Ride with Me

“At least she put her education to use.”

Charlie halted. She snapped around to her husband. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Peter seemed to shrink into the chair. “Jesus, Charlie, don’t take it personally. I was only trying to make a joke.”

But the edge of his words had caught Charlie’s guilt and inched under her skin. She could almost hear Elizabeth’s unspoken accusation: You only married my son for his money. Your college degree was only a ruse to get your claws into the Hobart fortune.

She readjusted the clip in her hair and tried to push the ghost of her mother-in-law from her mind. “Besides,” she said, “I’m sure you know that Ellen is not the only reason I’m upset.”

“The divorce? Are you angry she mentioned that?”

Charlie let her hands go limp at her sides. She was too tired to quarrel with Peter, too tired and too defeated. Still, Charlie knew Peter would expect her to carry on as she always had—as though Elizabeth didn’

t bother her, belittle her, or make her feel undeserving. Peter would expect it because Charlie had let him believe it. It had been easier that way.

She returned to her seat on the sofa. Peter believed that Charlie had everything under control … much the same way his mother had. A strange thought passed through Charlie’s mind: Maybe Elizabeth, too, had put up a front. Maybe Elizabeth had been just as insecure, as weak, and as scared as Charlie. Maybe she had acted otherwise because she had been so damn afraid of losing everything she’d worked so hard to get.

Maybe Charlie wasn’t so different from Elizabeth, after all.

She felt Peter’s eyes on her now. She raised her head to meet his gaze. Suddenly, Charlie saw not the capable, grown man before her, but a little boy. A little boy who had just lost his mother, the woman who’d always kept everything well in hand; a little boy who needed a woman to tell him what to do next.

“What would you think about selling this place?” she asked. “About getting a place of our own?”

Peter laughed. “Charlie, this is our home now. Yours, mine, and Jenny’s. Besides, you heard the will. If we leave here, the money will go into the foundation.”

“You’ll make enough money as chairman.”

He winced and averted his eyes from Charlie. She watched his gaze slowly roam the room, past the fireplace, over the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, around the pedestal of the antique globe, then stopped at the huge cherry desk with the intricate brass drawer pulls and hand-tooled leather top.

“This was my father’s desk,” he said quietly.

Charlie was torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to groan.

“I can still see him sitting here. No matter how busy he was, he always had time to read to me. And to John.” He blinked and looked back at her. “I don’t want to leave here.”

Charlie had a sinking feeling of futility.

“I am almost forty years old, Charlie. I am almost forty years old and I have no parents. I feel like an orphan.”

She tried to quell her rising irritation. She was the one who should be upset now. She was the one who had been treated badly by Elizabeth. She, not Peter. “You have a family, Peter. You have me. And Jenny.” She twisted on the sofa and wondered why everything always seemed to come back to him. Why were his needs more important? Was he the only one who had a right to be happy—or sad? Charlie stared at her husband and wondered if all men were so self-centered.

“My family belongs here,” he continued. “This is the house I was born in.” Then Peter dropped his head. “Are you sorry you married me?”

She looked at the carpet, then back at Peter. The years in college flowed back to her mind, the years of eager anticipation, of hope, of early love. Then she thought of her mother, of her mother’s ongoing struggles. And Charlie remembered that life could have been worse.

“No, Peter,” she said quietly, “I’m not sorry I married you.” She rubbed the edge of the velvet sofa and noticed the cording was thin. Perhaps it was time to redecorate this room—no, this entire old tomb, now that the queen was dead. Perhaps she should continue to carry on as before, and hope that life would be easier with Elizabeth gone.

But then Charlie thought of Jenny, standing by the window, staring out. She thought of the responsibility she had to Jenny to give her the best life possible. “I’m not upset for myself so much,” Charlie said, “as for Jenny.”

“Mother never knew how much Jenny means to us. Especially after …” he cleared his throat as his words trailed off into nothingness. “At least she left her a Fabergé.”

“A token,” Charlie said, surprised at the sudden venom that spit from her voice.

“An item valued at a couple of hundred thousand dollars is hardly a ‘token.’ ”

Charlie laughed. “Come on, Peter. Your mother’s diamond and sapphire choker alone is worth more than any egg.” She rose again and paced to the window where Jenny had stood. She willed her control to return. “Besides,” she said as she waved her hand, “it isn’t about money, Peter. Elizabeth never accepted Jenny. Even in death.”

Peter walked up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sure Mother realized that Jenny will be my heir. Any money gleaned from the business will eventually go to her. As will the house.”