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They walked down the stairs into the bright French sunshine. When he’d notified Beatrice he’d be staying at the chateau, she’d immediately hired over a dozen people from her village to trim the grass, tidy the gardens and clean the house from top to bottom. It hadn’t been an insurmountable task. Belen had hired Beatrice to keep the house and grounds maintained when Elizabeth had passed, as if she might suddenly reappear and walk back through the gates. At the time, Griffith had thought it unhealthy at best, a downright obsession at worst. But when he’d driven up twenty-four hours later, he’d been grateful for the cleanliness, the care and attention that had created a peaceful haven. His only thought had been to have nothing to do besides prepare for his return to Lykaois Shipping and savor the silence.
But now, as he and Rosalind walked down the drive, surrounded by velvety green grass, manicured bushes and lush flowerbeds, he was glad she saw the chateau at its finest. As they walked, the tightness eased from her jaw and her usual sunny demeanor returned.
He’d heard enough of the conversation to guess what had happened. And it was his fault. His fault for not being able to sign a damned piece of paper. Before Rosalind had arrived, he’d seen that contract as the last thing standing between him and finally having to accept that his father was truly gone.
He hadn’t realized it was affecting more than just him. Not just affecting, he corrected, potentially ruining her career.
Resignation dragged down his own mood. He would have to have another conversation with Rosalind. A proper conversation about what his options were. Before she left, one way or another, he would have to sign.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. With a slight smile playing about her lips and her bright eyes looking skyward, it gave him a chance to watch, to savor the sight of her happy and content.
When was the last time he had felt happy and content? Had he ever?
He heard her sigh when they walked past the entrance to the lane of oaks, suppressed one of his own when they saw nothing but the felled tree blocking the bridge.
One more day. Just one more day.
Their walk took them through the empty fence posts that his mother had one day envisioned as the beginning of a vineyard, through an apple orchard with trees already laden with growing fruit.
They ended up back on the cliff tops, staring out together over the ocean. He glanced down, noticed a smooth, round rock the color of snow.
“Here.”
She smiled as if he’d given her all the jewels in the world. “It’s beautiful. Limestone?”
“Yes. Same as the cliffs. Although I don’t normally find one so smooth.”
She slipped it into her pocket as she stared out over the sea. “It’s odd to think that on the other side of this ocean is where I grew up.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes.” She sighed. “Living in London, though, is a dream come true. My mother loved my father, loved being a mom. But she told me that she wished she would have traveled more, especially in college. Seen more of the world before settling down.”
He heard the wistfulness in her voice, sensed the want coursing beneath the surface.
“That’s something you wanted, too.”
“Yes. It’s why when my parents encouraged me to go to college somewhere else and pursue an internship abroad, I didn’t question it too much.”
“Why not travel more?”
“I should. I just never have the time.” She breathed out. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve put myself into this box. A really tiny box that grows tighter every year. Like I’m giving up on some things I shouldn’t.”
“Why keep doing it, then?”
“Partly because of ego. When people learn I work for that Nettleton & Thompson, or when I hear my father bragging about me or think about how excited my mother was...” Her voice trailed off. “It’s hard to let go of having a parent be proud of you. I worry about disappointing them.”
An image of his father flashed in his mind, that last look of defeat on his face moments before the crash. The more he thought about that last look, about how different things could have been if he would have let his walls down, just once, the deeper his regret grew.
“I understand that.”
She started, looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t be. Just because I pushed my father away doesn’t mean I didn’t want his approval.” He followed the path of a seagull as it arched up into the sky, then dove down out of sight beyond the cliffs. “I just told myself I didn’t want it.”
“I tell myself the same thing sometimes.” She leaned her head against his shoulder in a natural gesture that touched him. “I like looking at the bright side of life. But sometimes I think I focus so much on finding the good in a bad situation that I don’t realize it’s just a bad situation. One I need to get out of.”
They stood there, watching the white-capped waves rise and fall in the distance, each ruminating on their own circumstances.
