but it was as though I were rooted in place.” He cleared his throat. “I’m a fool because I thought we had so much more than an understanding and companionship, and I had hoped you desired more than my … support.”

  “Morgan,” Parthena pleaded but was cut off by her husband.

  “Because I love you. I always have,” he whispered. He watched as shock and disbelief flitted over her face, and her hands fell away from him. “And I should have known better t
han to yearn for more.” The baby whimpered, and he nodded his agreement at her move toward the crib. “Yes, take care of your niece. I have pressing letters I must address.”

  “Morgan,” she whispered again but was interrupted as her niece gave a low yowl. After ascertaining it was merely baby noises and she slept soundly, Parthena was unable to penetrate Morgan’s intense focus as he concentrated on his business. She carefully lifted the cradle and left the room.

  Upon her departure, Morgan threw down his pen and held his head in his hands. “Idiot,” he berated himself.

  * * *

  Genevieve sat in the living room with baby Lizzie asleep against her shoulder. She had argued against putting her in her bassinette as she wanted to hold her, and Lucas had promised to take over when her arms tired. Morgan was in the makeshift office working while Parthena was in the back sitting room, playing morose songs on the piano.

  “I would think Parthena would play uplifting music with the news that the United Kingdom has granted women over thirty the right to vote,” Lucas said as he lowered his newspaper.

  Genevieve shared a sardonic smile with him. “She would rejoice for a few moments and then sputter at the injustice for all the women who were excluded. And I think it frightens her to think that such a limited bill might be viewed as a gateway to the vote here.”

  “I think most agree that the only way forward is the amendment,” Lucas said as he folded the afternoon paper. “Still, it seems that other countries are making more progress than we are.”

  At the soft tapping on the front door, Lucas answered it and beamed. He led his cousin Patrick Sullivan and his wife, Fiona, into the living room, before hauling their three-year-old daughter, Rose, up into his arms to prevent her from scampering over to see the baby and waking her.

  “You must be quiet right now, Rosie,” Lucas whispered. “Baby Lizzie is sleeping, and we don’t want to wake her. When she does, you can meet your cousin.”

  “She’s tiny,” Rose said.

  “Yes, and you were that tiny once,” Lucas teased. He sat on a chair and held her on his lap, quietly telling her stories to entertain her. She settled and eventually fell asleep.

  “Only you have the ability to put her to sleep like that,” Fiona complained. “I wish I had that magic power.”

  Lucas kissed Rose on her head. “I’m sure she was tired before you came over.”

  “No, you have an ability I will always envy,” Fiona said, a gentle lilt to her voice that hinted of her native Ireland. “Forgive us for not coming sooner, but we have had terrible colds and did not want to share our illness.” She smiled at Genevieve’s grateful look.

  “Isn’t she gorgeous?” Genevieve asked, as proud as any mother could be.

  “I thought you would call her Betsy,” Patrick said as he sat on a chair near Lucas. He frowned at the somber music and then shrugged.

  “Vivie wants her to know of our generous, kind-hearted aunt but wants our child to be her own person too. Thus, we will call her Lizzie while telling her about the woman she is named after.”

  Patrick nodded and then rose as Savannah entered. “Sav,” he said as he pulled her into a close embrace. “I had thought you’d be in Missoula by now.

  “I leave soon,” she said with a smile. “Jeremy’s letters are more insistent that I return, although he knows why I wanted to be here.”

  Her gaze softened as she saw Rose asleep in Lucas’s arms. “You will be such a wonderful father, Lucas.” She saw his pleased blush as he held the little girl he considered his niece. Savannah sobered at Patrick fighting a frown. “Is something wrong, Patrick?” Savannah asked. “Melinda is well, if you are concerned.”

  He smiled his thanks at her comment. “I know. We write weekly, and I find her letters more informative and joyful each week.” His smile turned wistful. “You have done a wonderful job raising her.”

  Savannah nodded. “She is the daughter of my heart.”

  Patrick paused and shared a long look with his wife, Fiona, before answering Savannah’s original question. “Mrs. Smythe has reappeared after her disappearance last fall.”

  Patrick’s and Savannah’s expressions became grim as the room fell silent. Every member of the extended family had at least one reason to loathe the manipulative Mrs. Smythe. For Patrick, it was complicated. Mrs. Smythe, as Patrick’s stepmother, had married his father for the money she hoped to obtain from Sean Sullivan’s successful blacksmithing business. She had also tricked her half-asleep stepson into sleeping with her, resulting in the only child from her marriage with her husband, Sean. After Patrick was banished from the house and her husband died, Mrs. Smythe lost the generous inheritance due to her desire for a far grander lifestyle than she could afford. She sent her daughter, Melinda, to an orphanage, thankfully rescued by Patrick’s brother, Colin, and adopted by Savannah and Jeremy.

