But she knew.
He was safe. He was alive.
The two of them would wait.
Without Lucinda’s more boisterous company, Naomi’s friendship with Lydia strengthened. Of course, after their visit last December, Naomi knew the Cockfields were well aware of Naomi and Luke’s attachment. What she had not realized was that their knowing came without judgment.
Lydia brought books to share, fashion magazines, and she’d knitted the most beautiful blanket for Amelia. In private, Naomi referred to her as Amelia’s aunt.
Only in private.
It was over the course of one of Lydia’s visits, the second Tuesday of September, when everything truly turned.
“Mrs. Gilcrest.” One of the maids peered into the nursery where Naomi, Lydia, and Amelia were sprawled out on the floor. “Mr. Gilcrest is asking for you.”
Something in the servant’s tone darkened the mood of the cheerful little chamber immediately. Naomi met Lydia’s gaze. “I can send for Amelia’s nurse.” She wasn’t sure how long she would be unavailable to her daughter.
“No. I’ll stay with her.” Lydia’s eyes held the same compassion Naomi had seen so many times in her brother’s. “You go. Amelia and I shall keep one another entertained.”
The three of them had spent many an afternoon doing just that, and so Naomi knew Lydia had Amelia’s schedule and little habits memorized.
Naomi nodded and rose. “Thank you.”
It was unlike Arthur to ask for her. In fact, for the past week, he’d not had the strength to talk hardly at all.
She’d known he was fading away, had bid farewell to him as a husband long ago, and yet death was the final ending. When she arrived at his chamber, a nurse held the door open wide for her in invitation. “He’s been asking for you, Missus.”
Naomi crept inside slowly, quietly, but he must have sensed her presence for he turned and met her stare.
“You came.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“How are you feeling today?” Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps he merely wished for her to read to him or…
“It’s time.”
She could almost make out the shape of his skeleton beneath skin that held little elasticity or color. Dry lips twitched into a ghost of a sheepish grin. Eyes that had once sparkled with life stared back at her with the ultimate resignation.
“Shall I send for your mother?” It ought to be awkward, being alone with him. But today, he did not seem to be under any illusions as to the realities between them.
“No. I needed to speak with you first.”
Naomi hesitated only a moment before dropping into the chair she’d grown all too familiar with at the side of his bed. “Of course.”
She had never seen death occur before. She’d viewed her grandmother’s body when it had been laid out in the parlor of her mother’s home. And her father’s sister, as well. She swallowed hard and took one of Arthur’s hands in hers.
“I’ve wronged you.” His words hung in the air between them.
Naomi absorbed the statement. Was he asking for her forgiveness?
“It’s going to come out when the solicitors begin divvying up my worldly goods.”
Naomi shook her head. “I don’t want anything of yours?—”
“No.” He managed to hold her gaze. “Our marriage.”
Ah, this. “You never signed the certificate.” Even now, it was difficult not to be angry with him over this.
Wrinkles appeared in his forehead as he stared at her. “I was going to.”
