Chapter 19
“Iwill throw an engagement ball.” Lord Hampshire stated, a smile spreading across his face that seemed quite incongruous given the conversation.
“I will announce it this very evening and will hold it within a few days. I am quite sure that Rathbone will be unable to stay away and will make some ill-fated attempt to force my hand in some way.”
Nora’s throat constricted, her pulse loud in her ears as she looked to Lord Hampshire, not understanding his smile nor his talk of throwing an engagement ball.
Frederica was still in half mourning and surely would not be expected to attend a ball!
Besides that, an engagement ball would declare to the ton that the marriage was certain to take place, that there would be nothing to hold it back any longer.
What did that mean for their happiness? Was he setting it all aside?
“It is certainly an idea, but it does carry danger with it,” Lord Broadford said, slowly, his brow furrowing. “Are you quite certain it will keep Frederica safe?”
Lord Hampshire sat forward in his chair and looked directly back at Frederica.
“I would not endanger Frederica again, for she is my responsibility. But nor do I intend to have her at the ball.” His gaze shifted towards Nora, and the breath left her body.
“Frederica, I want to marry Nora. You know that very well indeed, and whilst I can understand that fear still threatens you, I beg of you not to allow it to steal away happiness from all of us.”
Tears began to burn in the back of Nora’s eyes, her fingers pressing to her lips as all eyes turned to Frederica.
“I – I am too afraid to be without you,” she whispered, her cheeks damp, her handkerchief seeming to lie forgotten on her lap. “What if Rathbone succeeds? What if all that my father fought for comes to naught?”
“It will not,” Hampshire said firmly. “You can trust me, Frederica. You will be kept safe.”
“And you will have your own chance at happiness, will you not?” Nora said, as Frederica looked towards her, a faint hint of colour in her cheeks. “I know that Lord Dumfries is interested in your company.”
Frederica immediately looked down at her hands.
“There is no shame in it,” Nora continued, gently. “Can you not see the future you might have, Frederica? Do not give in to fear. Do not let it steal what might be a wonderful, joyous, contented future from you. Rathbone has already taken so much. Do not give him any more.”
There was a long, painful silence. Frederica continued to gaze down at her hands. Nora could only gaze at her, unable to look at Lord Hampshire for fear that her heart would explode with both longing and worry. She swallowed hard and let out a long, slow breath as the silence grew heavier still.
“Very well.”
The words came out so faintly, Nora wondered if she had imagined them. Her breath came out in one huge breath, seeing how Frederica had finally lifted her head, her eyes turning first to Hampshire.
“I release you from our bond, Hampshire.” The words were a roar to Nora’s ears, joy and relief crashing through her in a single, dizzying wave.
“I will pursue my own happiness,” Frederica continued, her voice wobbling but her chin tilted with a fragile resolve.
“I thank you, Nora, for all of your encouragements. You have spoken honestly to me about your love for Hampshire and have pressed me to think upon what I, too, might experience, if I had the courage.”
“And you do have the courage,” Nora breathed, as Frederica let out a quiet laugh, her fingers twisting the handkerchief again.
“If I were truly brave, then I would not still fear what is to come.”
Nora shook her head, still hardly daring to believe she had been granted her heart’s desire.
“Courage does not mean that fear fades entirely,” she said, softly.
“Courage is the determination to stand against it, no matter what it might threaten.” Tears burned in her eyes as she smiled at Frederica.
“I thank you, Frederica, for what you have given us. I do not know how else to express the depths of gratitude within my heart, but know that all of my being is filled with gratitude.”
“As is mine.” Lord Hampshire finally caught Nora’s gaze, and it was all she could do not to rise from her seat and rush towards him, wanting to throw her arms about him and let him hold her tightly in his embrace, free now from all fear and doubt.
“We will act together to make certain you are safe, Frederica.” Lord Broadford spoke into the quiet, forcing Nora’s attention away from Lord Hampshire.
“Nothing more will be taken from you; you can be assured of that.”
“Indeed,” Nora agreed, softly. “The darkness has wrapped about you for too long, Frederica – has wrapped around us all. But now, finally, it is beginning to dissipate.”
Lord Hampshire nodded, his smile warm. “And soon, it will be nothing more than a distant memory.”
Frederica rose first, steadying herself with one hand on the arm of the settee.
Her face was drawn, but there was something in her posture that had not been there before — not strength, exactly, but the ghost of it, the first trembling sketch of what strength might look like when it returned in full.
She crossed to the door, paused, and looked back at them.
“I should like to rest now,” she said quietly. “But Hampshire — you will tell me what is required of me for the ball? I will not attend, as you said, but I should like to know the plan. All of it. I am tired of being the one who is protected without knowing from what.”
Hampshire held her gaze and nodded. “You will know everything, Frederica. I give you my word.”
She left. Lord Broadford, with the tact of a man who had read the room before anyone else, muttered something about reviewing the footman arrangements and followed her out, pulling the door closed behind him with a quiet click.
And then they were alone.
The silence that settled was unlike any that had come before it.
It was not heavy with things unsaid, nor taut with the effort of restraint.
It was open — wide and clear and almost bewildering in its newness, the way a room feels when heavy curtains have been drawn back from a window and the light floods in all at once.
Nora looked at David. He looked at her.
“Is it truly done?” she whispered.
He rose from his chair and crossed the distance between them in three strides. He did not take her hands, did not pull her into his arms — not yet. He simply stood before her, close enough that she could see the sheen in his eyes, the faint tremor in the set of his jaw.
“It is done,” he said, and his voice cracked on the second word.
She pressed her hand to her mouth. A sound escaped her that was half laugh, half sob — the kind of sound that comes when grief and joy arrive at the same moment, and the body does not know which to express first. Her vision blurred, and she blinked, sending two tears tracking down her cheeks in quick succession.
He caught them both with his thumb, his hand cupping her face with such aching tenderness that she closed her eyes and leaned into it.
“I have imagined this,” he admitted, and his voice was rough and low. “Every night for a year, I have imagined being free to stand before you and simply — be yours.”
She opened her eyes. His face was very close, close enough that the gold flecks in his hazel eyes had returned — or perhaps she had simply not been able to see them before, through all the shadow.
She placed her hand flat against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.
“Then be mine,” she said.
He exhaled — a long, shaking breath that seemed to carry the weight of the entire year with it — and drew her into his arms. He held her tightly, his chin resting against her temple, and neither of them spoke.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked. The fire crackled softly.
From somewhere in the house came the distant sound of a door closing, then footsteps, then nothing.
They stood like that for a long time, simply breathing together, simply being, while the afternoon light moved slowly across the floor and the world, at last, was still.