Chapter 12 Time Runs Out #3
“In truth. I am not certain. I suspect that my brother, Clive, interfered with my abilities.” Graham grimaced.
“Although I fulfilled my original goal of improving my understanding of mortals and even managed to assist several people during my stay, I identified with you so much that I almost lost sight of myself. Clive tried to warn me of this, but I refused to listen.” He paused, anchoring his gaze upon the brandy as he swirled it.
“When your death appeared to be inevitable, I had thought I might, shall we say, step in and help fill the void created by your demise.”
My jaw clenched. “Are you speaking of Elizabeth? Did you hope to take my place with her?”
“In a word, yes.” Graham thrust his hand out in a defensive position.
“But it is obvious she loves you with the whole of her heart. No man could hope to replace you in her eyes. My main object would have been to support her as a friend. I could not expect her to ever look at me in any other way. I do not deny that, in time, if she developed feelings…”
I shot to my feet. “You need not explain. None of that matters now.”
He relaxed against the chair. “Quite right. You have every reason to rejoice. I shall make my farewell to Elizabeth and depart before the day is done. I trust you will make my excuses to the others.”
“Yes, of course.” At last, I should be free of him.
Yet despite the disorder and anxiety he caused me, Graham had granted me a valuable gift.
“Before you go, I must thank you. You have eased my mind in a profound way, just as you have done for my brother Richard. The knowledge that I need not fear Elizabeth will perish from complications associated with childbirth is an invaluable gift.”
Graham stood and shook my proffered hand.
“You have taught me a great deal and impressed me with your probity and admirable principles. Thanks to you and your charming wife, this has been a holiday I shall never forget.” He tilted his head and kept hold of my hand.
“There are two people present who wish to convey messages to you. Your mother is elated to witness the joy Elizabeth and Bennet have brought to your life. She allows that at first, she bristled at your choice of wife. Soon enough, though, she realised no one else could have suited you better. She is delighted with the close bond you formed with Georgiana and approves of her marriage to her favourite nephew.”
Moisture pooled in my eyes again as I pictured Mother’s joyous countenance on the day she had informed me that she would give me a brother or a sister.
“Your father is awed by the closeness you have with Bennet, and he is regretful that he did not spend more time with you and Georgiana in the first years of your lives. He wants to convey that he is proud of you. Both of your parents send you and your family their love.” Graham released my hand.
“I have sensed your parents’ presences about the house several times throughout my stay. They are frequent visitors.”
A mélange of emotions inundated me. I raised my handkerchief and wiped my eyes. “I should be obliged if you would tell them for me that I love them and miss them.”
Graham beamed at me. “They heard you.”
Graham
In accordance with Clive’s instructions, I took a seat in a quiet corner of the rose garden. Soon enough, a rather unkempt gentleman entered through the gate. He staggered forwards, his coat askew and rumpled, his trousers wrinkled.
As he hobbled along, the man gazed around himself as though lost or disoriented. When he caught sight of me, he veered in my direction. “Pardon me, sir. Would you be Mr. Graham by any chance?”
I stood and bowed to the man. “That is correct, my good sir. And who might you be?”
“My name is Mr. Andrew Oakley. Unfortunately, I am a bit perplexed at present.” He indicated the nearby bench. “Do you mind if I sit there?”
“Not at all. Pray do so.” In my one brief and unpleasant prior encounter with Mr. Oakley, I had paid scant attention to his countenance.
My current perusal of his visage revealed him to be attractive—absent his former sneer.
Flecks of grey dotted his deep-set, green eyes, his well-formed jaw jutted at a moderate length, and he had a fine, straight nose.
His thick mane of tousled dark-brown hair emphasised his disordered state.
Based upon the portrait of Nicholas Mead hanging in Sarah’s sitting room, the deceased man had not resembled Mr. Andrew Oakley in the least. In any event, I judged Mr. Oakley to be the handsomer of the two.
His hand dragged across his puckered forehead as he viewed our surroundings with a bleary expression. “This is the rose garden at Pemberley estate, is it not?”
“It is indeed.”
“You must excuse me, but as odd as this must sound, I have no conception of how I came to be here, none at all. Is that not strange?”
“Yes, I should say so.”
