Chapter Nineteen
H eloise blinked at Peter. She thought she had been managing quite well, swallowing her heartbreak and offering him a courteous, uncomplicated goodbye. But he had interrupted, and now she could not recall the remainder of her carefully rehearsed speech. “You wish to accompany me? On what terms?”
“Any terms.”
Even in the murky half-light, Heloise could see that he was filthy and exhausted. She longed to wipe the grime from his cheek, to stroke his hair and comfort him. But she recalled, with a bitter pang, the impossibility of their future.
“I will never be your wife,” she reminded him.
“I don’t care about that!” Peter’s face twisted, and he took a fumbling step toward her. “I panicked and said something thoughtless and insulting. Forgive me. I only want us to be together.”
Hope surged in Heloise’s chest, but she fought it back. She must not lose her head, must not believe in hasty promises, even ones she longed desperately to hear.
“You say you do not care.” She drew her cloak more tightly around her. “But you will come to regret settling for an unconventional arrangement.”
“I don’t want a conventional life!” Peter closed the distance between them, thrust her gifts into his coat pocket, and gripped her gloved hands. “I offered to marry you because I thought you needed rescuing.” She scowled at him, and he gave a sorry shrug. “Stupid of me.”
They stood hand in hand, only a few inches of cold, misty air between them. The street was so still that Heloise fancied she could hear their hearts laboring in confused, halting rhythm.
Peter rubbed a thumb over her knuckles. “Do you still want me?”
He had the audacity to look genuinely unsure. In a rush, all the emotions she had packed away like so much luggage came roaring back to life.
“So much it makes me angry.” Heloise tore her hands away and balled them into fists. “I hadn’t realized anything was amiss. And then you came, and you were so wonderful.” Her eyes stung, and she blinked furiously. “It’s quite unfair. What am I supposed to do without you, now?”
“Don’t do anything without me.” Peter spoke in a ragged rush of breath. “Let me be your lover. Your companion. Your partner. Heloise—” He broke off and swallowed, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “My only wish is to be by your side.”
The cold cobblestones, the mist, the ghostly moon, and the universe felt suspended in the heavy silence. Then Heloise saw, over Peter’s shoulder, a faint brightening of the air. Gray shadows shrank away, and here and there, shifting columns of sunlight broke through the fog. Birds stirred in the trees, rustling and making scattered music; a wild orchestra coming into tune. Dawn was breaking, and for a moment, the whole city seemed to shine.
Heloise looked from the pink-tinged world back to Peter. She might never completely understand the nature of their connection. Nor could she predict, with full confidence, what the future would hold. People were, unfortunately, unquantifiable. But she trusted him. And as she gazed at the man who had grown so dear to her, she knew what she wanted. The rest she would leave to faith. Trust and faith; no serious thinker would rely on them. Yet she felt only excitement, her heart pierced by a fierce, almost painful joy. A light morning breeze fluttered the hem of her cloak.
“All right,” she said.
“What?” Peter’s voice was hoarse. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes, but on one condition. You must continue on as my tutor.” At his thunderstruck expression, she added, “We never finished the list.”
Peter’s laugh broke the last of the night’s silence. Heloise fumbled for the clasp of her cloak with clumsy, impatient fingers. She shrugged it off, flung the heavy garment to the pavement, and launched herself at Peter.
He caught her, staggering back and wrapping his arms around the waist. She clung to his shoulders and buried her face in his throat. Her lips brushed warm skin, and his scent was everywhere, soothing and dizzying her. His smell, the taste of him, the weight of his arms around her was such a blessed relief that a sob rose in her throat. Peter squeezed her tighter, digging his fingers into her hips and pressing his nose to her hair.
Heloise realized that she was wetting his collar with her tears. Peter raised his head and kissed them from her cheeks, laughing when her spiked lashes tickled his nose. Finally, Heloise gave a long sigh, went limp, and Peter lowered her until her feet touched the ground. They stood with their arms around one another as the rising sun filled the air with brilliance.
