Elias struggled for air. He wanted to change their situation with a few words, but he could not propose without risking his inheritance. And what use would he be to Josephine without funds? Their lives hinged on the purse strings of others. Elias served Lord Welby. Josephine depended on the Darlings. Indeed, they were slaves to the roles given to them, caught between what they wanted and what they had to want.
“Let’s not pretend we can reverse our decisions,” Josephine said. “I was aware of Sebastian’s nature before I accepted the proposal. We attended the same parties, had the same friends. Remember that night you and I met—”
“Of course, Miss De Clare, but I fear mention of it would trifle with feelings I have struggled in vain to repress.” Elias bowed and left the room. He’d made peace with the prospect of heartbreak, yet it came for him with a vengeance.
It clawed through his body and made him sick.
He wanted to shove his fist through a wall or abandon Cadwallader Park. He wanted so many things, none of which compared to the girl he could not choose. Still, with all hope resting in his gut as sharp fragments, he knew one thing for certain.
There was no moving on, not from her.
A letter arrived days later. It was addressed to Mr. Darling but contained news involving Elias. According to its contents, Lord Welby had found a potential bride for his heir—a lady from royal stock, destined to inherit an annual sum of nine thousand pounds. She would attend the Darlings’ Christmas ball, where Elias would make his intentions known.
Lord Welby’s command did not invite debate. He desired the match, so it must be. Elias could devote his heart to Josephine, swear to love only her, but he would marry someone else. There was no avoiding it. His responsibilities demanded an advantageous marriage.
Mr. Darling reminded him of these facts. He listed all the reasons why Elias needed to obey Lord Welby and wed for money, status, and whatever else drew the public’s attention. Reasons that included the words bastard and scandal.
Josephine had been right all along. Still, Elias refused to feel less, for moving on from her wasn’t an option. He would learn to live without, and perhaps loving from a distance—being Josephine’s friend—would make his father’s will bearable.
Or perhaps it would ruin him completely.
“Hurry before she catches us.” Fitz bolted from Josephine’s bedroom. He slid into the hallway and tripped on a carpet runner, slamming his small body against a table. “Dickens!” He rubbed his elbow and grinned, showcasing the gap between his two front teeth. Injury seemed his comrade, proven by the bruise beneath his left eye, his scabbed knees, and dirty fingernails.
“Oh dear, Fitz. Don’t say that.” Elias stepped out of the chamber and eased its door shut. He plucked a yellow petal off his waistcoat.
“Why not? Our valet says it all the time.” Fitz inspected his limbs, perhaps to ensure the accident did not damage his clothes. Mrs. Darling refused to purchase him new outfits, for he soiled and ripped his garments on a regular basis.
“Because he’s not a gentleman like you,” Elias said.
“I don’t want to be a gentleman.” Fitz groaned, squirming when Elias grabbed his collar and dragged him down the east wing corridor. Their scheme had occupied the entire morning, which prevented Fitz from building forts with Kitty. He hadn’t minded the sacrifice when Elias let him sneak around, but no number of secrets and surprises could surpass the thrill of playtime.
“What do you want to be, then?” Elias glanced over his shoulder. No one had seen them enter or exit Josephine’s bedroom, and they’d been careful not to leave a mess. What could ruin the gesture? More importantly, how would Josephine respond to it?
“A pirate.” Fitz punched Elias’s stomach and sprinted ahead, his feet drumming the floorboards. He screamed when Elias chased after him.
“Get back here, you rascal, or I’ll give you to Mrs. Capers,” Elias yelled. He dashed past frosted windowpanes and rooms that filled his nose with scents of starch and potpourri.
“Capital! Mrs. Capers gives me sweets.” Fitz raced through a gallery toward the manor’s west wing. His copper hair danced like flames, and his stomps rattled the house. Despite his and Elias’s previous caution, their presence could no longer be unnoticed.
“Hello?” Josephine’s voice drifted from the nearby annex.
“Don’t squeal.” Elias tossed Fitz over his shoulder and ducked into a linen room. He lowered the boy onto a stack of sheets. “Keep quiet. We can’t let Josephine find us.”
“Because of the surprise?” Fitz scrunched his nose.
