Chapter 24 #2
“She and Anna left for Scotland this morning,” she said without decoration or emphasis.
“They left half an hour ago. I believe they are taking the road through Oxford and will be stopping for lunch at the Blue Boar Coaching Inn. From there, I do not know where the road takes my girls, my Rosalie. I know only that the distance between them and us grows larger by the minute.”
She stepped away, not even looking back at Gabriel as she wound through headstones on her way back to his aunt.
She left, Gabriel thought. She has gone to Scotland with her sister—and why should I not believe she has done this out of hurt and shame, which I have caused?
The bouquet on his mother’s grave. The inscription reading, Omnia vincit amor, that he had never wanted to examine too closely, that he had felt was a lie.
But maybe it is not a lie. My love for my family has transcended time. And perhaps... perhaps...
Moments later, Gabriel found James at the altar rail. The church was slowly filling with guests, the light beginning to shift outdoors, finally strong enough to pierce through the stained-glass windows.
“You will forgive me for going,” he said.
James did not hesitate, reading Gabriel’s unspoken explanation in his eyes. He smiled and hugged him, and said, “Then, go.”
The coaching inn outside Oxford smelled of smoke and hay, and it tickled Rosalie’s nose as she stepped down from their carriage.
There was the ordinary business of arrival: trunks unloaded, horses watered, a private parlor found for lunch.
She listened to the menu, sitting with her own thoughts, while Anna ordered them pie, and they ate in relative silence.
“I think I should lie down for a while,” Anna said once they had eaten what either of them could stomach, her face a little pale.
“The road disagrees with me much more than it used to. I noticed it first on the journey down. Our midwife in Dumfries tells me it is normal in these early months... Would it be a bother if I went upstairs?”
“Take as long as you need,” Rosalie said, finishing her water. “We are in no particular hurry.”
Anna came around and kissed her on the head. “I am sure you will find something to occupy yourself with. And you must. All this thinking is not good for you.”
Rosalie helped her sister up the narrow inn stairs and saw her into a room.
Restless, she went back down and out through the yard, past the stables where the ostlers were already unhitching the horses.
Fields stretched out behind the inn. The grass was tall and soft, and she ran her hands through it as she proceeded down the walking path through two fields.
The wind was warm. The sky hung low and colorless over the hedgerows, but on the horizon, light was breaking through the clouds.
Being outside suited her better than the parlor.
She walked forward, her coat open, boots solid against the hard earth underneath.
And she let her thoughts go where they had been wanting to go all morning: to Gabriel.
Passage to France. His hands in her hair.
How much she missed him. How final and yet unresolved it all felt.
She thought of her father in his sickroom, the promise she had made him to come back soon, once she had cleared her mind.
Her mother wanted them to go to Cornwall indefinitely.
What life would Rosalie have there? A spinster, forever. Exactly where it all started.
But I am so different, she thought. Emily and Thomas found true love.
I was so jealous and sad for so long. But I am stronger now.
I know what I want. I will not settle for anything else.
I taught myself this by releasing Mr. Sinclair, by pursuing Gabriel with all my heart.
There is a lesson in the pain. I am enough on my own.
She stopped in the middle of the fields and stared at the sky. Her eyes were closed. The sun emerged from the clouds to kiss her. She smiled up and sighed. She barely heard the rider approach, stop too fast, before the voice came.
“Ros?”
She turned. Gabriel. It was Gabriel. She blinked, convinced she was imagining him, until he dismounted and began walking toward her. The sun cast him in light. The blue eyes. The dark hair. The mouth she had kissed and loved.
Love, she corrected herself, staring at him, aghast. I love him still. How could I have ever thought that space, some time, would remove him from my heart?
“Are you...” Her words made him stop in his tracks, a yard from her. She began walking toward him, eyes smarting. “You have ridden a long way to say goodbye.”
He walked toward her so she could see him fully. His pale face was nipped by the wind, and his hair was tussled. Her breath caught in her throat. How was he so lovely, now, when she should have despised him? Why had he come?
“For fact,” he murmured, “I have ridden a very long way to say the opposite.” His horse blew hard behind him, and what was visible of his shirt was almost transparent with sweat. “Rosalie, I am not going to France.”
“But...” She froze. “Why?”
“Because I do not want to go.”
Rosalie blinked. Her head hurt as well as her eyes. She hid her face in her hands so he could not see her confusion, her pain. “Why are you doing this?”
His hands came gently around hers, the leather squeaking softly by her ears as he removed them from her face. He held them tight, bringing them to his lips, kissing them.
“Because I...” He held his fingers to his mouth, his eyes pressed shut. “Because I love you. I have told myself, erroneously, that I was protecting you by denying it. But I cannot protect you from this, and I should not protect myself. You must know, Ros... You must know...”
“I...”
Did she know? How many weeks had she spent convincing herself he could not love her? How many times had he said something to that effect? Unless, she thought, my own prejudices against myself blinded me to the truth, all this time. It was never me. It was him. It has only ever been him.
“I could not offer you an easy life with an easy man. You know this,” he said.
His hands traveled up her arm, clutching her, bringing her closer.
“The things I have felt... The promises I made to myself about a life lived alone... But I want to make new promises now, to you. To never hurt or disappoint you. To not leave.” His hands were on her shoulders. “Don’t leave.”
She looked at him, so in love with him that it hurt. “You terrify me. You confound me.”
“Then I would not be good company. But you are what I want, nonetheless. And I must tell you.”
A short, unwilling laugh escaped her. “How can I know this is not just another charade?” She held him by the wrists, as his forehead came against hers. She was smiling—terrified but smiling. “We have been performing for so long...”
He laughed under his breath, and he dropped to his knees. He held her by the hips, knees in the dirt, and looked up at her. His whole face was bright in the sun, his eyes turned an ethereal clear blue.
“Marry me, Ros. Marry me in earnest, you and me, not for anyone else. I cannot rescue you. I want only to be with you. I have chosen you. I love you.”
“Chosen?” She repeated the word in awe. He pressed his face to her stomach and nodded.
“Before I even knew I could, I chose you.”
She smiled and stroked his hair. This was like a dream come true. Better than a dream. This was real.
“I choose you,” she said. “Yes, Gabriel. I will marry you.”
He looked up. His eyes shone with tears. He could have risen, but she met him instead, kneeling with him between the fields, where they were not hidden but not seen either. His mouth crashed against hers, and he kissed her, and he held her.
When they broke apart, she pressed her face to his, catching her breath, the ache in her chest blessedly easing with his promise, his presence.
“The first kiss was mine...” she said, stroking his cheek. “But this was yours.”
“So long as every kiss after this one belongs to both of us,” he kissed her hand, “I will be happy.”