Hand in hand, they retrieved Heloise’s cloak and walked to where the wagon was waiting. Heloise climbed into the driver’s seat, and Peter took the place beside her. When the horses surged forward, he leaned against her, their shoulders and thighs rubbing pleasantly. The city came to life as they passed through, smoke curling from chimneys, men striding along with hats pulled low and shopkeepers opening their windows. When they left the main road behind, Peter glanced down at his stained, tattered trousers. “I’ll need some new clothes. I smell like a prison floor.”
“All of your things are in a case under the bench.” Heloise guided the horses around a broken stretch of pavement. “We’ll stop at an inn for lunch, and you can freshen up.”
Peter shot her a glance. “Your plan was to release me from prison, hand me a suitcase full of my belongings, and set sail to another country?”
“More or less.”
He shook his head, though she caught a quick smile of admiration. “Is your uncle well? I hope I did not injure him.”
“Perfectly well. Sarah treated his lip with a poultice, which he grumbled about. He was back at his desk fussing with his ledgers when I left.” She felt Peter’s eyes on her, curious but patient. “I will continue to work with my uncle. I can just as easily advise him on investment opportunities by letter. To be honest, I enjoy it.”
Peter pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Was it difficult to say goodbye?”
“Sarah cried. But she told me she was proud of me.” Heloise raised her head and let out a long breath, her eyes on the road ahead. They were travelling out of the city; whitewashed buildings gave way to towering alders, a low brick wall separating them from the green and tan expanse of the countryside.
Peter shifted in his seat. “Why did you decide to leave?” He sounded guilty, his voice tight and wary. “Was it because of me?”
“I did not flee England because you proposed to me.” Heloise elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Try to have some perspective.” Peter gave a playful yelp, but relaxed against her, the tension gone from his body.
“I was upset,” Heloise admitted. “When I returned to the library, you were gone. I thought, well, that’s done. Things will be as before. I will return to who I was before. But I realized that person doesn’t exist anymore. And the library…”
Heloise paused, turned to Peter, and found him staring at her. He was listening with solemn attention, all his love and care written on his face, his heart right at the surface like an open, proffered hand. Her throat swelled, chest tight with gratitude.
“The library seemed smaller,” she continued. “I will always love it, but for some reason, I didn’t wish to return. I felt the urge to explore, like an itch. There’s so much more of the world than what’s in that little room.”
Heloise frowned, feeling that she had not explained herself well. But Peter seemed to understand. He touched her face, his eyes soft, the pad of his thumb moving gently over her cheek. Then he looped his arm around her shoulder and drew her against him, tucking her firmly into his side. She rested there, her head in the hollow of his shoulder.
The road turned from cobbles to packed earth, the sun flashing on glossy leaves and warming the tops of their heads. “What about you?” Heloise asked, lifting her head from Peter’s arm. “What will become of your teaching and writing?”
“They have colleges and pens in Italy.” Peter brushed his fingers along the nape of her neck, making her shiver. “In truth, I could not summon much enthusiasm for any endeavor that separated me from you.” Heloise leaned in, hoping for more caresses, but he released her and sat up with a start. “Oh!” His eyes shone with interest. “Speaking of which, whatever became of Marie and Francois?”
“I haven’t written the ending yet.”
“Would you like to talk it through?” Peter smiled hopefully, the dimple flashing on his smudged cheek. His hair stuck up in the back, his chin was rough with whiskers, and Heloise did not think he had ever looked so handsome. As he waited for her answer, head tilted eagerly, she felt a crushing wave of tenderness. She could not have said how much his regard meant to her; only that she felt cherished, well and truly, for herself and herself alone.
Heloise nodded, and Peter perked up even more. He patted his chest, encouraging her to lean back, fitting her against him close to his heart. As the wagon rolled on, they passed a towering hedgerow bursting with white primroses. Heloise kept one hand on the reins, the other resting on Peter’s knee. He held her tight while she launched into the story, the road unfurling before them and the air full of the promise of spring.
The End