Chapter 47 #2
The gentleman did not look at them or tip his hat, yet Thea heard the words as clear as day, and her steps faltered, drawing them to a stop. Turning, she watched her father stride away without a backward glance, and for a long moment, they simply watched him drift into the distance.
“He acknowledged us,” said Frederick in an awed tone. “He hasn’t even looked at me since you left.”
Thea managed a small laugh, though it caught somewhere deep in her chest. The greeting was cold and hardly worthy of being called such, but for her father, that single phrase spoke volumes, and it left behind a strange, fragile warmth like sunlight breaking through a wall of clouds.
It would take time, but perhaps those bonds could be mended.
Leaning into her husband, Thea tugged Frederick along, and they walked in silence, the road curving gently toward the heart of Haverford; for all their time apart, this moment felt too grand for words, and Thea contented herself with simply being beside him.
The clean light of morning filled the village, and the scent of baking bread and wet earth mingled in the air.
Frederick’s stride was brisk, purposeful, though he often glanced at her as if to make certain she remained at his side whilst he guided her down the lane that wound toward the edge of Haverford.
At last, he stopped before a small gate, its paint weathered and flaking, though the latch was bright from frequent use.
Beyond it stood a modest cottage, its whitewashed walls gleaming softly in the sun.
A little garden stretched along the front, overflowing with early summer blooms and the scent of lavender, and a bench sat beneath the shelter of a climbing rose, its petals scattering faintly in the breeze.
“It isn’t much,” he said quietly, almost shyly, as he pushed open the front gate. “But it is ours.”
Thea’s breath caught as she looked at the gleaming windows, the low roof, and the sunlight spilling across the front step. To anyone else, it might have seemed an ordinary house. To her, it was everything.
“It is perfect,” she whispered, her hand tightening around his arm.
Frederick pushed open the front door and stood back to let her pass, though she felt him hovering just behind her as she stepped into the front room.
It was humble and plainly furnished, but the moment she crossed the threshold, warmth wrapped around her like a thick blanket.
Though Thea had made a home of Rosewood Cottage, it hadn’t felt like home. But this was hers. Theirs.
The morning light poured through the front windows, gilding the edges of the worn wood floor and the scuffed legs of a sturdy table.
A pair of well-used chairs flanked the hearth, and near the mantelpiece stood a narrow bookcase that boasted the remnants of the Vosses’ library.
Each item within those walls was intrinsically tied to Frederick, whether bits of his history or the physical manifestation of the hours he’d labored over them.
And Thea itched to throw open her trunk and add the bits of herself to the walls and shelves. A perfect blending of both master and mistress.
“I worried it might look too bare,” Frederick said, his voice uneven. “But I didn’t want to crowd it before you’d seen it. I was able to purchase pieces that weren’t too costly and repaired them so they look new. Or nearly so.”
He gave a self-conscious laugh and ran a hand along the back of one chair, as though to excuse the dents and dings that came with age.
“It is perfect,” she repeated, and the truth of it caught in her throat. “Frederick, it’s—” She stopped, shaking her head a little, a smile pulling at her lips. “It feels like us.”
Frederick let out a heavy breath and reached for her hand.
Thea squeezed his fingers, her eyes moving once more about the room—and caught sight of a set of teacups on the side table.
Moving closer, she reached for the delicate cups and saucers.
They were lovely things with bunches of perfectly wrought violets trailing across the surface.
“What are these?” she whispered, glancing at her husband.
Frederick tossed aside his hat and rubbed at the back of his neck. “A lady ought to have a proper tea set, but I fear I could only afford four cups. I’ll add to them in time when I can…”
Thea turned slowly, the teacup cradled in her hand, and stared at him as he babbled about the price and the various pieces he had considered.
His brow furrowed as he offered up a litany of explanations and apologies as though excusing the offering, and Thea couldn’t speak around the swell of emotion that rose in her chest.
“Frederick, they’re beautiful,” she managed, though her voice trembled.
And before Frederick offered up any more self-reproaches, Thea set the cup carefully aside, crossed the space between them in two quick steps, and flung her arms about his neck.
His startled laugh was lost as she pressed her lips to his.
It was long overdue.
Three years of waiting and wanting. All the nights when she had lain awake imagining this moment came rushing back, lacing the embrace with the weight of every lonely hour and ache she had endured during their separation.
And when at last they parted, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the quiet, and the silence between them was full of peace, as though his touch had healed those pains and restored what had been stolen.
“If that is what four little cups get me, I will have to ensure that you have the largest tea set of any lady in England,” he whispered.
Thea let out a huffing laugh, her face nestling into the crook of his neck. “You ridiculous man.”
*
Her laughter warmed the air around them, the sound bright and unguarded against his collar; Frederick felt it as much as he heard it, the vibration running through him, and his smile grew.
If being a ridiculous man got him all this, he would happily spend the rest of his life being quite ridiculous, indeed.
Frederick held Thea close, his cheek resting against her head, as he considered everything that had led to this moment.
There had been so much loss, heartache, and regret—more than he had ever anticipated—but though they’d left their marks, those wounds had carved out space for something far grander to grow.
Something he hadn’t known he wanted and needed.
One cannot appreciate a glorious morning as much as those who have struggled through a stormy night, and with the first rays of sunlight peeking over his horizon, Frederick knew the days to follow were going to be magnificent.
“Welcome home, my love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Thea’s head.