Evangeline was almost glad for the unexpected chores. She needed something to keep her mind off the inevitable argument with Cedric when he got home. Or worse, the inevitable breakdown that was on the horizon. In the case of the latter, she felt bad that she wasn't more sympathetic, but it was difficult. Of course she knew he hadn't gotten drunk over the sweets alone. Something about them either brought up some memory or stirred up the financial issues that always loomed over his head. Even still, she would have preferred to have dealt with it there and then rather than let it drag out. All of this had turned her stomach more, and where Cedric had begun the day rushing to the toilet, she wasn't sure she wouldn't be ending it in the same way.

Tora and Lily helped with the laundry after their lessons which by then was more a matter of hanging everything to dry. On one hand, Evangeline was glad for the company. On the other, she knew they were more curious about their father than they were keen to help with the chore.

"Do you think Papa has finally got an ulcer?" Lily asked, a surprising lack of concern in her tone.

Evangeline paused in the process of clipping one end of the sheet to the clothesline. "Where has that come from?"

"From Eric," she answered. "He likes that sort of medical stuff. He says an ulcer can come from stress. Papa is always stressed."

"Not always," Tora said. "He has to work hard. You remember what he said about there being so many of us. Remember? Before he married Evangeline."

"Which is why I'm curious. I sure wouldn't want a job like his. All the bodies would scare me. You never know which ones are haunted."

"Goodness, Lily," Evangeline said almost too harshly as she resumed her pinning. "Where on earth did you get such a wicked idea?"

"From storybooks," she shrugged. "It makes enough sense."

"None at all. What your father does is noble work. There are no ghosts about it."

"Then why does he come home looking all pale and smelling strange?"

"There might not be ghosts, but it's still an unsettling job, I imagine. And that smell comes from whatever chemicals he uses."

Tora rolled her eyes, handing Evangeline another clip. "Not everything you read is factual."

"I know that," Lily replied snarkily. "But an ulcer does make sense."

With a sigh, Evangeline agreed. "It does make sense, but one bought of illness doesn't mean there's anything gravely wrong. You kids are always getting sick."

"It just seems different when it's a grown-up," Tora said.

Putting a hand on each of their shoulders, Evangeline said, "I promise you he's all right. There would be other signs if he had an ulcer and I assure you we would all know about it."

The girls nodded, and for a few minutes, the three resumed hanging the laundry without conversation. But soon enough, Lily posed another question that caused them to stop what they were doing.

"What would happen to us if Papa died?"

Evangeline had never thought of it. "I suppose Aunt Adelaide would step in, at least for a little while to cover the bills while we sorted everything out."

"No," Lily corrected, "I mean, what would happen to us kids? Would we still be allowed to live with you?"

"Of course you would. What kind of question is that?"

"That's what wills are for," Tora added. "Legally, she's our mother now."

"So… Aunt Adelaide or someone couldn't come along and take us away? Just think about it, she tried to take one of us when it was just Papa."

Though the thought suddenly concerned her, Evangeline said lightly, "After the last time, I don't see her extending the offer again."

"She hasn't visited since the wedding," Tora said in realization. "She hasn't disowned us, has she?"

"Her word is her law," Evangeline quoted. "She and your father still correspond."

"Does she know about the baby?" Lily asked.

"Not yet. At least as far as I'm aware. I doubt it. Your father and I agreed to keep it quiet until I start to show."

"Will that be soon?"

Tora shook her head. "You know that it takes a little while."

"I'm impatient," Lily whined.

"So am I, if I'm being honest," Evangeline chuckled. "I'm curious what I'll look like fully pregnant."

"Probably still like you," Lily said, stepping back and trying to picture her stepmother with a protruding belly, "but fuller."

Touching her stomach, she said, "I feel a bit fuller already, but I've eaten an unholy number of sweets since yesterday."

The girls laughed.

"Let's get on with this laundry," Evangeline said, handing the basket to Lily and half of a sheet to Tora. "I think if we're quiet about it, us three can sneak some more before dinner."

"That is if Sebastian hasn't found the jar," Tora said.

Evangeline's eyes widened. "Good heavens, I left it right out on the desk!"

She started to take off, however, Lily caught up to her and stopped her. "Leave this to an expert," she said. "I know how to hide things from my brothers."

. . .

