“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.