My existence seemed dreary until I let the light in.
Elias
December 1, 1821
Dearest Josephine,
A coach will arrive tomorrow and take Lorelai to London. She must leave Cadwallader before her presence elicits rumours or alludes to an offer of marriage, which I have not made. Her prolonged presence at my home may encourage gossip or mislead her into thinking I share her affections.
Mrs. Dunstable and I organized a dinner party to bid Lorelai farewell. We asked the cook to prepare a meal of boiled fowl with gooseberry cheese, a repast that we agreed demonstrates a cordial amount of care. Edward and Mary Rose came to dine with us, their company more than amiable.
I moved without assistance, for the doctor has given me a cane, a smart-looking wenge shaft with a burlwood handle. Although my pace belonged to someone triple my age, I walked unaccompanied and greeted the Roses no longer frail and bedridden.
Lorelai met us in the dining room. She looked rather overdressed compared to our guests’ simple attire. Her ensemble included a silk evening gown the colour of dried lavender, its design frothy and fussy with ribbons, frills, and extravagant sleeves.
She elected to sit next to me. I should’ve noticed her closeness, how she touched my arm with her elbow, the way she laughed when I attempted a joke. In truth, I was too clueless and distracted to recognize her flirtation.
We finished dinner and retired to the drawing room for tea and a game of cards. The Roses left around midnight, after Edward pried a weepy Mary from Lorelai’s arms.
Farewell seemed a tiresome affair.
I said good night as Mrs. Dunstable snuffed candles. I climbed the staircase and shuffled toward my bedchamber, the cane adding a third step to my stride.
Lorelai called my name. She crested the staircase and raced toward me, bunching her skirt in one hand. “Ask me to stay,” she whispered once she reached my side. “Please ask me to stay.” Her chest heaved, and her eyes watered. She gazed at me for what seemed like hours, perhaps anticipating a response I would not give.
A lump clogged my throat. I leaned against the cane and asked why she wanted to extend her visit at Cadwallader. The answer to my question etched her face, but I needed to hear it.
“I love you,” Lorelai said with a gasp. “I’ve loved you a long time.” She grabbed my hand and pressed it between hers. She tilted back her head as though desiring a kiss.
The confession rippled through me like a punch. I freed my hand and stumbled back a step. I could muster no decent response, so I remained silent and watched heartbreak shatter Lorelai’s expression. Of course, I never forgot that moment at the ball when she expressed interest in a possible union. However, I assumed her attachment had faded due to Arthur’s death, her involvement in my pursuit of you, the court case, and illness.
Love? No, no, I did not think her feelings so advanced.
In retrospect, I should have discerned her affections. She had shown love in the smallest and biggest ways. She helped me in times of trouble, stayed at my side through sickness and health. But what about Mr. O’Connor? I believe she expected a marriage offer from him.
“Forgive my imprudence, Mr. Roch. I shan’t burden you with another outburst,” Lorelai said through clenched teeth. She turned on her heels and retreated down the hall.
She has already piled her luggage in the foyer.
I wish to part with Lorelai on good terms, but I cannot give her what she wants. Indeed, she must understand. She knows I love you, for she has seen the letters and read my book.
No other woman could find the slightest bit of happiness with me, for I have not the ability to halve myself. I am yours, Josephine. My love belongs to you and you alone. Why should I toy with a girl’s emotions when I know the truth? I am depleted of romantic offerings, the openness needed to form an attachment. Pretending otherwise seems cruel.
It is right that Lorelai quits this place before I inflict more pain. She will thank me one day, when she’s married to a respectable gentleman and well off in society. She will realize her love for me and Cadwallader was foolish at best, for every girl deserves to marry a man who loves her in whole, not pieces. Every girl deserves to be someone’s first choice.
You are mine.
Elias
P.S. I plan to visit Morpeth next week.
NINETEEN
THE NOVEL
Josephine smiled at Elias from across the ballroom. She loitered with her friends in a champagne haze, beaming like the candelabras. Her expression seemed a reprise, the repetition of music once mournful, now triumphant. She wouldn’t marry Sebastian or spend her life indebted to the Darlings. She’d become Mrs. Welby, Lady of Windermere Hall.
Elias inched toward the dining room, his lips still tingling with Josephine’s kiss. He met her gaze with a crooked half smile. Until his final breath, he would remember this night, how mulled wine and evergreens infused the air, how the girl he loved had agreed to marry him.
Dancers performed La Boulangère as Elias squeezed through the intoxicated crowd. He elbowed and shoved, his body urging him to stride across the dance floor and kiss Josephine. His want to kiss her felt like hunger consuming his thoughts. He wanted to draw her close and glide his thumb across her cheek. He wanted to press his mouth against her forehead, the bridge of her nose, the puff of her bottom lip.
His face warmed at the thought. He needed to act normal, pretend as though his life hadn’t changed. No one could know about the engagement until he spoke with the Darlings.
After that, Elias could inform Lord Welby of his proposal.
The festivities dragged on for hours. Elias sat with Fitz at the dining table, where the boy nested in a
