Chapter Eighteen
“Iam not sure you should return just yet, Felicity,” Mercy mumbled, head lowered.
Felicity wrapped her arms around her twin once more, her shawl protecting them both from the chill breeze seeping into Huxley’s foyer from the open front doors. “I must. Setherwell is my home now. Wherever Atticus goes is my home—even if it will never again have the true comfort of home. I might as well accustom myself to the change now. I no longer have energy to run away from what must be.”
“Sister,” Mercy sniffled, her eyes red with sleeplessness and despondence. “I cannot bear to see you like this…without your light and your obstinate plans and your lively laugh. Are you certain there is nothing to be done? Surely, it is clear by now that Atticus is not the type of man to hate his wife over such a thing.”
“I am certain,” Felicity said in a rush. “Do not pity me, dear Mercy. The damage I have done deserves no sympathy or kindness. I must face the consequences of my terrible mistake. Besides, I would rather not let the viscountess know I was here. The chance of my discovery increases the closer her waking hour approaches.”
With a reluctant frown, Mercy nodded. She released Felicity from her embrace and grasped both her hands. “I pray you will come to forgive yourself one day. As ignorant and cruel as you feel you have been, nothing you have done is worth a lifetime of inner torment. I believe, even if he wishes to avoid you forever, your husband would agree. Of that, I am very much certain.”
Felicity forced a tight smile, her cheeks aching with the effort. “Thank you, sweet sister. It brings me relief to know I will always have a supporter in you, no matter how undeserving I may be. I do love and adore you, Mercy.”
“And I love and adore you, even when you vex me so.” Mercy chuckled, waving a hand at her watery, weary eyes.
A sliver of comfort did return to Felicity. Fondness softened her smile. “That is for the best, for I am afraid ours is a bond of particular steadfastness. You are the only person in this world who can never truly be rid of me.”
“Thank goodness for that.” Mercy grasped one of Felicity’s hands in both of hers and brought it up to her face. “I shudder to think how dull and cold my life would have been had we come into this world separately. It is a shame not everyone is afforded the opportunity to share a soul with their very best friend since before birth.”
“Miss Reeve! Mrs. Wheadon!” came an urgent whisper from somewhere behind the sisters. They turned to find Mercy’s lady’s maid hurrying down the grand staircase. “Her ladyship stirs,” she announced in a breathless huff halfway down.
“I must go. Thank you, my darling, dearest Mercy,” Felicity repeated, squeezing her twin yet again before flying to the door.
A biting gust whipped about her as she charged across the lawn to the treeline. She pulled her muslin shawl tighter about her and nearly regretted sending the carriage she had taken last night back to Setherwell.
Felicity tried and failed to focus on her steady, forceful march the closer she came to the familiar shadow in the branches, the path that had so unexpectedly led her to the greatest joy she had ever experienced—and the cruelest pain, entirely self-inflicted. Eyes fixed on that spot, Felicity’s frantic, rebellious heart flooded her senses with that memory, as if she might transport herself back in time to this very moment on a bright, summer day, ignorant to all that awaited her.
Tears stung Felicity’s eyes. If by some miracle she could return to that wonderful, terrible day that had changed her life—her very being—would she choose differently? Would she fall wholeheartedly and honestly and never look back?
To go back in time would be her only hope of reversing this terrible predicament. No matter how deeply she felt the pain of regret, no matter how ardently she apologized, she knew she could never expect Atticus to entrust his heart to her again. In her panic, she had been careless with it.
Or would Felicity still have made the same mistakes that had led both of them to their present misery?
She would never know. It was foolish to speculate on what could not be changed, Felicity reminded herself as she ducked between the protection of the trees. The wind died to a haunting whistle. She was nearly back to the street that would lead her to Setherwell. It was time to brace herself for whatever fresh sorrows the day brought.
Felicity shook her head. Leaves crumpled softly under her feet against the packed dirt path. She did not wish to think upon the future, either.
Would she see Atticus at all today? Tomorrow? For the remainder of their time in Bainbridge? When they did inevitably cross paths, would his stunning, blue eyes look at her with icy indifference or subdued hatred? Or would they simply look right through her?
