Dr. Westbridge made a small protest. “I did ask the captain’s permission to bring my betrothed on board. She will leave when we sail.”
“Then she must leave now,” replied the soldier. “The tide is favorable and there is a storm coming. We are to set out to sea and escape the worst of it.”
Arthur turned rather helplessly to Verity. “It seems we are to part sooner than hoped. I am sorry for it.” He looked about him for something useful to say. “Let me at least walk you back to your carriage.”
They proceeded back down the roughly crafted gangplank. They steered through the mess of hurrying bodies, stacked crates, restless horses, and officers shouting orders as the eight boats transporting the regiment were readied for imminent departure.
Somewhere from within the hubbub, a rushing form bumped into Verity, narrowly prevented from knocking her off her feet by the sturdy arm of Dr. Westbridge.
“I say,” Arthur cried, “watch where you’re going!” The stranger untangled himself from sword and capsized shako hat, straightening to reveal none other than… “Mr. Cole! Great heavens! What a coincidence!”
But Mr. Cole did not marvel at the coincidence. In fact, he did not seem pleased to see any of them at all. He made no eye contact with Verity, only bowing his head to Arthur and saying, “I believe congratulations are in order, Doctor.”
“Ah, yes, indeed. Thank you.” Arthur smiled and patted Verity’s arm, which lay in the crook of his. “For a time there, I thought it might beIwho congratulatedyou, especially as I ammore the tortoise to your hare in matters of the heart. But I do not begrudge you your friendship with Miss Lockhart. I am not a jealous man.”
If Dr. Westbridge thought his words reassuring, he was mistaken. Mr. Cole flushed a deep pink. His eyes remained on Dr. Westbridge by dint of great effort, for they flicked so often toward Verity that it was quite giddying to watch.
“I was never under the impression that Miss Lockhart wished for anything more than friendship from me,” Mr. Cole said with a hint of bitterness. “So, your path to her was always clear.” He added, with a tone that was more civil than sincere, “I wish you both every happiness. Now you must excuse me. Our fleet is leaving within the hour and there is still much to do.”
“We wish you both safe travels,” Hope said warmly. “We would have all our menfolk return to England soon, and in good health.”
“‘Both’?” said Mr. Cole, his brow furrowed.
“Dr. Westbridge has volunteered his services in Brussels,” Hope explained. “Though it does not appear you are on the same boat, which is a pity. It is always easier to travel with someone you know.”
“I have treated many families and even more soldiers,” replied the doctor. “No doubt there will be a familiar face somewhere on board.”
Verity did not care if Arthur knew absolutely everyone on the boat to which he was assigned. Her thoughts were slamming into each other at great speed, and the conclusion was nothing less than earth-shattering. She had wondered at Mr. Cole’s sudden coldness toward her, heard him say he felt his suit would have been wasted, and realized, with a tearing howl of her heart, that he had wanted her as much as she did him.
His kiss had been real. His friendship had meant everything, for it was all he had allowed himself. And there it was—all thefeeling she had been missing, tumbling out toward him. She wanted to shake off Arthur’s arm and launch herself toward Mr. Cole, clinging to him and feeling her world shift beneath them as they held each other, united in love, forever and ever and ever.
“Cole!” shouted a voice drenched in authority. “Get yourself here on the double!”
William Cole finally lifted his sight to Verity. The flush in his cheeks remained. His brows were lowered, his eyes red-rimmed as if withholding tears. “Goodbye, Miss Lockhart,” he said. It sounded so formal, like something Arthur would have said. But Verity could see his heart breaking. She saw it so clearly now. Why had she not done so before? Just one day earlier, that was the wisdom she would have needed. And she would have chosen differently.
How could she tell him she understood at last? That she felt the same, though it could mean nothing now. Such words could never be spoken aloud. Instead, she said, “As I have mentioned before, Mr. Cole, I do not like the word ‘goodbye.’ There is nothing ‘good’ about being parted from those we value deeply.”
Love!That was the word she wanted to shout! But she could never do so now. Her arm was still entwined with Arthur’s, as were the remainder of her days.
“And to you, also, Arthur, I shall not speak that terrible word, for it was meant for separation, and I am unwilling to dwell on what must happen now.”
What must happen was to lose, forever, her love. To live a half-life with a man who might tend to all her needs except those of her heart.
No, there was nothing good about it at all.
And then Arthur kissed her.
He chose the corner of her mouth, where cheek and lip met. No doubt it was a thoughtful deed, not to rush her with intimacy. But a man leaving for war should have been consumed with asense of loss, with no room remaining for such courtesies. Let him shock her with the depth of his anguish, rather than belabor her with his insistence on correctness. She wanted a kiss like Mr. Cole’s. One that left her weak and craving more. A testament to his inability to stay away.
But Mr. Colehadstayed away. When he should most have been himself, pushing Arthur from the carriage doorway and declaring himself, he had been most like the doctor—restrained, correct, ineffectual.
Oh, these men!
And now these very two departed from her, each to their own ship. Hope stood tightly at Verity’s side, offering the comfort of her presence. Verity was grateful for it, though she imagined her sister would be shocked to know what form her sorrow took. For she mourned not for her betrothed, but for the man who was lost to her forever.
They stood thus, watching the dock empty of its people and cargo. They felt the air thicken with damp. Verity would have stood there until the last sight of the ships had faded beyond the bend in the estuary, the wind teasing her hair, the growing darkness brought by the brewing clouds hiding the tears that now dripped down from her nose and chin. But it began to rain. At first, small warning drops. Then the wind whipped up and the drops fell more quickly. Large, plashing things that blurred her view and threatened to soak her clothes.
Daniel bundled the ladies into the carriage and bid the driver head for home. The roof drummed with the onslaught of rain. Somewhere in the storm, Arthur would have made for his tiny private cabin, perhaps to read some academic works. And Mr. Cole… He would have to swallow his pain. He had duties to perform, men to manage. It was only Verity, safe in the guise of grieving bride-to-be, who could cry freely. Until the pain was numbed and the tears dried up. Yes, she mourned the loss ofthe man she loved. And when those tears were spent, she would have to learn to live with the choice she had made.
