“Sit with me,” she said, indicating a place at her side with her hand.
With a great, heaving sigh, I did.
We sat in silence for several moments. Her basking in the sun, me basking in her. Eventually, far too soon, she pushed herself to be seated, turning to meet my gaze. Whatever she found there, she had no comment for it. Instead, she gripped my shoulder, pulling me to turn and lay my head on her lap.
I blinked up at her, in stunned silence, for some time before the feeling of her fingers running through my hair registered. Her expression was unreadable as she peered down at me. The combination of the sun’s warmth and her fingers was too much for me, and I allowed my eyes to fall closed. It could have been minutes, hours, days before she spoke.
“You pulled him from the lake?”
I swallowed hard, nodding. Her delicate fingers never ceased carding through my hair.
“I still send a servant into my stepmother’s chambers if I need anything. I cannot go in.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That is not what I meant. I just… I understand.”
“I know. I feel quite foolish. Hugh may never forgive me.”
“Does he know?”
“I don’t know what Agatha told him. I wasn’t forthcoming with the details, and we never discussed it.”
Her gentle hand never ceased its efforts.
“He… it was on purpose.”
That stilled her. Just for a second.
“It was February. He couldn’t swim. His suit coat was filled with rocks. Big, not small.”
I heard a quiet intake of breath. Now that I had begun, I could no more stop my confession than I could stop the sun from setting.
“There were debts, massive debts. We were months, perhaps days, away from losing everything.”
Her trailing fingers ceased now, and she cupped my cheek in her hand. I opened my eyes, waiting for her response. All I received was a thick, warm, “Michael.” In her gaze I could read everything she left unsaid—her hurt, her desire to comfort, something akin to love perhaps. I was surely mistaken on the last, but I clung to it nonetheless.
I continued, unbidden. “That was how the gambling started. I was always good, of course, but Augie took me to Temple Bar, to the gaming hells one night. I returned with enough to pay off Agatha’s modiste bill. It spiraled from there. It took years, but I made enough to clear the debts. I moved up to the silver hells in Piccadilly, playing against the gentry. Over a few more years, I acquired a nice savings, enough for the estate to comfortably live on for years. I made improvements to the tenant cottages, upgraded the irrigation systems, set up everything for Hugh. Then the idea of Wayland’s took hold. By the time Hugh reached his majority, I had enough to open the place. He didn’t approve, of course, but it was the first thing, the only thing, that has always been mine.”
All I could see was sky and Juliet. Her eyes were brighter, more brilliant than the blue of the sky. They were slightly glassy, with unshed tears. Her skin was a delicate peach color, flushed with some kind of emotion. Her tongue darted between her lips, wetting them.
“And your bridge, mustn’t forget that. Thank you for sharing it with me. And thank you for telling me.”
I just nodded, closing my eyes once more. At some point, I fell asleep, lulled there by the gentle combing of her fingers and whispers of her breath.
Nineteen
THORNTON HALL, KENT - JUNE 3, 1814
JULIET
That afternoon shatteredany barrier to intimacy. Touch between us was more common, more free than ever. Michael—Mr. Wayland—and I continued to delve intoMansfield Park. As a voracious reader, I typically finished novels at a rapid pace. His dark voice and eloquent reading style more than compensated for the slower pace.
Some days, we spent the entire morning reading on the bridge. On other days, when the sun became too warm, we moved to the shade of the nearby dogwood, now dropping its petals at a brisk pace. I took to plucking raspberries from the bushes for us to enjoy. They were still just short of ripe, but the sour bite was addicting. Forget-me-nots and cornflowers surrounded the base of the tree perfuming the air. This little hideaway was quickly becoming my favorite place in the world.
Day by day, I felt my tension easing. It had been a part of me for so long that I noticed more the absence of it than its presence. I brought embroidery and small stitching projects with me. I studiously refused to consider the implications. That I was spending several unchaperoned hours each day working diligently on my trousseau in the presence of a man other than my fiancé.
Michael and I established a rapport. I had been given leave to make frequent interjections and he did the same. “‘Her curiosity was all awake, and she ran through it with an eagerness which was suspended only by intervals of astonishment, that it could be chosen in the present instance, that it could be proposed and accepted in a private theater!’”
