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Yes, she had indeed, and with a heavier heart than when she’d left.

Mrs. Clare’s chatelaine tinkled at the waist of her black gown. She was a tiny woman with a formidable sense of both loyalty and patience, two qualities that rendered her an outstanding and beloved member of the household. Her snowy-white hair was adorned by her customary lace cap, her blue eyes cheerful behind her wire-rimmed spectacles.

“I have,” Ophelia said, smiling to chase the sadness, “and it is good to be home.”

Because home meant her children and her dogs, her own bed, and a return to normalcy. It meant flowers in her favorite vase, the writing desk she adored, letters from her sister, and her collection of books. It meant no more playing the hostess at a house party filled with debauchery. No more hiding who she truly was. She could simply be.

But it also meant no more Apollo, and her poor heart felt bruised and raw in her chest at the mere thought. The absence of him loomed, like a wound that would never heal. He hadn’t even lingered at the house party long enough to say goodbye. He had been gone before breakfast.

In need of comfort, Ophelia sank down, and Bitsy bounded to her, licking her chin. Henry stopped to take a bite of Mrs. Clare’s hems on his way, tugging and growling as he scrambled backward, attempting to rip off a strip.

“Not my skirts, scamp,” Mrs. Clare chastised the overzealous pup, giving her gown a vigorous shake that snapped it out of Henry’s jaws.

The pup gave up on eating the housekeeper’s gown and rushed toward Ophelia instead, launching himself into her bodice. She caught the furry imp in her arms and held him to her, laughing as he licked her face and throat as if it had been years since he’d last seen her instead of only one week. His boundless enthusiasm made him difficult to hold.

The distraction was welcome. It was good to keep her mind from thoughts of Apollo.

“Has little Henry been terrorizing the household in my absence, Mrs. Clare?” she asked.

Henry promptly took advantage of Ophelia’s open mouth and licked her teeth. She coughed discreetly and gave Henry a discouraging look.

“That was quite rude of you, sir,” she informed him.

“He’s not been a perfect gentleman,” Mrs. Clare allowed. “But he does keep the household entertained with his antics. If he’s not trying to eat someone’s clothing, then he’s running off with shoes or scraps from the kitchens or hiding himself under beds. We had him lost for two hours a few days ago because he decided to nap under the Grecian sofa in the library.”

That sounded like Henry. He was a troublemaker, but he was also adorable and quite endearing, which naturally made all his naughtiness somehow endurable.

“You are an angel among us for your understanding,” she told the housekeeper. “And of course, there is the matter of your management of the household. Truly, I would be lost without you. We all would.”

Henry licked Ophelia’s mouth again, then proceeded to bestow wet kisses on her chin and cheek.

“I can’t claim to be an angel, Lady Corbett, but I do try my best,” Mrs. Clare said, the pink in her cheeks suggesting she was far more pleased by Ophelia’s praise than her words implied.

“I thank you for it.” She gave the housekeeper a fond smile as she rose, leaving Henry and Bitsy to excitedly circle her skirts, hoping for more attention. “I should carry on to the nursery now. Would you mind distracting these two with some m-e-a-t in the kitchens?”

She spelled out the word to keep the pair at her feet from going wild, thinking she was the one who would give them their treat.

“Of course, my lady.” To the dogs, Mrs. Clare issued a stern, “Come with me, you two. We’ll see if Cook has any meat waiting for you.”

At the mentioning of meat, both dogs instantly trotted over to the housekeeper, who had clearly been making use of the bribe in Ophelia’s absence. With a smile, she watched the young pup and his mother following Mrs. Clare’s black skirts as they rushed to the kitchens. Then she went to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time in her haste to see her children again at last.

She didn’t even bother to waste time with niceties. When she reached the nursery, she simply threw open the door, eager to see her children and hold them in her arms.

“Reggie, Catherine, Mama is home,” she called.

“Mama!” Catherine came racing toward her, red curls bouncing in her exuberance, arms outstretched. “You’re home!”

Ophelia’s heart instantly lightened, emotion stirring in her that was so strong, tears pricked her eyes. How she had missed her children. She bent down, opening her arms to her daughter. Catherine threw herself into Ophelia with so much force, Ophelia nearly went toppling backward. But she didn’t care. It had been too long since she had last felt her daughter’s arms locked around her neck. She embraced Catherine, holding her tightly as she pressed a kiss to her forehead and cheek—anywhere she could reach.

“Lady Catherine, please remember that you must walk always and that ladies do not run,” cautioned Alice the nursemaid as she approached.

There was no sting in the other woman’s voice, only a hint of the long suffering. No doubt Catherine and Reggie had run the poor dear woman quite ragged in Ophelia’s absence.

They were spirited children, and although the loss of their father a year ago had been difficult for them, they were resilient. Their true natures had slowly emerged, like a butterfly from its chrysalis.

“I’m sorry, Alice,” Catherine chirped, peppering Ophelia’s cheek with enthusiastic—and wet—kisses. “Mama, I missed you so, so much!”

“I missed you too, sweet one.” She held her daughter tightly, relishing the familiar weight of her small body. “Where is Reggie?”