Blackheart and Mrs. Cromwell had been the only persons present, to act as witnesses, and the vicar of course. Not even the twins, who had been tucked up safely at the inn, were told. Their marriage would only have become known to their solicitors and families if it became absolutely necessary. Luke had promised Naomi a very public wedding, with all the fanfare she deserved, after he’d returned from the front and at the end of her mourning.
He chuckled softly. “Luke is a good man. I never could live up to that bastard.” That ghostly smiled hovered on his lips again. “He will be a good father to Amelia, a good husband to you.”
Naomi did not argue or deny any of it. She merely nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur rasped into the quiet. “For not being the man I pretended to be. You deserve better. You did all along. At least in my death, you will have that.”
“We were happy for a time.” She found it surprisingly easy to comfort him. Who could hold grievances against a person on their death bed?
“Tell him I’m sorry. I pretended it was my due. I pretended—” A fit of coughing took hold of him, cutting off his words. She immediately lifted the glass to his lips and trickled a few drops into his mouth. She’d done it dozens of times, but there was an almost ritualistic meaning this time.
When he settled back onto the pillow, eyes closed, Naomi thought perhaps he’d lost consciousness. His chest rose and fell, almost imperceptibly. But he was still here.
“I never meant…”
She jumped when he squeezed her hand as his voice broke the quiet again. “What?”
“I never meant for anyone to get hurt. Just needed the money… Needed something to send you… But I couldn’t stop them from burning…” He let out a soft wailing sound of despair.
Naomi froze. He was talking about the ambush. He had been the traitor. Luke had been right in his suspicions.
A lone tear squeezed out from one of his eyes and slowly trailed down the side of his face. “I deserve to go to hell. I deserve it, Mimi, but I’m afraid.” Torment highjacked his voice. He was dying. He was afraid. And he was utterly helpless.
“I forgive you.” It wasn’t her place to forgive him for the lives his actions had cost but, in this moment, she was simply a woman watching another human face eternity. “Luke forgives you.”
He shuddered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so…” He exhaled and fell still.
Naomi’s chin began trembling. He was gone.
It was over.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The event of Arthur’s very real death was acknowledged with an actual funeral. There was a body to be put into the ground. He would not be coming back this time.
A memorial headstone had been placed in the Tempest family cemetery that had already been etched with his name, and the date of his birth and his death last autumn. A replacement had been ordered. It was as though his family had been given a second chance to say their goodbyes.
As a rule, women didn’t normally attend funerals; It was considered unseemly and newly widowed ladies were considered to be too fragile to witness the lowering of their husband’s bodies into the ground.
But Naomi had attended this one. Even seeing the finality of him taking his last breath, she’d needed to see the ceremony of it. She’d watched his casket be lowered into the ground.
She’d sent word to Luke but doubted she would hear from him for weeks. Sometimes it could take months to reach loved ones who were deployed. And her worrying was not at an end.
The distance of war, the turmoil of battle, it changed people. She doubted anything could alter the content of Luke’s character, but she prepared herself for the possibility that things between them could change. Her seedling of hope had been deprived of water and sunshine and nutrients for months. As had his.
She’d spent nearly three quarters of a year living at Galewick Manor, and although she was grateful for all Arthur’s family had done, she wished for some separation. Arthur was gone. She wished to move on with her life.
She would not act in haste and Lady Tempest had grown quite fond of Amelia. There would always be some connection, as was only right. And yet, Naomi faced some important decisions.
Ironically, three days after Arthur’s funeral, she’d received two different letters, both of which presented great implications that could affect her future.
The first was a letter from her mother. A certain duke had spoken with Naomi’s father on her behalf before departing for his wedding holiday and had somehow convinced him that Naomi deserved his forgiveness. She was welcome to return home along with her child, whom all of them were quite impatient to become acquainted with.
She’d read through the letter twice. It was something she’d wanted for months and it only offered her a slight relief. Perhaps she was numb. From Arthur’s death and Luke’s absence.
The second one had been sent by the War Office, stating that Mr. Arthur Gilcrest had claimed all wages he’d been due, and since he had not, in fact, been killed in battle, there was no widow’s pension for her to claim. It was dated last April.
Naomi had taken the second letter to Lord Tempest, uncertain whether it was her responsibility to inform the War Office that Arthur had finally succumbed.
