Along with the letter was a note for five thousand pounds. It fluttered to the floor from fingers that had suddenly gone nerveless. She closed her eyes against an unwanted rush of longing and a flood of tears.
He had remembered the orphanage. He claimed to love her still. That he would always love her. A great, shuddering sob wracked her. And God help her, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe those words, in conjunction with everything Hazel had just told her.
How difficult it was to remain strong. To keep him at bay. But she knew she must.
She folded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope, but not before tracing her finger over the words he had written. Not before tears slid from her eyes, leaving hot trails down her cheeks. Pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs, she allowed herself to sink to the floor.
Allowed herself to mourn what had been, what could never be. Allowed herself to mourn the pieces of her heart the Duke of Winchelsea would always own. She clenched the envelope, and she wept for everything she had lost.
And when her tears at last dried, she rose again, placing the five thousand pound note back in the envelope alongside Felix’s letter. She had lost their wager, and she did not want his five thousand pounds. He had won the bet, through fair means or foul.
But she was going to keep the money, she decided. And she was going to send it all back to the orphanage in honor of two little girls who had stolen her heart as well.
Pearl and Verity.
Chapter Seventeen
There were nightswhen the crowd’s energy infused Johanna with zeal.
Tonight, her fifth night back as Miranda after her unexpected absence, was one of those nights.
Beneath the glow of the limelight, she was hot and uncomfortable in her costume, and yet she felt vibrant and alive. Thankfully, Mr. Saville’s theater employed electric lights rather than the hot and odorous gaslight so many theaters still used. She and the actor who played Prospero had the audience coming to life. The sound effects of thunder rolling and crashing waves had seemed heightened, and the stage had been a place of awe.
Perhaps it was everything she had endured in the last week that had changed her. Perhaps it was the magic of the evening and the crowd. Perhaps it was love, which had been so long absent from her life, that made the difference. Whatever the cause, when she made her way to her dressing room to change following her final scene, she knew she had just delivered one of the greatest performances of her life.
She also knew she would never stop loving Felix.
It had taken her some time to settle back into her routine.
The door to her dressing room clicked closed behind her, and it was as if time had not passed since the last day she had first shed her costume within its walls. And yet, everything had changed. She had changed.
It might have been a lifetime ago.
But she could not dwell upon that now. Did not dare. For if she lingered too long upon her thoughts, she would unravel faster than a ball of twine. And she could not afford to unravel now. She had come too far, had worked too hard. She was an actress by trade, and by God, she would continue carrying on, just as she always had.
Johanna set to work on the thick paints on her face, scrubbing them away with water and soap. There was a knock on her door, which she presumed to be Jenny coming to aid her with the tapes in the back of her costume.
“Enter,” she called out, dabbing at her face with a towel to dry it.
Her back was to the door, but the moment it opened, the very energy around her seemed to change. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. And she knew who it was before the beautiful sound of his baritone broke the silence.
“Johanna.”
It was as if something inside her cracked and broke open. She spun to face him, her heart pounding. Longing hit her with a blow forceful enough to steal her breath. He was handsome as ever, and elegant too, wearing dark evening clothes. There were dark smudges beneath his vibrant eyes, just as there had been on the last occasion she had seen him.
She wondered what kept him awake.
And then she wondered if it was the same thing that kept her awake.
The endless, aching longing for him. The love that would not seem to die, no matter how much she wished to squelch it.
She forced her emotions aside. Summoned up her strength. Her armor. “Your Grace,” she said, keeping her voice cold. “What are you doing here?”
He crossed the threshold of the small, windowless room and closed the door at his back. “I could not stay away.”
She wished he had, because now he was here. Four steps away. Her feet itched to move.
“You should have,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone.
