“I’m sure she is doing well.”
“She’s doing so well, she’s leaving for Florence,” Theodore said.
Victor’s head twisted around, and his ears pricked up.
“Florence?”
“Indeed, and she even mentioned to me that she might not return.” Theodore came to sit beside Victor and put his hand on Victor’s arm. “I know I am not your father, but I have always tried to look out for you and Harry as best I could. Victor, I know you have not been yourself since Lydia left. Tell me, and be honest, do you love her?”
Victor considered lying, but he wasn’t sure what good it would do. He had been lying to himself for a long time, and it hadn’t made any difference. The feelings were still there as was the anguish. He hung his head.
“I do,” he admitted.
“Then you must go to her, my boy! You must find her and tell her how you feel otherwise you will end up living in utter misery. Believe me, it is no place in which to dwell. Do not make the same mistake as me, Victor. Chase her. Throw caution tothe wind, and do everything you must to have her in your life otherwise you will be left with this.” Theordore gestured to the empty space around Victor.
Victor was left shaken by the words. A lump formed in his throat, and it was hard to swallow.
“While I accept the premise of your words, it would make no difference. Lydia does not want to be my wife. She was only involved with me because she wanted to take care of the baby. Our marriage was entirely incidental, and as soon as John left with Juliet and Harry, Lydia was ready to bring things to an end.”
“Then why did she shut herself in her bedchamber for two weeks after she returned to London? Why has she been weeping all the time? Agatha told me that she has been heartbroken.”
“Because of the child,” Victor snapped, rising from his chair and pacing the room. “It is the child she loved, not me!”
“Do you honestly believe that? Are you willing to spend the rest of your life regretting that you did not do all you could to keep her? Every day, Victor, every day you will look around yourself at the empty rooms and wonder why you did not summon the courage to pursue her. It will eat you up inside until there is barely anything left. Believe me, I speak from experience.”
“You know that it is not that easy for me. Italy is far…”
Theodore rose as well and came to stand behind Victor.
“Yes, you fear. I was not aware you were still afflicted by it.”
“I’m not sure I can ever forget what happened that day.” Victor shuddered as the memories flooded his mind. “The boat… I slipped. I… I fell into the water and floundered for a long time… so long. I kicked and bobbed, trying to keep my head above water, but my efforts were useless. The waves crashed over my head, and I was pulled down… down.” He shook his head slowly, trying to sort through what happened next.
“Your father,” Theodore interjected.
“Yes.” Victor gasped as though he had been holding his breath while fighting the tide anew. “My father rescued me. I cannot recall what he did or how he managed to pull me ashore, but when I came to… he was there.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “The thought of venturing to Italy now… in a boat… on the sea…” His skin prickled as gooseflesh appeared on his forearms. “I simply do not dare…”
“Do you want to be a prisoner of your fear, or do you want to face it? Because I can tell you that there is more than one way to drown, Victor. Go to her, please. You owe it to yourself. I know how unhappy you will be if you don’t.”
Theodore bowed his head and moved towards the door although he had more to say before he left.
“But perhaps you do not want happiness. Perhaps duty is enough. If so, then disregard everything I said, and I will not raise the subject again. I just hope that you are a braver man than I was, Victor. If I had fought for Agatha all those years ago, then I wouldn’t have had to wait until my twilight years to be happy.”
Victor didn’t say anything when Theodore left. Then, Victor paced across the room and picked up the book he had been reading. He flung it against the wall in a fit of anger and roared. He began shaking as he thought of the water, endless, vast amounts of it waiting to gush into his throat and crush him.
But there was a fear that ran even deeper than that, the fear of never seeing Lydia again. If he drowned, then so be it. What use was life without her?
Chapter Thirty-Five
Overall, Lydia had been away from London for a month. The journey had taken three weeks, and she had been in Florence for a week. The city was beautiful with a distinct architectural style that was far more colorful and playful than the grim buildings of London. The people seemed cheerier too, eager to offer a ‘Ciao’ and a smile.
And the sun, ah, the sun. It warmed the sky, bringing a golden light with every day that unfolded. The shadows were long and cool, and cats could often be seen slinking across the narrow streets, either basking in the sun or sheltering in the shadows.
“Grazie,” Lydia said as she received a bag of chewy sweets. She had never tasted anything like them before. They burst with fruity flavor that swam over her tongue. There was so much joy to be found in Florence that there was little to miss about London.
And yet Lydia still found herself prone to melancholy. She felt ungrateful, for Rose and Edmund had made significant efforts to bring her joy. Lydia had made a concerted effort as well. She spoke to the other guests in the hotel, attended celebratory dances with Rose and Edmund, and spent every day outside, exploring the nooks and crannies of this great city.
But there was a chasm in her heart that could not be filled by anything other than sorrow. Even with so much distance between her and England, she still saw reminders of her sadness everywhere she looked. There were women nursing babies. The cries were at a slightly different pitch to John’s, but they still made her heart quiver. A sense of panic rose in her, and she still possessed the instinct to run to comfort her child, but of course, John was not there.
