Chapter 47
The coaching inn stood at the edge of town, its whitewashed walls glowing against the green of the fields and the darker line of hedgerows beyond. Sparrows darted under the eaves, and somewhere in the yard, a groom whistled as he filled the troughs.
A sensible man would wait inside, but Frederick couldn’t move from the courtyard, his eyes scouring for any sign of the coach.
Every sound—the rumble of a passing cart, the metallic jangle of tack in the stables, the wind stirring the sign overhead—drew his attention, and the disappointment that followed pressed heavier against his chest. A shout set his heart racing, but it was only the ostler calling for a missing harness.
Then came a clatter from the stable door, a burst of laughter, the quick rhythm of hooves against cobbles.
Again, nothing.
Frederick drew in a slow breath to calm his fidgeting limbs.
He had imagined this moment a hundred times: seeing the coach crest the rise, watching her step down, hearing her voice again after so many years of ink and paper.
He had thought himself prepared, but with the moment so near, his composure deserted him entirely.
Then—at last—the sound came.
Hand rising to shield his eyes from the glaring sun, Frederick squinted down the road ahead.
A low, distant rumble swelled until it filled the air.
There was no mistaking it: the coach was coming.
Frederick laughed, an unsteady, breathless sound, and his hand went to his chest as though he could steady the wild beating there, but the pulse only grew quicker and sharper as the vehicle came into view.
The stagecoach thundered into the yard as the guard’s horn called out its bright, triumphant note.
Dust billowed around them, veiling everything for a breathless moment as the driver called for the ostlers to steady the team, but Frederick was already moving, every sense fixed upon the door.
It burst open, and in a flurry of muslin and wool, Thea flew from the coach, and Frederick caught her, the force of her descent driving the breath from his lungs.
And for an instant, the world stilled.
The feel of her in his arms, the scent of her (mixed with the dust and dirt of travel) rushed into his senses with dizzying familiarity.
Breathless, she laughed and cried in turn, saying his name again and again as if to make certain he was real, but Frederick couldn’t speak.
He could only hold her, feeling the tremor of her heartbeat against his chest, the warmth of her cheek near his own.
When at last they drew back, Frederick’s hands lingered at her waist, unwilling to let her step away, and for a moment he could do nothing but look at her.
A loose curl clung to her cheek before she brushed it aside, and those warm brown eyes that had filled his every dream in the past three years met his with such gentleness that it left his legs weak and trembling.
Then Thea smiled—that familiar, hesitant curve of her lips—and Frederick was undone right there and then. She was here. With him.
“I must look a mess,” she groaned, patting at her hair, though she couldn’t be more wrong.
Lifting her hand to his, Frederick didn’t care that her glove was dusty from the travel; he placed a kiss on her palm and allowed his eyes to convey everything he yearned to say when there weren’t ears to overhear.
And as lovely as that moment was, Frederick couldn’t help frowning over the fact that he was limited to such staid demonstrations when he yearned to greet her in a far more pleasant manner.
Blushing furiously as though she could read his thoughts, Thea turned away. “Where did I leave my bonnet?”
One of the passengers handed over the abandoned article, and whilst she settled it back in place, Frederick tossed a few coins at the lads sitting nearby and asked them to haul her trunks to their new home.
Then, refusing to linger any longer, he tucked her arm into his and steered her toward the gate.
“Frederick,” she laughed, trying to keep pace. “Can you allow me to catch my breath? We needn’t rush about this very minute.”
But Frederick didn’t slow, only glanced at her with a crooked smile that could not quite disguise the urgency in it. “Forgive me, my love, but this day is three years too late. I’ll not lose another minute.”
That old, familiar expression of hers returned in force, saying without a single word that she found him utterly ridiculous and loved him all the more for it, and Frederick’s breath caught.
How many nights had he conjured that look from memory, only to find it a poor imitation of the real thing? Yet here it was again.
“Do not look at me like that, woman,” he said, though his voice betrayed the grin tugging at his mouth. “You’ll make me forget where we’re going.”
