Fall 1811
The cling-clang of rain chattering against the windows mixed with the clock's incessant ticking. The occasional pop and sizzle from the fire burning in the hearth lent its opinion to the otherwise hollow sounds of the near-empty room. Ellen pulled the coat tighter over her shoulders to fight the incessant draft these old homes of England sported as she sat in the well-loved chair facing the bay windows. His scent wafted up from the coat's fabric as she shifted in the chair, twisting the knife of grief deeper in her chest.
A soft knock sounded at the open door, accompanied with a masculine throat clearing. Ellen pushed herself away from her slumped position to look at the study's entrance. Her stepson stood in the almost-shadows, looking as lost as she felt. Propriety pushed at her muscles to stand, but Jonathan shook his head as he came closer, soon dropping into the matching chair opposite her. They sat like this for some time, long enough for the rain to slow to a trickle and the fire to burn down to embers, each lost in their thoughts even as they were connected by grief.
"How is Georgiana?" Ellen finally broke the silence. Speaking of his wife, soon to deliver their second child, seemed to be the easiest way to ease into a conversation.
Jonathan's smile, though warm at the thought of his beloved, was half-hearted considering the circumstances, "Judith is with her now. Her backaches have increased in strength, and the twinges of pre-birth have begun. It was much the same just before Henry was born."
"Yes, I remember." Ellen smiled. She and Borlas had just managed to make it back to Roscullen Hall days before Jonathan's firstborn had come into the world, and still, she remembered the look of awe on Borlas' face when he first held his grandson. "When will you send for the doctor?"
"Probably tomorrow. If the weather allows." Jonathan moved to the hearth and picked up the fire poker. He didn't immediately begin stoking the fire but stood frozen, gazing at the small portrait decorating the mantle. Ellen winced and returned her gaze to the dreary grey outside. The portrait was of Borlas, painted soon after their marriage.
Clearing her throat, Ellen forced the catch of grief out of her throat before speaking, "I will make arrangements to travel back to America after the christening." Jonathan whirled to look at her, his expression one of shock. "Mister Hughes' last letter spoke of a need for more direct involvement in the newest constructions, and while our lives seem to have stopped for the time being," Ellen's eyes darted down to Borlas' coat draped over her shoulders, a sigh escaping her lips, "the rest of the world has carried on and must be reckoned with."
"Surely your manager can handle things for a bit longer, Ellen. You know you are always welcome here. This is your home." Jonathan replaced the poker and came to stand next to her chair, hand reaching out to take hold of hers. "We are still family even now that father is gone."
Ellen leaned forward and kissed the back of Jonathan's hand, squeezing it for added measure. "I know, Jonathan. And I promise I am not leaving forever. But your father would not want me to stop living or to give up designing ships. We both know that." She waited until his sighing nod of agreement before she let go of his hand and shifted to get more comfortable in Borlas' favorite chair. "You will make a fine baron, Jonathan. And Georgiana was born to be a baroness. In time, you should host a ball here at Roscullen Hall. Perhaps you will snatch up an eligible young nobleman for Judith."
"You were not such a terrible baroness, Ellen." Jonathan's smile was playful as he caught her eye. They both remembered the many social faux pas Ellen had committed during her first years of marriage to Borlas in the few times he'd taken her to London for the season. "And I have almost given up hope for Judith. She seems keener on helping Fieldston plan out the gardens than finding a husband."
Ellen chuckled, "Maybe she will marry a horticulturalist. Once Georgiana has recovered, and all is in order, you should take Judith to the botanical gardens in London. She is bound to astound some young gentleman there."
Jonathan shared a laugh before they settled into another companionable silence. The clock chimed, signaling the hour, and from down below, they heard the rustling of servants as they readied for dinner. Jonathan looked back to Ellen, and she saw the unshed tears bordering his eyes.
"I miss him, Ellen."
The grief caught in her throat, making it impossible to do much more than nod in agreement, her hand once more reaching out and taking hold of his. It was the anchor of humanity holding the darkness of loss at bay as Ellen mourned her husband and rallied herself to face an unknown future without him.