Thank you, my wonderful readers, for reading this story and encouraging me to write more. And a special thanks to ceceprincess1217, for saying the sex scene in the previous chapter was pure poetry. I can't think of a higher compliment, even if I probably don't deserve it.
Everyone agreed that Lizzie seeing more of her mother is a good thing. And James going away is indeed good riddance!
Unbeta'ed.
Chapter-15
Lizzie is just finishing her lunch when I step into her room, with Edward just behind me. Both she and Maggie look surprised to see us, but Lizzie is also plainly delighted. I ask her to have the last few bites and wash her hands, adding that I will wait. She nods obediently.
When she is done and her hands are clean, she climbs into my lap and begins to prattle about her new colouring book. It seems there are fairies and elves in it. She loves to make their clothes as colourful as possible.
Edward says little, but the look on his face makes it clear that he adores my little girl. After a few minutes, he raises his hand and strokes her hair. Lizzie turns towards him and frowns as if trying to remember something. Then she gives a bright smile and turns back to me.
"Mama, can I ask Uncle Edward now?"
Edward tilts his head, curious.
"Ask what, sweetheart?"
"If I can call him father now, because you are married to him?"
Oh, that. I had forgotten.
I look at Edward, uncertain as to his answer. If he is going to refuse, I hope he will do it gently.
He is smiling, but his eyes seem to be moist. When he catches me staring at him, he clears his throat.
"Would you like to call me father, Lizzie?"
She looks at him and nods, her innocent face full of hope. It breaks my heart a little. She must have missed Anthony more than I realised.
"Please do, then. Or you can call me papa, if you like."
Her smile is bright as the sun. Watching them smiling at each other, my eyes sting and a lump forms in my throat.
"Papa," she says shyly. Edward is pressing his lips, tears shimmering in his eyes. Then he looks at me and opens his arms.
"May I?"
I release my precious charge who steps closer to him and then looks at me as if asking permission. I encourage her with a nod and smile. She takes another step, and then Edward's arms are around her, his eyes closed as he savours the closeness.
I rise and indicate to Maggie that I want to speak with her. We move towards the window.
"Would you mind if I visit Lizzie more, Maggie?"
She looks rather surprised.
"Of course not, my lady. You are her mother!"
"Yes, but there has been a system for years because Anthony's father wanted it this way." I bite my lip thoughtfully. "Lizzie is used to it, and so are you. Are you certain it won't disturb her routine, or spoil her in any way?"
A soft smile spreads on her age-lined face. "My lady, I am sure that no child is spoilt by being close to their parents. And Miss Lizzie is so affectionate. She can only benefit from seeing you more often, so please don't worry about that. Maybe you can begin slowly, by visiting her just once more until she gets used to it? Then you can add one more, and so on."
I glance at Lizzie who is chattering nineteen to the dozen, with Edward being a captive audience, and agree with Maggie's wise words. Lizzie has never been a fussy child, but she has always been very open with her need for affection. The time I have spent with her consists my most precious memories. If she sees more of us, it can only do good to all of us.
We decide to schedule my additional visit after breakfast every day. Maggie suggest that Lizzie is old enough to have her own pony now, and that learning to ride it can be an activity she would enjoy sharing with me. We will see what time will be suitable for that.
-ATW-
Perhaps Edward's happiness is contagious, for lunch seems to be a merry affair to me. He compliments Mrs Stanley for the meal, and she smiles and answers that she remembered which dishes he liked as a boy. They are relatively simple—Potato salad, Pork chops with fried apples, and a Spotted Dick, lightly sweetened. We always have the choicest of wines at our table, no matter if we have any guests or not. But today we also have ginger beer, and that is what Edward is having.
He laughs, his eyes twinkling, and asks the housekeeper to convey his thanks to the cook for making everything.
"Did your lordship know that Miss Lizzie favours apple snow balls for dessert?" asked Mrs Stanley, and Edward looks up, surprised.
"Really?" He shakes his head and explains to me that they were what Anthony and he liked best as children.
"Perhaps taste in food too passes from parents to children, hmm? What about you, Isabella? What were your favourite foods when you were a child?"
I purse my lips, thinking. It has been years since I really thought about what dishes I liked and what I did not. Food was just a means to provide sustenance to my body, not something to be tasted and enjoyed.
"I rather liked the Potato and leeks soup," I say slowly, remembering. "Chicken baked in rice was good too. And in sweet things I preferred Kisses and Ice cream, and Almond cake that my mother baked. She insisted that the cook always baked it too much the second time." The memory brings a nostalgic smile to my lips. For a moment, the room around me fades away, and I am a child again, having lunch with my mother and my siblings. My father usually had a hearty breakfast and missed lunch, joining us for dinner in the evening.
I blink and find both Edward and Mrs Stanley looking at me. I shrug and smile sheepishly.
"You never mentioned these dishes before, my lady. I would have got them made for you," says Mrs Stanley. There is a gentleness in her usually stern voice that surprises me. Why would she care what dishes I like? Her attitude always made it clear that she found me lacking as Anthony's wife.
"It—it didn't seem important, Mrs Stanley," I answer, stumbling over my words a little. I am not used to such kindness, especially from her.
A flash of deep sympathy across her stolid features catches me by surprise, but it is gone before I can react in any way.
I look at Edward, and he is grimacing as if in pain. But then he takes a deep breath and tries to smile.
"If you have finished…" he pauses and clears his throat. "I have some work to do, but I would like to speak with you before that."
"Of course, my lord."
Inside my room, he hugs me close, murmuring apologies into my hair. When we separate, his eyes are sad.
"You have had such a wretched time in this mansion, haven't you darling? As much as I loved you, I didn't take care of you or made you happy."
"Well, I wasn't unhappy before you left, and how could you take care of me from across the Channel?
"I shouldn't have left you."
"You didn't have an option, did you? After Anthony found us…"
He groans. "Stupid, stupid decisions…I was such a moron!"
"Edward, stop it." I put a finger on his lips. "What is done is done. What is the use of feeling guilty now?"
He exhales heavily. "You are right, of course. I should attend to the present. Thank heavens that I have another chance with you. I will…I will ask Mrs Stanley to make your favourite dishes tomorrow. That is, if she has not already planned to do so!"
My forehead scrunches in confusion. "That was strange, seeing her so…kind."
"She isn't all bad, you know, just a little too serious," says Edward. "She took good care of us when we were just boys. Once she even allowed us to hide in the kitchen when James was looking for us to punish us. He was stomping mad!"
He chuckles, remembering. Then he raises an eyebrow. "I guess I can give you one of your favourite things right now, hmm?"
"And what is that?" I ask, loving the look of mischief on his face.
He dips his head so that his lips almost touch mine. "Kisses," he answers before pressing them to mine, again and again as I giggle with delight.
A.N. Spotted Dick: A spongy steamed pudding made of suet and currants and served with custard. The 'dick' comes from an old English word for pudding—puddick. What did you think it was?
Kisses: Baked treats, made of egg white, powdered sugar and the essence of lemon.
Short chapter, but I needed a break. Next one will be up on Sunday. Promise!