The torrent of questions that populated Felicity’s mind refused to be banished, no matter how hard she blinked or shook her head or swatted through the air. It was a unique sort of torment, to know she would never be the same in the eyes of someone she had come to understand and admire and…love.
“Ah!” she cried, jerking back and nearly losing her balance.
Felicity spun around and grabbed hold of her shawl, snagged against a prickly bunch of naked branches. Naturally, just the thing she needed in her time of distress.
With an impatient growl, Felicity tugged. The branches swayed under the force of her pull. They did not snap or relinquish the delicate fabric. Felicity gritted her teeth and yanked again.
The rustle of leaves and branches echoed behind her as something large crashed down the narrow path. Pulse quickening, Felicity pulled with all her desperate might, not daring so much as a glance over her shoulder to see what wild animal or vagabond charged at her.
“Felicity!”
She stilled. Her heart slowed, stumbled, wilted. So soon? Felicity had been relying on at least a few more minutes to compose herself. Tense fingers loosened around the torn fabric.
“Atticus. I did not mean to trouble you into coming after me,” Felicity replied without turning.
“It is never any trouble.”
His boots whispered over fallen leaves, making almost no sound as he approached, so different from the urgent commotion of moments before. Felicity could not help being acutely aware of every movement, no matter how quiet.
“You mustn’t say such things anymore,” Felicity mumbled, not entirely sure she meant for him to hear.
Atticus’s steps stopped just behind her. Two long arms enclosed Felicity, reaching past her head. The mixture of his proximity and enticing aroma made her knees weaken as he made quick work of untangling her shawl.
He could not continue doing such things anymore. How could Felicity ever hope to regain even a shred of peace in her heartache if Atticus continued to remind her of her grave error and the suffering she’d caused with every gentle word and consideration?
“Why mustn’t I say such things anymore?” he asked as he stepped back and turned Felicity by her shoulders, wrapping the thin fabric about her in the process.
She stared at her husband. He had given her no choice. Felicity’s heart shot into her throat as she failed to read his solemn expression.
“Because you waste your kindness. Because it is not necessary any longer,” she whispered, almost pleading. How much longer could she bear to look into those same eyes that had been so filled with anguish last night?
“I say them because—”
“Because it will always be your duty to me as your wife—”
“Because I love you.”
Felicity stilled once more. The wind faded. The chill melted into sweet, sheltering warmth. Just for a moment, she allowed herself to feel it. This may be the only time she ever heard those words from her husband.
Atticus’s fingers slipped past the layers of Felicity’s shawl until they found her hands and wrapped around them. Without her permission, Felicity’s eyes closed. Her skin responded, soaking in his welcome heat.
This should not have been happening. Then why did it feel so perfect? Why did it feel like coming home?
“I did not exaggerate when I told you that I have spent the majority of my life believing I would never love anyone. And to discover I could love someone this completely, this quickly… It defies everything I knew about myself.”
“Felicity, you opened my eyes to all that I might be, to all the wonders I might find if I am not afraid to look. Once opened, they can never be shut again. I am incapable of returning to who I was before you brought your light into my life. And even if I were capable, I should not wish to. For that, I will be eternally grateful.”
Shaking her head, Felicity stepped back. “I am sorry, truly. I never intended for it to happen.”
Atticus took the same step, never releasing Felicity’s hands. His grip remained light. She knew she could pull at any moment, but she was far too weak. This must have been a dream. Why else did she see nothing but that captivating, blue gaze?
“If the restrictions you set forth last night are still what you desire, I will derive my happiness in abiding by them until my last breath. On that account, you must not spare a single thought for my perceived troubles.
“My greatest wish, my only wish, is for you to find whatever comfort possible in this entanglement. To that end, I have already informed my parents of my intention to purchase Setherwell, that you might always be near your sister and friends. I will not consign you to decades of loneliness. Perhaps Mercy may come live with us at Setherwell, or wherever we reside, so she need not remain victim to loneliness, either.”
As Atticus spoke, Felicity’s mouth fell open, her eyes filling with tears. She snatched her hands away and stumbled back into a sturdy tree trunk. The gentleman flinched in surprise.
