Chapter Nineteen
Ditty’s heart was beating so quickly, she could hardly hear herself think.
She certainly couldn’t hear the rush of people around her.
That was probably why she had become so confused after stepping out of the stagecoach.
For a moment, she truly thought she had got on the wrong coach and ended up in the wrong town.
Brexley seemed entirely different. Oh, the road outside looked similar, but other than that, Ditty was astonished at the difference. When she had arrived in the middle of January, she had been one of three people on that coach. And today…
The staging post was packed. Couples were everywhere, arm in arm, some of them wearing red, all of them bundled up against the cold.
Carriages and barouches and chaise-and-fours were everywhere, horses and coachmen milling about.
There was laughter and giggling, happy chatter all around her.
Some women held flowers, some men clasped gifts and excitement was rushing through the air.
Only then did realisation sink into Ditty’s mind. Of course, the St Valentine’s Day Festival. The place was packed!
That would explain why it had been so difficult to get a ticket for the stagecoach.
In a small way, she was glad. The people here needed this. Faces flashed through her mind as Ditty pushed her way to a part of the path not entirely taken up with carriages.
Miss Vivienne. She was going to be popular, though Ditty hoped she hadn’t bought too many daises. She knew well enough that most people here would want roses.
Mrs Fletcher. If she’d taken half of Ditty’s suggestions, she thought with a wry smile, then she was not only going to be booked up, but booked out—couples would want to return here for their anniversaries, weekend adventures…
She could only hope Reg would be able to expand his market stall, with this many people coming to Brexley.
Ditty almost stumbled over someone’s trunk and was forced to stop as a horde of people strode past her, following someone holding up an umbrella.
‘Follow me! Carriages to Brexley are this way, everyone who has tickets follow me…’
Ditty smiled, though her heart twisted. It was odd, seeing the place come alive.
But no, that wasn’t quite right, was it? Because it wasn’t as though the place had been dead before. Brexley had been alive in a different way, and now she was seeing it not only at its best, but at its most welcoming.
Her heart skipped a beat. The question was, would her sudden arrival be as welcome?
Ditty smiled, despite herself. To think, she had left Brexley, the town that had welcomed her with open arms! She could hardly understand it. The moment she had realised she couldn’t live without him, she had booked a seat on the next stagecoach.
It was a strange coincidence it was on Valentine’s Day…
‘If everyone could just be patient, we’re getting you out of here as quickly as we can,’ one of the staging post coachmen called over the hubbub.
Standing here, so close to Henry’s location, she felt as though she could sense his presence, and excitement welled up within her. She was going to see him soon. Henry, the man she had completely fallen in love with.
You’ve…you’ve changed something here, Ditty, you have to know that.
Brexley is eternal.
But you’ve brought something new to it. Here, right now in this room… I can feel more love than I ever have before.
Ditty shivered. Now she was here, she was going to have to think carefully about what to say to him. She hadn’t given it much thought, to tell the truth. Everything in her had been focused on getting here, and now she was…well, what could she say?
‘Here for a visit, my dear?’ said a voice beside her.
She turned. An elderly gentleman was beaming, just the sort of person who would make conversation with a stranger.
She tried to smile. ‘Well, yes. Kind of. A visit.’
The man nodded cheerfully. ‘I always think it’s a good idea to visit new places, you know. And Brexley is a wonderful place. Have you been here before? Do you know it?’
Ditty’s stomach lurched. Did she know it?
Better than she knew parts of London, which didn’t make any sense. She had lived in Town for years now, had worked there a while, and yet she didn’t really know anyone, except Thalia and Calliope and their outrageous mother.
But here?
Here she knew Mrs Fletcher, and Miss Vivienne, and the butcher and baker.
She’d exchanged daily pleasantries with the coiffurist at the end of King’s Street, and helped Reg turn his business around just when it was going to fall apart.
She knew half the Lodge’s residents by name and all the rest by face…
and she knew Charles and Miss Yorke, and Henry…
She swallowed. Henry. Henry felt affection for her, she was certain. Perhaps even loved her. True, he hadn’t said as much, but he’d had his heart broken before, hadn’t he? What they had shared, that night, that wonderful night. Oh, how could she have left him after that?
Her heart skipped a beat. No wonder he was afraid to take that leap, to make himself vulnerable once again, just as…just as she was telling him she was about to leave precisely as Georgiana had done.
