Of course she does. I ruin things; she fixes them. She is exactly the sort of woman James ought to have married, and he finally recognizes it.
The gleam of hope in James’s eyes was more than Evie could bear.
“I’ll leave you to her,” she said.
She fled before the tears could fall.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Evie slipped out of the manor as the sun was dipping toward the horizon. It was the first opportunity she’d had to leave without anyone noticing. Xenia, Gigi, and Mama had taken turns checking on her, and their concern added to her guilt: after the wreckage she’d made of James’s life, she didn’t deserve such care.
“This is the blackmailer’s fault, not yours, Evie,” Mama had insisted. “Once the dust settles, we shall put our heads together and come up with a solution.”
The solution was simple. If Evie disappeared from James’s life, his troubles would be over. The scandal was hers—and she would take it with her. Then he would be free to pursue his dreams…with whomever he chose. Maybe he would even forgive her one day and not look back at their time together with anger and contempt. Evie’s mama had sacrificed everything to protect her, and she would not allow James to do the same.
She’d gathered a few essentials in her valise and donned her cloak. Harkness had left, so she would travel alone. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to leave. She had a vague plan to catch a coach to the nearest railway station, but as she walked in the crisp spring air, she felt a yearning to see the woods one last time. Her feet took her there, and when she entered the forest with its mossy carpet and budding canopy, the knot in her soul unraveled. Pain poured out, hot and liquid, down her cheeks.
She didn’t know how long she wandered. As the shadows deepened to a violet dusk, she found herself at the hermit’s grotto. Entering the little hollow, she felt a tremor in the ground as if the earth had sighed. It felt natural to set down her valise and sit in the alcove, letting the bench take the weight of her woes. She rested her head against the stone and gazed at the spiraling shells until her eyelids fluttered.
“Why are you here?” a familiar voice asked.
Opening her eyes, Evie saw that she was no longer alone in the dark.
“Rose?” she whispered.
The beautiful woman nodded, her hair rippling like a dark river over her shoulders. She was dressed in white, like an angel, but her eyes glowed with earthly secrets.
“Tell me why you are here,” Rose repeated. “When your heart is elsewhere.”
“Because I must be alone.” Evie’s voice cracked. “Because I committed the gravest of sins, I am cursed. And I cannot let that curse hurt the people I love—not again.”
Rose gave her a pitying look.
“The only curse you bear is the one you placed on yourself. Beliefs are stronger than truths. I know a thing or two about that.” A smile, nearly sly, curved her lips. “Now don’t make the same mistake I did. Go after him, grab him with both hands, and tell him, ‘You are mine, and I am yours. Not only for ease, but for every trial. This is the way of love: to stay, to forgive, to begin again.’”
“You...you etched that on the wall?”
“Thomas did.” Rosalinda’s gaze was as brilliant as gems. “He always was a romantic.”
“I am sorry…for how things ended,” Evie said falteringly. “The pair of you deserved better.”
“We did. We do,” Rose added significantly. “As do you.”
“No.” Evie’s voice trembled. “I’ve done a terrible thing, and even if it was an accident?—”
“There are no accidents, Evie,” Rose chided. “You are a scientist, and you must look to the facts. Do not be distracted by illusions—by the lies we tell ourselves. Look at the shells and see what is there.”
Frowning, Evie turned her gaze to the spiral on the wall. To her astonishment, it began to move, to spin. Round and round, until she grew dizzy and nauseous.
“Don’t avert your eyes, Evie. Look beyond your fears. See the truth.”
She fought back distress. Soon the spiral began to change, the shells rearranging themselves into a different shape, curling inward, then expanding…into a flower? No, not a flower—it was Selaginella lepidophylla.
Resurrection isn’t a mystery. It is a process. If one observes the steps, one will understand the phenomenon.
“You’re getting closer,” Rosalinda whispered. “Now, what holds you back—what stops you from examining the truth?”
“I…I don’t deserve it.” Guilt, familiar and worn, smothered her. “Because of what I did. Because I took Wilmington’s life.”