It was evident that Cedric was avoiding her when he'd come home from work that evening. He looked ragged and pale, making Evangeline wonder if he'd been sick more than once today. He didn't allow her the chance to ask, saying he had urgent letters to write before supper and not to disturb him. Then, after hardly eating anything, he busied himself with the children, eventually giving in to their questions about the morning by saying he had a touch of food poisoning.

"If the food was rancid, shouldn't we all be ill?" Eric questioned.

Cedric cleverly avoided it, saying it must have been a lunch gone bad he'd had at work the day before.

Evangeline was glad the kids eventually accepted this as the explanation, though she'd never say so to Cedric. No matter how upset she was by his actions, the children didn't need to know. Even with his attempts to be more honest with them about things going on in their lives, they certainly didn't need to take on the complexity of his continued grief over Agatha. Especially not when so much of it revolved around a new sibling.

After dinner, Cedric maintained his avoidance strategies. Having exhausted the letter-writing ploy due to the slow mail day, he resorted to saying he had paperwork to do despite having come home empty-handed. Though Evangeline was tempted to play along and take advantage of another quiet evening, she also didn't trust him not to repeat the night before.

She gave him thirty minutes before forcing the issue.

"I told you I'm busy," he said when she walked into the study.

As she'd anticipated, there were no papers on his desk. Ignoring him, she went straight for her chair.

"Please, Evangeline. Don't make me do this tonight."

"I haven't said a word," she said haughtily, picking up her book. "My sitting here isn't going to interrupt anything."

"You're not just sitting there. You're waiting me out."

She shrugged.

"I swear it, we'll discuss what happened tomorrow. I've had a miserable day. Formaldehyde and hangovers are a terrible mix."

"I haven't said a word on it," she said again.

"You're thinking it."

"Nothing to be done about that."

"Just give me an hour then. I need a break from the noise."

"Do you really think I'm going to leave you alone again tonight?"

Cedric groaned. "I'm not a bloody alcoholic."

She turned the page despite not having read a single word. "No, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"I'm touched by the confidence you have in me," he sniped.

"Frankly, Cedric, with all that's been happening with you these days I have a right to keep an eye on you."

"I'm not a child, for heaven's sake."

"You're acting like one right now."

"Because you won't give me a few minutes to myself!"

"If I have to live under your constant scrutiny you can live under mine."

Perplexed, he questioned, "I beg your pardon?"

"Ever since I told you I'm pregnant you fret over every sneeze and ache. Even though I understand why, it's still exhausting to feel like I can't always tell you if I'm feeling off for fear it's going to send you into some dark spiral. Blooming peppermint drops is what started everything last night. What on earth are you going to do when the effects of pregnancy really begin to take hold? If you can worry constantly about me, I'm allowed to show my concern for you."

"It's different and you know it."

"It's not different."

"You could die, Evangeline!"

"So could you if you keep going this way!"

He took in a frustrated breath through his teeth. "I had a few drinks to unwind one night in our entire marriage. It doesn't merit this kind of reaction."

"I'm not talking about the alcohol!" Slamming her book down, she stood and walked toward the desk. "You've been under constant stress since Agatha died. The thing is you got so used to holding it in for the sake of the children that you're doing it now with everything. Why do you think you had such a collapse the other night?"

"Don't bring that into this. It's an entirely separate matter."

"No, it's not!" she said. "Even the children see you falling apart. I had Lily explain to me today why you must have an ulcer. It's such an eventuality that she wasn't even upset by it."

Stubbornly, he replied, "That doesn't sound like Lily."

"Eric has been doing research on the topic."

"Oh…"

"They're not wrong to think it," she went on. "We need to get a hold of this before it gets any worse."

"We don't need to do anything. These are my issues and you're just going to have to let me deal with them my own way. Arguments like this don't help!"

"Why is it okay for you to fear for my life but not for me to fear for yours?"

"I never said that!"

"It's what you're implying! I'm supposed to let you alone, but I have to watch my every word surrounding the baby in fear of saying something that upsets or worries you or reminds you of your first wife? Do you realize how tiring it is? I'm the one carrying this child and yet I have almost no say about anything! I don't know what it was about last night that made you feel like you needed to drink but I can only assume it brought back memories of Agatha. And of course I can't be upset by that, so I have to pretend I'm not frustrated by there being one more thing I shouldn't do or say."

"You've brought that on yourself. Not once have I told you not to do or say anything in regard to Agatha."

