Ruined

by Anders, Annabelle

  “You are the best part of me.” Several feet separated them, but Luke’s words washed over her like a soothing balm. “Where there is love, there is hope.”

  She nodded.

  He stepped forward just then, took one of her hands, and bowed formally.

  He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and simply held them there, far longer than could ever be considered appropriate while Naomi stared down at the back of his head.

  She allowed herself to run her fingers through the thick sandy strands. Her throat constricted and she swallowed hard before answering.

  “Then there will always be hope.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In the weeks that followed Luke’s departure, Naomi protected Luke’s love safely in her heart. And beneath all the sadness of watching Arthur’s decline, the smallest light of hope burned deep inside of her.

  She determined, however, that she would fulfill her duty to Arthur. By caring for him, by standing by him, and by allowing him time to know his daughter.

  And in watching him wither away, she was not alone. The entire household, his mother, his brother, even the servants endured the process along with her. A few cousins and aunts came to visit. Lady Tempest insisted they had come to lift his spirits. She referred to Arthur’s illness as the ague, and Naomi supposed that it sounded less ill-omened than malaria.

  The disease teased them all. Arthur would hover on the precipice of death for days on end and then the fever would break, and for a day or two, he’d seem almost normal.

  On one occasion, Arthur’s mother mentioned the possibility of Amelia having a younger brother or sister. Naomi’s response had been a pointed glare. Because although no one mentioned Arthur’s unspoken affliction, the abscesses that appeared almost overnight and sometimes putrefied were a daily reminder that he had ruined himself with his licentious behavior.

  She would do what she could to provide comfort, but aside from assisting him to drink or eat, reading out loud at his bedside, or bringing Amelia for short visits, she was repelled by his touch.

  Days passed into weeks, spring turned to summer, and although nearly all of London society retreated to their country estates, life at Galewick Manor remained relatively unchanged.

  Crescent Park, however, sat mostly empty.

  Lady Lucinda, having successfully landed a title over the course of the Season, took up residence with her husband at his estate near Scarborough. Even more surprisingly, the Duke of Blackheart had also married. His duchess was something of an unknown, however, and would continue to be such until the newlyweds returned from their holiday on the continent.

  Lydia, however, had returned quite alone and become something of a Godsend to Naomi. She had become a dear friend, and with her visits, she brought a glimpse of life outside of the deathwatch inside of Galewick. She also, on occasion, brought correspondence from Luke with her.

  His letters did not read like love letters but more like those of a friend.

  But she knew.

  He was safe. He was alive.

  The two of them would wait.

  Without Lucinda’s more boisterous company, Naomi’s friendship with Lydia strengthened. Of course, after their visit last December, Naomi knew the Cockfields were well aware of Naomi and Luke’s attachment. What she had not realized was that their knowing came without judgment.

  Lydia brought books to share, fashion magazines, and she’d knitted the most beautiful blanket for Amelia. In private, Naomi referred to her as Amelia’s aunt.

  Only in private.

  It was over the course of one of Lydia’s visits, the second Tuesday of September, when everything truly turned.

  “Mrs. Gilcrest.” One of the maids peered into the nursery where Naomi, Lydia, and Amelia were sprawled out on the floor. “Mr. Gilcrest is asking for you.”

  Something in the servant’s tone changed the mood of the cheerful little chamber immediately. Naomi met Lydia’s gaze. “I can send for Amelia’s nurse.” She wasn’t sure how long she would be unavailable to her daughter.

  “No. I’ll stay with her.” Lydia’s eyes held the same compassion Naomi had seen so many times in her brother’s. “You go. Amelia and I shall keep one another entertained.”

  The three of them had spent many an afternoon doing just that and so Naomi knew Lydia had Amelia’s schedule and little habits memorized.

  Naomi nodded and rose. “Thank you.”

  It was unlike Arthur to ask for her. In fact, for the past week, he’d not had the strength to talk hardly at all.

  She’d known he was fading away, had bid farewell to him as a husband long ago, and yet death was the final ending. When she arrived at his chamber, a nurse held the door wide for her in invitation. “He’s been asking for you, Missus.”

  Naomi crept inside slowly, quietly, but he must have sensed her presence for he turned and met her stare.

  “You came.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “How are you feeling today?” Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps he merely wished her to read to him or…

  “It’s time.”

  She could almost make out the shape of his skeleton beneath skin that held little elasticity or color. Dry lips twitched into a ghost of a sheepish grin. Eyes that had once sparkled with life stared back at her with the ultimate resignation.

  “Shall I send for your mother?” It ought to be awkward, being alone with him. But today, he did not seem to be under any illusions as to the realities between them.

  “No. I needed to speak with you first.”

  Naomi hesitated only a moment before dropping into the chair she’d grown all too familiar with at the side of his bed. “Of course.”

  She had never seen death occur before. She’d viewed her grandmother’s body when it had been laid out in the parlor of her mother’s home. And her father’s sister, as well. She swallowed hard and took one of Arthur’s hands in hers.

  “I’ve wronged you.” His words hung in the air between them.

