Chapter Text
“I am not sure that your father realized how much more convenient it would have been had we taken the carriage, Alexandra,” Augusta Markham whispered in her baby cousin’s ear. “While I am all in favor of his idea of greeting your mother and sister after school today, I think he underestimated that you would weigh more by the end of the journey than the beginning.”
“Your cousin does not weigh more, Augusta. You merely need to strengthen your arm muscles. Here, I will take her.”
Augusta paused on the cliff path, the afternoon breeze ruffling her white dress and the tendrils of hair around her ears. She carefully handed the baby to her father.
“Uncle, have you had a chance to read my new poem?”
“No, not yet, Augusta. I will.” Alexander blew out his cheeks and smiled at his three-month old daughter. The baby was still on the cusp of smiling in response to her parents, but her eyes stared at him in wonder.
“Uncle Samuel says that he knows of a publisher—”
“Augusta, it is difficult to be published even if Samuel does have a connection. I do not want you to raise your hopes to have them dashed.”
Augusta frowned. Despite everything, he still often voiced the negative first. “I know, but still, it is worth consideration. Uncle, please. You know I am not ready to marry, and I would so like to have something…anything that is mine. Aunt Charlotte has the school. Why may I not have a book of poetry to my name? She has asked if I would teach a poetry lesson for the class.”
“I do think that is a good idea.” Alexander adjusted the baby’s dress and glanced sideways at his niece. “If that is something you wish to do, then you should have that opportunity. I think the children would appreciate it. Perhaps you could take them outside the schoolroom. They could take in nature. There is so much to inspire…the sea, the woods, the town itself.”
Augusta touched her grey bonnet to keep it from blowing backwards and smiled. “I think you are a poet, Uncle. In your heart of hearts.”
She bit the tip of her tongue, turning on the path to walk backwards so that she faced him. “In fact, I think we should have a poetry competition! What do you think?”
Alexander grinned, shaking his head. “I think that goes against what poetry is, Augusta. It is NOT a competition. It is one’s personal feelings and emotions.”
Augusta laughed out loud, resulting in Alexandra quickly looking in her direction. “See, this is what I mean. You are a passionate man. Alexander Colbourne has passionate opinions! I know Aunt Charlotte will participate. And Uncle Samuel—you know his flair for the dramatic. Aunt Susan, of course. Leo will want to try, along with Tess Filkins. Those two are thick as thieves now. Oh, and Miss Hankins, and Arthur Parker. I can talk him into it, I know. I think even Mrs. Wheatley will put pen to paper. Oh, and then we can have a recital. An evening party the next time Uncle Samuel and Aunt Susan are here. Please?”
She was becoming so excited; she nearly clapped her hands.
It tore at Alexander’s heart. He only ever wanted her to be safe and happy. The times when Augusta was in an excited or contented mood were considered triumphs in the Colbourne household. The ups and downs of their relationship had flattened since his marriage to Charlotte, but they still had their days. Nothing as storm filled as the time when she had walked past him in contempt telling him that she was not his daughter. They had climbed their way out of that dark hollow with Charlotte’s help. After the situation with Edward Denham, Alexander had silently vowed to tell Augusta more often that she was loved, appreciated, and capable.
“We both know that your Aunt Charlotte will write a poem. Augusta, she would hand you the moon and stars if you asked.”
“And you would move heaven and earth to bottle all the constellations of the night sky if she so much as mentioned that she needed more light.” She flicked a look in his direction, her hazel eyes acknowledging what they all knew.
Alexander kissed Alexandra’s forehead. He didn’t answer. There was no need. Augusta and he knew that it was the truth.
“Ooh, I could write to Mr. Molyneux. He is such a wonderful orator. I am sure that he would draft a poem.”
As they approached the town gate, Alexander stopped to move Alexandra to his opposite hip. Augusta reached out to take the baby, but Alexander tipped his head letting her know that he could manage.
Augusta reached out to touch her cousin’s stockinged feet. “I love her tiny toes.”
“Enjoy their tininess while it lasts. Soon she will chase you and Leo to the stables and will run up and down every step in the house. She will dance through the drawing room and take over your swing.”
“You know, Uncle, that you will relish that day. And Alexandra and all my cousins may borrow my swing to their hearts’ content.”
