Chapter 32
Adrian stood silently in the doorway as he watched his wife mourn. She stood over Harriet’s cot, holding the side, staring down at the baby as if it was all the mattered in the world…
He had just come from seeing Lord Delacourt off.
In his estimation, the visit was a resounding success and there could be no doubt whatsoever that he had done the right thing in telling the man about the child.
What was more, he knew that Ophelia thought the same.
He had worried that she might object, that she would try and deter him, but Lord Delacourt’s honesty, his words, were enough to make her see reason.
It was a good thing, Adrian was sure. It was the best course of action. When he had watched Lord Delacourt hold Harriet to his chest, he had breathed a sigh of tremendous relief because that was a task done, and one that would allow him to finally leave these last few weeks behind.
Or rather, it would be… soon.
But if I am so relieved, as I claim, why do I feel so rotten?
He knew the answer to that, an obvious one, and one he dared not consider. So, he remained in the doorway, wanting nothing more than to comfort Ophelia, while knowing too that it was the last thing he should do.
“I used to want this more than anything,” Ophelia spoke suddenly, her voice so soft that Adrian almost missed it. “A child is my meaning. And not just a child, but a family of my own.”
“I…” He had no idea what to say or what to do.
“After what happened with Lord Hallbridge, I thought such dreams were lost,” she continued, still gazing upon Harriet.
“Worse than that, I accepted it. The fight left me, and I came to realize that I might never have what I wanted. And then, to make things even worse, I convinced myself I was happy.”
Adrian said nothing.
In fact, he considered turning and walking away, knowing that his wife’s words were sure to touch something inside of him that was better left alone. But he stood frozen, unable to look away, feeling his wife’s words as if she shouted them at him.
“And then Harriet came into my life,” she continued. “And then you…” A shake of the head. “I dared to dream again, as foolish as that was. For a time there, such dreams did not feel that way. It was as if I lived in that dream, my reality finally calling me, and do you know what I realized?”
He said nothing, but the thumping of his heart was surely heard across the room.
“I was not happy when I worked for Lady Delacourt. Content, perhaps. But never happy. How could I have been, when I did not have what I desired more than anything? And now that I know what is in store for me, I fear that happiness might never be felt again.”
“Ophelia...” His voice cracked, and he reached out as if to touch her. But the distance between them was vast, both physically and emotionally. “I am sorry –”
“Do not apologize,” she said with a sigh, still not turning around. “I want to hate you, Adrian. I want to be so mad at you. But hearing Lord Delacourt’s story just now, do you know what I realized?”
“Wh – what?” he choked.
“Love is not one sided. As I know that Lord Delacourt loved his wife, I have no doubt that she loved him too. I thought for a time that this here was something to fight for, you know? That if I wanted it enough, if I was stubborn…” She laughed bitterly.
“What I never considered was that the fight is only worth it if the other is just as willing. That is why their marriage worked, when it should not have. They both loved one another, so their fight had meaning. But you and I…” She exhaled as if releasing a weight from herself.
“I will not fight for someone who does not want me to.”
Adrian was so close… right there… he wanted to cross the room, to take her in his arms, to let her know that he was there for her. She was wrong about him, and as ashamed as he was to admit it, if she fought a little bit harder…
But he did not want her to do that. He needed her to believe that he did not love her as she loved him. Only then might she be willing to give up. Although, from the sounds of it, she had finally done that.
Why do I resist… what am I afraid of…
That voice whispered in his ear, begging him to cross the room and take her.
But then Adrian remembered Lord Delacourt as he had seen him the other day, a broken man, a pitiful mess, brought to emotional ruin, and all because he had dared to love.
His father, too, had a similar result. Such weakness, such pain, was something that Adrian could not stomach. He was not strong enough!
“I am sorry,” Adrian said, forcing his tone to be firm. “Please, know that, Ophelia. As you should know, I will always care for you.”
“I know it,” she said, still not turning. “But that only makes it harder.”
Unable to stand it any longer, Adrian turned and stumbled down the hallway. No idea where he was going, he soon found himself in his office.
At his desk, his body shaking, his mind in peril, he wrenched open the bottom drawer, desperate to focus on anything other than that which brought such pain.
Fixing things… those that held no emotion…
that which he could not make any worse or whose life he could not ruin… it was all he could think to do.
He reached into the draw and froze as his hand wrapped around something soft.
Slowly, his hand trembling, Adrian pulled it from the drawer and his heart cracked that little bit further.
It was a stuffed doll, its arm torn off, the stuffing inside withered so that it was a fragment of the toy it had once been.
Adrian had found it weeks ago, among some of his old things, and had thought he might restore it for Harriet to play with.
Such a desire was forgotten in time, and he’d shoved the doll away because he did not want to fix that for someone who would forget him. Only, as he looked at the doll, as he thought about Harriet and Ophelia and their last few weeks together, he could not bring himself to put the doll down.
In fact, a smile touched his lips as he remembered those moments together. Moments that were happy. Moments were he did not feel alone. And moments where he had dared to wonder if he might never be alone again… as he had realized that maybe that was not such a bad thing.
Before Adrian knew what he was doing, he had the doll on the table before him.
Another drawer opened, that one with sewing needles and spare cotton.
Harriet would soon be with her new father, but that did not mean that she needed to be forgotten completely, just as he wondered if with this doll, she might somehow remember him.
It was stupid. It was silly. But the idea that he might live on in her memory, and that such a memory might bring her joy, made Adrian feel something… a warmth spreading through his belly… a light in the darkness that was his sorrow… a purpose beyond isolation and despair.
To have someone else that cared for him, even if it was just a memory brought by a silly doll, was a feeling that Adrian did not want to let go. So, he worked into the night, determined to see the doll fixed, just as he was determined for it to mean something.
Maybe he wasn’t so alone, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.