“But why?” Felicity demanded through the stinging crack in her voice. “Why—after what I hid from you, after robbing your life of its plans, after all this uncertainty that has plagued us since the beginning…after what I said—how can you still be so kind?”
Though his focus never left Felicity, Atticus remained grounded to his spot, allowing her the distance she’d thought she’d needed. Instead, Felicity felt his loss more keenly even than last night, when she had been so sure that the only way to spare them future pain was to break their hearts now.
“Because I no longer care. Not about Lady Swan. Our scandalous engagement. Worries that may never come to pass.”
Felicity could not continue to witness the earnest desire in her husband’s face, clinging to the illusion they had unwittingly woven. “You can never be certain of anything I say. I misled you. I hurt you…”
“Felicity.” The quiet confidence in his voice compelled her to raise her head. Atticus’s gaze drew her toward him, as if the physical distance meant nothing to their hearts when they still shared this unspoken language.
“I am telling you, once and for all, that I love you now. Secrets or not. Falling in love with you, every part of you, was real. Every moment we shared was genuine. Nothing else matters to me. I know my mind in this.”
The tall, lean figure of her husband blurred as more tears flooded Felicity’s vision, on the precipice of spilling. “How can such a thing be possible?”
“Because it is what you deserve.”
A tear slipped out before Felicity could take herself in hand. She longed to free them. She longed to free herself in the mad hope that she could accept what she so desperately desired.
Atticus came closer, even closer than before. They stood toe to toe. Felicity could no longer resist, not with him a mere breath away. Her gloved fingers found his, tentative. “I still do not understand… Perhaps I never will.”
“You will.” Atticus’s voice rang with conviction as he intertwined their hands. “If permitted, I will never tire of telling you and showing you in every way I can imagine that you deserve all the love and care your guardians failed to provide. You deserve to know it and feel it every second of every day—whether you return my affections or not.”
He paused. For the first time, his gaze faltered. Felicity could hardly believe her ears. But her heart did. It sputtered back to life.
Despite all her rashness and stubbornness, her husband loved her. He wanted her. He accepted her. Simply because Felicity was Felicity. Never had such a rush of sweet, perfect contentment threatened to sweep her off her feet.
“But before you take anything else into consideration, I have another confession… I read the letter you keep in your book.”
Felicity’s surprise only lasted a moment. “I suppose you would be curious. Apparently, Clara confessed that she spoke of Lady Swan with you to Mercy in tears after they departed Setherwell last night, the poor thing.”
“I do apologize, truly,” Atticus hurried without meeting her gaze. “It was a moment of weakness, one that will not be repeated again under any circumstances. But, if I may give credit where it is due…”
A weak chuckle grew into a giggle which became a full, free laugh. When Felicity’s once-mournful tears spilled, they left behind them a tingle of unexpected elation. Atticus’s grip tightened around her hand as he joined.
“While I will always hate being bested, I will admit that Lady Swan possesses a remarkable talent with words—and perhaps the gift of foresight.” Felicity gasped as their amusement slowly settled. “But, Atticus…” She lowered her gaze.
With a gentle finger, Atticus tilted Felicity’s chin up. Her eyes lifted and found his. “Yes?”
“The regret that has plagued me since the moment those words left my mouth is indescribable. Even a talent such as Shakespeare could have never hoped to capture it…although he came remarkably close.”
Her husband chuckled quietly as his forefinger drifted along her jaw. His soft palm cupped her cheek.
“I knew, the very instant I said it, that it was a dreadful error to call our marriage a mistake, yet I had somehow convinced myself it was right. Being near me has clearly been nothing but a hazard to you. The amount of pain I have caused you since the night of the ball—”
“Is a mere drop in the sea of elation you have brought me in that very same time.”
Felicity turned her face into his touch. “I am so, so terribly sorry, Atticus. For everything, for not coming forth with the letter. But most particularly for choosing cowardice last night. I wish I had not waited to lose you to accept that running from one’s misdeeds and faults tends to create more problems than it solves.
“Lady Swan opened me to the possibility that I could let myself be vulnerable in the process of falling in love—even if I never would have admitted it then. But I have come to believe that, if we had met in an entirely ordinary fashion, your very essence would have eventually drawn me to you. I have never known anyone as sweet, caring, understanding, or fascinating as you. I like to think that I would have recognized that on my own had Lady Swan not intervened, though I am sure it would have taken far, far longer.”