“My last recollection is resting upon a bed at Mr. Cooper’s surgical office in Lambton.
” Mr. Oakley rubbed his eyes. “My parents had planned to attend the party today, so they must be out on the grounds. I had stopped at the cobbler’s shop to pick up my shoes.
Whilst there, I fell ill with fever, and someone fetched Mr. Cooper for me.
” His hand inched in cautious movements along his left shoulder and upper arm.
His mouth fell open, and he extended his hand in a wider range, pressing with increased force.
“This is extraordinary. I feel no pain whatsoever. My wound has vanished completely!”
Mr. Oakley’s facial muscles contracted and relaxed.
“Several weeks ago, I sustained a gash on my shoulder when my horse threw me. I did not tend to the wound as I ought to have done, and it festered. My mother urged me to see Mr. Cooper several times, but to my regret, I procrastinated.” He winced.
“Mr. Cooper grew so grave when he observed the wound that I became unnerved. He said I had a terrible infection. By then, the pain had become severe. He gave me a tincture to drink and bade me to rest upon a bed. I had grown so weak that I feared falling asleep lest I may never awaken. But despite my efforts to avoid slumber, I succumbed to my fatigue. When I regained consciousness, I found myself at the entrance to this rose garden. No one stood anywhere near me, and yet a voice commanded me to find Mr. Graham.”
I turned at the sound of the door from the house—a maid entered the garden with a tea tray. I drew my palms together. “Ah, Nancy, your timing is perfect.”
She smiled and blushed. “Is everthin ’ere to your liking, sir? If there’s aught you need, I’d be ’appy to fetch it for you.”
“No, thank you. This will do quite well.”
Nancy curtsied and left, taking one long backwards look.
I fixed a plate of meat, cheese, bread, and slices of cake for Mr. Oakley. “You could do with a bit of sustenance, and the food here is excellent. How do you like your tea?” Pursuant to the man’s request, I handed him the plate of food and a cup of tea with milk, no sugar.
Sarah Mead
A tall footman emerged from the crowd and strode in my direction. “Excuse me, madam. Are you Mrs. Mead?”
I blinked at him. Why would he seek me out? “Yes, I am.”
“Very good, madam.” He handed me a note and departed.
I opened the sealed paper and Graham’s signature drew my notice.
Mercy, what did he want with me now? In a distinctive, ornate style of penmanship, he requested my immediate presence in the rose garden.
How dare he summon me like this? My chest muscles cramped, and I crumpled the note into a tiny ball.
We had already said our goodbyes last night. Although I did not love Graham and had agreed to his terms of a temporary association, the loss of his companionship would leave a distinct void in my life.
Ever since Nicholas had been taken from me, a desolate sadness marked my existence, and a certain elusive quality in Graham’s voice had reminded me of him. The nights spent with Graham had, for a time, suspended the loneliness that otherwise consumed me.
The best course would be to disregard the note.
After all, what could he say that I should wish to hear?
Yet my growing curiosity plagued me and soon overruled my pride.
Upon entering the rose garden, I took purposeful steps towards Graham, who occupied a bench with another gentleman.
Fie, the rogue did not even have the courtesy to ensure our conversation would be private!
Both men set down their tea cups and stood at my approach.
I maintained an austere mien. With another person present, I should be denied the satisfaction of venting my annoyance with him. So, I attempted to present a semblance of steadiness. “Mr. Graham, would you be kind enough to tell me why you sent for me?”
He bowed. “Mrs. Mead, how delightful to see you.” He swept his hand towards his companion. “Are you acquainted with Mr. Andrew Oakley?”
Andrew Oakley. With a glance at the other gentleman, my entire body stiffened.
“We have met.” Why would Graham be in company with him, of all people?
In the small and unvarying community around Lambton, I could not avoid crossing paths with the conceited, odious man at times.
If possible, I should shun him. He had declared a romantic interest in me not even six months after Nicholas’s death.
I had been swift and direct in my discouragement.
Since then, thank goodness, he had not sought my company again.
Mr. Oakley gave me a deep, though artless and awkward, bow. “Mrs. Mead, it is an honour to make your acquaintance. I hope you will forgive my impertinence for contradicting so beautiful a lady as yourself, but I do not believe we have met before. If we had, I should certainly remember.”