Laina shivered in the sudden draft of cold air and moved to the window to watch Justin and Elizabeth descend the front steps and climb into the waiting carriage. Thank goodness for Elizabeth’s intervention. Justin could be adamant when he felt the occasion called for it, and judging from his frown, he thought church was such an occasion.
Laina sighed and turned away from the window as the carriage departed. She hated to disappoint her brother, but she wasn’t ready to go to church and listen to empty promises about God’s blessings and answered prayer. If God answered prayers, where were the children she yearned for? If He blessed, where was the baby she longed to feel growing in her womb?
Laina’s face drew taut. She uncurled her hands, which had clenched into fists at her sides, and lifted her long skirts to ascend the stairs to get her cloak. She needed to walk off her anger before Justin and Elizabeth returned. Her sister-in-law could look at her in a way that stripped away every bit of artifice.
Laina shook off the thought, strode down the hall to the red bedroom and wrenched open the door. For once the color of the room didn’t cheer her. How could it? Red or black—what did it matter? Either way she was still a lonely, loveless, childless widow. And nothing would change that. No healthy man of her age would marry a barren woman.
Laina stalked to the wardrobe, yanked open the carved doors and grabbed her cloak. With a quick lift of her arm and a violent twist of her wrist, she swirled it around her shoulders, then fastened the braided loops over the self buttons, grabbed her matching coal-scuttle bonnet and rushed from the room.
Laina walked rapidly, heedless of her direction, wanting only to outpace the hurt in her heart. She was twenty-nine years old, strong and healthy. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone, without love. A shadow fell across her path. She turned her head, staring at the brick pillar beside her. It stood square and tall, a solid anchor for the black wrought-iron fence that marched off into the distance. Abigail’s fence.
Laina scowled. Why had she come this way? Of all the places she didn’t want to be right now, Twiggs Manor was foremost. She moved beyond the pillar, focusing her attention on the walkway, but she couldn’t resist a strong urge to look at the brick mansion. She lifted her head and glanced at the house. Blank, dark windows stared back at her. She shivered and turned to walk on, but for some reason her feet remained planted to the spot.
Compelled by a feeling she could not identify or ignore, Laina made her way along the gravel drive. Her reluctant steps carried her over the stone sweep, up the stairs and across the porch to the front door. It was locked. She strode to one of the multipaned front windows and cupped her hands on either side of her face to peer inside. White fabric draped the furniture and chandelier of Abigail’s beautiful drawing room. The carpet was rolled, the wood floor bare. There were no candles in the wall sconces, no fire burning in the marble fireplace. How sad.
Laina sighed. She could remember the wonderful lively parties Abigail had held in this house and in these gardens. Her mind’s eye retained visions of people playing quoits on the lawn, chess or checkers on tables set out in the shade of the trees, dining on fabulous foods served picnic-style.
She could close her eyes and see the winter parties—people skating on the pond out back, the flickering of torches against the cold night sky, the dancing flames of bonfires where shivering servants roasted chestnuts and made hot, mulled cider for the guests. If she listened with her imagination, she could even hear the jingling bells on the horses that pulled the sleighs on rides that began at the carriage house and ended with a late-night dinner in Abigail’s vast dining room. She’d met Stanford at one of those parties.
Laina stepped off the porch and looked up at the house, her heart swelling with protest. There should be warm candlelight shining a welcome from the windows, smoke pouring from the chimneys! There should be the sound of happy chatter and laughter. It was wrong to let this beautiful house sit empty and silent.
She stared at the house a moment longer, then turned and retraced her steps to the road. She would talk to Justin about selling Twiggs Manor to someone who would enjoy it. Someone who—
Laina stopped dead in her tracks, stunned by a sudden idea. Why not her? Why shouldn’t she buy Twiggs Manor? The house needed people to bring it back to life, and she needed something to give her life meaning. There was nothing left for her in New York. She…
She was out of her wits! Laina snorted, shook her head and started walking back to Randolph Court. She must be going stark, raving mad from boredom. What a ridiculous notion—her buying Twiggs Manor.
Or was it?
Laina paused at the corner, pursed her lips in speculation and stepped to the wrought-iron fence to look back at the house. At least if she moved to Philadelphia she would have a goal, a purpose. She could save the three-story brick mansion from its present forlorn state and fill her life by carrying on Abigail’s role as leader of Philadelphia society. It wasn’t much compared to a husband and children, but at least it was something.
Laina drew her cloak close against a sudden gust of wind, crossed Walnut Street and walked south on Fifth Street. There was no problem with finances—she had inherited Stanford’s sizable fortune. But her heart quailed at the thought of all the unknown legal processes involved.
Judge!
A tingle of excitement quickened Laina’s steps. With Judge to handle things in New York and Justin to handle things here in Philadelphia, she—
No! Laina clenched her hands and reined in her runaway thoughts. The idea was absurd. A pathetic attempt to change a life that could not be changed. She must put it from her mind, stop railing against her circumstances and accept her future with dignity, though she’d never been good at bearing adversity patiently.
Laina sighed and turned into the brick path leading to Randolph Court. The walk had done nothing but create more questions, more distress. Would anything ever be right again?
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Brighton, Master James is asleep. So is Miss Mary. But Miss Sarah is awake. She’s in the playroom having a tea party with her dolls and Mr. Buffy. Would you care to join her?”
“Would it be all right?” Laina shot an anxious glance at the connecting door to the playroom. “I don’t want to intrude if she would prefer to be alone.”
The plump nanny smiled. “I’m sure Miss Sarah would welcome your company—if you’re willing to drink pretend tea.”
Laina laughed. “I shall consume gallons of it!” She walked to the door, then lifted her hands as if holding a plate in front of her and stepped into the playroom.
“Good day, Sarah. I’ve brought some cinnamon biscuits for your party. May I join you until your mama and papa come home and I have to go down to dinner?”
“Oh, goody!” Sarah gave her a happy smile. “I like cinnamon biscuits.”
“Wonderful. They’re my favorite.” Laina grinned as the big black dog sitting beside the table gave a soft “woof” and thumped his tail against the floor. “So you like them, too, Mr. Buffy. You shall have two.” She walked to the small table and mimed placing a plate of cookies in the center. Bafflement took the place of amusement as she swept her gaze over the ragged-edged plates and lopsided cups that graced Sarah’s table.
“Mama and me made the dishes.”
“You did?” Laina cringed inwardly. Sarah had noticed her reaction
