The tinkling of the piano ceased. For an overlong moment, the three of us remaining merely stared at the door. Then, nearly simultaneously, we turned toward each other, wearing matching looks of confusion. There was another wordless cry in the corridor, this one female, along with the clang of teacups on a tray. It was followed by the bang of someone throwing themselves against a door. Anna’s “Michael!” followed behind. The door slammed closed.
It was Mr. Grayson, with the best view of the window, who made the connection. His own wordless cry drew our attention to the sight of Michael, sprinting from the house toward the lake some two hundred feet away, Anna not far behind. He turned to sprint after Michael. Kate and I raced out as well, close on his heels.
In the time it took for the three of us to follow, Michael was already stumbling into the muck and mire at the bank. The distance was such that I could just barely make out another person in the water. Anna skittered to a stop just before the edge, calling his name all the while, but it was too late. Michael was already waist deep in the water and struggling to free his still boot-clad feet from the mud to swim toward the person.
I slipped in the wet of the bank, nearly toppling in myself before Kate caught me, righting me. Mr. Grayson was not so lucky; his feet slid from under him and he landed, bottom first, in the wet, soggy, filth. Finally, close enough to discern the shape. It was the viscount. His arms pulled him through the water easily, feet propelling him along. He was oblivious to the chaos behind him, unaware of Michael, flailing after him.
Over the rush in my ears, I heard Anna. “Michael! Stop! He’s not drowning, Michael! Come back!” Over and over.
Michael could not hear it. Not when he finally reached the viscount with his inelegant thrashing. Michael grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him close. In response, the viscount reared back, startled. He shoved back against his presumed attacker, inhaling the water and coughing. Michael was undeterred, yanking his brother’s struggling form back toward the shore, kicking with all his might.
Mr. Grayson waded farther into the sludge, reaching the two struggling men. He pulled the viscount free from Michael’s desperate grasp. The man heaved, coughing and cursing and coughing once more. Kate rushed from my side to help her husband upright. Anna and I reached Michael at the same time, grabbing a shoulder and hefting him to the bank with all our might. He took great gasping breaths before heaving himself farther onto the bank, ignoring our further attempts at assistance. Anna’s tear-filled reassurances, “He’s fine, Michael. He’s unhurt,” went unnoticed. Unheard over his attempts to crawl toward the viscount.
The viscount had abandoned the coughing entirely in favor of raspy cursing, “What the devil are you doing?”
Michael, seemingly unable to hear him in his terror, choked out, “Is he breathing? Is he breathing?” in between desperate gulps of air.
The viscount managed to shake off Kate and Mr. Grayson, dragging himself to standing.
“Michael! What the hell?”
Michael heaved himself upright, swaying slightly. Anna and I both rose to steady him, but he lurched forward toward his brother before either of us could reach him. He grasped the viscount in both hands, inspecting him frantically for injury.
“You’re alright? You’re unharmed?”
“Of course, I am unharmed. I was swimming. What are you doing? You nearly killed me!”
Michael, apparently unsatisfied with that, kept checking him over. The viscount’s complaints grew louder with every word.
Mr. Grayson interrupted from his seat in the filth, “Hugh, let it go.”
I glanced his way. The stricken expression was heartbreaking, perhaps, even more so than Michael’s frantic, unhearing inspection. Realization crashed over me, and I knew. The truth burned through me, filling in the missing pieces of the picture I had created of this man. Michael pulled his father from this very lake.
Kate tried to drag her husband from Michael’s grasp, before the viscount resorted to violence.
“Hugh, please.” Michael shook her off, ignoring her efforts.
Mr. Grayson finally managed to scramble to his feet, pulling his brother away.
Resolutely, I approached Michael from behind. It was probably a poor choice, approaching a man lost to the world with worry and long held grief, but I gripped his shoulder firmly. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, ready to spring into action.
I whispered, “Michael.”
That was all it took. The tension evaporated, as if it had never been there. He turned to me, clarity returning to his eyes slowly. His damp hands grasped my cheeks, my shoulders, my waist, my hips, performing his own inspection, confirming my safety.
He swallowed thickly, choking out nothing more than my name.
* * *
MICHAEL
Mrs. Hudson joined us with blanketsa few minutes after realization and humiliation crashed over me in equal measure, tutting as she ushered the lot of us inside to clean up. After tossing my wet clothing in a corner for some poor footman to sort out at a later date, and likely discard entirely, I dunked myself into the warm bath that had been filled for me. The heat from the water burned my still-cold extremities, and I didn’t linger. Tossing on whatever was nearby, I headed out toward my bridge, checking corridors to be sure I was alone.
Rounding the clearing, I was surprised, but somehow not, to find Juliet seated on the bridge, waiting for me. I paused, enjoying the view of her lazing in the sun’s rays, bare feet swinging over the edge, I knew it would be the last time. She would not wish to spend time with such an unstable individual after all. I had nearly killed Hugh in my attempt to “rescue” him. Time and reflection had made that clear.
Without turning her gaze to me, she said, “Michael, come join me.”
And I was powerless to do anything but obey. I hadn’t been lying when I told her there was little I wouldn’t do for her. Including coming closer, so she could break my heart more easily.
