“I need to talk to you,” she said, and he thought, This night will never end, and followed her into the hall.
Andie leaned against Alice’s bed after North had gone, trying to be practical and failing miserably. She’d pretty much wanted him back the minute he’d come through the door, and then he’d turfed everybody out of the nursery for her, and brought Alice a rabbit, and told her he wasn’t leaving until they went home with him, and if she hadn’t been so tired, she’d have jumped him in the nursery except that was out of the question. Although, when she thought about it, jumping him for one night might be a good idea. Well, no it wasn’t, but it felt like a great idea, to have his arms around her again, to let him make her crazy and forget everything for a while. What could it hurt? He was sleeping in her old bedroom next to the nursery, Isolde said that ghosts didn’t like fire, she’d be right there if Alice needed her.
And God knew she needed him.
Bad idea, she thought, bad, bad idea.
But ten minutes of hot memories later, when the nursery door opened again, Andie looked up smiling, thinking, Maybe, and got Lydia instead.
“You’re an idiot,” Lydia said, and sat down in the rocking chair.
Wonderful, Andie thought, her hot thoughts evaporating. “Is that just a general observation, or do you have a direction you’re going with it?”
“You left my son.”
“Ten years ago,” Andie said, incredulous. “We’re over it. And you were thrilled. You probably did a dance when I left.” She looked at Lydia doubtfully. “The minuet or something.”
“He was happy with you,” Lydia said, looking at her accusingly. “That year with you, he laughed.”
“Well, I’m a funny gal,” Andie said, wishing she would leave.
“You’re correct, you were not what I wanted for him.” Lydia lifted her chin. “I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
Andie blinked. “For what? You didn’t wreck my marriage. I mean, I knew you didn’t like me, but you didn’t tell North to divorce me. Did you?”
“Of course not. That would have been completely inappropriate.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.” Lydia was a bitch, but she played fair.
“He wouldn’t have listened anyway,” Lydia said.
Andie tried again, on the theory that if she forgave Lydia for her nonexistent sins, she’d leave, and Andie could go back to having hot thoughts about the man she wasn’t going back to. “Look, North and I had problems we couldn’t resolve. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I should have helped you. I should have brought you into our world, showed you how-”
“Lydia, I didn’t want your world. I just wanted to love North. Then Uncle Merrill died, and all North cared about was the firm, and I couldn’t stand it, and I left. I could stay with North and make us both miserable, or I could leave so he could find a woman who was crazy about his career. I was the wrong wife for him.”
“That’s what I thought,” Lydia said. “But I was wrong. I should have been a better mother-in-law. I was delinquent in my responsibility to you.”
“Lydia, I appreciate what you’re saying, but you can stop. It’s over, it’s been over for ten years.”
Lydia clamped her lips together in exasperation. “You know, Andromeda, for such an emotional woman, you are not very sensitive. It’s clearly not over. My son left a major litigation to come to southern Ohio for you.”
“Not for me,” Andie said automatically, and Lydia closed her eyes, impatience plain on her face. “Well, it wasn’t for me. You and Southie are here, there’s a journalist on the loose, and we have two children-” She broke off. “He has two children he’s responsible for.”
“It’s not over for him and it’s not over for you, either, I can hear it in your voice when you talk about him.” She was quiet for a moment. “I never doubted you loved him, you know. Anybody could see that you did.”
“Of course I did,” Andie said. “I married him.”
“After knowing him less than a day,” Lydia snapped. “The two of you were insane.”
“Well, we got over it.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Lydia said, glaring at her. “You didn’t, neither one of you. You have another chance here.”
“I’m engaged,” Andie lied, hoping that would get her out of the room.
“Oh, please,” Lydia said.
“Why doesn’t anybody take that seriously?”
“Because everybody has eyes. Listen to me.” Lydia leaned forward in the rocking chair, staring into Andie’s face, deadly serious. “You hurt my son terribly. He’s never gotten over it. I’d want you dead for that except that you’ve never gotten over it, either. And now you’ve both changed, you’re older, you could make it work this time. But if you’re going back to him, you have to stay.”
“I’m not going back,” Andie said, trying not to be caught by the thought of doing it again, better this time. “And I did not hurt North. I don’t think he noticed I left.”
“You’re an idiot,” Lydia said, and then took a deep breath. “Look, you’re very protective of that little girl.” She nodded toward the sleeping Alice. “But girls are strong. We’re built to withstand anything. Boys are the vulnerable ones. Alice will make it, she’s got Archer steel in her spine. But Carter’s bleeding inside, just the way North was bleeding when you left, and you can’t see it. You don’t look.”
Andie took a breath to say that Carter was fine, and Lydia cut her off.
“I raised two boys. They feel everything and have no way to express it. They die inside, and if you’re a mother, you die, too.”
“Lydia-”
“If you find out what’s wrong with Carter and fix it, if you bring these children to Columbus, you’ll have the full force of the Archer family behind you.”
“Okay,” Andie said, taken aback.
“But you break my son’s heart again, I’ll rip out your liver and fry it for breakfast.” Lydia stood up, looking down at Andie. “Don’t blow it this time, Andromeda,” she said, and swept from the room.
“Hey, I didn’t blow it the last time,” Andie said, but she was gone, and Andie was left alone in the firelight, Alice asleep behind her, Carter down in his room in terrible trouble if Lydia was right, and North downstairs as desirable as ever except that his mother was going to tear her liver out if she went for a one-night stand.
“Jesus,” Andie said, and went back to thinking about the ghosts.
It was simpler.
“It’s about my daughter,” Flo said when North was alone with her in the Great Hall.
“She’s doing a wonderful job with the children,” North said politely.
Flo narrowed her eyes, so tense that every gray curl on her head bounced. “I know what you’re up to, you bastard. You’re trying to get her back. Or at least into bed.”
Flo was crazy, North remembered, but she wasn’t stupid.
“Don’t even try it,” Flo said. “I ran the cards. You’re the Emperor.”
“No I’m not,” North said, confused. “I’m the King of Coins.”
Flo stopped, evidently equally confused. “What?”
“Andie brought me to your house and told you we’d gotten married and you ran the cards,” North said, remembering it like it was yesterday. It’d been his first clue that life with Andie was going to be seriously different.
“Oh. Yes, I did. Well, that was ten years ago.”
“You told me it was forever, and that Andie I were doomed because she was the Moon. Or something.”
“The Star,” Flo said. “And I was right, wasn’t I? It didn’t last.”
“You weren’t right if I’m an Emperor now,” North said. “Maybe you’d better run the cards again. Come back in the sitting room and I’ll get you a drink-”
“Well, if you’re not the Emperor, who is?” Flo said.
North started to say something soothing, and then thought, Why am I patronizing this woman? “Flo, I don’t believe in the tarot.”
“I know you don’t,” she said, frowning as she thought.
“Then why are you asking me about some Emperor?”