Chapter Fifty-eight
Playing cards with Humber had proved a hopeless distraction.
Sylvie’s thoughts refused to be tamed; every creak in the corridor, every murmur of wind against the window had her glancing toward the door.
She prayed for the handle to turn — for him to walk in.
But as the minutes dragged into hours, hope drained away.
Becoming more despondent, she sighed wearily as she lost yet another hand.
“Shall we call it a night?” asked Humber gently.
“Do you think he will not come?”
“I think the hour is late, my little friend, and… ah!” he said, as the door opened and Sylvie shot to her feet, her face bright with expectation.
Quickly moving across the room, her steps suddenly faltered, and her smile faded as she craned her neck to look around Southerby.
Without meeting her eyes, Southerby gently closed the door behind him, removed his hat, and drew off his gloves, one finger at a time.
With his eyes focused on his task, his voice was calm, his expression unreadable.
“Well, my friends, it may be prudent to get some rest. We depart for Wales in the morning.”
* * *
Escaping quickly before the tears could betray her, Sylvie fled to her room. Yet, hours later, her eyes still remained dry, too numb to encourage such emotion. Her body was heavy, her mind unsettled, and sleep came in restless fragments, chased away each time by memories and regrets.
She stared sightlessly through the darkness towards the ceiling, waiting for dawn, for her departure to Wales, for the rest of her life to begin — without him. Seeing over and over, the pity in her companions’ eyes. Foolish, romantic girl. To think that love alone could heal a haunted man.
A soft knock broke the silence, and she closed her eyes, feigning sleep as it creaked open on its hinges.
She had not the energy to talk, not even to dearest Betsy, who kept creeping in to check on her.
Relieved to hear the soft click of the latch closing again, she sighed.
But then — footsteps quietly crossed the room, a chair creaking under the weight of an occupant, the faint rattle of coal on the grate.
“Betsy,” she murmured wearily, “whatever are you…”
“I’m sorry,” came the deep voice. “I did not mean to wake you.”
She froze. “Angus! Wh… what are you doing here?”
Still on his haunches at the hearth, he fed the fire, the flames flaring gold across his shoulders. “I could not sleep.”
“Oh.” She turned away, staring at the ceiling, terrified that looking at him would unspool her fragile control.
He offered no further comment until the fire blazed warmly and he settled himself back into the chair, staring into the flames.
“I couldn’t let you depart without… explaining.
I know you were hoping… Oh, god, this isn’t coming out as it should.
” Swallowing hard, he took another deep breath.
“What I’m trying to say is I’m afraid I just don’t… ”
“I know,” said Sylvie despondently before he could continue. “Ours was never that kind of acquaintance… marriage. You always told me that. You were always honest.”
Turning sharply to look at his wife, a furrow appeared between his brows. “Sylvie, I…”
“No, please,” she cut across. “The fault is mine. I chased childish daydreams. I chose to ignore your honesty and hoped that if I loved you enough, you… you might… I was foolish. Please, Angus… just go.”
He frowned. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
“No, I cannot.”
“Then hear this,” he said, his voice gentler now. “What I was trying to tell you, rather ineloquently, before you interrupted…”
“Yes,” she whispered numbly.
“Really? Are you interrupting again?”
“No… sorry. Go on.”
Hanging his head, he took another calming breath. “I’m afraid I just don’t… a lifetime of fear has dulled that part of me… and… I don’t know if I am capable of loving the way you wish to be loved, the way you deserve to be loved, but…”
“But?” she gasped expectantly as her head lifted.
“But,” he said, smiling at her impatience, “I’ve come to realise I do… I do love you, Sylvie. In my own way. And if you’re willing to give me another chance… maybe I can become the man…”
“Willing?” she squeaked, sitting bolt upright.
“Do my words displease you?”
“No, I… “
“Then come here. And kiss me.”
‘What? I…”
“Now.”
Wide-eyed, Sylvie half giggled, “You… you love me?”
“If the fact that you distract my every thought… that your absence gnaws at me… that I even miss your ridiculous cursing and romantical nonsense… then yes, I suppose I do.”
“And?”
“And,” he said, laughing, “I’m no swashbuckling pirate or handsome highwayman, nor will I recite poetry to you on bended knee, but… I promise to be the best husband I can be, and I will try my very best, every day, to please you.”
“Oh, Angus….”
“Now,” he murmured, rising from the chair, his smile warm and certain, “come here… and kiss me.”
* * *
As the first rays of dawn peeped through the cracks of the shutters, Angus smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of his wife’s head. “I must away now, my love.”
“Must you?” she murmured drowsily, burrowing closer to his side. “You’re so warm… and such a good cuddler.”
“Mm,” he breathed, attempting to untangle himself from her tight embrace, but she clung stubbornly tighter as her eyes fluttered open.
“Are you… you don’t regret….?”
“Regret?” he echoed softly, manoeuvring himself so he could look into her eyes. “I regret many things, but marrying you will never be one of them. He brushed her brow with another kiss. “Now go back to sleep.”
* * *
Still smiling to himself, Angus walked into the small room that had been set aside for breakfast.
“Ah,” he said, “I thought I might find you here.”
Southerby looked up from the table, teacup in hand. “Indeed, I thought it best to await my new instructions.”
“So, you knew I’d come, even had Eddie saddle my horse last night?”
“I did.”
“How?”
“Love, my friend.” He smiled. “Though, not wishing to dampen your mood, there remains the rather pressing matter of your aunt. Better to deal with it swiftly than let it linger.”
“Mm,” murmured Angus as he took the seat opposite and pulled the cup Southerby offered towards him. A slight smile rendered his lips as he eyed the tea’s dark hue. “This solicitor,” he asked, “is he going to be a problem?”
“Solicitor?” Southerby repeated, feigning innocence.
“Oh,” sighed Angus, “please tell me you didn’t use your tricks to coax a confession from her?”
“No tricks,” said Southerby smoothly. “Just a touch of… encouragement, a well-placed incentive, shall we say.”
Rolling his eyes, Angus took a gulp of hot tea, then set the cup firmly down. “Then let us ride to Felix. Have him draw up the papers and have him return with us to witness her signature before the day is out.”
“Yes… Felix. Excellent decision.”
“Where’s Humber?”
“Still abed. I fear his shoulder’s giving him more grief than he’ll admit, so I’ve left him to rest. But… I’ve left him a note.”
“A note?”
“Mmm,” hummed Southerby, carefully avoiding eye contact as he reached for his coat.
“Bloody hell,” rasped Angus. “Am I that damned predictable?”
Silence lingered a moment. Shrugging into his coat, Southerby, fully composed, finally met his friend’s gaze.
“No, my friend, you are anything but predictable. But what you are, and always have been, is fair and just. Vengeful, you are not. Does your aunt deserve to be imprisoned for the rest of her days? Perhaps. But could you live with yourself if you were the one to condemn her? No. So,” he added with a consolatory smile, “here we are.”
Nodding sadly, Angus agreed. “Yes… here we are.”
“Then come,” said Southerby, straightening his coat. “Let us see that no more ghosts remain… and ensure that when her natural time comes, it comes without surprise.”