Chapter Eighteen #2
‘He danced a waltz with you in front of all those people,’ pointed out Calliope, with the confidence of someone who had been there. ‘A waltz! It sounds like he likes you.’
Ditty’s stomach twisted. ‘I’m sure he does like me.’
A cushion whacked her arm. ‘You know what I mean!’
‘Well, you know what I mean,’ Ditty said defensively, trying not to think of whispered words that could not be heard just beyond the realms of her memory.
‘I mean, he didn’t ask me to stay! There was this perfect opportunity, at his brother’s proposal, when he could have just asked…
and I didn’t offer, I’m not about to make myself look a fool. ’
For some inexplicable reason, Calliope had a very knowing look on her face.
‘What?’ Ditty asked warily.
But just at that moment, before Calliope could answer, the front door slammed.
‘Only me,’ called Thalia, her voice echoing down the corridor. ‘Goodness, that walk was exhausting. I was thinking, when Ditty gets back we should— Ditty!’
‘Don’t hug her now, we’re fixing her life,’ said Calliope sternly.
Ditty lowered her arms which had been ready to welcome Thalia into a hug. ‘Fixing my— There’s nothing to fix!’
‘It’s this Henry gentleman, isn’t it?’ said Thalia knowledgeably, dropping her reticule, pelisse, bonnet, gloves and scarf all over the floor and sinking into a chair.
‘No—’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Calliope with a grin. ‘There was a moment—’
‘I’m sure I was just fooling myself,’ said Ditty, heat flushing through her body.
Couldn’t they see? Henry had the perfect opportunity to ask her to stay, and he hadn’t. That was it. The end.
‘Perhaps you were,’ said Thalia lightly.
Calliope threw a cushion at her. ‘Thalia!’
‘Well, I’m just saying it’s easy to get wistful!’ Thalia protested with a laugh. ‘The question is, did you want to stay? Did you want to see what happened between the two of you?’
Ditty swallowed. Of course. Being courted by Henry, where she was vulnerable and they shared romance and everything she and Thomas hadn’t had…
It was frightening and ridiculous and foolish and wonderful.
‘It just wasn’t meant to be,’ she said eventually.
Both Thalia and Calliope groaned.
‘You love him!’ said Thalia.
‘What were you doing, waiting for romance?’ Calliope persisted. ‘You, the person who has said for years you can just manufacture it whenever you need it.’
Ditty’s heart skipped a beat. She had always said that.
‘You told me once you could always make your own romance,’ said Calliope, pointing at her once again. ‘So why didn’t you? In that moment, when you were saying goodbye to Henry and you wanted him to ask you to stay, and he didn’t, why didn’t you make your own romance?’
It was a good question, and not one Ditty had considered. But as she did so now, something deep within her rebelled.
Romance, it cried from the rooftops, could not always be made with a formula.
‘Because it wouldn’t be enough,’ she said quietly, looking sadly at both of her sisters. ‘Coming from me, the queen of manufactured romance? I would know it was false. It…it wouldn’t be enough.’
* * *
Henry heaved the wad of paperwork over to the other side of his desk, and attempted to look at it critically.
Well, it was organised. Sort of.
He had definitely made a space on his desk where, he knew with a groan, he would merely make another mess with another stack of paperwork he was trying to go through.
He really needed to write out that job advertisement for a clerk. He was still drowning with paperwork and more seemed to arrive every day. Quotes from roofers, invoices from plumbers, builders from town…
Henry tried to smile. He should be grateful really, he knew. It was only because the Lodge was going to survive another winter, financially, that he was being inundated.
All thanks to Ditty.
He swallowed, stomach swooping and chest tightening, as he thought the name he had managed to push from his mind for…oh, what?
He glanced at his watch. All of two minutes?
‘She’s gone,’ he said heavily, sinking onto his desk chair and looking out at the paperwork. ‘She’s gone, and she’s not coming back.’
That was the truth. Why, only that morning he’d risen early and driven his dog cart over to Mrs Fletcher’s, determined to see her. Ditty, that was. He had to see her, had to tell her he’d made a terrible mistake by not saying anything the day before.
He’d had it all planned out.
Henry snorted dryly, leaning back in his chair as a heavy weight settled in his heart.
That had been the plan, anyway. He hadn’t counted on his dog cart almost falling apart just off King’s Street.
He’d been delayed as himself and a few other men from the town moved it out of the road, and only then had Henry started off for Mrs Fletcher’s inn.
He’d ran. Heart pounding, chest heaving, Henry knew every step was worth it to see Ditty, to tell her he wanted her to stay…that he loved her.
‘Goodness, you look hot,’ Mrs Fletcher had said just hours ago, looking at him in astonishment as Henry bent double. ‘You didn’t run all the way from town?’
‘Ditty,’ Henry panted. ‘Ditty, I have to speak to—’
‘Oh, you missed her, not ten minutes ago,’ Mrs Fletcher said blithely. ‘Reg took her to the staging post. I’m going to miss that woman, you know. She had some excellent ideas about how to make my inn— Henry? Henry, are you quite well?’
In the here and now, Henry shifted in his desk chair. He hadn’t been quite well from the moment he’d heard Ditty had already gone. He’d missed her. She’d probably driven right by him, he thought bitterly, as he was running to where he’d thought she was.
But it wasn’t to be. And he just had to accept that.
‘—down here?’
