I wokewith fewer aches than I deserved but more than I wished. My hip was home to a truly spectacular bruise, the result of landing on the pavement. My neck was home to a wholly inappropriate one, the result of one William Hart.
I could not bring myself to lament it, not when the brush of my fingers across the mark served as a reminder of citrus and sage and heated sapphire eyes.
I did not favor the fichu as a rule, and it took some time for Jane to locate one to cover the mark. It would certainly attract notice where I was going, but it could not be helped. While I broke my fast, I endured a lecture from Bouvier that was more severe than I wished but well warranted. Afterward, I set off into the morning sun.
For the first time in days, I did not have a bench to occupy. Instead, I made my way to Mama’s.
Presently, I occupied the home that had once been ours. After the late duke demanded I give up Rycliffe Place, I moved back in with her. For over a year, she and I lived together beforeshe left the house to me and moved into Monet Manor with our dear friend Marie.
There was something about young widowhood and the violent death of one’s husband that only my mother could understand. It was a peculiar bonding experience. Our relationship shifted irrevocably that day—the day I fell apart in her arms with Gabriel’s blood still staining my hands. That was the day we became equals in grief.
Though he had known me for nearly two decades, Marie’s butler was ever the professional. He directed me to the drawing room as though I were a lady he’d never met before. Mama found me a few moments later, midsip of my tea.
“Chérie, you look well.” She whispered after a warm embrace. My mother’s French never failed to cause a pang of guilt and longing for the country I barely knew and the language I hardly recognized.
“Merci, Mama. You as well. How is Marie?”
“She is lovely as always. She is still abed, but I’m certain she will join us soon.” Her dark eyes surveyed me. Perhaps it was my imagination that they caught on the mark through the gauzy fabric covering my neck. There was no way she could see it through the fabric, I was certain. But her gaze lingered in the space on my neck where the mark lay.
“Is there something you wish to tell me,chérie?”
“How do you always know?”
“You are here before midday. You’re wearing an ill-suited fichu. And I’ve loved you your entire life. It makes one observant.”
“I may have feelings. For a man.”
She studied me thoughtfully before answering. “And you are worried. About what, precisely?”
“Anything? Everything? I’ve entertained the thought, occasionally, over the years. I considered, perhaps, movingon, finding someone whose company I could enjoy. In wistful moments I’ve even considered the possibility of falling in love again. But…”
“Faced with the possibility you are terrified?” She always knew. How did she always know?
“Yes. I do not even know precisely why.”
“Ohma fille chérie… In losing Gabriel, you endured pain beyond words. To love someone the way you loved him, and to lose him—in such a sudden, violent manner as well. It is more than anyone should have to endure. But I know you. You are not capable of loving by half measures. To let someone in, truly in, you risk that pain again.”
I remembered little of the months after Gabriel passed. But I would never forget the agony of each breath. My chest fisted in an angry knot, each and every inhale feeling like death. Worst of all was the knowledge that I would have to make the effort all over again in mere seconds, endure the torment again and again and again.
Eventually the pain lessened, or perhaps I became accustomed to it. But the memory of it was still sharp and bright. And that was the essence of it. Because when I had been with Michael, we shared an amicable friendship alongside our arrangement. Feelings had never gone deeper than fondness and attraction. That would not be so with William.
From the start, every interaction between us had been the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I wanted to kiss William as often as I wanted to kill him. And he made no secret that he felt the same. Already, I could feel myself being swept away. I could fight the current and perhaps survive. Or I could give in and drown in him. And each was its own kind of terror.
I had not noticed the tears start to fall, not until my mother brushed them away one by one. “You are brave,ma chérie, toeven consider it. And I am so proud of how far you’ve come. No matter what you decide.”
“What about Gabriel?”
“If it had been you who passed and not Gabriel, what would you have wanted for him?”
“It is different. He had responsibilities.”
“Not so different. He would want you to be happy, certainly. Now, tell me about this man.”
“Mama!”
“What? He must be an interesting fellow.”
“He… He fascinates me. The way Gabriel did, but… different? Every time I learn something new about him, I like him more because of it.”
