Incognita (Fairchild Book 2) (42 page)

One couldn’t bemoan these tragedies all the time though, any more than one could constantly remember them or permanently forget. She’d have times of sorrow and regret, which was only just. But she would have happy moments too, laughter and soft embraces and looking into understanding eyes. The best thing to do seemed to be to hold onto her own happiness and wish some for Mrs. Morris.
 

Anna smiled, listening to Henry chasing his grandfather up the stairs and Alistair humming in the dressing room. She knew the tune, so she hummed breathily along, lifting out her crumpled gowns. Alistair didn’t care that her voice wasn’t nearly as fine as his; he liked music when he was happy, and cared more that she felt happy with him than for the quality of their song. Anna hummed a little louder, glad to be home with her mother and father, her husband and son. Tomorrow, if the weather was fine, they would buy a new boat for Henry to sail in the park.
 

Alistair’s humming floated closer. Before his hand could steal around her waist and his lips land in the vicinity of her ear, Anna dropped her grey pelisse and and shut the lid of her trunk. Creased gowns and musty linen . . . no reason they couldn’t wait.