Her confession ripped through Elias, freeing the emotions he’d struggled in vain to forget. He wasn’t all right either. He wanted to be whole and undamaged, for other people seemed immune to the pain he felt. Then again, no person had expressed their feelings like Josephine. She put her sufferings—her father’s death, the engagement to Sebastian—into words.
And she wasn’t ashamed to expose them.
Elias crawled to her side, his elbows sinking into mud. “You seemed content—”
“Let me assure you I have been deeply unhappy.” Josephine twisted onto her back and dried her eyes. “Sorry. I’m prone to these dark moods from time to time.”
“You’re the most vibrant person I’ve ever met,” Elias whispered. He placed his hand near hers to feel the prickle of warmth from her skin.
“My father told me that . . . to live, one does not need to be strong and courageous, just awake. He claimed the world is like a deep pool, and the bottom of it is covered with seashells. Some blend into the sand. Others sparkle and shine. And the bright shells—those are the ones people treasure. They prompt joy because they dare reflect light in a gloomy place.” Josephine’s body relaxed into the ground. She turned her hand so her knuckles rested against Elias’s little finger. “I wish to live a bright, waking life.”
The hurt that carved into her voice made Elias tremble. He understood Josephine chose her joys to save others from pain. She endeavoured to reflect light when the world cloaked her in darkness. She was awake, and she was hurting. She was a bright shell, yet sands of sorrow buried her, crushing her beneath the pressure.
Elias had lost his sheen years prior. He’d let the gloom dull him, and he’d lived in its shadows ever since. What could he do to help Josephine? He couldn’t resurrect her father, nor sever her engagement to Sebastian. He couldn’t even summon a proper response.
“Do you miss your mum?” Josephine asked. She rolled onto her side and studied Elias’s expression, her lips parting like a rose in bloom. How did she know about his mother’s death? Sebastian must’ve told her. The bloke couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.
Elias nodded.
“Missing someone is the same as breathing, I suppose. It continues until the end.” Josephine sat up and hugged her legs. “When my father died, I promised myself I wouldn’t crumble to pieces. Mum didn’t seem upset, so I pretended not to hurt. I found that if I smiled and only celebrated the good, I forgot the bad, at least for a short time.” She rested her dirt-smeared cheek against her knees and sighed. “What makes you happy?”
“Books, the outdoors . . .” Elias scooted to a cluster of gorse. He reached into a shrub and plucked a blossom, then handed it to Josephine.
“You like yellow flowers?” She cradled the bud in her palms and snickered, a grin scrunching her face into a display of white teeth and jewelled eyes.
“Gorse,” he said with a nod. “It’s thorny and overlooked—”
“Like you.” Josephine stroked the flower’s petals. She gazed at the blossom while a breeze gusted through the vale and ruffled her tangled hair.
“I daresay I’m not thorny,” Elias said with a laugh.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Josephine blushed as if she knew about the times Elias had ignored her when he’d wanted to kiss her, the glances he’d stolen before looking away. “I meant humans often fail to acknowledge the beauty around them, but their lack of notice doesn’t determine a thing’s value. Gorse does not require an audience to grow, and neither do people. We aren’t who we are because of what others see or say.”
Her response sent chills through Elias’s body. Did she think him a handsome man, a beautiful thing gone unnoticed? His heart raced at the thought, for she sat beside him, dirty and shivering. And somehow she was lovelier than everything else.
Elias combed his fingers across the turf. He lolled against his elbows and watched birds swoop from the surrounding hills. “When I was a child, I sneaked out of the servants’ quarters and ran as far as my legs could carry me. I reached a pasture lined with gorse and stone,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want anyone to find me, so I crawled beneath a shrub and watched its flowers sway in the breeze. For a moment I felt safe.”
Josephine smiled.
“To this day, gorse reminds me of that feeling, that sense of home. Strange how a small thing can mean so much.” Elias tensed when she tucked the flower behind her ear. “It suits you.”
“I want to find my safe place.” Josephine collapsed onto her back.
“You’re welcome to borrow mine,” Elias said.
She glanced at the shrubs and wrinkled her nose. “Looks a bit snug under there.”
Elias laughed. He stared at her puddle of hair, the golden flower pressed against her temple, and the small thing that meant so much suddenly meant even more. “I’ll make room,” he said. “I bet Sebastian has a pair of hedge clippers—”
“Yeah, the ones he uses to trim his side whiskers.” Josephine rolled onto her side. She met Elias’s gaze, and her expression softened. Did she detect his connotations? Was she aware of how the situation could damage them? They were alone, too close. They sprawled on damp soil in a state of undress. If anyone questioned their honour, they would lose a great deal.
Josephine flinched when the sharp trill of a whistle echoed across the moor. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “They noticed after all.”
A knot formed in Elias’s stomach, tightening as the hunting party called their names from higher ground. He and Josephine could ignore the shouts. They could hide among the shrubs, talk until the sky turned pink, and pretend they weren’t scared and broken.
They could find their
