Old Friends
Chapter thirty-two
Morning was not far off when the ball finally ended, and silence fell over Whickerton Grove.
Yet Christopher did not feel the least bit tired.
His body hummed with energy, and he knew even if he went to bed, sleep would not find him.
So instead, he stepped out of doors, hoping that the chilled night air might clear his head.
His heart felt torn in two different directions once again. He felt happiness over his future with Juliet and his son but also sorrow and regret about his friend’s suffering. Did Nora also suffer?
Of course, Christopher could not be sure.
He had never spoken to either of them about what might have happened all those years ago, what had compelled Troy to write that letter.
To this day, he did not know what it said.
Yet from the way Troy had reacted, Christopher was reasonably certain that it held a declaration of love.
Had Troy hoped that Nora would call off her wedding?
Had he hoped that she would return his love?
Christopher could not imagine it being any different.
It made sense, and yet he had never once seen Troy and Nora together in a way that caused him to believe that something deeper than friendship connected them.
Had he been truly blind? Or had whatever happened between them happened only shortly before Nora’s wedding?
Was that why Troy had only given him the letter the very morning she was to be wed? Or was it one-sided?
Hanging his head, Christopher stepped off the terrace and walked down to the gardens, his gaze sweeping over the starlit sky.
He prayed it was not one-sided. He wanted to see them both happy, and now, finally, it appeared that chance was within their grasp.
They only needed to seize it, but what if they would not?
Only a few days ago, Christopher, himself, had been on the brink of returning to Ireland, thinking that a future with Juliet was impossible. Yet he had been wrong. Christopher could only hope that Troy would not allow this chance to pass them by.
Earlier, Christopher had stopped by Troy’s chamber. His friend, however, had been absent. Perhaps it was that absence which kept Christopher wide-awake. How could he close his eyes without speaking to his friend first?
Nearing the stables, Christopher frowned when he heard an odd sound echo through the night. It was a rhythmic thwack, thwack, thwack.
Intrigued, Christopher rounded the stables, his feet carrying him past a large stack of firewood alongside the eastern wall. An orange glow beckoned him onward, and he was wondering who was out here in the middle of the night when his eyes fell upon a torch thrust into the ground.
Another step carried him around the stables’ corner and his eyes fell upon none other than his oldest friend.
Dressed only in shirt and breeches, his boots caked in mud, Troy stood in the torch's shine, an axe in his hands.
His features were hardened, tense, his eyes focused on the log in front of him.
Then he moved, his arms raising the axe before bringing it down with a precise and forceful swing, splitting the log in two.
Without looking up, Troy kicked the two pieces aside and reached for another log, positioned it and brought the axe down upon it yet again.
For a long time, Christopher simply stood there and watched, the anguish on his friend’s face painful to behold. Sweat trickled down Troy’s temples, and he occasionally brought up an arm to wipe his forehead.
Christopher was afraid to disturb him, and yet after a while he could not bear the sight much longer. Carefully, he moved forward, worried that he might startle Troy.
“I know you’re there,” his friend suddenly growled without taking his eyes off the log before him. Then he brought the axe down once more with a satisfying thwack. “What do you want?”
Exhaling deeply, Christopher stepped closer, feeling the chilled night air wash over him as he moved, considering what to say. “I came to speak with you,” he finally muttered on a deep sigh. “I came to apologize.”
“It is too late for apologies,” Troy grumbled as his hands tightened on the axe. Then he swung it over his head, a soft whistle drifting to Christopher’s ears as it whirred through the air.
Thwack.
Christopher threw up his hands. “Bloody hell, Troy, talk to me! Don’t pretend that—”
His eyes wide and raging, Troy spun to face him. “You ruined my life!” he roared, advancing menacingly, the hand that gripped the axe turning pale with the pressure. “You ruined everything!”
Christopher heaved a deep sigh, his friend’s words like a stab to the heart; yet he rejoiced to see Troy finally vent his anger and express the pain he had kept hidden for the past five years.
“And now,” Troy growled, his hands still tightening upon the axe’s handle, “you come here after all these years and want my blessing to marry my sister?” His face contorted into a snarl as he shook his head.
“Well, you cannot have it.” He tossed the axe to the side, and it landed with a dull thud.
“Never.” He shook his head slowly, vehemently, his gaze hard, almost challenging, as he glared at Christopher.
