Chapter Text
One.
The first day of Alexander Colbourne’s life is the day he holds Leonora in his arms for the first time.
She was impossibly small. She was so light in the crook of his arm. But her little face was scrunched with determination and her little fists bunched ready to fight.
There was nothing Alexander would not do for her. He knew that with a certainty he had never felt before. He may fail as the master of Heyrick Park, or fail as a husband, but he would not fail this little girl. He was finally tethered to the earth, after being thrown around at the mercy of the skies for so long.
Alexander tore his gaze away from Leonora and looked over at his wife. The labour had been long. Her sister, Amelia, had stayed with her while Alexander had tried not to drive himself mad pacing downstairs. Lucy was pale, her brow damp with sweat, her arms draped listlessly at her sides. She stared blankly out the window. She had not spoken since she had named her daughter and passed her to him. Alexander felt regret twist in his chest. The angry words that had been said these past few weeks still hung heavy in the air between them. The phantom of Captain Lennox stood in the room between them.
In that moment though, Alexander could not grasp onto the bitterness and hurt that had clung to him since coming to London. It all seemed insignificant compared to the miracle of red cheeks and wriggling legs that was tucked against his chest. He wished he could find the words to tell his wife that even if they could not forgive each other—she could not forgive him for not being the husband she wanted, he could not forgive her for betraying him—he would be here for them. Their little family. He would do everything he could.
Instead, he held Leonora out to her. “Would you like her back?” He asked quietly, not wanting to disturb her rest.
Lucy did not look away from the window. “No,” she croaked, “let Beth take her for a while. I’m tired.” She closed her eyes, but even that motion seemed like an effort.
“Alright, I hope you can get some sleep,” Alexander said softly. He tucked Leonora close to his chest and slowly moved out of the room. Amelia was waiting outside as he closed the door. They did not speak, but Amelia touched his shoulder and smiled down at Leonora.
“She’s beautiful,” Amelia sighed. Leonora screwed up her face and then let out a yawn. “She has our mother’s nose, and I bet those little curls are going to be golden just like ours.”
Amelia thankfully did not mention any other ways Leonora could have inherited her features. Leonora did not seem particularly interested in tracing her lineage anyway, having wrapped her tiny fist around Alexander’s thumb and gripping tightly. Alexander marveled at the concentration on her little face.
“Mama, can I see the baby?”
Augusta hovered at the end of the hallway. The hour was late, the young girl’s pink nightgown stood out in the gloom.
“Augusta, you should be in bed,” Amelia said crossly.
“Please,” the girl perched on her tiptoes, as if she could see into the bundle in her uncle’s arms from there.
“It’s alright,” Alexander said gently. Augusta grinned and rushed forward. He slowly squatted down and held Leonora out to the young girl. Augusta peered at her tiny cousin, appearing somewhat baffled.
“She’s quite odd looking,” Augusta said, quite matter-of-fact, after finishing her assessment of the baby. Amelia tutted, wrapping her arm around her daughter.
“Baby’s just look a bit different at first. You looked like that when you were born too, darling.”
Augusta did not look convinced, but she let her mother lead her back to her room. Alexander could hear them talking as they walked away about how Augusta could watch how Leonora would grow and change as she grew older, just as she had. He walked his little girl to the wet nurse’s room.
“You are very loved, little Leo.” He whispered to her before he opened the door. Here in this house, quiet despite the sprawling and rumbling city around them, here were people that would protect his little girl. Their little family.
Alexander could not have known then that in a few short weeks only he and Leonora would be leaving Markham house, leaving London and seeking refuge back in Heyrick Park. That Lucy, who had already faded so much from the woman he had first met at a glimmering ball here, would be gone. That it would all rest on him. To do everything he could to protect his little Leonora.
Two.
“Maybe we should take her out riding,” Leonora whispered conspiratorially from below his elbow.
Alexander had heard the girl creep into his study moments earlier so was not startled by her appearance. To her, this house was a maze to be explored; a code to be cracked. He did not want to dissuade her of this, lest the walls become the gates to the prison he knew Augusta saw it as.
“And why is that, Leonora,” he replied, not looking away from the page of calculations he was working on.
She tugged at his shirt sleeve, turning his attention away from the page and to her. Her crop of blonde hair was standing at all ends. There was a swipe of mud across her left cheek and a splash of it on the front of her worn dress. Thank goodness the most recent governess had quit days ago, Alexander thought to himself, or else she would have thrown a fit at the sight of Leonora. At least she was not wearing the soldier’s costume. Alexander could never swallow the bile in his throat that would rise whenever Leonora picked up the soldier costume. The misguided creation of a well-meaning maid, treasured by his young daughter.