"What other choice do I have? You distance yourself and leave me wondering where I stand."

"I am not having this discussion again."

"And that's the issue! You don't want to discuss anything."

"But I do anyways because otherwise this happens!"

"Is it so wrong that I care about your well-being?"

"Is it so wrong that I care about yours?" he mocked.

"You could worry a lot less about mine if I didn't have to deal with this!"

"Likewise," he seethed. "If you could just let me alone once in a while maybe I would be fine!"

She didn't respond right away. She tried processing his words over the sound of her blood pumping in her ears. Eventually, she shook her head. "Then perhaps that's what we ought to do."

Cedric huffed. "Don't make this the new issue."

"You're entitled to your space and I'm entitled to mine."

As she started for the door, he said, "Let me guess, you're off to your old room again."

"I don't see why I shouldn't. If I'm only getting in the way of all that's bothering you, far be it from me to keep imposing."

"Don't twist my words around."

She opened the door. "If and whenever it is you want to talk, come and find me. I wash my hands of it."

Though her voice had been calm, she slammed the door with such force that a picture on the wall fell out of place and now hung crooked. Cedric put his head down on the desk and let out an exasperated moan in response.

. . .

Cedric was tempted to go find Evangeline in the attic bedroom. Pride got the better of him. He didn't like being at odds with Evangeline, but he was tired of having the same back and forth. The topic might differ from each argument but the heart of it was the same. Everything led back to whatever inferiority she felt being the wife of a widower.

He truly sympathized with her. He knew it wasn't easy. He knew he wasn't easy. But he was fighting a losing battle. The harder he tried, the worse it got. He wasn't even sure how this one managed to spiral the way it had.

Yes, it was foolish to drink. He wouldn't tell her that. He didn't feel much remorse other than drinking to the point of being ill. The numbness felt good for a while. Why couldn't she understand that? Hadn't she been the one to say at one point that she simply needed to let herself feel sad? Why wasn't he allowed to do the same?

Though he couldn't deny the good in what the baby was bringing to their relationship, it was nights like this where he felt some resentment toward the situation. It wasn't the baby. He loved his children more than anything. But things had been going so well for them up until she told him. He figured they would have a child together someday, even wanted one. He couldn't resist the thought of a little mix of him and Evangeline toddling around. He'd only wanted time to prepare. To try. To experience the closeness that had come as of late before conception. To enjoy her company in every capacity without a gripping fear looming over him.

Logically, he knew the odds were in her favor. He had six children to prove things can be all right. If only the one that hadn't gone well hadn't been so devastating. He was eternally grateful Aggie had survived, however, he would never be able to let go of the anger he felt that she would never meet her birth mother. Already at one and a half years old, she'd fully accepted Evangeline as her mother. Of course she was exquisite in the role and it warmed his heart to see that Aggie had formed such a strong bond. The child had chosen a favorite parent by way of her actions. It was Evangeline she cried for. Evangeline she clung to. Evangeline she wanted to play with her. He wasn't even upset about it. He simply wished Aggie could have also known Agatha in the same capacity as the other children had been blessed to.

Naturally, thoughts like these eventually brought on feelings of guilt. Evangeline's fears were not unfounded. Somehow, she was picking up on these deeper thoughts — and typically before he could recognize them himself. She had to realize this unfair resentment of his, something neither of them had any control over. It was why she made him and his well-being her first priority. And while he considered this a fault, when he dared to take a good look at things, he knew he was the reason this behavior persisted. This fight hadn't begun over peppermints. It began because she'd done something to take care of herself that fell out of line with the preconceived notion in his mind. He'd scolded her before for trying to behave as Agatha might. All the while, he reacted poorly when she acted like Evangeline.

There was only one area of their marriage that he'd so wholly been able to separate from Agatha and that was their intimacy. It was a survival instinct from the start. At first, there had been a certain strangeness about being with another woman though some of that certainly came from her former position in the household. He knew he couldn't dwell on it either way. He didn't particularly want to. Why it was easier to separate his two wives this way and not the mundane things he wasn't sure. Where Agatha and Evangeline's differences were pivotal in that aspect of their relationship, it was the reason for riffs everywhere else.

