“But you don’t love me.” His voice was final, a statement begging to be contradicted. His eyes pulled at mine, as if he were waiting for an answer.
There was nothing I could say. He couldn’t know the truth. Not this time. Ididlove him. I knew it with sudden certainty. The thought crossed my mind again—the question of staying or leaving. No.No.My decision had been made. I couldn’t let James reverse that decision! I couldn’t let something as fickle as love change that decision.
The pain stung me anew, and a fresh wave of sobbing choked me and I turned away from him. “I-I’m leaving. You can’t change my mind. I’ll f-forget everything. I’ll forget the village and the grey skies and the s-sea and this house. I’ll forget the Abbots and their kindness and their pianoforte. I’ll forget my lost fingers and lost music. I’ll forget everything I’ve lost and everything I’ll never have again. I’ll forget the p-pain and suffering and sorrow. And eventually I believe I can even forget you.”
There was a brief lapse of time, a moment of indecision, before James moved. One step and one breath before he was there, my face in his hands, and he was kissing me.
His lips were soft at first, then more determined. He reached around my waist, pulling me against him. Without permission, my left hand clutched his jacket, and my other hand rested at his neck, his hair, a broken hand that he didn’t mind at all. His kiss was all desperation and heart, a warmth that reached to my bones, begging me for something I couldn’t give. I tasted the salt of tears on his lips, mine or his, I couldn’t tell. My legs were shaking beneath me and I trembled in his arms.
I knew this needed to stop. Now. It was wrong, it wasn’t fair. And then his lips slowed, his kisses so gentle my heart broke all over again, and he pulled away, just far enough that I could see his eyes and the tears that shone there.
“But you won’t forget that,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
I sighed, a shaky sound, and allowed myself a moment to feel, to love and be loved. I pressed my face into his shoulder, breathing the smell of him, trying to memorize it before it wastoo late. I knew what I was doing. I was making the right choice. It was the only choice I was capable of.
“Goodbye, James.” My voice cracked.
I waited three seconds, then pushed myself away, crossing my arms over my chest again. I didn’t dare look at his face because of how close—how very close—I was to letting him change my mind.
The rattling of wheels called my attention, and I saw the carriage, the one meant to take me home, rolling down the road toward us. I turned and took hold of the handle of my trunk. My arm shook as I dragged it behind me, leaving a trail in the new snow as the coach stopped in front of my little cottage. I bit back the tears that came and tried not to think about James standing there alone in the snow. But then my trunk lifted behind me.
I turned, surprised to see him carrying it. My hand fell away and something broke inside me.
He always was too kind.
His jaw was set, and his eyes flickered to me one more time as he helped the coachman strap it to the back of the carriage. He knew I had made my choice.
I stepped inside the carriage, where my maid Anna sat, sent to accompany me. The door was still open, and I wanted to thank James, to apologize, to sayanything, but nothing seemed to be enough. I just looked at him as he walked away, memorizing every detail, and altering the stooped shoulders to be strong, and the tears I had seen in his eyes to be ones of laughter.
I didn’t want to remember him this way. I wished I hadn’t broken his heart.
I tore my gaze away as the carriage rolled forward. Don’t look back, I ordered myself.Don’t look back. But I panicked, disobedient, and sneaked one more glance at him. He just stood there, watching me leave until I couldn’t see him anymore andhe couldn’t see me. He was gone. I had been holding my breath, so I let it out, slowly, a hitched sound that resembled a sob.
As we barreled down the road toward home, I looked out the carriage window and watched the flakes of snow fall. And then I counted them.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Absence from those we love is self from self—a deadly banishment.”
Islept for most of the first day of the journey. When I opened my eyes, the sky out the window was black. Moonlight created shadows in the carriage, darkening one half of Anna’s face. She was sleeping. As I watched her, guilt flooded through me. I had treated her so terribly. She had done so much to assist me as my maid and all I had done was belittle her. Had I ever thanked her? Had I ever treated her with any measure of kindness?
She stirred, and a shiver rolled over her. I looked down at my lap where two blankets lay. Anna had already traveled at least nine days to accompany me, and now she would endure the same trip again. Poor girl. Her forehead was creased as she slept, and her breath exhaled in mist from the cold. I lifted one of the blankets off my lap, shook it out, and stood, steadying myself with a hand on the roof of the carriage. I draped the warm fabric over her, tucking the corners under her chin. Then I sat downagain and tucked my legs beneath me to stay warm without the weight of both blankets.
My head ached from the events of the day, and I could still feel where my tears had dried on my cheeks. I leaned my head against the window. The cold glass soothed the pain throbbing in my skull. I breathed out and closed my eyes. I hadn’t seen Clara again before I left. She had underestimated my ability to keep my wits with James begging me to stay. She had assumed he could stop me, but she was wrong.
Perhaps I could convince her to come visit Mama and me after she was married. The thought provided enough peace of mind for me to relax.
I hadn’t noticed Anna open her eyes, and I wondered how long she had been watching me. My stomach dropped when I saw the look on her face. She looked almost…afraid of me. Her eyes were wide as if she were afraid to even blink, as if I would accuse her at any moment of stealing the blankets. It wrenched at my heart.
“I thought you looked cold,” I said, my voice raspy from hours of silence.
Her brow flinched in confusion as she watched me, still on guard.
“How is Mama?”
She took a moment to recover from the shock of being spoken to, and cleared her throat. “She’s well.” Her eyes dropped away from mine.
“And how are you? Surely this journey has worn on you.” I tried to make my voice gentle.