“Because riding always makes you happy, Father. Maybe it will make Augusta happy too.” Leonora had that determined look on her face, blue eyes shining bright.
His sweet, kind-hearted girl. She had her mother’s tenderness. Alexander remembered how Lucy would always be trying to look after her older sister when he would stay at Markham house with them. Even in her final weeks, when her sadness hung heavy around her, she orientated to Amelia. A flower to the sun.
“Alright,” Alexander nodded, folding his papers away. “Let’s give it a try.”
He followed Leonora through the house to where Augusta was leaning against the windowsill, staring absently at a book that looked like its pages had not been turned for some time.
Alexander wished he knew how to save Augusta from this grief. The 16 year old girl he and Leonora found when they arrived in London for the funeral months before was a crackling thunderstorm of anger and resentment. She is tall and stony-faced and it is hard to catch a glimpse of the clever, curious girl Alexander had first met all those years ago. Augusta brought her clouds and fury to Heyrick Park with her, and with time they had only intensified.
He knows what isolation she must feel. How could he not? Again and again Alexander had shut himself away in this house. Barricaded himself with stacks of work and books and silence so he could not feel all the things that had been taken from him. His parents. His wife. While Augusta wrestled with her solitude, Alexander had let himself be consumed by it. Augusta misses the world; Alexander knows how much the world can hurt them. All he could do was hold onto what was in front of him. His work. Keeping this estate afloat, trying to make it work for his family and those who lived here. His daughter. His strange creature of a child, her eyes always fixed on the sky, arms raised about to take flight.
So he stands behind his little Leonora as she coaxes her cousin out to the stables. He picks her out the gentlest mare, knowing that she has had little time riding growing up in London. They set out into the hills of the estate. Leonora bounces around on her pony, calling out commands to an imaginary army. Augusta rolls her eyes and sulks, but Alexander hopes that at least getting outside and moving is doing her some measure of good.
He does not know how to help his little family. He wishes he could do more. Give them a home that is more than high ceilings and walls and empty spaces. The most he could do for now is to try and keep them safe here in the only land he had ever known. Maybe then they could feel at home here too.
Three.
Alexander tried most nights to look in on Leonora and, if she was not engrossed with the platoon of toy soldiers on her side table, read to her. Tonight, when he gently knocked and pushed the door open, he could see she had bet him to it. The book he had been reading from was propped open in front of her, her brow furrowed as she traced along the lines of text. The summer evening was long, the last of the sun still glowing along the lines of the curtains.
“Have you jumped ahead there, Leonora?” He jested, pulling up the chair by her bed. She only huffed in response.
“Miss Heywood helped me with my book today. I got through so many pages with her,” Leonora prodded the line she was reading. “It’s harder on my own,” she admitted, looking up at him.
Alexander felt a rush of gratitude—apparently a common feeling for him these days—for Miss Heywood. Yes, his girls had been difficult for her at first, and Augusta still had her moments, but she was doing so much good for them. Clearing his throat, Alexander swallowed back the sudden rush of emotion. He pulled his chair in closer, “well, I’m not as clever as Miss Heywood but let’s see what we can manage.”
Leonora nodded and turned the page with renewed determination. Alexander helped her sound her way through the words on the page. He tried to explain the more difficult phrases. She asked him about the sentences; what it meant for the characters they were following through the story. Some nights Alexander only read to her to get her to settle down—she was a restless thing—he did not realise that she appreciated the tales so much.
When Leonora started to rub her eyes and stifle some yawns, Alexander marked their page and closed the book. He placed it on the bedside table next to the miniature platoon, and then helped Leonora tuck in under the counterpane.
“Father, can we please visit the bookshop in town? Miss Heywood said there are lots of exciting things. Books with drawings of battles on the ocean! Some about adventures! And even some for children my age to read, even though they are probably all for boys. But I don’t mind things for boys,” she rambled through her little speech, only pausing when a yawn interrupted her words.
Alexander allowed a small smile, and straightened one of the askew toy soldiers next to him.
“How about I discuss it with Miss Heywood tomorrow,” he said softly, watching as Leonora’s eyes started to flutter shut. “I am certain she has some good ideas about books for you that she can help us with.”