“Yes. Don’t say a word about it.” Elias peered into the passageway, a flutter sweeping through him when Josephine appeared, dressed in a white muslin gown and her mother’s shawl.
“Kitty and I built the fort,” she yelled.
“I want to play in the fort.” Fitz kicked Elias’s shin and reached for the door.
“Shush.” Elias clamped his hands over the boy’s mouth. He watched Josephine approach, his mind flashing to the memory of her in the entrance hall, alone on the checkered floor, like a single dancer on a vast stage. That morning had changed them. Their conversation had altered the very nature of their friendship, and they were forever different.
“Fitz, is that you?” Josephine stopped. Her gaze lingered on the linen room as if she sensed the boys’ presence. She would discover them eventually. How could they explain their behaviour without revealing the secret?
“Pretend I’m not here.” Elias shoved his cousin into the hallway. Everyone knew about the boy’s shenanigans—how he hid in obscure places and frightened the staff. Another scare attempt would raise no suspicions.
“Oh, hello.” Josephine gawked at Fitz. “What were you doing in there?”
“We’re playing hide-and-go-seek,” he said. “I lost.”
“Have you found Elias yet?” Josephine eyed the cracked door. She lifted the boy’s chin and examined his face. “Were you really playing a game, Fitz?”
“Will you get mad if I lie?”
“I’m right here,” Elias said with a groan. He stepped out of the room and clasped his hands together. “All right, then. Let’s go see that fort.”
Josephine grabbed his arm. “You’re up to something.”
“Me? Never.” He smiled, his cheeks burning. In a few hours, she would enter her chambers and behold his gesture, all his emotions gathered, strung, and displayed like bunting.
“Do not fib, Mr. Welby. Set a good example for your cousin.”
“I don’t mind,” Fitz said. “Besides, not talking isn’t fibbing.”
“Right you are, Fitz. Thank you.” Elias winked at Josephine. “I’m not talking.” He liked to tease her, for she gave theatrical responses—she touched him, she gazed into his eyes as if he were a pool filled with bright things.
“You’re cheeky. I do not fancy you at all,” Josephine said through a grin. Her fingers slipped off Elias’s forearm and fell to her side. A week had passed since Sebastian and Widow De Clare left for London, but Josephine had yet to act like herself. She remained indoors. She declined Elias’s invitations.
Elias understood her distance. For days he’d paced his study and wondered if he should leave Cadwallader Park after Christmas. He’d written his father and asked to travel south. But he’d changed his mind. Again. Because he knew he could love Josephine and not end up with her. He could make her happy without fending for his own happiness.
“Oh, really? You dislike my company?” Elias sighed. “Blazes, I was convinced you adored me. How embarrassing.” He pocketed his hands and sauntered toward his study while Josephine laughed. Yes, he would pursue his father’s approval, and she would marry his cousin. They would live apart, but for this moment, they were together. And a moment seemed enough.
“Run on ahead,” Josephine told Fitz. “I put tea and biscuits in the fort.”
“I daresay you’ve won his affections,” Elias said once the boy sped down the corridor.
“Fitz likes me.” Elias scoffed. “He likes to be flung.”
Josephine held Elias’s gaze, her face beaming. She retreated to his study and leaned against its door frame, then motioned for him to enter the room. “Promise not to have a fit.”
“Did you rearrange my furniture, again?” Elias stepped into the chamber and froze, his body cloaked in warmth from the fireplace, the aromas of spiced biscuits and evergreen.
Between the desk and bookcase, Kitty lounged in a fort constructed from blankets and novels. Paper chains drooped from the ceiling. Candles dotted the shelves. No longer did the chamber resemble a library. Josephine had transformed the space into a wonderland.
“What do you think?” Josephine pranced to the room’s centre and twirled. She had volunteered to entertain the Darling children so Miss Karel could spend the day with her suitor. Without the governess’s supervision, and with Mr. and Mrs. Darling visiting a neighbour, the children’s playtime could refrain from sensibility.
“You’re a superb governess,” Elias said. He wouldn’t forget the sight, for perfect moments were rare, and they never repeated themselves. They came like snowflakes. Soon this moment would melt and his study would grow dim.
