17. Chapter 17
T hat night and the next day, I claimed to have a headache and stayed in bed. What I was really nursing was a sore heart, made worse by the fact that my husband did not visit me nor inquire about my health in all that time.
The others did, sending Molly with trinkets of their affection—a note, a poem, or a treat from the kitchens. They asked for reports about my well-being from Molly, who had been instructed to tell them that I was resting and would rejoin them as soon as I was able.
I used the time to work on my manuscript, though my heart was not in it and I was certain it was rubbish. Ames hadn’t asked me to give up my writing, not directly. And even if he had, I still had a commitment to honor. Surely he would understand that.
Every time I closed my eyes to rest, I could see the disappointment in his face, and it threatened to make me cry all over again.
Just when our relationship had started to grow and strengthen, this came between us.
Part of me wanted to destroy my current manuscript and never write again.
But the other part wanted to hold on and fight for this aspect of my life, no matter how much it might interfere with everything else.
Surely if I made Ames understand, he would not ask me to give it up.
“Those who marry in haste, repent at leisure,” I whispered as I looked out the window on the second morning of my self-imposed confinement. Except, I didn’t regret marrying Ames—I disliked the things that were coming between us.
I just hoped he didn’t regret marrying me.
The sun was shining and the air had a sweet scent as Molly entered my room to help me dress.
“Will you be sick again today?” she asked, her hands clasped in front of her apron. “Or will you be rejoining your house party?”
Molly looked older than she had when we first arrived at Pickering Castle. There were dark smudges under her eyes and creases at the corners of her lips. Her trials were far more troublesome than my own, yet she had no choice but to face the real world each day.
If she could do it, I could.
“I will rejoin them,” I said.
She offered an encouraging smile. “’Tis glad I am to hear it, Your Grace.”
As she turned to enter my dressing room, I called out to her. “Molly?”
“Aye?”
“How are . . . things?”
She was quiet for a moment and then said, “No matter how hard I try, Brant refuses to see things my way.”
My shoulders fell. “He still insists on asking you to marry him?”
“Aye, and he won’t hear me speak about Miss Danby. I try to tell him all the reasons he should pursue her, but he refuses to consider her.”
“So, you’re still meeting with him?”
She took a step forward. “Just to talk sense into him.”
“Molly—”
“I know.” She wrapped her arms around herself in an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability.
“I just can’t seem to stay away from him.
Me heart yearns to be near him every moment of the day.
He’s all I can think about. Brant is nothing like the other aristocrats I’ve known me whole life.
He’s kind and generous and he makes me laugh.
No one has ever made me feel as beautiful or important as he does. I—I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Perhaps I can speak to him again.”
“Would you?”
Despite her pain, the hope in that one question almost broke my heart.
“If he would just see things the way I do,” she told me, “then we could both move on.”
“I will do what I can.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Molly helped me dress for the day and I left my room after breakfast.
Almost everyone was in the Cedar drawing room when I entered, and there was a chorus of excitement when they saw me.
The only two people missing were Brant and Ames.
“Good morning, Lily,” Everett said with a wide grin. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I am, thank you.”
“We were just talking about taking a walk to the ruins,” Davis said. “I want to show Miss Ackerman the architectural significance of the building, or, at least, what is left of it.”
“There’s something older than this castle?” I asked with a smile.
“An old abbey,” he said. “And it’s not quite as old as the castle, but it’s beautiful, nonetheless. Would you feel up to coming with us?”
“It would do me good to get out and breathe some fresh air,” I agreed.
“I think it would do all of us some good,” said a deep voice from behind me.
I turned, my heart pounding, to find Ames standing in the doorway. Nerves filled my stomach and made me queasy again. I hadn’t seen him since the fight in my bedchamber.
“Will you join us?” Davis asked Ames.
“I will.” He continued to look at me, but I could not read his emotions or thoughts.
“Let’s reconvene here in half an hour,” Davis proposed to the group. “That should give us all time to put on the proper attire to hike through the moors to the ruins.”
As everyone left the drawing room, Ames moved out of their way, but he put his hand on Everett’s chest to stop him. “Find Brant and tell him he’s coming with us.”