Miss Heywood would know what to do, Alexander thought to himself. He felt the familiar warmth spread in his chest again. He had not expected this when he agreed to employ her. That he had found someone who listened to and cared for his girls. Someone who was in their corner. Someone who would help protect them, who would do anything for them.
“Promise?” Leonora managed, her voice groggy.
“I promise,” he said solemnly. “Good night, Leo.” He blew out the candle next to her and headed out of the room. He walked slowly back to his study, letting his mind wander to Miss Heywood. She would have much to say about books for Leo, he was sure of it. Heyrick Park’s library was stuffy and full of ageing novels and agricultural texts. A relic of his grandfather’s curmudgeonly ways. Hardly inspiring for a growing young lady. Alexander fought back a smile at the memory of the first time he had shown Miss Heywood the library. How her exasperation had snuck through her polite expression. She had held her tongue though, her no-doubt razor sharp comments kept to herself, not giving into his teasing and only making light observations. Oh, how he wanted to untangle her. To get another glimpse of that clever wit and formidable mind.
Alexander had always enjoyed his lessons as a child. Even though his tutors had been severe, Alexander had enjoyed the quiet of the classroom. The focus. Letting his mind spread out beyond the walls of the room and capture turns of history, difficult calculations, and the intricacies of Latin. Samuel had always been more clever than him, but that did not bother Alexander. Reading the great works and learning the spread of countries throughout the world had not been a competition or a way to prove himself to his father. It had been for him alone. Discovering new treasures he could keep for himself.
Now, Alexander found himself revealing those things he had found so precious as he grew up. He would catch Miss Heywood in moments between her lessons and reach out with them. Perhaps the girls should learn about Odysseus’ journey, read Keats, and maybe they could all go through the stack of atlases hidden up the top corner of the library. Things he had not thought about for some years now. Now that he was no longer trying to prescribe the perfect course for a refined young woman, Miss Heywood seemed to take on his suggestions. Alexander could see how deeply she cared, not just about what the girls were learning but what would be best for them.
Sometimes she would come past his study before she set out back to town for the evening, a volume of poetry or something written by Augusta tucked under her arm for him. In these fleeting snatches of time, he could set aside his letters and his accounts and sit with her in the dwindling sunlight. Suddenly children again, the two of them leafing through books and talking about epic journeys and courage and the great unknowns of the world.
Now, Alexander settled back down behind his desk alone. The gloom of night had set in, the candlelight cutting through the darkness of the room. Heyrick Park was always in need of mending in some measure, and the library most especially in need. Miss Heywood would know best. Alexander had come to trust her judgement absolutely.
Four.
Augusta is rightly furious with him after the Garden Party. She stomps around the house. Barely speaks a word at dinner. Scowls at him every time they pass each other the next morning.
Alexander feels much the same in all honesty. As much as going to the Garden Party had been about seeing Augusta was ready to step into society, he had also wanted to see if he was ready to rejoin society too.
The party had been a wash of colour; bright dresses and merry flower arrangements. The sunlight glinting off glasses and painting the lawn technicolour green. Faces that were familiar to him, but changed by the years he had been hidden away for. Lady Denham, Tom Parker, Reverend Hankins. All still here, but altered. And new faces, so many new faces. So it seemed Alexander’s protests all those years ago about Tom Parker and his foolhardy schemes for expansion of the town had fallen on deaf ears.
This Sanditon was foreign to him. Swirls of upstarts. Unknown families. Redcoats had blemished the shining crowds.
The sight of Miss Heywood across the lawn had steadied him. Like the pull of gravity, he and Augusta had gone to her side. He was so very grateful that she was there. Brilliant in blue. Putting Augusta’s nerves at ease. He felt like he could finally draw breath again now that she was there with them.
Alexander should have known that the respite would be fleeting, as it always was. The ghost that had haunted the corners of his mind was suddenly real before him after all these years. Lennox. Still so superior, so condescending. He looked just as he had the day Alexander had gone to confront him upon his return to London. That same smug expression dismissing him. Dismissing decency and honour. Both that day in London, and now so many years later here in Sanditon, Alexander had had to remind himself of the solid ground beneath his feet, contain his anger in the curl of his fists, hiss his breath through gritted teeth.
But he had lost grip of his control. Of his senses entirely.
He had shouted at her. Miss Heywood, who deserved none of his cruelty or his rage. How he hated himself for every harsh word he had spoken to her as he had tried to flee. Lennox had not changed in all that time. And perhaps Alexander was still that bitter and twisted man too after all of these years.