“Borrow?” Alexander raised his eyebrows.
“Come now, you know it will always be my swing. Leo never had any interest in it.”
“You turned nineteen in September, Augusta. Please tell me that you no longer need your swing.”
“I cannot tell you for sure. Oh, perhaps I shall write a poem about the swing. I had many conversations with Aunt Charlotte by that swing. She always knew to find me there.”
Alexander turned his shoulder, looking over Alexandra’s head to take in his niece’s profile. It had been only yesterday that she had arrived at Heyrick Park, a disgruntled and grieving 16-year-old. How many hours had she spent under the tree, swinging or reading. Minutes and hours that he had lost due to his own stubbornness and reclusiveness. Hidden away in his study.
Never again.
He gently touched Alexandra’s cheek with the back of his index and middle finger. He would treasure so many more moments with this daughter and any more children he and Charlotte should have, not to mention the time that he already treasured with Augusta and Leonora.
“Perhaps I will write a poem after all, Augusta.”
She touched her bonnet ribbons, smiling to herself as much as to him. “And may we have a party? A recital?”
“If you receive enough responses, then yes, we may have a party. But, remember, I cannot be persuaded to—”
“To recite your poem out loud. Not under any circumstance.”
They both laughed. Loud enough that a passerby near Trafalgar House looked their way with a quizzical expression but still nodded in return and tipped his hat.
“Thank you, Uncle.”
“You are welcome, Augusta. Now, my little one,” he whispered in Alexandra’s ear, “I thought I’d give you a little surprise. We are going to meet Mama and your sister at school today. What do you think of that?”
His daughter’s blue eyes—a color inherited from both of her grandfathers—studied his face. She flailed her little hands, touching the buttons on his coat.
Belying her age, Augusta twirled around so that her dress skirt swished. She circled both of them, reaching out again to touch her cousin’s hand.
“Augusta, I will read the new poem this evening, and we will talk more about your writing and the possibility of having a book published. I promise.”
“So, you are saying that a young woman can be a writer? You agree with Aunt Charlotte?”
He and Augusta stopped in front of the schoolhouse with its wintergreen-colored doors. “Your Aunt Charlotte—"
Before he had time to finish his comment, the bell rang.
Charlotte opened the doors as her students, including Leo and Tess, poured out. She latched the doors and turned to smile, her face brightening at the sight of Alexander, Alexandra, and Augusta. Her face glowed with delight. Charlotte reached for her daughter, and Alexander slipped her book satchel from her shoulder and placed the satchel’s strap over his shoulder as she took the baby.
Augusta took Tess and Leo’s hands.
“Are you filling young girls’ heads with ideas again, Mrs. Colbourne?” Alexander asked.
Augusta twirled Tess under her arm as Charlotte had once turned her during dancing lessons in the drawing room.
“We are to have a poetry competition, Aunt Charlotte! Uncle has agreed, and he will even put his quill to paper. We are to have a party as well, when we shall recite our poems!”
“May I write a poem?” Tess asked Augusta, while looking at Charlotte for her reaction.
“You shall all write poems!” Alexander announced. “Leo, you may write about any subject you wish.”
“Yes!” Leo took off running with Tess on her heels. Augusta chased after them.
Charlotte kissed the crown of Alexandra’s head.
“And shall you recite your poem, Xander? In the drawing room for all of Sanditon to hear?”
Alexander grinned at her just as he had all those months ago at Lady Denham’s garden party. “Only if you will persuade me to do so.”
Charlotte gently bumped her shoulder against his arm. “Hmm…and do you think I will be able to persuade you? For Augusta’s sake?”
“I think we both know the answer to that question, Mrs. Colbourne.”
“Indeed we do, Mr. Colbourne; however, half the fun is figuring out just how I will persuade you.”
She bounced Alexandra on her hip and winked.
Alexander groaned.
“I think we should catch up with our girls, Charlotte.”
“If that’s even possible, Xander. I am afraid that they will always be one step ahead of us.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist. “That stands to reason. As remarkable young women, they will always be one step ahead, won’t they?”
Charlotte looked at Augusta, Leo, and Tess. She breathed in Alexandra’s scent.
“I hope so, Xander. I certainly hope so.”