Leave him.
Ditty turned to smile at the old man. ‘Yes, I do know— Hello?’
No one was behind her. Turning around, she couldn’t see where the man had gone—but there was now a gap between her and the queue for carriages to Brexley.
In just a couple of moments most of the new visitors would be gone and she could hopefully hail a hansom cab to get her to King’s Street.
Why, even if she couldn’t find one, she’d walk!
Ditty stepped forward. She had no plan. No plan at all! The thought would have given her a heart attack only a few weeks ago, but it gave her a strange sense of exhilaration now, which she had not expected. Here she was, in Brexley, with no plan other than desperation to see—
‘Oh! I’m so sorry,’ Ditty said hastily as she knocked into someone.
‘Not at all,’ said the man she had knocked into, then, ‘Ditty?’
She stared.
It was Henry.
* * *
Henry stared. He had to be dreaming. This couldn’t be real—this was the sort of thing that happened to other people.
But when he blinked, the picture before him remained unchanged. A picture of Ditty, looking a little worse for wear for the travel, her hair pulled back under a bonnet, her pelisse half buttoned and the scarf Mavis had knitted for her wrapped around her neck.
It was her. Ditty.
Affection soared in his heart, the crowd around them starting to thin.
Ditty. The woman who always had a plan, always had the right things to say. Always knew what to do. He could never live up to her, never, but he would spend the rest of his life trying if she would let him.
Though now he came to think of it, Ditty looked less calm and organised than she normally did. And where was—
‘Where’s your trunk?’ he blurted out.
She coloured, and he wished he had managed to say something romantic, rather than a statement about her luggage.
No wonder she was looking at him as though he was spouting nonsense!
Someone jostled into them. Henry suddenly realised, heat sparking across his chest, that they were standing right in the middle of a queue.
‘Come on, over here,’ he said.
Before he knew it, Ditty had slipped her hand into his as they quickly moved away to where it was quieter. Her hand felt so right there, her fingers intertwined in his. His breath caught in his throat and it felt like a real bereavement as their fingers parted.
To be separate from her even just for a moment felt terrible.
‘You’re here,’ Ditty said, breathlessly.
Henry swallowed. ‘So are you.’
He could hardly believe it. Even in his dreams, which had given him no rest all last night, he had imagined he would have to make his way to London and then…well, after then he hadn’t much idea of how to find someone in a city as large as that.
But she was here.
‘Wh-what are you doing here?’ Henry could not help but ask.
His gaze raked over her face, her brilliant eyes, the rosy colour tinging her cheeks now they were standing out in the cold. But at least here, twenty yards away from the disappearing crowd, they would not be overheard.
‘I—I just—when I got back to…and the moment I arrived, I realised,’ Ditty said, her gaze fixed on him. Finally, she muttered, ‘I—I don’t know.’
Henry could see the vulnerability in her expression, hear the fear in her voice, and wanted to draw her up into his arms and tell her just how much he cared.
But he couldn’t. Not without knowing, for definite, that his declaration would be welcome. He wasn’t about to make another woman push him away.
He wasn’t sure his heart could take that.
‘You didn’t leave something here?’ he hazarded, heart thumping heavily in his chest. ‘Something at Mrs Fletcher’s, or perhaps something with my brother? He left yesterday actually, but I’ve got a spare key to his home, if you left something in his dining room I can—’
‘I think I did leave something here,’ cut in Ditty across him, her cheeks reddening. ‘But I don’t think it’s in Charles’s house.’
Henry swallowed. There seemed to be so much suggestion in the air, but it was ephemeral, slipping from his fingers whenever he thought he could catch hold of it.
What was he supposed to say? How did one navigate a situation like this?
He smiled weakly. ‘Mavis and Avril were sorry to see you go.’
Only then did he catch sight of a pair of ear-bobs which absolutely had to be made by Avril. He knew the design.
And a rush of longing swept through him. Even Avril had known Ditty deserved to be given something precious after her time with them at Brexley. It had only been him who had been so foolish as to let her go without anything.
‘I was sorry to leave them,’ said Ditty quietly. ‘I found it harder to leave Brexley than I thought.’
Henry nodded. ‘And…and are you here for long?’
It was impossible to say he wished she would stay here forever, but it was a start, Henry told himself. He was getting there.