Without allowing herself to decide whether her actions were right or wrong, reasoned or mad, she headed toward the castle.
Halfway up the drive, she paused, turning to face the sea. Churning water reflected a greyish hue that bled into low-hanging clouds. She rested there, and just as she had so many times before, she cast her worries into the arms of the deep.
She sent out into the sea wishes for Octavius’s eternal peace. Wishes for relief of the countess’s suffering. Wishes that the Stone family would find the strength and courage to face their future, whatever that may bring. And, finally, she made a solemn wish and promise to herself—if she were so lucky to survive the birth, she would love her child as much as she loved her child’s father.
With the roar of the waves in her ears, she experienced perfect peace.
Not peace as she had imagined it—placid, perfect and angelic—but a deeper peace. Peace that existed in the heart of turmoil. Peace that was the knowledge that life springs only from messy chaos.
Darkness always precedes light.
She returned to her climb, marveling at the unpredictable nature of chance. How could she have slept in the very castle that had occupied her thoughts and never even guessed? She’d even told Ashbey about the castle—why hadn’t he revealed the truth?
Her feet made crunching sounds against the gravel as the incline steepened. Then she turned the corner. From this expanse, she could see the whole castle—the tower in the back where she’d stayed, and the front, which had once been magnificent. Even the shell was ornate enough to steal her breath.
What a terrible loss.
Coming back must have been painful for Ashbey, and yet, from the start, he’d wanted her here.I want you in my bed.She placed her hand over her belly and blinked away the tears.
This had been a place of beauty, even through the horror. There was beauty still in the ruin. And maybe...
She wanted to trust the light. Wanted to trust with all her heart.
She remained in place as the clouds parted, and the sun shined down into the roofless rooms.
Restlessly, Ashbey headed for the stables. When he’d promised to trust Cheverley, he hadn’t considered just how wrong inaction would feel.
He should be down at the Baker’s house, on his knees, begging his wife to return.
Well, on a fine point, she was not yet his wife, but she would be.
He hoped.
The signed license sat snug in his pocket. The bishop had not been happy. But any misgivings not dispelled by Ash’s professed devotion had been assuaged by Ash’s generous donation.
Still, he could not marry a woman if she did not agree.
He’d done nothing to convince her to remain by his side—nothing to prove he could become a worthy husband. A worthy father.
He turned on his heel and shielded his eyes. A mist fell, but even so, the morning sun brightened all. And, in the middle of the tableau, was a lone female figure on the path.Alicia.
It couldn’t be Alicia.
But it was.
“Alicia!” he called as he ran, her name broken by his labored breathing. “Alicia!”
“Ash?” She looked confused. Maybe frightened.
He forced himself to stop.
“Please,” he held an arm against the cramp in his side, and continued to run. “Please don’t go.”
“Go?”
He grasped her by the shoulders. She was real! “You have no idea how much I’ve missed...” He choked on the final word.
Alicia was caught up against Ash’s body.