  Naomi absorbed the statement. Was he asking for her forgiveness?

  “It’s going to come out when the solicitors begin divvying up my worldly goods.”

  “I don’t want anything of yours—”

  “No.” He managed to hold her gaze. “Our marriage.”

  “You never signed the certificate.” Even now, it was difficult not to be angry with him over this.

  Wrinkles appeared in his forehead as he stared at her. “I was going to.”

  “Was any of it real?” Arthur didn’t understand her question. “Luke asked his brother to investigate. There is no record of our marriage in Gretna Green. But we stood together, you and I, and took vows.” She’d wanted answers to this ever since he’d returned but hadn’t wished to stir up more trouble than was necessary. She hadn’t thought it was necessary to expose Gil’s duplicity. “Our daughter would have been illegitimate. How could you do that to your own flesh and blood?”

  “Debts.” He pinched his eyes closed. “I had intended to meet with your father. And then I was going to…” And then his eyes opened. “What do you mean that she would have been illegitimate? Did you forge my signature? Of course, you did. Because you thought I was dead.”

  “I forged nothing.” Naomi sat up straight and met his stare. “At the time of Amelia’s birth, I was, in fact, a legally married woman. Luke and I wed by special license before he returned to the front.”

  Remembering the sweetest ceremony in the world sent a calm to her heart. On the chilly evening of December first, Luke’s last night in Hull Crossings, Naomi and Luke had solemnly taken their vows of marriage, making certain all was legal and documented properly. They’d done so to protect her baby and her reputation. But Luke had also been emphatically insistent, that he wanted to.

  Blackheart and Mrs. Cromwell had been the only persons present, to act as witnesses, and the vicar of course. Not even the twins, who had been tucked up safely at the inn, were tol
d. Their marriage would only have become known to their solicitors and families if it became absolutely necessary. Luke had promised Naomi a very public wedding, with all the fanfare she deserved, after he’d returned from the front and at the end of her mourning.

  He chuckled softly. “Luke is a good man. I never could live up to that bastard.” That ghostly smiled hovered on his lips again. “He will be a good father to Amelia, a good husband to you.”

  Naomi did not argue or deny any of it. She merely nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” Arthur rasped into the quiet. “For not being the man I pretended to be. You deserve better. You did all along. At least in my death, you will have that.”

  “We were happy for a time.” She found it surprisingly easy to comfort him. Who could hold grievances against a person on their death bed?

  “Tell him I’m sorry. I pretended it was my due. I pretended—” A fit of coughing took hold of him, cutting off his words. She immediately lifted the glass to his lips and trickled a few drops into his mouth. She’d done it dozens of times, but there was an almost ritualistic meaning this time.

  When he settled back onto the pillow, eyes closed, Naomi thought perhaps he’d lost consciousness. His chest rose and fell, almost imperceptibly. But he was still here.

  “I never meant…”

  She jumped when he squeezed her hand as his voice broke the quiet again. “What?”

  “I never meant for anyone to get hurt. Just needed the money… Needed something to send you… But I couldn’t stop them from burning…” He let out a soft wailing sound of despair.

  Naomi froze. He was talking about the ambush. He had been the traitor. Luke had been right in his suspicions.

  A lone tear squeezed out from one of his eyes and slowly trailed down the side of his face. “I deserve to go to hell. I deserve it, Mimi, but I’m afraid.” Torment highjacked his voice. He was dying. He was afraid. And he was utterly helpless.

  “I forgive you.” It wasn’t her place to forgive him for the lives his actions had cost but, in this moment, she was simply a woman watching another human face eternity. “Luke forgives you.”

  He shuddered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so…” He exhaled and fell still.

  Naomi’s chin began trembling. He was gone.

  It was over.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The event of Arthur’s very real death was acknowledged with an actual funeral. There was a body to be put into the ground. He would not be coming back this time.

  A memorial headstone had been placed in the Tempest family cemetery that had already been etched with his name, and the date of his birth and his death last autumn. A replacement had been ordered. It was as though his family had been given a second chance to say their goodbyes.

  As a rule, women didn’t normally attend funerals; It was considered unseemly and newly widowed ladies were considered to be too fragile to witness the lowering of their husband’s bodies into the ground.

  But Naomi had attended this one. Even seeing the finality of him taking his last breath, she’d needed to see the ceremony of it. She’d watched his casket be lowered into the ground.

  She’d sent word to Luke but doubted she would hear from him for weeks. Sometimes it could take months to reach loved ones who were deployed. And her worrying was not at an end.

  The distance of war, the turmoil of battle, it changed people. She doubted anything could alter the content of Luke’s character, but she prepared herself for the possibility that things between them could change. Her seedling of hope had been deprived of water and sunshine and nutrients for months. As had his.

  She’d spent nearly three quarters of a year living at Galewick Manor, and although she was grateful for all Arthur’s family had done, she wished for some separation. Arthur was gone. She wished to move on with her life.

  She would not act in haste and Lady Tempest had grown quite fond of Amelia. There would always be some connection, as was only right. And yet, Naomi faced some important decisions.

