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, pretend 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