“I doubt that very much,” replied Thea, her smile breaking fully now, warm and teasing and so achingly familiar that he never wanted to turn away from the sight.
“I have missed you, my love,” whispered Frederick, and her tender smile matched his words, echoing them back.
The morning air shimmered with warmth, and as they made their way deeper into the village, their steps came faster until Thea had to skip every few steps to keep up, her free hand fixed atop her head to keep her bonnet from flying free.
And her laughter followed them as they passed through the church’s lychgate.
***
Man and wife.
Those simple words echoed in Thea’s mind as they stepped into the sunlight once more. The church door closed softly behind them, and for a moment she could scarcely breathe. Haverford looked as it always had—nothing had altered in her time away—and yet nothing was the same.
She had entered those walls as Miss Keats, a woman suspended between what was and what might be, and had walked out as Mrs. Voss.
Bound to her dear Frederick for the rest of their days.
Never to be separated again. The air itself seemed clearer and sharper, as though the world had finally released the breath it held for three years.
Frederick’s fingers tightened gently around hers, and she looked up to find him watching her with the half-smile that always threatened to undo her composure.
The wind stirred, carrying with it the scent of grass and distant rain, and Thea lifted her face to it, feeling the warmth of his hand, the weight of the ring on her finger, and the startling, breath-stealing joy of knowing they had crossed the long, impossible distance between hope and home.
Joy swelled within her chest until her ribs ached.
For so long, this day had been a dream too fragile to touch, a thing kept alive only by hope and ink and stubborn faith, and now it was real.
Lifting her hand, Frederick placed a reverent kiss on the simple band that now resided on her finger, and the warmth of that touch traveled straight to her heart.
Thea wanted to laugh, to cry, to throw her arms about him and hold fast, to tell him he had been worth every lonely night and every doubt—but not on the steps of the church when any passerby could see them.
It was one thing to cast aside convention to feed herself and build a life with the man she loved, but Thea had her limits. More’s the pity.
Again, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, his thumb caressing her fingers before guiding her down the path. The earth beneath their feet was damp with morning dew, the sky wide and pale and brimming with light, and beside her walked the man she had waited three long years to claim.
No one waited to see them off. No cheers filled the air. No wedding bells broke the stillness of the morning. But the quiet that followed their path felt right. Proper. It was a silent benediction to the years of sacrifice that had brought them to this moment.
As they passed beneath the lychgate, Thea breathed deeply of the morning air and cast her eyes to Haverford, drinking in every detail of the home she’d missed for so long.
Ahead, a gentleman strolled down the lane at an easy pace, his attention on the path ahead, and Thea noticed him only as one notices any passerby on a quiet road.
But the familiar set of his shoulders and his measured stride forced its way into her thoughts, causing her breath to hitch.
Jerking to a halt, Thea stared as the gentleman drew closer, seemingly unaware of her presence until he was nearly atop them, and when his eyes finally met hers, a moment passed before she saw the recognition dawn, and he stumbled to a stop mere feet from her.
Papa regarded them in silence, his eyes darting to the church and back to them again, his hand tightening around the head of his cane.
Thea clutched Frederick’s arm, and her heart gave a small, traitorous leap.
Why was he here? Why now? Though Thea prayed this had happened by design, the flicker of shock in the gentleman’s gaze testified that it was not.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t speak, but then he turned away, poised to pass without a word, and Thea told herself it mattered not one jot for the day was too bright and joyous for old wounds, but the denial rang hollow even to her own ears.
This was her father, yet his stubbornness had cut her from his life and left her without the dowry that would’ve eased their way into this new world.
Yet to erase the past three years would be to erase the good that had come from it. The strength she had gained. The friends she had made. Her time at Rosewood Cottage had not been a wholesale misery, and she could not wish it undone any more than she could wish herself a new father and mother.
And in that, Thea found peace and the strength to continue down the lane.
“Mr. and Mrs. Voss,” he murmured as they passed.