Chapter 7 #3
Changed. He hadn’t changed at all. He was still a coward with a guilty conscience who ran instead of confronting the truth. Running and hiding was what he did best. Hell, he’d almost just done it again. He probably would have had she not caught him lurking.
Fred took a bite, finally. It seemed easier than saying anything more. And he was shocked to find that the mushrooms were good. Earthy and warm and far better than anything he had eaten at the inn or prepared for his own dinner at the Manor.
His face must have shown as much because she said, “I told you they were good.”
Silence settled over the kitchen then, except for the fire snapping in the hearth. And the sound of him eating every last piece of mushroom and slurping the cream sauce from his spoon.
“When did you last sleep?” he finally asked when he’d nearly licked the bowl clean.
“That is none of your concern.”
“I’d like my bride to be upright on our wedding day. It will be Thursday next unless the Bishop objects. Do not forget.”
He regretted his tone as soon as the words were out of his mouth. It was the one he always used, the icy veneer of the Earl of Chester, but it always felt wrong with Julianna.
“Do not presume to manage me,” she snapped at him, which was no less than he deserved.
“I am not.”
“You have done nothing but! You sent a physician. And a nurse. And you’ve come here tonight to what? Ascertain my sleeping habits?”
That was all true, except the last part. In truth he had no idea why he was sitting in Farrow Cottage tonight. He’d simply not wanted to be in Sedgewick Manor and found himself here instead. Muscle memory, perhaps, from all those years of coming here by default.
“I’m not managing you, Jules. Only Thomas’s illness.”
“That is not for you to do.”
“You do wish him to remain alive long enough to see you married?”
The words landed hard, much harder than he’d intended. Julianna went very still and he thought she might slap him. He almost wished she would. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that.”
But it was too late. The damage had been done and stood, as if to leave her own cottage. He was faster though and before he knew it, he’d risen and placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“Jules, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” He stopped and breathed, taking a moment to gather himself. But then he blurted out anyway, “I’d take it all back if I could. I’d do everything over. I—”
“As you’ve no contrivance to turn back the clock, re-doing your life isn’t a possibility.”
“No, it isn’t. Though I wish to God it were. So let me do what I can now. Please.”
She didn’t turn back to face him but the quality of her voice changed into something softer and much, much sadder when she said, “There is nothing you can do.”
“I can keep you safe. After he dies, I can do that. It’s what Thomas wants. Let me give it to him and to you.”
“And you’ll let us alone in the meanwhile?”
“Yes,” he agreed, even though he realized he did not want to. He wanted to do everything but that.
“It won’t make up for what you did.”
“I know.”
He did know. He thought of his own cowardice, his own failure to see what was right in front of his face every single day. And how much that failure of observancy had cost him, had cost all of them.
Julianna shook her head. “I just don’t understand how you can stand here in my kitchen as if the accident hadn’t happened. As if it didn’t matter.”
“On the contrary. I stand here because sometimes I think it is the only thing that matters. That night was the sole hinge upon which my life turned.”
Julianna did turn then to stare at him. Her brow was furrowed, but for the first time since he’d entered the cottage, she did not seem angry.
Only… uncertain. And then she said, “You were our family. You were their family. They loved you. And you treated them like—” She shook her head. “You just left us there and ran away.”
Fred felt his chest beginning to ache. His breathing began to constrict. He’d never spoken of that night and wasn’t certain he could. But he forced the words out. “I loved them too.”
“But not enough to take responsibility for your actions.”
It wasn’t a question and he didn’t hear it as such.
“No, I didn’t. I couldn’t, Jules. I didn’t know how.”
He pressed his face into his hands while the fire snapped loudly between them. He was definitely short of breath and sweat beaded along his forehead.
“And now?” she asked.
Now?
Now his skin felt so tight and hot, his lungs so constricted, that he thought he might be having a seizure of the heart. He clutched at his chest and gasped, trying to get enough air in.
“Fred?” She was staring at him. “Fred, are you alright? Shall I get the nurse?”
“I’m alright,” he managed, fighting for every word, every breath. “I’m alright.”
He turned and stumbled blindly for the door. He swung it open and the cold air that spilled into the kitchen was a boon for his sanity if not for his lungs. He paused, gulping it in until he could speak again.
“Goodnight, Miss Farrow.”
And then he escaped into the night as he had so often before.