Page 7 of The Viscount’s Second Chance (The Lovers’ Arch: Later in Life)
N ora emitted a small, sharp intake of breath and paled even further, if it was possible. Thomas’s muscles tensed, ready to catch her should she collapse; however, she remained steady and plucked the letter from his hand with fingers trembling only slightly.
She ran her gloved thumb over the thick red wax daub he knew was stamped with Beth’s custom-made seal of a stone arch. He’d believed it to be a poorly-drawn horseshoe the first time he’d seen it and he’d told his sister as much. Beth had been utterly appalled and berated him for at least a quarter of an hour for his ignorance and poor eye for craftsmanship.
“I remember when Beth had this made,” Nora whispered absently, still caressing the wax.
“As do I.” He tried not to smile at how their thoughts had parallelled.
“She fell in love with the story of The Lovers’ Arch from that dusty old book of myths and fairytales.” Nora gave a small, watery laugh. “She was convinced of the truth of it; determined to find the ruins and prove the inscription remained. Something about it resonated with her. It gave her hope, I suppose.”
The knife dug more deeply into Thomas’s chest. “And you two never did find it, did you?”
Nora shook her head. “Not for lack of trying. London is so very large and the stories are so very old. It is difficult to find where fact and fiction overlap, and what might have survived the centuries.” She held the letter to her breast and met him with her watery eyes. “We looked in earnest our first few years here in Town, but other pursuits quickly swallowed up our time. I think we both underestimated how busy we would be, even without the usual activities of attending parties and balls. Beth became quite popular, as you know.”
“As did you, I hear.” Thomas smiled, pleased that his words caused a momentary tilt of Nora’s lips. He didn’t doubt that she would have ruled the ton had she given half a chance to take her true place in Society…had she followed through with their plans for her to become his viscountess.
“You know Beth was a force to be reckoned with. She demanded admittance into the most exclusive womens’ societies and foundations. She kept me writing letters for causes until my fingers bled.” A single tear escaped onto Nora’s cheek and she quickly dashed it away. “Even in the past six months when her spells became more frequent and intense, she refused to allow them to threaten her efforts.” “She’d been experiencing more spells?” Why hadn’t he been informed by anyone? Why hadn’t Beth mentioned anything, for that matter? “She tried to keep the news of her health as quiet as possible. She swore me to secrecy…not even your mother was aware of how difficult this year has been.”
Thomas swore. “You shouldn’t have had to be alone. You needed support as well.” Nora lifted a shoulder as if to dismiss his words, but he would not be cowed. “You did. You deserved as much care and assistance as you gave to Beth. She never should have asked you to remain her sole, secret caretaker.”
“She didn’t want to be boxed back up and shipped to the country,” Nora snapped. “That would have killed her.”
“But she did die, Nora. Beth still died. She shouldn’t have dragged you down with her.”
“Beth did no such thing! I loved her and everything I did for her was born of that love.” A murderous gleam crossed Nora’s eyes. “And I regret nothing I gave up for her.”
Thomas had to breathe through the pain caused by that last declaration. His words had been unkind and he recognized that she was only lashing out in response; both of them were already hurting, and the dredging up of old wounds would do no one any good.
Jaw set, he stared down at the vaguely floral pattern of the rug beneath his boots. This hadn’t been what he’d intended in arriving on Nora’s doorstep and he knew he had to resolve this before it resulted in yet another estrangement.
“That was unkind of me; I apologize.”
After a minute’s hesitation, Nora said, “I am sorry as well. You lost Beth, too.”
He nodded once in acceptance, his jaw flexing.
“Is there anything you need?” he asked, stepping closer to her, drawn in by the hint of her scent he’d caught upon entering the room. “May I do anything for you?”
Nora pulled her full lower lip between her teeth and shook her head. Her finger traced the seal on the letter once more.
“Thank you, no.” She paused thoughtfully. “I only wish Beth had had an opportunity to do more in her life. There is nothing to be done about that now.”
He watched her finger trace the wax seal and an idea occurred to him—something that might help both of them heal and, just maybe, come back together.
“What if we can do something for her?” Nora’s head snapped up and he indicated the letter in her hands.
“The arch?” she asked, her beautiful eyes widening. Thomas nodded. “But Beth and I searched as many parks and gardens in and around London as we could. We made countless inquiries and never uncovered so much as a whisper of knowledge where such an arch might be.”
“That does not mean we cannot continue to search.”
“And if we don’t find it?” A fresh wave of tears glistened in her eyes. “I do not think I could bear it if I lost this part of her as well. Right now, it exists as a phantom possibility. The unknown means it might still exist and that—however odd it may be—brings me comfort. If it is somehow confirmed that it was never real…I don’t know how I would weather that on top of everything else.”
Thomas saw her strength begin to flag and, without thinking, he closed the gap between them and enfolded her in his arms, determined to prop her up when she felt she could no longer go on.
He half expected her to push him away and insist she could stand on her own, but she didn’t. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could, buried her face in his chest, and fisted the fabric at his back. One of his hands slid up of its own accord and cupped the back of her head, marveling at the silken strands, and pressed her close. They remained that way for long minutes with Thomas silently comforting Nora, her tears dampening the front of his shirt. He gladly gave her these minutes of uninterrupted and unabashed grief and felt honored that she’d allowed him to witness them.
