“Yes,” Mercy nodded. She was so patient, and she’d clearly been named after the right attribute. “I haven’t had a chance to redecorateyet, so please don’t judge based on this room alone.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t judge at all,” Della assured her.
“You are the only one.” Mercy smiled again, this one just a tad rueful. “And I thank you for it. When Mrs. Lockhart spoke of a baroness who’d just returned to town after years in the countryside, I could not help but hope it was you. Though I had no idea how such a thing was possible.”
Della understood the feeling perfectly. What had Alice said about Lady Kitteridge? That she was a young lady like herself. She hadn’t thought that meant she too was ill. That she’d been cast aside as Della had been.
“I could say the same for you. What happened?” Della implored. “You’ve always remained in my thoughts. I spent so long hoping you weren’t alone.”
Mercy’s eyes softened. She gripped Della’s arms right above the line of her long gloves, then as if she’d thought better of it, wrapped her in a tight, warm hug. Della nearly choked on her own sudden rush of tears. Not again, she thought. Not for the first time, she questioned how much she was physically capable of crying in one bloody night.
Mercy let her go, taking her hands in her own. The door opened, and they both turned to look. It was just Andrew. Her heart swelled at the sight of him and fresh rivulets of tears poured down her face. He’d followed her.
“I am not alone,” Mercy said. “And it seems neither are you.” Mercy squeezed her shoulders before she left the room.
“Andrew,” she breathed his name on a watery sigh, and he stepped so close that the only air she could inhale was tinged with his scent.
He did not respond. His thumbs swept away tears faster than she could release them, and suddenly Della felt a bit more like the whole version of herself she’d been trying to imitate a minute ago.
With Mercy gone, her mind swept violently back to the reason she’d ended up in this room in the first place. Fresh hurt knifedthrough her chest. Mercy had said she wasn’t alone, but in that moment, she had been, and she’d never be able to forget it.
“I don’t know why I came here,” Della admitted. Her tone was morose and miserable, and she knew she must look as bad as she felt. “I do, I mean. I know. I missed all of this, the music and the dancing and smiling at people as you pass them. I missed conversations about nothing of importance. I just don’t know why it all feels so different.” Della sniffled again. His fingertips were still tracing over her face, even though no tears fell any longer. “I don’t know why I can’t still have all of that.”
For a moment, all she could hear over the faint music was the sound of her own sniffling.
“I know I shouldn’t apologize, because you scold me each time I do. But I wish I could make this better for you.” He hummed. “I wish I could fix it.”
“You can’t,” she whispered. Tears began to flow again, and Della tasted the salt on her lips. “One can either be ill or out in society, and no one can be both. You cannot fix that.”
She thought of Mercy again. How she’d somehow been able to defy that rule. Andrew’s hands fell from her face just slightly, wrapping around her neck and cradling the back of her head, the other smoothing the skin over her cheekbone. Through the wall she leaned against, she heard the music change. She recognized the tune; it was the waltz. So early in the night for such a dance. He took one step backwards, away from her, and Della’s body nearly fell forward. It would’ve been so easy to give in to that intractable pull she felt toward him. It would’ve been the easiest thing in the world.
“You can still do all of those things,” Andrew said, holding out a hand in the space between them. “You can dance with me, if you’d like. Smile at me. Talk to me about nothing of importance.”
Della did smile then. It was instinctive. So was letting go and falling toward him. Placing her hand in his.
“Are you sure?” she asked. He pulled her toward the center of the large, open room. “I’m not very light on my feet anymore.”
They took the first few steps slower than the music called for. Della scarcely remembered how to do this at all.
“Darling, I’m afraid you’ve never been very light on your feet.” He spun her away from him, pulled her gently back to his chest. “But I would sooner never dance again than dance with anyone else.”
Her breath caught. On her inhale, her chest pressed against his. She didn’t know whose heart was beating faster. She could feel them both pulsing in the space they shared. They’d stopped dancing entirely, stopped moving, almost. Della caught his hypnotic eyes. Her fingers flexed against the fabric of his waistcoat. She felt his hands meet at the middle of her back, right where he’d tied the laces of her stays.
Andrew’s eyes left hers, and she watched as they drifted down to her mouth. Then he was moving, closing the already minute space between them and claiming her lips with his. He was reserved at first, almost shy. So much like himself. Brushing her lips once, twice, three times. Quick bursts of energy against her skin. It was so much, a rush of sensation, but it wasn’t enough. She’d waited for this for so long, dreamed about it a thousand times and hardly ever dared to think it would ever become her reality. She could taste the raw edge of fear on his lips, along with a kind of devotion she’d never felt before. Her stomach pitched and her core tightened. Only when he gently tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth did she realize this was indeed happening.
At that moment, Della finally knew what it meant to be home.
Della closed her eyes and let her hands drift. They found the curls at the nape of his neck. She tugged him closer, until they truly collided. Her lips opened on a sigh and she felt his hands tighten around her waist. His tongue hit the roof of her mouth and he tipped up her chin as he swallowed the moan she couldn’t voice. All of that shyness was gone, and there wasn’t room between them for reservations, oranything else like rational thought.
“Della,” he whispered into the air they shared. She tried pulling him back, but her hands were lazy and her vision was clouded by his closeness. His lips landed along the curve of her jaw. “Finally,” he murmured, breathing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the front of her throat.
She pressed her palms to his cheeks, steering him back up to her lips. She was mesmerized. For so many years, she’d yearned for a life like this, to be this close to him. It was agony to realize this might be the only glimpse of that life she’d ever get.
The door creaked, and Della dropped her hands. They fell to her sides at the wall, and Andrew wouldn’t let her go. His eyes were hazy, and he seemed to be in a fog.
“Oh, I am sorry,” Alice exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She stepped inside the dimly lit room, closing the door behind her.