Everett nodded before leaving the room.
Soon, it was just Ames and me left standing there. He clearly wanted to speak to me, but why had he waited until now? Why hadn’t he come to my room yesterday?
So many thoughts rushed through my mind, and I felt both anger and regret at once.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it.
“I spent all night and this morning reading,” he said.
I nibbled my bottom lip, afraid to ask him what he’d read—but hopeful it was my books.
“I came into your room last night to apologize,” he continued. “But you were already asleep and I didn’t want to bother you, so I took the copies of your published books from your desk. I hope you do not mind.”
He’d come last night? My shoulders relaxed as the fight left my body.
“You are a very talented writer, Lily.” He regarded me with respect. “Your writing opened my eyes to many things I never knew about American society. Things that people need to see and understand.” He paused for a heartbeat. “Things I need to see.”
His confession surprised me.
“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions or made assumptions about your books,” he continued. “I’m starting to realize how often I have disregarded someone because I didn’t take the time to listen and understand them. It’s a shortcoming that I want to change. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
“Of course I will. But you must forgive me for not telling you about it sooner. It was wrong, but I didn’t want you to think poorly of me.”
“I understand.” He was quiet for a moment as he studied me.
“I always knew my life would change if I took a wife, and I wrongfully assumed it would change for the worse.” He moved closer to me.
“But I’m realizing that it has changed in good ways.
You are making me a better man. I want to be a better man for you, Lily. ”
“Oh, Ames.” I took a step closer, so we were inches apart. “I have one more manuscript due to my editor by the first of August, and then my contract is complete. If you do not want me to—”
“I want you to keep writing. Write for as long as you want, as often as you want, about whatever you want. Who cares what society thinks? It’s evident that it’s a God-given talent and I would be a fool to stand between you and God.
” He smiled. “And, selfishly, I want to read more of your writing. It made me feel closer to you and I liked that. Very much.”
I returned his smile. “Thank you, Ames.”
“I cannot promise that I won’t be stubborn or illogical or insensitive again. I’ve had a lot of practice at all those things.” He looked deep into my eyes. “But I can promise that I will try to be the best version of myself. You have my word.”
“And I will try to be the best for you.”
He kissed me and my love for him felt all-consuming, yet now, more than ever, I was frightened.
I could not lose Ames Welby—not after I finally found him.
The rain returned that evening, but this time, Ames and I were sitting in front of the fireplace in my bedchamber, my manuscript spread out on the floor.
“I think she should end up with the commoner,” Ames said, pointing at the outline I’d created. He had taken off his evening coat and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his forearms. “It’s the only way that the story can end well. If she marries the earl, she will have a lifetime of disappointment.”
“You speak as if you have authority on such matters,” I teased him.
He laughed. “I know many earls, and most of them are boring.”
“But she came to England to find an aristocrat,” I said. “Won’t readers be disappointed if she doesn’t end up with one? The title is The London Campaign , after all.”
“Not all campaigns are victorious. Perhaps that’s why you haven’t felt as if the end is right. She doesn’t love the earl. She loves the commoner.” He met my gaze, his voice low. “True love should always win, don’t you think?”
Was this the moment to bring up Brant and Molly?
The rain tapped against the windows and the fire crackled in the hearth.
We had excused ourselves from the drawing room after supper and retreated to my room for some privacy and much-needed time alone.
Molly had helped me change into a nightgown before leaving for the night, and my hair was in a braid, over my shoulder.
Everything was perfect. Did I want to risk irritating him if I discussed his brother and my maid? I knew what society thought, and I had counseled both of them to go their separate ways, but there was still a part of me that wanted to find a path forward for them.
“Do you really think true love should always win?” I ventured to ask.
“Of course.” He hesitated. “In theory.”
I frowned and sat up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”
“I do not want to get into a fight, Lily.” He touched my hand, running his finger along my knuckles. “True love is a gift.” He was quiet for a moment before adding, “Unfortunately, it’s not available to everyone.”
“Shouldn’t it be, though?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why are some privileged to have it and others are not?”