Chapter Fifty-Four
Nathaniel walked home from Lydia’s wishing she’d offered him liquor instead of tea. The knowledge that he was losing Frances by his own doing, not the universe taking away what he loves most, wasn’t something he wanted to face sober. Not until he figured out how to fix it.
All he wanted was Frances’ happiness, yet he was the one withholding it from her.
She was right. He’d taken her from her parents and tried to protect her from everything that caused her pain, but was too selfish to remove himself from the equation.
He hadn’t even been able to tell her how he felt about her, which he wanted to say was because he knew it would hurt too much when he pulled away, but more likely, it was because he was terrified of the implications if he said it out loud.
He reached Berkely Square and reluctantly headed for Sutton House, prepared to tell Sarah he needed help, knowing she would get reinforcements and someone would be able to tell him what to do.
He was almost at the steps when he looked back across the Square, a habit he’d started to catch a final glimpse of Jo when they were children, then later used to torture himself after he lost her.
The house looked the same as it always had, albeit somehow sadder, but he paused, and realized he knew what to do.
Not to fix everything, but his reluctance to carry it out told him this was the first step.
He snuck through the crooked gate leading to the Montrose yard, not for the first time, but both he and it were rusty.
The garden had seen better days as well, but the tall marble carving in the back was surrounded by fresh bouquets.
They’d hidden behind it as children, back when it was there to honor grandparents Jo had never met, but he’d found excuses whenever Lord Montrose suggested he come see how beautifully they’d added her to it.
Frances would be heartbroken if she saw the state of the plants.
The Montroses had always hired gardeners, so it wasn’t like they couldn’t find the motivation to do it themselves anymore; it was that they wanted their view on the outside to reflect how they felt inside, which Nathaniel painfully understood.
Hadn’t he turned Sutton House into a tomb?
Insisting the family stay at Wiltshire Manor for visits, so he could wallow with his grief in their childhood home.
It wasn’t until Frances brought in the light that he realized how depressing that was.
And it wasn’t only the house Frances made brighter; it was everything she touched.
He looked up as he arrived at the sculpture and his breath caught. There was an almost life-size carving of Jo on it, smiling as she had in her miniature.
“Even in death, you take my breath away,” he said sadly, feeling ridiculous, as he knew Jo wasn’t really there, but at the same time, something about the way the breeze ruffled the forgotten leaves around him made him feel like she was all around him, listening.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here. Or what took me so long, but I don’t think I could have faced it before now. I didn’t think I ever could.”
He sighed and took a seat on the marble bench he assumed Jo’s parents frequently used to talk to her, judging by the number of fresh flowers in the middle of all the death.
“I love you, Jo. I always have and I always will, until the day I die. And that would have been enough for me, I’m sure of it.
But then Frances happened. I think you would have liked her.
She’s kind and funny and stubborn once she feels safe around you, but she has the biggest heart.
I didn’t mean to, but…I fell in love.” He took a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the tears.
“I came here thinking I’d ask your permission, or apologize and beg forgiveness for that, but… I think I’m here to let you go.”
He paused, both overwhelmed by the words coming out of his mouth and waiting for some force to strike him dead for such blasphemy. Because he’d promised. And he’d meant it with every fiber of his being.
“I’ve held so much space for you in my heart that there was never any room for anyone else, but sometimes you can’t help it.
You’re lying there, broken, and someone slowly puts the pieces back together, and…
she saved me, Jo. I was just biding my time until I could be with you again, but against all odds and my stubbornness, she brought me back to life.
Made me want to live for more than just getting my siblings settled. ”
Twigs cracked behind him, so he turned to find Margaret walking over to him.
“My apologies, I was…” Nathaniel searched for an explanation as to why he was in her garden in the middle of the night, but couldn’t. Especially when he’d basically climbed a fence to get in. If only he’d had a dog he could pretend to have been chasing.
“You were talking to Jo,” she said simply, coming to sit beside him on the bench. “I wasn’t listening, but I saw you from the window.”
“I was just leaving,” he assured her.
“Please don’t do that on my account. I came to apologize for my behavior.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, truly.”
“I was a belligerent child, and Jo would have been ashamed of me.”
“I think that no matter how misguided, your sister would never fault you for defending her,” he argued.
“From you? Not only do I know that we never need to worry about you forgetting her, I made it seem like you were never allowed to love anyone else, or get married, when I know she wanted you to.”
“That’s considerate of you to say—”
“She thought you would be an amazing father. Said she hoped you would name one of your many children after her someday. I told her that was morbid and cruel, but she said a boy named Joseph would be perfectly acceptable.”
“I know you’re trying to be—”
“I swear it. She told me and Mama, after the doctor came. To let us know she knew she wasn’t getting better, that we didn’t have to find the words to tell her.”
His last conversation with Jo had been about the dozen children they would have: boys who would get in trouble then charm their way out of it, and girls who were smart and beautiful, wild and perfect.
They’d suggested names and potential hobbies before she fell asleep.
That was when he made her his promise. Never once did she imply she knew she was dying, or that she would accept him moving on.
“Thank you, Maggie. That means a lot.”
“She’d be happy for you. Truly. I am too.”
He embraced Margaret, closing his eyes to take in the relief of knowing Jo hadn’t died terrified or hating him, but aware and surrounded by love.
When he opened them and saw the wind carrying off a pile of petals, he knew Jo was gone.
Not the love he had for her, or the memories he would always carry with him, but the weight of his promise and of losing her that had been crushing him.
The next step was confessing everything to his wife.