When she was done, she lifted her head and Thomas handed her a clean handkerchief from his coat pocket.
“What a sight I must make.” Nora swiped at her face, but Thomas didn’t allow her to retreat from him entirely. She felt too good—too right—in his arms for him to allow it.
“You should have seen the mess I made when I received the news of Beth’s passing,” Thomas said, dragging loose chestnut strands from her face. “I’m lucky the club’s owner is a very good friend or else I’d have been banned. As it was, I had to write a rather sizable banknote to repair the damages.”
“You didn’t…” she gasped, rich brown eyes wide and luminous from tears. He took pleasure in the fact that she seemed to have been pulled from her grief for the moment.
“I did.” Thomas allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of holding her closely enough to run his fingers down her spine, savoring the gentle warmth of her skin beneath her dark gown. “And when it was all said and done, I could practically hear Beth’s voice chiding me for making such a big fuss over her.” Nora’s smile was still sadder than he would have liked, but at least she’d stopped crying. It tore him like a dull blade cutting from the inside-out when she did that.
Despite his better judgment, Thomas pressed his lips to the top of her head, scenting the familiar delicious fragrance of her hair, and stepped back. “It has been a long and trying week. I shall leave you to rest, but I will return for you in the morning.” She opened her mouth to protest, but his imperiously arched brow silenced her. “I will not take no for an answer.” With that, he collected his hat and cloak and stepped out into the damp Fall evening.
Nora couldn’t sleep.
For the first time, she wished she had taken up her mother or sisters’ offers to allow her to stay with them for the time being. She’d declined, believing she wanted to be in the place where she was closest to Beth’s memory, but the silence she found instead served only to underscore her permanent absence.
Nora tossed and turned restlessly for hours on end before pacing her bedchamber. The tall windows overlooked the empty street intermittently lit by flickering lanterns that managed to cast only a sickly glow in the night. The daytime drizzle had picked up into a steady rain that shimmered in sheets and pattered against the glass panes like hesitant fingers. Her eyes strayed to the letter on the corner of her writing desk more than once. The seal remained intact.
She’d warred with herself over whether she wished to read her friend’s final words, but, in the end, Nora hadn’t been able to shut the door on the possibility of hearing Beth’s voice in her head one last time. Much like going through with Thomas’s insane plan to search out the arch, to read it would put an end to that possibility and she feared the silence that would be left in its wake. She decided leaving the note unread for the time being was the best choice; she’d read it when she was ready.
Pulling her woolen wrapper more tightly around her shoulders, she wandered over to the hearth to prod the fire into releasing more heat. No matter how many layers she donned or blankets upon the bed, she was unable to capture the sense of warmth she craved. Blaming it on the dreary weather and thick darkness outside would have been simple. Far more difficult was admitting to herself the real reason: She missed Thomas.
Seeing him in the home she’d shared with Beth, being that close to him—being held in his arms and pressed to his chest to bury her face in his heat and scent—had unlocked something deep inside of her…something Nora had fought to ignore for many years now.
She still ached for him. She still wanted him. She still craved his nearness and his touch. She missed him in her life.
The truth was, she didn’t regret the life she’d lived with Beth these past fifteen years; yet she couldn’t ignore the part of her that regretted walking away from the life she could have led with Thomas—the home they would have shared, the children they would have had. She knew deep within her that she could not have had both, though.
She could not have been the friend Beth needed had she dedicated herself to Thomas; she could not have been the wife Thomas deserved if she was devoting her time to her dearest friend.
Her choice had haunted her every day and night for years as her constant reminder that, no matter who she chose and what she’d decided to do with her life, someone would have been hurt.
And Nora lost either way.
She resumed pacing her room, balancing along the familiar striped pattern of the thick rug and counting the fifteen steps from one wall to the other, willing herself to feel the first tickle of fatigue but knowing it was futile.
Especially now that Thomas would be returning to her home in the morning whether or not she wanted him to.
The notion released a flock of pigeons in her abdomen—butterflies would have been far more elegant, but their fragile wings couldn’t possibly have created the roiling rocking of her stomach. This couldn’t be a good sign.
Nora knew she should bar the door against him in the morning, don her blackest mourning frock, and wallow in darkness. But Beth—Nora’s eyes darted over to the sealed letter—Beth would think it all a grand adventure and be the first to tell her she’d be a fool not to experience it. She could practically feel Beth’s hands on her shoulders as they shoved her out the door and told her not to come back until her sides ached from laughter, her face hurt from smiling, and her heart was full of the joy of adventure.
Nora wondered when she would be able to think of her friend and not experience the painful sting of tears in her nose and behind her eyes.
If she’d ever reach that point.
Nora closed her eyes and sighed.
Do it, Nora. Her eyes snapped open to see the first rays of sunlight edging through the gap between her parted curtains. She didn’t recall falling asleep, nor did she re-member any dreams she had, which was odd because she’d always been such a vivid dreamer.
She experienced the oddest tingling sensation dancing across her skin—the kind when some primal sense knew you were being watched before your mind processed the information. Sitting up in bed, she looked around her room.
The fire had died down to banked glowing coals coughing up nothing more than red and orange flickers. Dawn’s fingers cut a hazily illuminated swath across her desk and the bed before striking the door. She was alone. Her gaze drifted back to Beth’s letter on her desk. The cream envelope almost seemed to glow in the morning light.