So he and Augusta are twin storm clouds circling the halls of Heyrick Park. Crackling. Ready to strike at any moment.
Leo runs around the dining room, her worn white shirt billowing around her. Her boots scraped on the floor. Alexander looks at her and tries not to see Lennox.
Now that he has seen the man again, Alexander cannot deny the resemblance. He looks at her bright blue eyes and sees the Colonel’s smirk. Her sweep of ash blonde hair. The way she charges around the room hollering war cries at the top of her lungs.
Alexander has to look away, remind himself that even though Leonora may be connected to that man by blood, there is nothing more. She is his daughter. He would do anything for her.
Alexander is desperate to talk to Miss Heywood about it. He cannot believe he raised his voice at her, tried to force his will upon hers.
After keeping it all locked up in his chest for years, Alexander had wanted to tell Miss Heywood everything.
Why he kept his distance from Augusta and Leonora. Why she could not trust that damned Colonel Lennox. How his skin crawls every time he would see Lennox stand anywhere close to her. Why he had to do everything he could to protect Leonora from the scorn of society.
Ever since the Garden Party he had wrestled with it. He had to catch himself from revealing it all to her. Swallow back little truths when they would walk the grounds with the girls in the morning. Grit his teeth to not lash out every time the Colonel was mentioned. This ugly, haunted side of him could not be seen. Miss Heywood would run from him, from the girls. And he could not take her from them.
Five.
The jolting of the carriage as they rounded the bends from town to Heyrick Park felt about the only thing keeping Alexander in his body at that moment. Panic ripped the breath from his lungs. Terror clamped tight around his chest. Bringing Miss Heywood back to the house with them was a foolish, impulsive decision.
He knew he owed her the truth. God, he really owed her so much more than that. He only wished he had more he could give her.
Alexander wished he had more than his regret and his bitterness and his rage. He had thought he had been angry when Colonel Lennox was just trying to get in Miss Heywood’s good graces. Once she told of how he had mistreated her, Alexander had felt white hot with fury. How dare that man speak to her like that. How could he impose himself on her like that. How dare he.
He tried to breathe through it all. Miss Heywood’s gaze had been steady on him the whole ride home. She did not shy away from him as they entered the house. She did not falter when they walked up the stairs together to the sitting room. She said she wanted to know him. She was much braver than he was.
And so, Alexander shows her the worst of himself. Lays bare the truth of it all. He chokes the words out. His failure. His wife’s betrayal. Lennox’s cruelty. How Alexander still could not keep their little family together and safe.
Somehow,—some sort of miracle—Miss Heywood does not scorn him. She does not condemn him or turn away. She looks at him with a kindness that almost undoes him.
Somehow, despite it all, she takes his hand in hers and speaks of forgiveness.
Miss Heywood’s touch electrifies.
She had removed her gloves earlier. They were set down on the table with her reticule. Her skin is soft. Her hold on him is gentle but steady. He is livewire under her.
This is not the same as the ritual of dancing with her, of holding her in his arms in front of a crowd of strangers. Here, they are alone. She is so beautiful and delicate in her gown. But Alexander knows that Miss Heywood is perhaps one the strongest people he has ever known. He feels it in the grip of her hand on his. Her touch willing him to forgive himself and look to what is ahead.
Miss Heywood takes his hand and for the first time Alexander can see the future.
It is shining in her eyes. It is in the softness of her skin on his. It is the compassion of her words.
Oh god, he hopes he is not misunderstanding her.
Miss Heywood does not move away when he leans in to kiss her. Their lips meet and the sparks race through him. She wants him too. The realisation startles him as much as the intoxicating feeling of her mouth on his. He pulls her in closer, relishing in the small moan she lets out against his mouth.
Her hand reaches up into his hair, dragging her fingers along his scalp. The motion thrills him. For so long, he had lived without affection. Alone in this house, shut away from the world. Perhaps he was the ghost haunting the halls.
Miss Heywood looked at him and saw him. She touched him and made him flesh and blood. She kissed him and he felt his scattered and bruised heart draw back together again.
Alexander reluctantly pulls away when he starts to feel too lightheaded, but he does not go far. She pressed her forehead against his and they sat like that, so close, for a moment. And then, to his own surprise, he starts to laugh. A breathy, shallow laugh, but it bubbles out of him without warning. She joins in with a giggle. A shy smile unspooling across her face. The sound is like bells in his ears.