Henry’s head jerked up. He knew that voice, and was rather surprised to hear it here, in the Lodge.
Charles’s head peeked round the door. ‘Henry! I didn’t think you’d be here, I thought you’d be at home, or out in the town. It’s the beginning of the Valentine’s Day Festival tomorrow, all the last finishing touches are being put together.’
Henry tried to smile. ‘Oh, yes. Maybe I’ll go down later.’
He couldn’t let his brother see just how miserable he was, Henry told himself sternly. This was his own problem, and he’d work it out of his system soon. He was sure.
After all, how long did it take to get over a woman?
He almost laughed bitterly at that. Well, it had taken almost a year and a half to get over Georgiana, and he hadn’t really loved her. Not like Ditty, he could see that now.
But this wasn’t about him. This was about Charles—he’d only just got engaged, still full of that joy which came with fresh love. Besides, wasn’t he supposed to be in a carriage on the road by now?
‘I thought you and Miss Yorke were going to visit her family?’ Henry said aloud, hoping to move the focus of the conversation away. ‘You didn’t change your minds, did you?’
‘What? Oh, no. We did not plan to leave for a few hours yet,’ said Charles easily, stepping into the study and helping himself to the smallest available space left on the sofa. ‘I came about Miss Oliver.’
Henry stiffened. Ditty? What on earth could his brother be wanting her for?
She’d done her job, hadn’t she? Done it admirably, from what he could tell. The whole town was still talking about his brother’s proposal and if he knew Brexley, they would be for many weeks to come. Months, even. Years, perhaps.
It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened here, Henry thought dryly.
‘Ditty?’ he repeated warily.
‘Yes, Ditty,’ said his brother brightly. ‘Well, it was such a rush yesterday, after the proposal. I didn’t really get a chance to thank her, so I wanted to see her, thank her for all her hard work. Where is she, with Mavis and Avril?’
Henry swallowed. Ah. So his brother hadn’t heard, then.
Well, he should have expected that. He evidently wasn’t the only resident of Brexley who had assumed Ditty was going to stay here, make a life here…a life with him.
‘Why would she be here?’ he said guardedly.
It was a silly thing to say, and Henry knew it the moment the words were out of his mouth.
His brother frowned. ‘Well, where else would she be? Everyone knows the two of you—’
‘Nothing happened,’ Henry interrupted with a warning glare at his brother.
He wouldn’t allow her reputation to be mixed up with his when she had only just managed to restore her good name.
And besides, nothing had happened.
Nothing except a friendship, deeper than he could ever have expected.
Nothing but laughter, a sense of belonging whenever he was with her.
Nothing but a few hugs that had seemed to both ground him to the earth and make his heart soar.
Nothing but frantic kisses, a desperate lovemaking that had felt closer to ecstasy than he had ever—
Perhaps something of his thoughts showed on his face, for Charles grinned. ‘I knew you liked her!’
‘I don’t like her,’ said Henry instinctively.
But he couldn’t lie to himself, and he certainly couldn’t lie to his brother. He didn’t need a looking glass to see he was flushing furiously, and there was no point in attempting to continue the pretence.
‘Fine,’ he said heavily. ‘I like her.’
‘I think you like her more than you expected,’ said Charles.
Henry blinked. That was almost insightful from his brother, who, though a clever man when it came to the law, was often rather oblivious to the people around him.
‘But I don’t understand. If she’s not here, where is she?’
‘Back in London, I suppose.’ Henry had tried to put as much nonchalance into his words as possible, but he did not fool his brother.
With a sudden movement that caused an avalanche of paperwork, Charles turned around. ‘What do you mean, London?’
‘I mean she finished her job here, getting you engaged, and now she’s gone back to London,’ said Henry defensively. ‘Back home.’
‘But—but Brexley is her home now. You don’t mean to say— I thought she was going to stay here, in the town? What happened?’
Henry’s stomach lurched, and he tried to tell himself it was the avalanche of paperwork that made his chest feel as though it was tied in knots.
Nothing happened. That was the trouble, wasn’t it?
‘Now, that does surprise me,’ said Charles with wide eyes. ‘I really thought— And she left, just like that, even after you told her you wanted her to stay?’ With just one look at his face, his brother sighed. ‘Oh, Henry. Why didn’t you tell her?’
‘I couldn’t—’
‘Do you mean she’s left us, left Brexley, without knowing how you truly feel?’
‘I—’ Henry swallowed. ‘I… I had nothing to offer her.’
‘Except your love!’
He could not help but snort at that. Love. Yes, that was what he could offer her; naught but love. Love, and a crumbling down manor with debts up to his eyeballs, and an affection that was entirely hers but…
But how could that ever be enough?
‘Sometimes love is enough,’ said Charles, far more gently than Henry would have expected.
Hadn’t he tried, struggling alone, to keep going without hardly any money?
Without her ability to matchmake, Ditty wouldn’t be able to live here.
She’d grow stagnant, bored, tired of him.
And then she would leave. Henry knew that.
He’d lose her all over again, and it would be his fault. All his fault.
Explaining that seemed impossible, so Henry merely said, ‘She’s gone.’
‘But she knew you loved her, didn’t she?’ said Charles, his voice softening now. ‘You did tell her, before she left, that you loved her?’
Henry hesitated. His gaze flickered between the occupant in his study and the sofa where just a few days before, the woman he loved had sat there, concocting a plan to save his Lodge. ‘No. Not in so many words.’