Christopher swallowed hard, shocked by his friend’s hateful words…
yet not surprised. “You would truly withhold your blessing?” he asked almost breathlessly.
“You would deny us that? You would deny her that?” He shook his head.
“Juliet has done nothing wrong. She loves you and has been a loyal and devoted sister all these years.”
Troy raked a tense hand through his tousled hair, a spark of doubt coming to his eyes, quickly masked by another surge of anger. “And you?” he demanded in a hard voice. “What have you done?”
Christopher heaved a deep breath, then slowly approached his friend. “I didn’t know. Why did you not tell me? Had I known I…” He shook his head, exhaling. “I still have the letter.”
Troy’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Did you read it?”
“Of course not! I told you that.”
Troy’s teeth ground together. “Then hand it back so I can burn it.”
Christopher shook his head as Troy held out his hand. “No, even if it is years too late, I will give it to my sister. She deserves to know how you—”
“No!” Troy roared, then charged toward him. “You will not!” He grasped Christopher by the front of his coat, his blue eyes wild as they stared into his. “You will not! Do you hear? You will not!”
Trying to remain calm, Christopher lifted his hands in appeasement. “Why not? She is no longer married,” he pointed out, praying that his friend’s enraged mind was capable of hearing him. “You are both free to do as you please, to love whom you ch—”
“No!” Troy roared before he drew back his arm, and Christopher watched in a rather detached fashion as his friend’s fist came flying toward him.
In the next moment, a sharp pain shot through Christopher’s jaw and he found himself flying backward before landing with a dull thud on the hard ground.
His ears rang and bright spots danced before his eyes as a dull pain shot through his head and shoulders.
He groaned, pinched his eyes shut and lay otherwise completely still, breathing in and out slowly.
“Are you…Are you all right?” came Troy’s voice, still hard but now laced with regret and concern.
Sitting up, Christopher groaned as he reached to touch his jaw. He moved it from side to side, wincing as another stab of pain found him. “More or less,” he gritted out, then looked up at his friend standing above him.
Troy had a contrite look on his face. There was still anger in his eyes; yet a glimpse of the man he had always been shone through. “I’m sorry.” He stepped forward and held out his hand to Christopher.
Christopher nodded, then grasped his friend’s hand and allowed him to pull him back onto his feet.
He met Troy’s gaze. “I’m not angry with you,” he told him, stepping in his friend’s path when he made to turn away.
“Whether or not you want to admit it, I know you care for her and I know that the past few years have been hell for you.”
For a brief moment, Troy closed his eyes, his jaw tensing to the point of breaking.
“Believe me, I know what that feels like.” Christopher stepped closer and placed his hands upon his friend’s shoulders, looking him straight in the eye.
“I hesitated far, far too long, held back by doubts and fears I should never have allowed to dictate my actions. I regret that today because I will never get back the years I’ve lost.” He sighed, then stepped back, still holding his friend’s gaze.
“If you care for her as I believe you do, then…do something about it.” He looked at Troy compassionately.
Raking a hand through his hair, Troy stared back at him, the look in his eyes no longer fueled by anger alone.
Christopher saw something contemplative in his gaze and hoped that his friend was truly considering a different course of action.
Standing back and letting the world pass one by was never a good choice.
Whether Troy and Nora had a future together remained to be seen; however, that future would never come to pass unless one of them took a chance.
“You never once spoke to her, did you?” The look on Troy’s face spoke volumes. “You should. Think about it,” Christopher urged his friend anew before he stepped back, turned and walked away. He had said what needed to be said. Now it was up to Troy.
Still, the events of the night continued to linger in Christopher’s mind.
Fatigue began to pulse in his veins, weighing down his limbs.
Yet his mind was wide-awake, racing from one thought to another, reliving everything that had happened today.
And so, he was still awake, standing in his bedchamber, eyes directed out the window at the dark world surrounding Whickerton Grove, when he saw a lone rider charge down the drive, away from the house and toward Fartherington Hall.
For a moment, concern sparked in Christopher’s veins.
Concern for his sister. After all, Troy seemed far from in his right mind this night.
Then, however, Christopher wondered if perhaps it was about time that his friend lost control.
Perhaps it would be that impulsive and untamed side of him that would allow Troy to confront how he felt about Nora.
With all his heart, Christopher hoped that one day he would see them happy again.