  After being banished from his father’s house, Patrick had felt guilt and embarrassment, and had hid from his family after his letters to his siblings had gone unanswered. Years later he reunited with his siblings, and, even though Patrick was technically Melinda’s father, he had had no desire to tear her from his cousin who had loved Melinda for years and had provided her with a stable home. He was content to love Melinda from afar.

  Lucas glowered at the news, although his hold on Rose remained gentle. “Tell the authorities and have Mrs. Smythe arrested.”

  His cousin shrugged. “I wish it were that easy. According to the authorities, it is our word against hers, and she has a very powerful man championing her.” His mouth turned down as Fiona pleated her skirt. “Samuel Sanders. It appears he is throwing around what clout he has to support Mrs. Smythe in an attempt to undermine me. To make Fiona out as a hysterical woman who staged her own attack to garner sympathy and malign a woman disliked by her family.”

  “But that’s preposterous,” Lucas stammered.

  “It is, but it’s exactly what I would expect from her. From him.” He rubbed at his head. “Whenever Fee leaves the house, Mrs. Smythe seems to be nearby, as though mocking her. And, even when Mrs. Smythe isn’t there, Fee is always looking over her shoulder, in case she is around.”

  Savannah gripped his hand and then focused on Fiona. “Fee? What can we do?”

  “’Tis little to do. The woman has broken no laws, at least not since she locked me in a closet and attempted to steal my child. But I fear what will occur again.” Fiona fought a shudder as she remembered what she had suffered in October.

  Genevieve frowned, her brows furrowed. “This woman, although mean, has always seemed rather devious. I would think she would tire of tormenting you and would want to take some action. Has she hinted at anything that she has planned?”

  Patrick’s gaze was bleak as he looked at his family. “She told me, when I confronted her one day as she loitered on a corner while I walked to work, that I might have escaped her plans, but that she would find a way to attack the least-suspecting one among us to pay for his duplicity.”

  Lucas shook his head as though he had just heard gibberish. “What in God’s name does that mean?”

  Fiona shrugged. “We’ve attempted to figure out what she meant, but it makes no sense, for none of us are deserving of her malice.”

  “Well, whether we are or we aren’t, we will remain her focus until the day she dies,” Savannah said. “I fear she will return to Missoula. She seems to enjoy playing cat-and-mouse games with you, but she has always focused more on Clarissa. Mrs. Smythe’s hatred for Rissa knows no bounds.”

  Patrick nodded at the mention of his sister in Missoula. She had fled Boston seventeen years ago to escape Mrs. Smythe and an arranged marriage to Cameron Wright. “Will you warn her? Warn Gabriel? I fear we have not heard the last of Mrs. Smythe.”

  Savannah nodded. “We must all be on our guard. For, if there is one thing I know, that woman is unpredictable. And she has found a partner in crime who perfectly matches her for deviousness, spite and planning.”

  The
conversation abruptly changed as Lizzie woke, her cry awakening Rose.

  * * *

  Parthena sat in the chair in the hotel room she shared with Morgan. Her bleary-eyed stare focused on the door, and she sat up as it creaked open. She met her husband’s surprised gaze. “Where have you been?” she asked before wincing.

  He half smiled. “You sound like a concerned wife.” He moved to the closet near her chair and wrenched it open. He rifled inside, tossing clean clothes onto the made-up bed. He turned to pick up his clothes, but Parthena had risen to stand behind him, and he toppled into her, crushing her into the bed behind them.

  “Oof,” he grunted as he pushed up to lever himself off her. He stilled when she gripped his arms. She arched up, sniffing at his clothes. When she released him, he rose and motioned for her to roll to one side so he could gather the crushed garments beneath her.

  “Morgan, where were you?” she asked as she propped herself on her elbows, remaining on top of his clothes. “I’ve been terribly worried.”

  He flushed. “I realized I’d been inconsiderate of your needs.” He clenched his fists at his side but stared at her with a flat gaze and kept his voice emotionless. “I asked for another room here and slept there last night. You shouldn’t have to suffer my presence in your bed every night.”

  Parthena’s eyes filled with tears. “Our bed,” she whispered. “It was our bed.” She gripped his hand, holding fast when he attempted to free himself and move into the bathroom. “Please don’t do this to us, Morgan.”

  Anguish seeped into his gaze as he beheld her. “Can’t you understand that I’m not the one doing this to us?” He cleared his throat. “I’m not the one playing morose piano songs. I’m not the one hiding in back rooms, avoiding any contact with me.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I said it. I’m sorry I said I loved you. I never meant to ruin what we had.”