Page 34 of The Lady Who Left (The Flower Sisters #4)
E ach step out of the courtroom required a herculean effort, every cell concentrating on the mechanics of lifting her foot and putting it down again and again, bringing her further from Archie. Her lungs screamed from restraining her cries, the pain of betrayal raining like broken glass, its shards slicing and scoring her flesh.
How could everything around her proceed as normal? Her understanding of right and wrong, action and consequence, had been tossed about and scattered to the four winds, and was completely unnoticed by the bustling crowds of London.
By the time she reached the street outside the courthouse, her defensive walls had snapped back into place, driving their fortifications into her bones until she no longer knew where she began or ended. She focused on the weight of Matthew’s hand clasped in hers, the sight of Reggie walking just ahead of her by the nanny’s side, her anchors in the storm .
“Lady Croydon! Stop, please! ”
She did stop, because he sounded devastated, destroyed , but she couldn’t face him, not yet. She went on watching the carts and pedestrians rush along the strand, focused on the pulsing rays of the sun pressing into her skin.
Reggie stopped with her and appraised Archie before looking to her for guidance. To protect her. When had she become irrelevant in every aspect of her life, as a wife, a mother, a lover? But she summoned the presence of mind to offer her son a flat smile and nod, acknowledging the silent show of support from the boy—the young man—she’d always imagined would require her fiery protection.
When all he wanted was to protect her.
She could be strong in that moment, could burrow deep to find the last shreds of her bravery to give to Archie, to do what had to be done.
So she turned.
When she met his gaze, his chest heaved as though he’d finally remembered how to breathe and it hurt , perhaps as much as her heartbeat hurt her now. “May I speak with you in private?” Her lips parted but no sound came out, so she bobbed her chin, allowed him to lead her into the arched doorway of a vacant shop. “Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
He froze mid-breath, his mouth working for a moment before he stepped closer. “You’re not? ”
“I can’t b-b-be angry. Mr. Landon t-told me about your p-position, what was at stake for you.” She swallowed, but the fist around her throat didn’t budge. “For your mother, your sisters. I understand why you wouldn’t have me sp-speak.” Her voice broke on the last word, and a sick laugh escaped. “You needed to win, and who would b-b-believe me?”
Archie was shaking his head, reaching out as though he meant to take her hands, but retreated. “I believe you. Everyone would believe you, but Stansbury wanted to challenge your sanity. And if I put you on the stand—”
“They might ask about us .”
He shook his head. “No one knows.”
“Your friend, Mr. Landon.” Her cheeks heated. “He knew.”
Archie’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t tell him. He guessed, and he’d never say a word.”
She fought to keep her voice stable as her body trembled, glanced around to see if anyone paid them attention, if someone was witness to her world falling apart. “If he found out, I’m sure others would. They’d be d-disgusted.”
He flinched as though her words cut him. His voice dropped to a frantic whisper. “That’s not what this is, what we are. I want nothing but to be with you, I want—”
“What you want,” she whispered, “isn’t p-possible.”
His eyes fell shut, his chin fell. “Mari, don’t say that.”
She looked around at the commotion of the Strand, people carrying on in their lives as though they couldn’t see her very soul being ripped from her body at the thought of hurting this kind man, a man she loved from the depths of her heart.
“What future is there for us? If we win, I’m a notorious woman. Your reputation would suffer for associating with me. And if we lose, I’m still married.” Another sick laugh. “I may b-be sent t-t-to an asylum. Why would you want either of those?”
“I don’t care about my reputation.” His jaw ticked as he searched her face. “I care—”
“Your mother cares,” she interrupted. “Your sisters. They d-deserve happiness and security, as d-do you. You could have a wife, children—”
“I could have those things with you.” A hopeful, delicate smile appeared on the corner of his lips, so fragile she knew it would be shattered by her next words.
“I d-don’t want to be your b-burden any longer. I d-don’t want to worry I’ve hurt you with who I am.”
“You would never hurt me,” he hissed.
“I already have.” She would be angry at herself later for doing this, but she couldn’t leave without taking his hands, letting herself hold this part of him, savoring his warmth one last time. “If the d-divorce is granted, I won’t stay here. I’ll d-disappear for as long as I can, and you d-don’t have that option. I’m removing myself for your own good.”
“Wherever you go, I’ll find you.” His eyes were blazing now, brimming with tears that made the blue depths sparkle in the brilliant sunlight. “Losing you will destroy me. ”
She bit her lip to hold back a sob, looked down at their joined hands. “Keeping me will d-d-destroy everyone.”
Someday, Archie would recall this moment and thank her, be grateful for her when he met a woman who wasn’t broken, whose life wasn’t scarred with a series of poor decisions, with missteps and regrets, failings and forgotten promises. She would never regret it, either, although the scar tissue around her heart would keep the tender, foolish organ from feeling this way again. She would make sure of it.
“D-do I need to be p-present when the d-d-decision is read?” she managed, and he shook his head wearily, refused to let go of her.
She pulled her hands away, felt the last strings binding her heart to his snapping. “P-please send word when you hear. You’ve b-been a fine b-b-barrister, Mr. Grant.”