“It will dry,” she told him. “Did you forget all this when you were brought back home later?”
He lifted his head, frowning.
“She had met Len a number of times,” he said, “when he came here to stay with me as a boy. But at that time he was not expecting to succeed his uncle to the earl’s title. He had it by the time I was brought home, though. She w-wanted it. I think I knew that, even though I did not know much of anything at all. And I knew she would get it if she c-could. I tried to warn him. I think I t-tried. And then she c-came to tell me she was ending our engagement and was going to m-marry him. And I tried to stop it—but all I could d-do was destroy the drawing room at Arnott House. I— He did not come. Len never came. George came instead and took me off to Penderris.”
Agnes moved her head so that her lips were almost touching his.
“Come back to bed,” she said. “Come and sleep.”
He had kept her up for what felt like half the night.
“Agnes,” he said, “were you waiting for me there? At Middlebury? Were you always waiting for me? And was I always waiting to meet you?”
She was smiling, he could see in the flickering light of the candle.
“All my life,” she said. “And all your life.”
“Does life happen that way?” he asked her.
“I think it does sometimes,” she said, “incredible as it sounds. And do you realize you have stopped stammering?”
“I h-have?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You must be freezing, Agnes. Let’s go back to bed.”
“Yes,” she said.
He glanced toward the empty bed as he led her to the door. Itwasempty. David was gone. He was at rest. They had said good-bye to each other, and David had smiled at him. He remembered now. His brother had sent Flavian away to save him, and he had given him his blessing.
“Live happily, Flave,” he had said. “Mourn a little for me if you will, and then let me go. I will be in good hands.”
23
It was Easter Sunday morning, and the sun shone from a clear blue sky. There was warmth in the air. The church bells pealed out the glad tidings of renewed life, and the inhabitants of the village of Candlebury stood about on the churchyard path greeting one another, wishing one another a happy Easter while their children darted about among the nearer gravestones as though they were a playground constructed specifically for their amusement.
The rector stood outside the church doors, smiling genially and shaking hands with his parishioners as they came out of the church, his vestments lifted by the slight breeze.
There was a heightened buzz of excitement this morning, even apart from the joy that Easter always brought. For Viscount Ponsonby—Mr. Flavian, that was—had come home at long last, apparently none the worse for his long and dreadful ordeal, but actually looking more handsome than ever. And he had brought abridewith him, and she was not that Miss Frome, who had abandoned him, poor gentleman, all those years ago at just the time he had most needed loved ones about him, and had gone off and married an earl.
Mr. Thompson would lose his wager with Mr. Radley, though he did not look particularly upset about it this morning. He had wagered that, now the countess was widowed and back living with her mama and papa at Farthings Hall, she would maneuver matters so that she would marry the viscount after all, and before summer was out too.
The new viscountess was not the sort of dazzling beauty Lord Ponsonby might have got for himself, handsome and rich as he was, not to mention the title. But everyone was glad of that fact. He had not chosen on looks alone. Not that the viscountess was not a beauty in her own way. She was nicely dressed and elegant, without being ostentatious about it and making all the rest of them feel rustic and shabby. She had a neat figure and a pleasant face, and she smiled a lot with what appeared to be genuine good humor. She looked them all directly in the eye as she smiled. She had done it when she went into the church on the viscount’s arm, and she had done it again when she came out. And she lingered on the path with her husband, exchanging a few words with some of their number.
Most of the conversations beyond the earshot of Lord and Lady Ponsonby centered upon them, as was only natural. The previous viscount had suffered ill health for years before his death, poor gentleman, and they had scarcely seen him. And this one had been gone since even before his brother’s demise. Now he was back, looking fit and healthy and handsome and... happy.
Any new bridegroom ought to look happy, of course, but it did not always happen, especially among the rich and titled, who married for all sorts of reasons, most of which had nothing to do with love or happiness.
The bride looked happy too.
And was it true that they had promised agarden partyfor everyone at some time during the summer? Yes, it most certainlywastrue. They had said so to Mrs. Turner, head of the altar committee, when she had called upon them two days ago, and Mrs. Turner had told Miss Hill in strictest confidence, and, well, they all knew what Miss Hill was like.
Agnes did her best to memorize a few names and faces and occupations. It would take a while, as she confessed candidly to some of the people to whom she was introduced. She begged the indulgence of a little time while she became acquainted with the neighborhood and everyone in it. Everyone seemed perfectly happy to grant her as much time as she needed.
It must be the weather, she thought, that made this setting seem so idyllic and these people so amiable. She had never felt such a sense of home as she felt here. And she had never felt so happy. She had done the right thing. Shehad.
Were you always waiting for me? And was I always waiting to meet you?he had asked a few nights ago.
All my life,she had replied.And all your life.
And, foolishly extravagant though the words sounded, they felt true. They surelyweretrue.