  Ironically, three days after Arthur’s funeral, she’d received two different letters, both of which presented great implications that could affect her future.

  The first was a letter from her mother. A certain duke had spoken with Naomi’s father on her behalf before departing for his wedding holiday and had somehow convinced him that Naomi deserved his forgiveness. She was welcome to return home along with her child, whom all of them were quite impatient to become acquainted with.

  She’d read through the letter twice. It was something she’d wanted for months and it only offered her a slight relief. Perhaps she was numb. From Arthur’s death and Luke’s absence.

  The second one had been sent by the War Office, stating that Mr. Arthur Gilcrest had claimed all wages he’d been due, and since he had not, in fact, been killed in battle, there was no widow’s pension for her to claim. It was dated last April.

  Naomi had taken the second letter to Lord Tempest, uncertain whether it was her responsibility to inform the War Office that Arthur had finally succumbed.

  As somber as ever, Arthur’s brother promised he would look into it and then gone on to assure her that she would never be in want of funds or security. Milton Cottage had been willed to her by Arthur, along with an annuity as his widow and a trust for Amelia. Furthermore, she was welcome to remain at Galewick Manor for as long as she’d like. She was family. She would always be welcome.

  It was the most he’d ever spoken to her at one time, and she’d left his study thinking that she would visit her parents first, perhaps remain with them through the holidays, and then after, she might return to live on her own at Milton Cottage.

  She’d attempted to reject the annuity, but Tempest had insisted. She was his family’s responsibility. “You have Amelia to think of,” he’d told her.

  She wandered the now-familiar corridors deep in thought, and after looking in on Amelia and seeing that she was already down for her afternoon nap, Naomi was drawn outside by the golden light of the autumn sun.

  There were some aspects of this estate that she would miss. It had provided her comfort in a tumultuous time.

  Naomi slipped outside and strolled aimlessly to the edge of the garden. Was she really free?

  She continued through the copse of trees then over the small bridge onto Blackheart property. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she’d walked along the rushing brook with Luke at her side, since she’d grasped his arm beneath her hand and felt his strength along her side.

  The air felt warm on her face and shoulders. Almost one year had passed since that fateful day he’d come to Milton Cottage. When would she see him again? She watched the ground and carefully picked her way along the stream, feeling hopeful and scared but also renewed.

  The sound of the waterfall in the distance teased her and as though compelled by some unknown force, she persisted onward.

  At first, she thought she was imagining the obscure silhouette of a man standing at the edge of the pool. And then she believed that she must be mistaken. But the posture was familiar. She knew the tilt of his head, the breadth of his shoulders.

  She stepped on a branch, snapping it in two, and he turned his head.

  Luke.

  With his feet planted shoulder-distance apart, his hands behind his back, dressed in a black coat, tan breeches, and gleaming hessians, he appeared even more magnificent than he’d been in her dreams.

  And as his eyes settled upon her and his lips tilted upward in welcome, the beating of her heart grew strong and steady again.

  Unable to hold herself back, she lifted her skirts with both hands and sprinted across the distance between them. This time, she would throw herself into his arms.

  This time, she had no reason to hide.

  * * *

  Luke had not been on English soil for even forty-eight hours, but rather than spend a single night at Portsmouth, he’d hired a mount and ridden for home.

  To Naomi.

  He’d done wha
t needed to be done and he was prepared to reside at Crescent Park for as long as was necessary until he could make her his again.

  Because she would be his forever. He’d relinquished his heart long ago.

  When he’d walked through the door of the home he’d grown up in, Lydia met him first with tears and welcome but quickly informed him of Gil’s passing.

  He’d considered the likelihood of Arthur passing before he ever made it home, a part of him had expected it even. And after having accepted it once already, Luke had thought he’d been prepared.

  And yet…

  Grief crept in anyhow and settled into the pit of his belly. He’d lost his friend multiple times. Each time he’d lost a little more of his own innocence.

  At a time when he hungered more than anything to claim the woman he loved, to make her his wife and embark on a life together, Gil had stood in his way.—and Luke had allowed it.

  But no more.

  His friend had stirred up tragedy with his betrayal, leaving those behind to suffer from more than innocent grief.

  Luke simply needed to breathe.

  Rather than rushing over to present himself formerly at Galewick Manor, rather than facing Gil’s brother and mother to offer his condolences, hoping for a moment alone with Naomi, he’d wandered outside through the playground of his youth. Staring up at the gushing waters of the falls, memories played in his mind. And as he lost himself watching the deluge of water crash over the rocks, the taint of the present washed away. Miraculously, the innocence of the past remained intact.

  His chest released and the autumn sunlight penetrated his soul.

  He could now give himself permission to embrace a future that would be filled not only with love and hope and joy but also challenges and tears. And in that very moment…

  She was there.

  This time, he met her with open arms.

  “He was buried on Tuesday.” Her voice broke, giving him some idea as to how hard the past months had been for her. Oh, but she was in his arms again. There was nothing he could do to prevent the tremor of relief that swept through him. It was over.