Page 21 of The Countess's Awakening (The Lovers’ Arch #3)

CHAPTER 21

T he moment of waking was the worst of the day, Wang decided. It was when the blessed veil of unconsciousness lifted away and all the memories came rushing in, bringing with them the pain of loss. He was almost positive that was the worst moment of the day. Except a thousand other moments followed it. Memories of Esther were everywhere. In the house, in the hospital. In his heart. They were inescapable.

He rolled out of bed with a groan. Not his bed. He hadn’t been able to sleep in the bedchamber he had shared with her. So he had taken refuge in the smaller guestroom. The amount of light filtering through the closed drapes told him he had overslept. Although ‘overslept’ might not be the right term. He had slept little in the past week. He checked the clock on the mantel. A quarter past ten. When had he ever slept this late? Never. Maybe his body had finally rebelled and refused to wake until it got the sleep it needed. Regardless of the late hour, he forced himself to stick to his routine, as if habit alone had the power to hold him together.

It had been a week since she moved out. Taking all the warmth, the happiness, the sunshine, and the hope with her. Seven restless nights. Seven horrid mornings of waking in this manner, instead of with her in his arms. His house had never felt emptier, nor his soul more lonely. Strange that he should feel so lonely now, when he had been alone for so long.

As she promised, she had sent notice of where she was staying, at The Astor House, of all places. The most snobbish, elitist hotel in all of New York. They wouldn’t allow him to get close to it. Just another reminder of the unbreachable gulf between them. She had also sent another note three days ago. Letting him know she had booked passage on the RMS Scotia . She was leaving today.

He tried to move through the patterns of Tai Chi. Movements he knew by heart. The slow, controlled motions should have been centering. Calming. But today, they failed to soothe his anxiety or provide any sort of emotional balance.

Abandoning any hope of calm, he walked into the kitchen, where he built the fire and set the water to boil. Today would be the worst day. After she was no longer near, after her presence no longer presented a temptation to fuel his ambivalence, he would find a measure of peace again. He only had to make it through today.

Liar.

It wasn’t getting easier. Each day was harder than the previous, and he couldn’t foresee an end to this misery. But an honorable man didn’t let pain shape his actions. An honorable man did the right thing, despite the personal cost.

The problem was. He didn’t know what the right thing was anymore.

These past few months with Esther, she had filled every corner of his life. Now he missed everything. The tender moments and the blinding passion. The deep conversations and the teasing phrases. Her curiosity, her quiet strength. Without that, his life was empty. Devoid of purpose or satisfaction. The thought that she might feel the same way squeezed his heart until it could barely beat.

He gulped down the scalding tea and went to wash and get dressed for work.

He had thrown himself into the work at the hospital with single-minded determination. He arrived every day before sunrise and left well past sunset. There were always people to help, patients to tend to. At first, his colleagues had seemed grateful for the extra help. But now some of them had remarked on his strange compulsion to work.

The doctors who had known him from before were friendly, suggesting he should go home and rest, and even inquiring after his well-being. But there were a few new ones, hired by the administrator in the past year, after Colin and he had left. Those looked at him with mistrust, if not outright resentment. They probably thought he represented a threat to their practice. Or simply didn’t like his different approach to healing.

Regardless of the reason, his work no longer was a source of satisfaction. He felt displaced. A strange way to feel about an institution he had helped found, together with Colin. But it was the truth. He didn’t belong in that hospital anymore. They didn’t need him. The core values that had driven Colin and himself to open the private practice—that of combining Oriental and Western medicine to help as many people as possible—no longer seemed the guiding principles of the hospital. Some doctors may support him, based on their long acquaintance, but most tolerated him simply because they had no other choice. He should weigh his options and decide what to do, but he was so weary, his mind in such turmoil, that he couldn’t see past the needs of the day.

He washed with quick, efficient movements and searched for a fresh shirt. There was none to be found in his new bedchamber. He had probably gone through all of them, and the cleaning lady had restocked the newly laundered shirts in his bedroom, not knowing he had moved. With a deep sigh, he headed there, girding himself.

As soon as he opened the door, her fragrance of orange blossoms, still lingering in the air, assaulted him with such a wave of longing that it almost brought him to his knees. Steeling himself, he went to the armoire to retrieve a shirt. He flung open the door and reached for the neat stack of folded garments, but his hand froze mid-motion as his eyes landed on the tunic Esther had embroidered for him. Forgetting the shirts, he grabbed the tunic. His fingers traced the neat stitches that made up the complex design. So many tiny stitches. So much work, patience, and talent required. She had done it for him.

Needing to have something Esther had touched near him, he donned the tunic. The fabric her fingers had adorned seemed to caress him. He had been a coward, avoiding this room. Fighting the memories when he knew there was no escaping them.

He was about to close the doors when he noticed something else. A ray of sunlight glinted off an object lurking towards the back of the armoire. He reached for it, his fingers wrapping around a glass vial. The laudanum bottle. He had not seen it again since that night, long ago, when Esther had asked for it, and he had lost his composure at the discovery that she used laudanum. After that conversation, he’d given it back to her. He had no right to withhold it, and if she had used it for so long without succumbing, she could be trusted with the dangerous substance.

But he had begged her to be careful and to come to him first if the pain ever became unbearable. He had watched her like a hawk for months, looking for signs of usage, for signs of withdrawal. He had seen none. Now he knew why. The proof was in his hands.

She had never used it. The vial was as full as it was months ago. He knew she had not purchased more, because they were together day and night. No, she had stopped using it altogether.

Through the grueling recovery, the arduous exercises, Esther had not complained. She had done it all. And she had not used laudanum once. She had beaten, all by herself, the biggest monster that destroyed so many people. This just drove to his heart something he had known in his head.

She was strong.

Her appearance of fragility was an illusion created by her delicate features, her dainty figure, and ladylike demeanor. He, of all people, should have been able to recognize that strength and see her for what she was. A warrior.

Don’t underestimate me. She had said. And he had done just that.

He had underestimated her when he had insisted on taking care of all the travel arrangements, had underestimated her when he worried about her moving out on her own. And worst of all, continued to underestimate her now. Making unilateral decisions about their future. Denying her the chance to fight for their love. His overbearing protection had stemmed from his own fears and insecurities. She had wanted to fight for them, and he had taken that choice out of her hands, thinking he doing her a kindness. What a horrible thought.

She didn’t need protection. What she needed was someone to fight alongside her. Oh God. He knew Esther was strong. But he was treating her as if she were weak.

And was about to lose her because of it.

Glancing at the clock, he noticed it was half-past eleven. At what time did her ship leave? Was it too late already? Why in blazes did he have to oversleep today of all days? No. He wouldn’t let himself think of that. He ran out of his bedroom, snatching his coat on the way out.

He had to reach her. He had to tell her. They needed to talk. It was past time he stopped being a coward.