Page 19 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)

T he days passed slowly and, dare Margery say, agonizingly. She roamed from room to room in the castle, but she was not lost on the seas of her emotion because wherever she went, Nestor followed her, her anchor, keeping her tethered to this world and away from the true darkness that grief could bring.

He did not try to stop her tears. He did not try to soothe away every hurt. As a matter of fact, he let her crash upon him like a wave on the cliffs in her agony and pain, and then slowly, slowly, she began to realize that this castle was still full of people.

She was not isolated or adrift as she thought. No, the rooms were full of the laughter of children. It did not matter that all the adults understood her grief and were giving her the sort of kindness that one would expect. The truth was she could not escape the fact that life did indeed go on, though she wished in many ways that she could stop it.

The children, in some ways, caused her pain to increase because her child should have grown and filled these halls with laughter, but the halls were full of laughter and joy despite her own loss and suffering.

With all the sounds of those games and innocent voices, Margery knew Mercy was right. There was a promise that one day she would step out of this darkness.

She headed into the library, Nestor following her quietly, and she spotted what she had come to see.

The miniature reproduction of the ballet theatre had been forgotten. But now she crossed to it and studied the tableau that Monsieur Georges had set up. They had picked a beautiful, themed pattern for the theater, choosing the goddess Artemis to be the main thread running through all the decorations.

The walls were painted with the goddess’s figure. Her lithe form, with her dog and the moon, were everywhere.

It was terribly ironic.

Artemis was the goddess of childbirth. It was almost as if they had known that Margery would need the reminder, that everyone needed to be guided through her life, through pain.

She picked up a little figurine and studied it. Monsieur Georges had chosen a fairy tale for the first ballet that they would produce. Fairy tales. The real fairy tales did not always end happily or with joy, and she still secretly feared in her heart that she would not have a happy ending either.

Nestor watched her silently as if he would wait for her to re-emerge. Wait forever, if necessary.

And then to her shock, finally, at last, he whispered, “I feared that the girl I fell in love with disappeared, and I was right.”

Her hand stilled on the little figure, and she froze.

His voice was deep, quaking with the power of his emotions, with his devotion. “She disappeared that night, the night our child died, and that frightened me, but it shouldn’t have.”

Lifting his hand and gently placing it on her shoulder, slowly he turned her to him and she allowed him to do so.

“You have emerged as someone new,” he whispered, his gaze full of love and so much more, as if he had somehow faced his demons and was about to come out on the other side but had not yet made it. “Someone more, someone so much more. Out of your suffering, out of our suffering, I see this new you,” he said. “I always saw you, but now, my beautiful darling Margery, I want you to understand how much I love you. I love you, the woman you are right now, who doesn’t do everything she can to please, to win me over, to prove to the family that you are worthy of us. Because you are worthy of us. You always have been worthy. You always will be worthy, and I love you more now than I ever did before.”

“Nestor,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes, “I don’t know what to do.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “That is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard.”

“What?” she gasped, mystified and yet relieved that he did not try to solve her suffering.

“I don’t know what to do either,” he confessed. “I don’t think anyone ever truly knows what to do. I think this life is a great mystery, and we are going through it like children in the dark, hoping to find lanterns, but I will be your lantern,” he said. “Will you be mine or will…? Don’t leave me in the dark, my love. I will wait for as long as it takes, but I want you to know that I will always be there glowing, lighting your way. But I hope you will want to light mine too.”

For the first time since the night her life shattered and she felt cast into the abyss, it hit her what Mercy had said. He would be in mourning too, and that he wanted to mourn with her if she but let him.

She had been going through this castle as if she was alone, but she never had been. He had been by her side every moment.

She took his hand then. “My beautiful light,” she said to him. “Of course, I will. I will always be your lantern as you have been mine. Together,” she whispered, even as her voice trembled, “we will endure this.” She swallowed and lifted her chin, realizing that he needed to be rescued and loved too. “We will more than endure this,” she said. “We will triumph over it.”

And though the words felt foreign, she meant them. Every single one.

He pulled her into his arms and gently kissed her. “I love you, Margery.”

“I love you too, Nestor.”

Tears spilled down her face, and this time they were not tears of agony or mourning, but tears of wisdom. They were tears of understanding that this whole life would not have some perfect happy ending.

There would be darkness, and there would be light, and there would be terror, and there would be joy, but that didn’t matter. No, none of that mattered. Not truly. Because all of it would pass, but in that passing, there would be one constant, and that one constant was their love.