“Your love for me is…genuine?” Atticus whispered, his lips brushing against her forehead.
“It is unbearably genuine.”
“And does this mean you wish to live permanently at Setherwell?”
There was that darling hint of bashfulness that Felicity had come to cherish. She freed her hands and allowed them to wander up his strong forearms and biceps to his shoulders…his neck. Her fingers teased at his tangled locks.
“It means I wish to live permanently with you, Atticus. As your wife, in the deepest, truest sense. But only if you are certain you can accept me after—”
Atticus’s arms tightened around Felicity’s waist. He smiled and lowered his head ever so slightly. “It has very recently been brought to my attention that we both have already lost far too much time needlessly denying ourselves.”
“I think I finally agree,” Felicity whispered. “I love you, Atticus. I have always known it, but my fear of changing who I was and still finding myself unworthy of you distorted even the most natural truth.”
“My kind, vibrant, beautiful wife.”
“My brave, unwavering, dashing husband.”
Felicity tilted her face up just as Atticus brought his head lower. Their foreheads collided with a surprisingly resonant smack, their wide eyes mirroring each other’s shock.
The couple let their heads fall back as they released bellows of delight in unison. Felicity gasped for breath, freeing a hand to block the no doubt ghastly sight from her husband’s view.
Instead, he caught it and returned it to its comfortable position cupping the back of his neck. For some reason, the deftness of his movements, usually so deliberate and cautious, flushed Felicity with heat.
“Your laugh is the true thing that brought us into each other’s lives. Never bury it.”
“You may come to regret that,” Felicity teased with a shrug.
“Impossible. Now let me see what damage has been done.”
Atticus’s free hand grasped Felicity’s jaw while the other pulled her closer. He pressed his lips to her forehead, banishing her pain and guilt and regret.
“I love you so very, very much, Felicity.”
Felicity felt the loss of his warm mouth only for a moment. He captured her lips and held her for a wonderfully timeless moment. They savored each other, explored each other with slow, gentle movements.
Exhilaration erupted in Felicity’s chest like a flock of doves taking to endless skies. Her fingers twisted into his hair as his hand drew her face even closer, each increasingly desperate for the other.
How many times had she tried and failed to stop herself from imagining this wonderful moment of their first true kiss? None of those vague dreams could have prepared her for how completely Atticus’s very being enveloped her. He was all she could see, hear, feel, taste.
Time held no meaning for them in the tunnel of trees. Time would never be the same for Felicity now that she could see all their future blessings unfolding before them, wrapped in the tender promise of her husband’s kiss.
There still existed the part of her that refused to believe she deserved to love someone as selfless and perfect as Atticus.
But this feeling…this indescribable, otherworldly feeling as Atticus nestled her face into the warm crook of his neck and held her tight refused to be silenced any longer.
It outweighed all else. This feeling of rightness. It was so simple, Felicity had almost missed it.
“Are you ready to return home?” Atticus whispered into her hair.
“But you make such a lovely shawl, much better than this muslin thing. Still, I suppose you must be chilled to the bone. You despise the cold.”
Felicity burrowed a little deeper into her husband’s embrace and rested her ear over his heart. It beat strong and steady. It beat for her.
“I do not despise it, not entirely. Not with you. But I am afraid I shall have to take matters into my own hands,” Atticus replied slowly, a touch of mischief coloring his words. Felicity’s eyes narrowed.
“And how do you plan on—”
Her teasing question was swallowed by a shocked squeal as Atticus hoisted her with little effort into his arms. Every inch of her skin ablaze, Felicity stared into those eyes she loved so dearly, eyes she would lose herself in every day for the remainder of her life.
In less than a heartbeat, Atticus’s sweet lips found hers once more. Felicity melted in his strong arms, weightless.
“What an uncommon man.” She sighed, utterly content. “You surprise me at every turn.”
“Thanks to my bride, I have grown quite fond of surprises.” Atticus chuckled.
Felicity felt the lovely sound echo through her own body and soul as if it had generated within her. They had been one for far longer than she’d realized.
They had been one all along.