“Gracious of you.” The woman lifted her cup again and smiled into it.
Gwyneth slathered some strawberry preserves onto her biscuit. “I shall join you as well, Mrs. Lane, thank you.” She darted a glance to Thad, hoping he would volunteer to accompany them. But he said nothing.
Ignoring the vague pulse of disappointment, she focused on her food.
“Bennet darling, will you come too?” Mrs. Lane reached over to wipe the oatmeal from Jack’s cheeks.
The elder Mr. Lane scarcely glanced up from the Baltimore Patriot and Evening Advertiser before him. “Hmm? Oh, not today, my love. I have some correspondence to which I must respond, and I promised Philly I would read her latest treatise on vacuums.”
She grinned. “You have not read it yet? She has some very interesting addendums to Monsieur Pascal’s essays confirming Torricelli’s theory on why nature does not, in fact, abhor a vacuum.”
Mr. Lane grinned right back. “Well, don’t spoil it for me.”
Strange how the banter made that aching pulse intensify. Forget that she had no idea who Mr. Torricelli was or why nature might be offended by space devoid of air. The thud inside her was not from being outside of that, but rather from being outside of this. The comfort, the tease, the intimate knowing of another.
She selected a bite of egg with more care than it required. Who was left who knew her so well?
“I peeked into the drawing room at your easel yesterday, Gwyn.” Thad sliced off a bite of sausage, his eyes bright. “The Masquerade is coming along beautifully. Are you sure you do not want to work more on it today? Father could get clever with lanterns and mirrors and canopies to give you adequate illumination.”
The tension eased. A bit. “I thank you. But I am afraid there is no substitute for natural morning light.”
He speared the piece of sausage and lifted the fork straight up, motioning with it. “You have painted from dawn to dusk before.”
“I made do. But it was no substitute.” She reached for a smile, found one, and produced it. “That painting was for me, so if the light and shadows were a bit off, only I would care. This new one is for you to hang on these shamefully bare walls of yours, so it must be perfect.”
Something flickered through his eyes when she mentioned light and shadow, but it soon vanished behind his fresh grin. “I suppose so. Since you insist on foisting it upon me.”
“Will you come with us, Uncle Thad?”
He turned his smile on Jack. “Not today, my little mate, though I will also be out and about. I had a note that one of my partner ships made it through the blockade, which means I have business to attend.”
Business. Gwyneth sank her teeth into the biscuit and tried not to wonder if this business was goods smuggled to port or information.
Most likely both. The bread stuck in her throat. A sip of tea washed it down but did little to erase the feeling of it there.
Jack’s eyes went big and bright. “Can I come with you instead?”
Thad seemed to consider it, which she found surprising. What man wanted a child underfoot as he attended his business? But then he set down his fork with obvious contemplation. “I think it would be too dull for you, Jack.” At the pout of the boy’s lip, he added, “But perhaps you could go with Grandmama now, and then she could walk you down to me. That will give me some time to clear out the requisite legalities, and then we can explore the goods together.”
Jack bounced again and looked as though he would have leaped upon his chair and shouted for joy had a warning glance from Mrs. Lane not quelled him. “Thank you, Uncle Thad, thank you!”
Thad went back to his breakfast with a grin.
Gwyneth focused on hers as well, giving only half an ear to the renewed chatter of the little one and the answering laughter of the Lanes.
Having Jack around had no doubt been a balm when Thad lost his babe along with his wife. What a terrible blow that would have been. What, she wondered, had Peggy been like? She took a sip of her tea and tried to remember if she had seen a likeness of her anywhere. Certainly no portraits graced the walls. She had not noted any drawings that could have been of her. Nor so much as a silhouette like she and Mama had done for each other when they had only a lamp and paper for company.
And now that she gave it thought, she had never heard the Lanes speak of Peggy but for when Gwyneth had questioned Philly. ’Tis a topic still quite sore, she had said about the death of her sister-in-law and niece or nephew. A topic that was therefore avoided.