The Redemption of Sir Edward Denham - A Return to Sanditon Novella

Twenty-One

As Edward slowly regained his strength, his confinement to chambers became an intolerable bore. Between Clara, Esther and his Aunt, he was fighting an uphill battle. Even when Dr Fuchs removed his stitches and proclaimed him free of any lingering fever, they continued to refuse his requests to leave his room, in favour of rest.

He had been shocked to his very toes when his Aunt had sailed into his chamber one week past and spoke of 'the importance of regaining one's health so that one may perform one's duty'. The batty old thing had even arrived with a fresh supply of asses milk to aid in his recovery. He was not so dicked in the nob that he didn't appreciate the irony of her ministrations. It seemed that the last five years had been forgotten – he wasn't yet sure if he could confidently say forgiven – but, once more into the fold, he was embraced.

Esther had visited him too. The encounter was not as uncomfortable as he had assumed it would be, largely because the years had taught him, and apparently Esther also, that the closeness they had shared in years gone by had been little more than a need to belong to someone, in a world that had all but abandoned them to their fates. He had apologised to her for all of the hurt he had caused and wished her happy. When she had left, he had realised that his feelings for Esther were entirely as they should be, those of a relation, and nothing more.

And of course, there was his little menace, Violet. Grinning at the thought of her exploits, he found that he enjoyed his daughter's frequent visits greatly. The little minx was want to ask the most inappropriate and confounding questions, and he had found himself lost for words on more than one occasion. She was a peculiar mix of Clara and himself and was wholly too confident and articulate for a girl just shy of six years old.

But the visits he anticipated above all others were from Clara herself. Although somewhere along the line, and certainly since her retirement from her life as a courtesan, Clara had belatedly learned the rules of decorum and was nothing if not perfectly, properly behaved in his company. He longed to ruffle her feathers just to catch a glimpse of her old spirit and passion. Instinct told him that she was still the same spitfire he had known before, but her search for acceptance and respectability were smothering those qualities and Edward mourned the loss of them.

Physically, she had changed little since their last encounter. Her hair was the same shade of sunshine, and her eyes were like pools of aquamarine, though there were shadows there too. Life had been unforgiving; he knew and regretted that in his idiocy and greed, he had failed to be there for her when she needed it most. How well she had coped with Violet and the lengths she had gone to, to secure her – their - daughters health and happiness, humbled him.

However, there was one thing that had not changed in all of the years that separated them, and that was how the woman affected him. When her hand grazed his, or she checked his forehead for signs of fever, his reaction was visceral. Only his lack of health and vitality had prevented him from testing the waters to see if the chemistry he felt was reciprocated. God, he hoped so. So, he ate his fortifying meals and drank his asses milk with a single-minded devotion to recovery. As soon as he was well enough, he would see if the old Denham charm had survived unscathed.

Clara had taken a rare moment for herself. Without the pressure to entertain or the need to deal with household tasks, she allowed her thoughts to linger on Edward. How thankful she had been when he had woken from his fever. When the stitches had been removed from his stomach wound without signs of further infection, she had actually shed tears of relief.

However, his recovery brought with it other concerns. About her future, about Violet's growing attachment to her long-absent father and most worrying of all, her own heart. Clara huffed a breath in exasperation. Time had changed nothing. Not for her, at least. The very first sight of Edward, unconscious and injured on that stretcher had caused her foolish heart to race even as it ached afresh at the thought of losing him once more.