“I know that you miss him,” Clara whispered. Della didn’t like this, being spoken to in such a gentle tone. Not from Clara, anyway. She was a human explosion, and her speech reflected that. That she was treating Della so delicately made her feel as emotionally fragile as she’d always been physically.
“I do,” Della admitted. There was no use in denying it. She did miss him terribly, and she was not a strong enough actor to convince Clara otherwise. “But I must make my peace with it. With him. I regret leaving, and perhaps I will write him again later on, but I suppose he’ll need some time. To be hurt or angry with me or to come to a decision on what we are to be now.”
“Some time, you say?” Clara spoke absently, her line of sight straying from Della’s face to some point out the window. She tilted her head, seemingly straining her neck to see as far forward as she possibly could. “You think he requires time to come to a decision?”
Her words were puzzling, her expression even more so. She wouldn’t meet her eyes anymore, and her lips were upturned in a strange sort of smirk. Della wasn’t sure if Clara could ever be considered devious, but she did appear so at that very moment.
“Yes.” Della nodded, thinking that Clara simply hadn’t been listening. She hadn’t been paying attention, and that must be why she required repetition. “I left, and while I hope how much I care about him was rather clear in my letter, I still should’ve spoken with him. I should have stayed. He’s very thoughtful and intentional, and he’ll need his time to think about what he wants.”
“Well.” Clara sat back in her seat, abandoning her intense study of the scenery ahead of them. She crossed her arms over her chest. “He has had ample time, with all of the traveling you’ve been doing.”
“You cannot rush these things, Clara,” Della sighed. It was one ofher unhappy sighs, she realized now that Clara had pointed it out.
“Yes.” Clara hummed in agreement. Then she giggled under her breath. “I suppose these things do work out on their own time.”
“And what are you laughing about?” Della asked. The scenery they passed was different now, as if they’d entered a village. She saw homes and gardens and people. It was a wonderfully refreshing change from the sea of amorphous green they’d spent days riding through.
“Oh, nothing,” Clara answered with forced nonchalance. She reached to the floor of the carriage to retrieve her shoes. She slipped them on her feet and tucked the laces in rather than tying them. She would trip over herself once those laces slipped back out, Della knew it.
Della had absolutely no idea what was going on, but she felt that sense of anticipation spike in her heart. It was a shower of sparkles within her ribs. Never had she felt that particular sensation so intensely. The carriage began to slow, and she pressed a hand against her breastbone to calm her sparking chest. It wasn’t particularly helpful, but the pressure eased the ache in the joints that held her ribcage together.
“Stay here,” Clara told her, looking at Della with wild, wide eyes. “Donotmove.”
She froze, quite literally, that hand still held just below her collarbone. She lacked a certain awareness, and that warm, incandescent anticipation turned to a cold fear.
“What is the matter?” Della asked. She tried to turn her body toward the window, her mind racing with all the horrid possibilities. She thought the entire barony might be ablaze. Or someone lay dead in the road. She thought of injury and death and tragedy.
“No,” Clara said firmly. She stopped Della’s movements, not allowing her to see anything. “I tell you not to move and you immediately move.” She huffed.
The carriage stopped and Clara practically jumped out. Della hearda commotion, and she assumed it was Harry yelling at her from two coaches back. She only hoped she wouldn’t trip over the laces of her boots. There was more noise, and Della couldn’t decipher it. She couldn’t decide what to do, whether she should obey Clara’s fervent command to stay here or if she should disembark and insert herself into whatever chaos had befallen her new home.
As she was still deciding, a shadow fell over the still-open door of the carriage.
“Della,” he whispered. She barely heard him, it was so faint. He wasn’t smiling, but his was a face she didn’t think she’d ever see again. Della felt her own smile overtake her. Behind that smile was a rising tide of relief. She had more questions than answers, but he was here. She was looking at those wayward curls and a half-untied cravat. His strong brows and those fathomless eyes.
“Andrew,” she whispered back.
He stood in the light of the sun, she still hid in the dark of the carriage. Andrew extended a hand in her direction.
Well, that was her decision made.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Andrew all butran outside when he’d heard the carriages approaching. It could’ve been anyone, but he’d hoped it was her. Them, he should say. But all of his hope was for her. Before they’d come, he’d been roaming about the house unpacking trunks and pulling sheets off of dusty furniture. The Harrises’ crooked estate agent was long gone, and they were clearly rather lax in keeping up with their duties, given the fact that the house was in a beyond neglected state.
Andrew felt odd being here alone, like he was lingering somewhere he shouldn’t be. This was Della’s property, and he didn’t know if Della wanted him here. He didn’t know if Della wanted him at all. He was here for an explanation, nothing else. Preparing rooms for their arrival was just something to pass the time, he told himself.
It had only been several hours since his own arrival, and he heard the crunch of gravel as he explored the wide, open pantry in the over-large kitchen. Kinloss was an overwhelming estate, and he’d scarcely learned to find his way around. He took several wrong turns on the way to the front hall, ending up in one of the parlors. He didn’t know why there were so many parlors.
When he reached the front door, he nearly tripped down the stone staircase. There were so many carriages, and Silas waved from his perch atop the first coach. Andrew couldn’t remember if he’d wavedback.
Then Clara sprawled out of that very same carriage, and it was a true display of athleticism that she managed to land on her feet. Her smile was beaming, and she rushed to Andrew with the force she’d used to catapult herself out of the vehicle.
“I knew you didn’t need time,” Clara said, squeezing his arm as she walked by.
He opened his mouth to respond with an expression of his confusion, but she was already moving swiftly toward the house behind him. She pointed in the direction of the carriage from whence she’d come. He took that bit of direction for what it was—an order—and marched to the carriage’s open door.
“Della,” he’d whispered. It was all he’d been able to say. Through all of his traveling here, he’d planned out so much he wanted to tell her, and all of that conscious thought and eloquent speech abandoned him at the sight of her.
