But she must.
Cautiously, as if taking her first steps, Verity read the first sentence. Then the next. Before she knew it, the fearful truth had been revealed and her heart was thundering in her chest so hard, she could feel it without lifting her hand to her bosom.
“That fiend Foyle!” Verity cried. “He would have killed them both!”
At last, the tears fell for Westbridge. “Poor Arthur,” Verity whispered as the reservoir of her eyes overflowed, shedding teardrops onto her cheeks, the shock finally giving way to sorrow. “He did not deserve this. Poor, poor Arthur.”
“It appears Mr. Cole’s courage saved him from a similar fate,” said Hope. “His hand should heal. It is a pity his eye will not. But it could have been so much worse.”
“Who cares for his hand or eye?” Verity said almost angrily. “Such things are nothing compared to a life. How grateful we should be! Mr. Cole has been spared twice over. He will come home to his family, his friends.” Verity began to sob. Relief took the place of sorrow. She could not fix the broken past. A terrible crime had occurred, a good man lost. But William Cole remained. He would return.
“But when?” she wondered aloud, fiercely wiping the tears away so that she might once again study the letter.
“I don’t think Mrs. Trenton knows,” said Hope.
Verity finished her examination of the letter and lowered the hand that held it in disappointment. “No, the letter does not say if she does. But she will inform us when that changes, I am certain of it.”
“Agreed.” Hope stood and stroked the creases from her skirts. “Meanwhile, you will want to reply to Mr. and Mrs. Westbridge and send your condolences. And I shall write to Mama and have her petition Papa regarding your volunteering at the hospital.”
Verity nodded. It was good to have something to do. She could not bring back Arthur Westbridge. She could not make Mr. Cole whole again. But she could be of use in other ways. If only her father would let her.
Being busy might also help to distract her from the way her heart skipped a beat at the thought of William Cole’s return, and the very honest conversation she was determined to have with him as soon as the opportunity availed itself.
A pang of guilt toward Dr. Westbridge resurfaced, but Verity quelched it. She would honor the memory of a man she had heartily respected. But she was done throwing away her chance at love. If anything, the death of Dr. Westbridge had taught her that life was unpredictable, and she should not waste a minute of it.
William Cole had survived all that the fates had thrown at him thus far. He deserved the truth. She would have him know her heart. At the very least, he would understand what he was worth to her. It might heal some of the pain he must surely be suffering from his all-too-recent experiences.
What she hoped, so very much, was that he felt the same. The hints for and doubts against had tortured her long enough. If there was the slightest chance that they might know happiness together, Verity wanted to find out, once and for all.
