Page 16 of Restored

“But Papa—”

“No, Marianne,” he said firmly. “My mind is made up.”

She pressed her lips together, shaking her head irritably. “You shouldunmake it, then,” she said. “At least give it some proper thought.”

But hehadgiven it proper thought—far too much thought arguably. He’d lost a brother to the war, when Freddy was just a little boy. Philip had died in Portugal charging the French guns. A hero’s death, they’d said.

When Henry thought of Freddy in a cavalry officer’s uniform, his chest seized up with sheer terror.

“I’ll speak with him,” he said firmly. “And we will agree a way forward. I am sure.”

To his surprise, Marianne’s eyes filled with tears.

“Marianne!” he said, dismayed. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry I snapped at Freddy,” she said. “This babyhasmade me a harridan, just like Freddy said.”

Jeremy leaned forward and patted her arm. “Never a harridan,” he said loyally.

Marianne made a strangled noise that was part laugh, part cry. “A watering pot then. And a whale, probably, by the time the baby arrives, given how many sweet things I keep eating.”

Jeremy laughed softly. “Then you shall be the most beautiful whale in all England.”

She snorted through her tears. “You wretch!”

Henry smiled to see their affection. The lot of a parent was to worry, and he did so daily: over the prospect of Marianne giving birth, and Freddy’s nonsense, and George’s quiet melancholy. But this at least, this marriage, brought him comfort. He’d been acutely aware that his daughter’s happiness would depend on the character of her husband, and acutely relieved when she had selected Jeremy Fenwick. To see his daughter settled with a man who so obviously adored her was a blessing indeed.

Henry stood and walked round the table to where she sat, bending down to drop another kiss on top of her head, relishing the tiny gesture of affection even as he suppressed a pang of sadness at the knowledge she was growing further from him with each passing year.

“Don’t worry about Freddy,” he said gently.

She looked up at him then, her blue eyes very trusting, and he was reminded of when she was small and motherless and utterly dependent upon him.

A wave of love washed over him.

“Everything will be all right,” he said.

He hoped it was true.

Mercier’s was a pretty little place. When Henry and Marianne arrived, it was already bustling with custom.

A young woman in a black gown with a crisp white apron approached them, her hands folded at her waist.

“Good afternoon,” Henry said. “Do you have a table free?”

“We have one left,” the young woman replied, smiling. “If you don’t mind sitting in the corner?”

“Not at all,” Henry said. “Lead the way.”

She led them to a table out of sight of the main door. Henry fussed over Marianne, getting her settled before taking his own chair.

They ordered tea and a plate of assorted cakes and pastries. Despite how busy the place was, everything arrived quite promptly, and Henry watched in amazement as Marianne worked her way through acanelé,aconversation,and aCharlotte russe.

“You didn’t used to even like sweet things,” he said in amazement.

“I know!” she exclaimed, blue eyes wide. “But ever since the sickness wore off, I’ve beengorgingon them.” She sighed and took another spoonful of thick Bavarian cream, before adding, “Can we get some more tea?”

“Of course,” Henry said, swivelling in his chair. He looked for the young woman who had seated them earlier, but instead an older man, scanning the tables with the air of a proprietor checking on his customers, caught his eye.