He huffed out a shocked breath. All the littlehairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood erect.
The Hudson River Valley. There was a sunset, spread out just as he’d described, with trees like great spired cathedrals, the hills undulating in overlapping purple and slate, on to forever.
On the next page: there it was at sunrise, the sky mother of pearl, the sun just kissing the tops of the hills.
Overlooking this view was a man on a brown horse, very tiny in comparison to all of the splendor.
And next to him was a tiny hound.
She’d given him a hound.
Tears were now burning behind his eyelids.
His heart was beating with anticipation as he turned the next page.
He did, and stopped breathing.
Oh God. The house.
Serene as a temple, the white bathed in amber afternoon sun. There were the pillars, the pediment, the carved pilasters, the balustrade. The windows above were arrayed toward the sun, and each one glinted. A path paved in stone led up to a wide generous porch, as welcoming as open arms.
On the balcony a man and woman stood. Their faces were indistinct, but their arms were about each other. And was that... there was a dog and a cat. No, two cats! One had stripes, and was waltzing along the balustrade rail, tail curved like a question mark. The other was gray and white, sleeping in a crescent on a chair.
He closed his eyes, and murmured, “Oh, my God.”
She must have done this at Heatherfield. Whilehe was awake agonizing over five words that would be the last he’d write to her until the dawn broke.
He turned to the last page.
He covered his eyes with his hand, then brought it down again.
He saw himself. His face, not yet thirty years old. The deep hollows and strong bones. He looked tired, and handsome, and she’d captured the faint lines about his eyes and the little scar at the corner of his mouth. And his eyes as she must have seen them. Burning with longing, with hope, with humor.
How had she seen that? By what sorcery had she captured him so perfectly?
She’d seen him so fully.
As fully as he’d seen her.
And she must have drawn him from memory, little by little.
But the biggest surprise awaiting him were the two sheets of foolscap tucked into the back of the sketchbook.
One was the five-word letter he’d left for her. The word “happiness” was smudged, as if a tear had fallen on it.
That smudge seared his heart. He couldn’t breathe.
The other letter was addressed to him.
Mr. Cassidy,
Lillias inadvertently left this sketchbook behind at Heatherfield—one of the maids found it beside the bed. I thought you should see it.
Giles, Lord Bankham
Hugh exhaled roughly, stunned.
He covered his face with his hands. Then dragged them down and closed his eyes and threw his head back.