“Sit next to me, Elias.” Kitty patted an embroidered cushion. She giggled as he ambled toward the fort. “I think Miss De Clare is a pixie.”
“Of course. If we ask nicely, maybe she’ll fly around for us.” Elias crawled beneath the quilted canopy and collapsed onto a pillow.
“Is this our new playroom?” Fitz asked. He sprawled on the velvet settee with biscuits piled on his belly. “I like it better than the nursery.”
“No, all this shall disappear at midnight, so we must endeavour to enjoy ourselves.” Josephine climbed onto the desk as if it were a stage. “Do you want to hear a story?”
“I don’t like stories,” Fitz said.
“Nonsense. You just haven’t heard the right story.” Josephine tossed her shawl to the floor and marched across the desk. “Close your eyes. You too, Elias.”
He buried his face in a cushion to make the children laugh.
“What do you see?” Josephine whispered.
“Darkness,” Kitty said.
“Use your imagination.”
“I see a pirate ship and yellow flowers.” Fitz cracked open his eyes and snickered when Elias glared at him.
“Open your eyes. We’re now on a pirate ship covered in yellow flowers.” Josephine hopped off the desk and retrieved a paper hat from a bookshelf. She perched it upon her head, then yanked Fitz from the settee. “Captain Darling, what is our destination?”
“Uh, we’re sailing to Antarctica.” He pointed at Elias. “Get off your bum, First Officer Welby. We need to stop the polar bears before they eat the princess.”
Josephine cackled—the way she laughed was pure magic. She looked at Elias, and her expression softened. Did she ache the way he ached? Was she overwhelmed with the same happiness and sorrow? Oh, if she felt his chest, she’d know she had bewitched him, for his heart raced in her presence. He could not love by halves. He was hers in full.
“Should we use the polar bear nets, Captain?” Elias scrambled out of the fort and joined the enactment. For hours he played with Josephine and his cousins, participating in sword fights and tea parties. He wore a paper hat. He danced with Kitty. He and Josephine smacked each other with pillows until one burst, snowing goose feathers.
The library once held Elias captive. Now it set him free. Its darkness gave way to dozens of candles. Its silence became laughter. No more hiding. He was seen.
“You’re my horse, Elias,” Kitty said. “Get on your hands and knees.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and tackled him to the floor.
“Why can’t I play the sleeping princess?” He squirmed across the rug until his arms fatigued. “Dismount. This horse needs rest.”
“Pirate attack!” Fitz leapt off a chair and pounded Elias with a cushion. It exploded like the others, spraying feathers across the room.
Josephine extended her arms as fluff rained from above. “I’ll clean up the mess, First Officer Welby.” She sat next to Elias and plucked feathers out of his hair.
“Don’t bother. I think the room looks better this way, like a slaughterhouse party.” He grinned when she threw a handful of feathers into his face. Indeed, she was his dearest friend too. She knew him. She was downstairs and upstairs, and a whole other world.
He couldn’t imagine a day without her.
At half past six, Anne brought dinner to the library and created a picnic spread. Then, around nine o’clock, the children fell asleep in their fort, nestled between Elias and Josephine. The candles burned low, masking the day’s chaos with shadows.
Elias draped his jacket over Fitz and glanced at Josephine, who seemed enthralled with the dying fire. She would find his gift soon. What could he say to preface it? All week he had wanted to speak with her, pretend their conversation in the entrance hall never occurred. Now he sat beside her, and his words seemed lost among the feathers, empty chinaware, and paper hats.
“Let’s get them to bed,” Josephine whispered. “Carry Fitz, would you?” She woke Kitty and guided her across the study, into the hallway.
“Wake up, lad.” Elias lifted Fitz from a mound of pillows, but the boy remained asleep, his body limp like a rag doll. How did a nine-year-old manage to act obnoxious in slumber?
Elias followed Josephine down a dark passageway. He slung Fitz over his shoulder and listened to the house, but it did not creak or groan. It stood still. No one spoke except for the maid and valet, who chatted downstairs, perhaps waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Darling to return.
