Chapter 3
Darkness bathed the room, thin slivers of light from the moon peeking in through the slits where the heavy drapes did not meet completely.
Her eyes were puffy from the tears that she could not seem to stop, and her figure was small amidst the mountain of pillows placed at the top of the massive four-poster bed, a cool cloth covering her eyes and forehead.
The Grandfather clock in the hallway chimed seven times, and muffled footsteps approached and paused outside her closed door.
Ivy's knock sounded, almost as gentle as the tone of her voice,
Sheridan admitted her with a tired breath, knowing what was to come.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Dear," Ivy sighed as she gingerly removed the cloth from Sheridan's eyes,
Sheridan blinked against the harsh glare of the bedside lamp, averting her gaze from the expression of pity Ivy failed to hide. She covered the hand Ivy cupped over her cheek with her own and attempted a smile, but it was as if her face were made of glass and would crack under the falseness of her actions. "Thank you for your concern, Ivy, but I'd rather."
"Shut the whole world away and cry in the dark?" Ivy interjected. "Sheridan, you'll make yourself sick. Tell me something. Have you eaten anything today?"
Sheridan's chin dropped to her chest, and she picked at the lace edging the neckline of the simple gown she wore, determined not to meet Ivy's knowing blue-green eyes.
"That's it," Ivy declared authoritatively, "You're coming downstairs to dinner with me. I know Julian and your father aren't exactly pleasant company, but Ethan's here, and I think that, with a little more convincing, he can be swayed to change his position on taking your case."
"I don't know, Ivy," Sheridan protested as Ivy took her by the arm, pulling her gently from the bed. "He seemed pretty adamant in his refusal."
"Ethan's never been adamant about anything in his life," Ivy smirked, blue- green eyes filled with mirth. She opened the doors to the large walk-in closet across the bedroom and started rifling through Sheridan's scant wardrobe, pulling out a red cashmere sweater and a pair of black slacks. "Here. This should do."
Sheridan slipped the sweater over her head and stepped into the pants, her fingers working the side zipper as Ivy admired the family photograph Sheridan had displayed on her armoire in an elegant silver frame. Family consisting, of course, of her, Paige, and Alex. Richard was noticeably absent, much like he'd been for most of their short-lived marriage.
Ivy replaced the frame on the armoire, a Cheshire cat-like grin stretching across her striking features as she regarded Sheridan. "You look so lovely in red, Sheridan."
"Thank you, Ivy," Sheridan murmured thankfully. "I'm going to have to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe soon if Richard insists on not sending my clothes."
"I happily volunteer my company," Ivy smiled, following Sheridan out the door. "As a matter of fact, my wardrobe is in serious need of an update of its own," she winked as they descended the winding staircase and made their way to the dining room. "It's always so much fun to abuse Julian's wallet."
Sheridan managed a half-smile at the glee in Ivy's voice, and it remained on her lips until she heard her father's disapproving voice.
"Ivy. You're late. I had Mary go ahead and serve dinner, I'm afraid yours is cold." Alistair stated. "Sheridan, I didn't expect you to decide to join us this evening. I didn't have a place set."
"She can sit by me," Ivy spoke up, turning to the young maid hovering nearby as she and Sheridan seated themselves. "Mary, take this into the kitchen," she indicated the plate directly in front of her, "and bring me and Miss Sheridan a fresh plate. Julian," Ivy lifted her goblet of wine to her lips, "aren't you even going to acknowledge your sister?"
"Sister, Dear," Julian slurred in greeting, tipping his glass of brandy up and drinking from it greedily. His food lay untouched in the plate before him.
Ethan lay his fork down beside his plate, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to avoid his mother's and aunt's eyes. "Mother. Aunt Sheridan. It's nice to see you're feeling well enough to join us for dinner."
Mary returned, carefully setting two plates in front of Ivy and Sheridan. She politely inquired if they were in need of anything else before she stepped back into the shadows the flickering candlelight from the candelabra did not reach, waiting to offer her assistance when needed.
Sheridan pushed her pasta around on her plate distractedly, finally letting her dinner fork clink against the china as she lay it down, unable to muster up an appetite. "Actually, Ethan," she admitted, "I'm not feeling well. And I won't feel well until I have my children back in my arms where they belong. You say you won't help, but surely you don't mean it, Ethan. Please," she entreated. "Please help me bring Paige and Alex home."
"Aunt Sheridan," Ethan began awkwardly, his blue eyes straying fleetingly to his grandfather's imposing figure at the head of the table. "Aunt Sheridan, I can't."
Incredulous at his repeated refusal, Sheridan's voice rose, breaking painfully as she uttered a single word. "Why?"
"Yes, Ethan," Ivy frowned as she cast a suspicious glance in Alistair's direction. "I'd like to know the answer to that question myself."
Julian hid behind his refilled brandy glass, seemingly noncommittal on the subject.
"Mother.Aunt Sheridan," Ethan fumbled for an answer, tugging at the constricting tie around his neck as his other hand flailed at his side, nearly knocking over his glass of water.