A release of tension. Ghosts disappearing from the room.
He adores her. All the feelings he had tried to push down rushed to the surface. You, he thinks nonsensically, it is you that I have been looking for.
Miss Heywood leans back and beams at him. God, Alexander wants to touch her so badly. He lifts his hand cautiously and trails a finger lightly across her collarbone. Her breath is shaky. Goosebumps trail after his fingertips. Once he has finished tracing along her clavicle, he lifts his hand, but she catches it with her own. She raises it to her mouth and presses a kiss on his knuckles.
“Thank you for trusting me,” she says, her voice suddenly loud in the quiet hush of the sitting room.
After drawing his truths out, he could almost keep going. Lay his heart in her hands. It is yours. All yours. It has been for months. Give her all his fears. That he is failing as a guardian. That he does not know how to be a good husband. To fail her, with all her goodness and kindness and beauty, would be something he could never forgive himself for.
But the hour is late. She has already endured one unwanted proposal. She has already seen the worst of him. There would be time. They had tomorrow.
Alexander walks Miss Heywood back to the carriage, which he had kept waiting for her. It is torture not to touch her, but he cannot risk it in front of the staff. There is much to discuss between them, but they can be dealt with in time. For now, he has to content himself with helping her up into the carriage, and the look on her face as she bids him goodnight. Even in the darkness, he can see the dawn of tomorrow.
Six.
Alexander placed the candle down on the cabinet. He rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch out the soreness in his back. He settled back on the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. The moon was a sliver, its light barely touching the panes of the windows.
Miss Lambe’s party, despite the disruptions, had gone on late into the night. Alexander’s head rang with the noise of all the guests and the music and the fanfare. He knew if he closed his eyes he would still see light: the burning candles, the jewels, Miss Heywood’s face across the room.
His body ached with exhaustion.
He had kept long nights in Bath. The days were for Leo. Walking with her down the shore, exploring museums and bookstores and the bustling streets. He learned that his boisterous little girl had moments of stillness, of quiet. She could pick up a book and sit on the floor in the corner of a room for hours, engrossed in the illustrations and tracing the words. Perhaps she was not so different from him after all.
He gave his evenings to Augusta. Fought his discomfort and his fear and walked her around drawing rooms, across the floors of assembly halls, and to dinners with strangers. Augusta blossoms. She was always intelligent and sharp, but her character shines so brightly since Miss Heywood had helped her find her feet.
After they returned to their apartments from whichever occasion that night and the house was at rest, he would light the candle at his desk and attend to all the work left behind. There are always accounts to answer. Correspondence to address. Even if he was miles away from Heyrick Park, he would still carry it with him.
He never slept well. Not even as a boy.
He dreamt of her most nights. Miss Heywood. Sometimes just glimpses. Other times so vivid that he wakes up still feeling the warmth of her skin, the taste of her on his lips, her smile lifting him up. Sometimes he wakes unable to get the image of her tearful face out of his mind.
Alexander knew he would not find much rest tonight, but that she would be all he could see if he closed his eyes. Her face flickering in the candlelight. The striking tone of her dress against her flushed skin. The sadness in her countenance, so altered since the summer.
She was going to marry someone else. Alexander felt the sharp pain that had been running through his chest since he was introduced to her betrothed. Hope had hollowed him out. For just a moment, he had believed he had a chance to tell her everything he should have before she left. She had finally been in front of him, close enough to touch. He had reached for words. All the things he had wished he had said to her in the Parker’s drawing room all those months ago.
He had wanted to tell her that his heart was still battered and bruised. He wanted her to know that in these months she had spent with them at Heyrick Park he had begun to heal. He was falling in love with her and that had begun to transform him. Here, he had wanted to say, look at me. No longer the open wound of a man you knew last summer. Foolishly, he wanted to tell her all about how hard he and his little family had tried to be better because of her, for her. Even if she was never going to see it.
Alexander may not have been able to ask her to marry him in the Parkers’ drawing room that summer evening. Now he could try to tell her just how much she meant to him and everything, anything, he would do for her.
The words unspoken all weighed on him now. They pressed down on him and Alexander felt himself buckle. He was too late. She was going to marry someone else. And maybe all she would think of the summer she spent here running after a wild creature of a girl, cajoling a resentful young woman, and soothing a beast of a man would fade from her memory.
Alexander closed his eyes, but he knew sleep was far away.