Although no one has confirmed your presence in Bath, I do not wish my letters to go unread. Maybe the Josephine De Clare at that address can help my messages reach you.
You deserve to know my feelings regardless of my end.
I do not wish to go, for I feel close to the life I want. All my hopes and aspirations seem a mere step away. But I may not reach them, and that scares me. After so much loss, I thought my luck would change and I would know what it’s like to have. To have a home.
To have a moment with you.
Please come to Cadwallader after my death, that is, if the fever does claim me. You shall find a manuscript under my bookcase. It is yours. Do what you like with it.
Until my last breath, I promise my arms will always welcome you. My soul will never grow cold toward you. My safe place, my home, is yours also, and regardless of where you go, who you love, I will adore you endlessly.
Here is to hoping for more breaths.
Elias
FIFTEEN
THE NOVEL
November wreathed Cadwallader Park in fog so thick the Darlings refused to leave their property. They wore thick garments and sipped elderberry wine as their staff prepared hot baths, bed warmers, and a surplus of lanterns. The days seemed dark, the nights darker.
And yet laughter swept through the house.
Elias and Josephine spent the weeks in a series of fine conversations. No one batted an eye at their togetherness, so they remained side by side, occupied by their own diversions. They played cricket with Sebastian and the valet. They explored the estate, smuggled chocolates from the kitchen, and read in Elias’s library until the candles burned low.
Being with Josephine drew Elias into plain view. Her friendship warmed him like a cup of tea, but it never grew cold, nor did it run dry. He craved the sound of her voice, the way she looked at him when he made her smile. To know and love her heart seemed the greatest pursuit, so he woke each morning with that single goal in mind. He finished his lessons.
He rehearsed the spiel intended for his relatives.
Love felt by one could easily go unrequited. However, when that love was returned or even given hope of return, it seemed impossible to stay silent. Elias had sensed affection from Josephine. He knew his feelings were felt by her also, and such unity of heart whispered possibilities that once seemed beyond reach.
Josephine was betrothed to Sebastian. Etiquette interdicted his pursuit of her. Still, if neither she nor Sebastian desired the union, and if Mr. Darling found another lady to fill her position, could not scandal be avoided? Engagements were contractual agreements, but such were voided all the time. And love seemed too paramount to overlook.
The obstacles Elias perceived grew smaller by the day. He no longer fretted about scandal, for he could avoid dishonour by merely speaking to his relatives. He didn’t pay mind to matters of his illegitimacy, for his wealth more than compensated. Indeed, everything that had deterred him from declaring his sentiments now dissipated.
Elias would petition Sebastian and Mr. Darling. He would inform Josephine of his attachment. Of course, his efforts could prove futile—he almost expected disaster—but when fear gnawed at his will, courage was the quiet voice saying, “You might fail, but why not try?”
The fog subsided one morning, a mere week before Saint Andrew’s Day. Such an opportunity could not be missed, for the murk would undoubtedly return. Everyone gathered in the entrance hall to bid farewell to Sebastian and Widow De Clare, both of whom desired to visit London until mid-December. Mrs. Darling issued commands while the butler and valet hauled trunks out the front door to the awaiting carriage.
Elias stood with the kitchen staff to avoid his relatives’ fuss. He leaned against the staircase bannister and made faces at Fitz. The lad appeared bored out of his mind.
“I’ll return once I finish business. Do try to have fun without me,” Sebastian said. He kissed Josephine’s hand, then hurried to say good-bye to his siblings.
“Ah, is that what they’re calling it these days?” Anne scoffed and crossed her arms. She met Elias’s questioning look with a shrug. “We know very well the gentleman enjoys his follies and vices. I daresay his business includes excessive merriment.”
“He should be ashamed of himself, the miserable little sot,” Mrs. Capers said. She eyed the adjoining corridor and fidgeted with her apron. Mrs. Darling had insisted she abandon her buttered apple tarts for the departure. At any moment smoke could plume from the stairwell.
“Do you think Miss De Clare knows?” Anne whispered.
Josephine lingered beneath the family crest. She observed the commotion from a distance, her demeanour polite and subdued. Sebastian had gifted her a royal blue redingote and white muslin gown after the hunting incident, perhaps to replace her threadbare dress. She wore the clothes now, her hair pinned at the nape of her neck.
“Yes, I believe she does.” Elias clutched a history book to his chest. He’d woken before dawn to finish his lessons so he and Josephine could spend the day outdoors. Nothing cured heartache like fresh air and open spaces, for nature shrank problems to scale.
“And she plans to marry him? Why?” Anne tugged Elias’s sleeve to capture his attention. “You’re wealthier and more respectable than your cousin. Why doesn’t Josephine marry you?”
Elias sighed. “Ask me that question in a few weeks. Perhaps I’ll have an answer.”
Widow De Clare buttoned her fur-trimmed pelisse. She donned gloves and a feathered bonnet, her dark curls dangling around her face like streamers. “Will you fare well without me, dearest?” she asked her daughter while rummaging through her reticule.
“I’ll get on.” Josephine glanced at Elias. She flashed a smile, a glimmer at the bottom of a deep pool. In her eyes sparkled weeks of inside jokes, playtime