"Ethan's commitments don't permit him to take your case, Sheridan, and he shouldn't waste his time on a useless custody battle," Alistair commented coldly. "Your failed marriage is your own fault. Richard is a far more capable parent than you'll ever be. You, dear daughter, are too weak. Too soft. Those children belong with their father. You gave up any rights you had to them when you demanded a divorce from your husband."
Sheridan felt anger bubble within her, and fueled by its righteousness, she attacked her father's unfeeling words. "Richard stopped being a husband to me the minute he got his power-hungry hands on my trust fund. He never really loved me, and he sure as hell hasn't shown any love for his children. He's ignored Paige her entire life and would have sent her to a boarding school in Europe the first chance he got if I hadn't married him. And Alex.If Alex hadn't been born a boy, and Richard hadn't gotten his precious male heir, Richard would never have looked twice at him."
"Marriage is not about love," Alistair declared.
Ivy and Julian connected eyes across the far reaches of the table,
Sheridan couldn't help noticing that their eyes held no love for each other. Maybe they had cared for each other when they were young, but the years spent in this cold house had not been kind to either of them.
"Your head is filled with nothing but foolish fantasies, Sheridan," Alistair continued cruelly. "Love has no place in a marriage. It's not good for business."
"You're wrong, Father. I won't stay married to Richard because it's good for business. I won't lose myself in a loveless marriage," Sheridan vowed, throwing her crumpled napkin down in disgust and almost upturning her chair in her haste to leave her father's sight.
Mary lurched out of Sheridan's path, stumbling and spilling the contents of Julian's fifth tumbler of brandy of the night.
Sheridan muttered a quick apology, fleeing to the relative safety of the foyer and racing toward the stairs with Ivy's words of condemnation for her father and her brother and her words of disappointment for Ethan ringing in her ears. Her hand clutched the banister tightly, and her feet ceased their frantic flight with the insistent ringing of the doorbell.
The housemaid looked to her in expectation and moved to answer the door.
"Don't. Don't," Sheridan cried, sweeping past her. "I'll get the door," she explained, raising a hand to the knob and closing her eyes briefly. She tried to quell the swell of sudden hope within her chest, reminding herself of the countless disappointments she'd suffered the last few days, but it was a fruitless gesture. She twisted the knob, and the door swung open.
Luis held out her billowing black cape to her, and neither of them were able to pull away when their hands brushed against each other.
Hope had returned to her in a pair of devastating brown eyes.
Darkness bathed the room, thin slivers of light from the moon peeking in through the slits where the heavy drapes did not meet completely.
Her eyes were puffy from the tears that she could not seem to stop, and her figure was small amidst the mountain of pillows placed at the top of the massive four-poster bed, a cool cloth covering her eyes and forehead.
The Grandfather clock in the hallway chimed seven times, and muffled footsteps approached and paused outside her closed door.
Ivy's knock sounded, almost as gentle as the tone of her voice,
Sheridan admitted her with a tired breath, knowing what was to come.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Dear," Ivy sighed as she gingerly removed the cloth from Sheridan's eyes,
Sheridan blinked against the harsh glare of the bedside lamp, averting her gaze from the expression of pity Ivy failed to hide. She covered the hand Ivy cupped over her cheek with her own and attempted a smile, but it was as if her face were made of glass and would crack under the falseness of her actions. "Thank you for your concern, Ivy, but I'd rather."
"Shut the whole world away and cry in the dark?" Ivy interjected. "Sheridan, you'll make yourself sick. Tell me something. Have you eaten anything today?"
Sheridan's chin dropped to her chest, and she picked at the lace edging the neckline of the simple gown she wore, determined not to meet Ivy's knowing blue-green eyes.
"That's it," Ivy declared authoritatively, "You're coming downstairs to dinner with me. I know Julian and your father aren't exactly pleasant company, but Ethan's here, and I think that, with a little more convincing, he can be swayed to change his position on taking your case."
"I don't know, Ivy," Sheridan protested as Ivy took her by the arm, pulling her gently from the bed. "He seemed pretty adamant in his refusal."
"Ethan's never been adamant about anything in his life," Ivy smirked, blue- green eyes filled with mirth. She opened the doors to the large walk-in closet across the bedroom and started rifling through Sheridan's scant wardrobe, pulling out a red cashmere sweater and a pair of black slacks. "Here. This should do."
Sheridan slipped the sweater over her head and stepped into the pants, her fingers working the side zipper as Ivy admired the family photograph Sheridan had displayed on her armoire in an elegant silver frame. Family consisting, of course, of her, Paige, and Alex. Richard was noticeably absent, much like he'd been for most of their short-lived marriage.
Ivy replaced the frame on the armoire, a Cheshire cat-like grin stretching across her striking features as she regarded Sheridan. "You look so lovely in red, Sheridan."
"Thank you, Ivy," Sheridan murmured thankfully. "I'm going to have to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe soon if Richard insists on not sending my clothes."