Once the children were asleep in their respective chambers, Josephine said good night and headed toward her bedroom. Elias watched her move down the hall, his breaths quickening. He tapped his foot when she entered the boudoir. He rubbed his temples as time passed. Did his surprise offend her? Was it so insignificant she thought it did not merit a response?
Seldom did people express their hearts, for sincere love was the indelicate sort. Elias had forgone propriety to convey his fondness and in doing so made himself vulnerable. What a tragic error. He should’ve concealed his emotions until they no longer bore weight.
Josephine rushed from her bedroom. She froze in the hallway and stared at Elias as if she saw him for the first time. Her chest rose and fell, and tears spilled down her cheeks.
Elias nodded, his bottom lip quivering. He had spent the past two nights in the larder, stringing gorse blossoms onto thread. He’d smuggled the garlands into Josephine’s bedroom and hung them from the ceiling, furniture, across windowpanes. The gesture seemed minor, perhaps childish, but Elias wanted her to know his arms would always welcome her. His soul would never grow cold toward her. His safe place—his home—was hers also, and regardless of where she went, who she loved, he would adore her, endlessly.
She was the joy he chose.
The gloom pulled them closer until they stood face-to-face, barely apart. Elias tilted forward and pressed his forehead against hers. He combed his fingers across her hand.
“I can’t.” Josephine placed her palms on his chest to keep him at a distance. She looked up, her gaze lingering on his mouth. Nothing could happen between them. Elias wouldn’t risk her honour. He wanted to kiss her, but if he kissed her once, he’d kiss her again, over and over, until he forgot how to stop.
Josephine clutched her mouth. She cried as they lingered in the glow from her bedroom, each sob a confession. Elias rested his chin against her hairline. His body hurt, but to know his feelings were returned eased the anguish of being divided from her.
“Good night, Miss De Clare.” Elias cupped her hands and kissed them. He stepped backward, his vision blurring with tears. The gorse was his vow. He would stand next to Sebastian at the wedding altar. He would visit Josephine at holidays, play with her children, pret
end what happened tonight, in the darkness, was nothing more than an old reverie.
She was the breath in his lungs. He drew her close. Then he let her go.
SIXTEEN
THE NOVEL
Sebastian and Widow De Clare returned from London a week before the Darlings’ holiday ball, a tradition anticipated by local and exotic gentry. They bestowed the finest wares. Sebastian gifted his mother a straw hat covered in silk and taffeta, his father a box of cigars. He gave Kitty and Josephine embroidered shawls, Elias and Fitz buckskin breeches. Widow De Clare also supplied presents but ordered their recipients not to open them until Christmas Day.
With preparations for the ball underway, Cadwallader Park regained its intrigue. Mrs. Darling bought wreaths and garlands, crates full of candlesticks. She issued commands until her voice went hoarse. Such behaviour merited empathy, for all women understood the benefits of hospitality, especially when extended to titled persons. And what better way to establish amiable connections than to offer merriment and all its follies?
Invitations were sent by messenger. Menus were decided, much to Mrs. Capers’s displeasure. She and Anne laboured in the kitchen from sunrise to sunset, preparing turducken seasoned with sausage meat, pike stuffed with pudding, and dishes of equal complexity. Of course, baked goods were also needed for the party. Elias helped Anne make scones garnished with apricot jam, a surplus of lavender shortbreads, and Mrs. Darling’s favourite stollen cake.
For guests’ amusement, the Darlings further abandoned their humble lifestyle. They hired a full staff, along with performers and musicians. However, their loose purse strings could not augment the event’s appeal, for the traditional extravagance already drew the upper class thither.
Lord and Lady Welby arrived at the estate two days before the ball. Upon their advent, Lady Welby complained of a migraine and retired to her chamber. Lord Welby occupied himself with hunting while the household fretted over table settings.
People arrived. Hours passed. Work consumed all time for sentimentality. Elias welcomed the distractions. If not for his checklist, he might’ve taken offense at his father’s lack of greeting or spent hours mulling over that night in the hallway when he had admitted his feelings to Josephine. Nowadays he passed her in the same hallway as a stranger. He muttered polite nothings at dinner and exchanged meaningless glances during afternoon tea.
Dearest Josephine Page 17