It was all of this and everything else that made him distant. Sometimes it hit him all at once — all the change that happened in a short amount of time. If he'd had a say in when he remarried, he would have liked to have courted Evangeline properly. At least as properly as was possible between an employer and employee. He would have liked to have given her a proper proposal not orchestrated by Lily. Granted, they never would have managed a wedding half as beautiful as the one Nanny McPhee had given to them. That made what they missed seem worth it. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if there would be fewer problems now if they'd been given the chance to have more personal conversations prior to marrying. At least get better acquainted so she wasn't habitually calling him 'Mr. Brown' for the first two months of marriage.

She deserved better than him. This was the thought that brought on his darkest moods. She deserved so much more than he had to offer. She wanted for nothing, and yet, he couldn't give her the things she needed most: Someone who could love her with total abandon. Someone who could share her joy when she was happy and cry with her when she was sad. She deserved someone who woke each morning and went to bed each night thinking he was the luckiest man in the world simply because this woman was lying beside him. Although he did these things to some extent, there was always going to be Agatha's memory and the longing to simply touch her one last time. Sometimes he could lose himself so immensely in a daydream that he saw her and swore if he reached out he would feel the warmth of her body. No matter how far he reached, she was just a little too far away. When reality came back into focus, there was a fleeting feeling of animosity toward his new wife for not being the hand he wanted. For those moments especially, he would never forgive himself.

. . .

Cedric woke before dawn to soft noises breaking through his sleep but not quite jarring him enough to realize they were coming from anywhere but his mind. He was startled to see a figure sitting at the vanity. He blinked a couple of times and allowed himself to wake up a bit. He could see now that a candle was lit illuminating Evangeline's profile as she had her eyes down at the pages of a book.

"Hi," he said hoarsely.

She tensed. She'd heard him stir but had hoped he was only moving in his sleep. Without turning her head, she replied. "Hello."

Remembering that he was cross with her, he hardened his tone. "Got cold, did you?"

She shook her head. "I don't want the children to see me coming downstairs again."

"They saw that yesterday morning?"

"Mhmm."

"Oh," he mumbled. "Well… don't be stubborn. Just come and lay down."

Once more, she shook her head. "I'm all right."

"You're not even going to come near me?" he groused.

Evangeline let out a soft yet strained breath. "I went to bed early. If I go downstairs Mrs. Blatherwick will hear. I'm not looking for confrontation from anyone. Go back to sleep, I'm just going to read a while."

"You'll strain your eyes."

She didn't respond, only propped her elbow up on the vanity table and leaned her cheek against her knuckles.

"Have it your way," Cedric grumbled as he turned away from the light.

Taking another breath, Evangeline exhaled slower this time. She'd woken up feeling ragged. Emotionally she was exhausted but her body was done with sleep. She'd planned on coming back downstairs as the sun was partially up and she contemplated whether to wait it out in the attic, ultimately deciding against it. Though she still had trouble claiming the house as hers as well as Cedric's, she was angry enough at the situation that it gave her the courage to tread where she wanted. This room had grown on her. She wanted the comfort of it and her few belongings whether Cedric was here or not.

There was some good in realizing her old room no longer fit her. It was proof she really had left the worst of herself behind. She wasn't Evangeline the servant girl anymore. Though the isolation was nice when things got turbulent or even simply too noisy, that wasn't where she wanted to retreat. She was through with the drafty windows and leaks in the ceiling. She was Evangeline Brown now and she had a right to be on the floor with the rest of her family. Even if she might never believe that she was wholly wanted in this role, it was the lot she'd been handed. She was willing to step aside for a lot of things. Memories, milestones, whatever she wasn't wanted for, but with so many eggshells to walk on, she was going to at least take comfort in the one corner of the house she could find any sense of reprieve. The kitchen was Mrs. Blatherwick's, the nursery and the playroom were the children's, the study was Cedric's, and the third floor now Cynthia's. This room was all she had and even then it wasn't truly hers. It was Agatha's, just like every other room in the house.

She caught a tear before it rolled down her cheek. With her other hand, she grazed the open pages with her fingertips. Perhaps the books she read were the real refuge. It'd been like that when she'd been simply Evangeline with no last name to distinguish her. It was the same now only she didn't get lost in romances as much as she did adventures. The words passed quicker, too, now that she was practiced. Being less focused on how words were pronounced allowed her to immerse herself fully into whatever story was being told. It took her away from the ghosts of this house. She could be someone else for a while. Someone more than the second Mrs. Brown.