"I happily volunteer my company," Ivy smiled, following Sheridan out the door. "As a matter of fact, my wardrobe is in serious need of an update of its own," she winked as they descended the winding staircase and made their way to the dining room. "It's always so much fun to abuse Julian's wallet."
Sheridan managed a half-smile at the glee in Ivy's voice, and it remained on her lips until she heard her father's disapproving voice.
"Ivy. You're late. I had Mary go ahead and serve dinner, I'm afraid yours is cold." Alistair stated. "Sheridan, I didn't expect you to decide to join us this evening. I didn't have a place set."
"She can sit by me," Ivy spoke up, turning to the young maid hovering nearby as she and Sheridan seated themselves. "Mary, take this into the kitchen," she indicated the plate directly in front of her, "and bring me and Miss Sheridan a fresh plate. Julian," Ivy lifted her goblet of wine to her lips, "aren't you even going to acknowledge your sister?"
"Sister, Dear," Julian slurred in greeting, tipping his glass of brandy up and drinking from it greedily. His food lay untouched in the plate before him.
Ethan lay his fork down beside his plate, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to avoid his mother's and aunt's eyes. "Mother. Aunt Sheridan. It's nice to see you're feeling well enough to join us for dinner."
Mary returned, carefully setting two plates in front of Ivy and Sheridan. She politely inquired if they were in need of anything else before she stepped back into the shadows the flickering candlelight from the candelabra did not reach, waiting to offer her assistance when needed.
Sheridan pushed her pasta around on her plate distractedly, finally letting her dinner fork clink against the china as she lay it down, unable to muster up an appetite. "Actually, Ethan," she admitted, "I'm not feeling well. And I won't feel well until I have my children back in my arms where they belong. You say you won't help, but surely you don't mean it, Ethan. Please," she entreated. "Please help me bring Paige and Alex home."
"Aunt Sheridan," Ethan began awkwardly, his blue eyes straying fleetingly to his grandfather's imposing figure at the head of the table. "Aunt Sheridan, I can't."
Incredulous at his repeated refusal, Sheridan's voice rose, breaking painfully as she uttered a single word. "Why?"
"Yes, Ethan," Ivy frowned as she cast a suspicious glance in Alistair's direction. "I'd like to know the answer to that question myself."
Julian hid behind his refilled brandy glass, seemingly noncommittal on the subject.
"Mother.Aunt Sheridan," Ethan fumbled for an answer, tugging at the constricting tie around his neck as his other hand flailed at his side, nearly knocking over his glass of water.
"Ethan's commitments don't permit him to take your case, Sheridan, and he shouldn't waste his time on a useless custody battle," Alistair commented coldly. "Your failed marriage is your own fault. Richard is a far more capable parent than you'll ever be. You, dear daughter, are too weak. Too soft. Those children belong with their father. You gave up any rights you had to them when you demanded a divorce from your husband."
Sheridan felt anger bubble within her, and fueled by its righteousness, she attacked her father's unfeeling words. "Richard stopped being a husband to me the minute he got his power-hungry hands on my trust fund. He never really loved me, and he sure as hell hasn't shown any love for his children. He's ignored Paige her entire life and would have sent her to a boarding school in Europe the first chance he got if I hadn't married him. And Alex.If Alex hadn't been born a boy, and Richard hadn't gotten his precious male heir, Richard would never have looked twice at him."
"Marriage is not about love," Alistair declared.
Ivy and Julian connected eyes across the far reaches of the table,
Sheridan couldn't help noticing that their eyes held no love for each other. Maybe they had cared for each other when they were young, but the years spent in this cold house had not been kind to either of them.
"Your head is filled with nothing but foolish fantasies, Sheridan," Alistair continued cruelly. "Love has no place in a marriage. It's not good for business."
"You're wrong, Father. I won't stay married to Richard because it's good for business. I won't lose myself in a loveless marriage," Sheridan vowed, throwing her crumpled napkin down in disgust and almost upturning her chair in her haste to leave her father's sight.
Mary lurched out of Sheridan's path, stumbling and spilling the contents of Julian's fifth tumbler of brandy of the night.
Sheridan muttered a quick apology, fleeing to the relative safety of the foyer and racing toward the stairs with Ivy's words of condemnation for her father and her brother and her words of disappointment for Ethan ringing in her ears. Her hand clutched the banister tightly, and her feet ceased their frantic flight with the insistent ringing of the doorbell.
The housemaid looked to her in expectation and moved to answer the door.
"Don't. Don't," Sheridan cried, sweeping past her. "I'll get the door," she explained, raising a hand to the knob and closing her eyes briefly. She tried to quell the swell of sudden hope within her chest, reminding herself of the countless disappointments she'd suffered the last few days, but it was a fruitless gesture. She twisted the knob, and the door swung open.
Luis held out her billowing black cape to her, and neither of them were able to pull away when their hands brushed against each other.
Hope had returned to her in a pair of devastating brown eyes.