The women turned to Lord Welby for information.
“A vicar married them not long before we arrived,” Lord Welby said. “They leave for London tomorrow.” He gave his outerwear to the butler, then strode toward the drawing room with a procession on his heels.
“Did you give them money?” Lady Welby asked.
“Not a penny. They intend to use Sebastian’s allowance for their honeymoon.” Lord Welby went to the room’s fireplace. He plopped into a chair and pried off his boots. “Blazes, I cannot feel my legs. Bitter cold out. Snow up to my knees.”
Josephine muttered something under her breath. She clawed at her chest and drifted out of the chamber as though in a trance.
“Josephine?” Elias left his place by the fire. He stepped into the corridor and searched for Josephine in the gloom, but she had vanished. His chest grew tight. Bile rose to his throat, and blood pounded in his ears.
The front door flew open with a bang. Flurries whirled into the entrance hall and dusted the marble floor. Wind screamed through the house, snuffing candles with a sizzle.
“Josephine!” Elias ran to the doorway and squinted against the blast of snow. He spotted her in the distance. She paddled through drifts as if they were ponds. She dashed toward the moors, her silhouette fading into darkness.
“Is she mad?” the valet yelled. He joined Elias on the threshold and held a lantern to the night. “She’ll get lost out there. Storm will freeze her solid.”
“Josephine, stop!” Elias sprinted from the house and crashed into snow. He shivered with a fear so vast and penetrating, it consumed him until he felt nothing . . .
Until he was the fear.
Nobody expected betrayal from the person closest to him. Such pain changed everything. It rendered trust null and void. It made hearts sceptical. Perhaps the worst part of betrayal wasn’t the act itself, rather becoming the victim of someone who called themselves a friend.
Perhaps the worst part was loving someone who didn’t love back.
“Where are you?” Elias yelled as the blizzard swirled. “Call out to me!”
Cadwallader Park glowed in the murk. It hovered within the grey expanse, flickering an amber glow. The light would guide Elias and Josephine back to the house.
“Josephine!” Elias trudged forward, the drifts swallowing his calves. He gasped as wind stung his face and shoved him sideways. The cold had teeth, but the storm had fangs. It chewed through his clothes and froze his skin.
It breathed snow into his lungs.
He coughed and shielded his eyes. He shouted until his voice went hoarse, his mouth like cotton. If he didn’t find Josephine soon, they might both freeze.
Elias wouldn’t let Josephine perish. He would search the moors until he found her. Then he’d squeeze her tight and tell her to break but not to stay broken, to let the tears fall so she could find joy again. Indeed, grief was a solo process, but one needed a friend to set their broken pieces so they could heal whole, not crippled.
A gale parted the snowfall, revealing her sprawled in a nearby drift with her knees drawn to her chest. “Josephine!” He collapsed and pulled her body into his lap. He scraped his numb fingers against her dress, brushing snow from the thin fabric.
“I’m ruined,” she cried. “I’m ruined.”
“You’re safe. Everything will be fine.” Elias kissed a line across her frigid brow. She was dear to him. In sanity and madness, she was forever dear.
“Why did Mum run off with him? She knew what it would do to me. She knew . . . and she did it anyway,” Josephine said between sobs. Her body shook. Her teeth chattered.
Her skin was ice, but her eyes were boiling.
“Let’s get you indoors.” Elias wiggled out of his jacket and wrapped it around Josephine’s shoulders. He cradled her against his chest, pain engulfing him until it became a friend, then an ally, the only thing keeping him from total despair.
“You don’t understand.” Josephine pulled back, weeping, her cheeks burned red with snow. “Your father won’t let us marry now.”
“Nonsense.” Elias lifted her from the drift and headed toward the manor’s glow.
Josephine cried into the crease of his neck. “You didn’t kiss me,” she wheezed. “This morning . . . You didn’t kiss me.” Her body relaxed, drooping from his arms like a bundle of blankets. She drew a breath and released it as a trickle of vapour. “We were a nice dream.”
TWENTY
JOSIE
From: Josie De Clare <[email protected]>
Sent: Friday, September 22, 6:40 PM
To: Faith Moretti <[email protected]>
Subject: About Elias Roch and Life Stuff
Faith, I predict Lord Welby won’t be thrilled about Elias and Josephine’s engagement. Maybe he’ll present an ultimatum—Josephine or the inheritance. Isn’t that how most Regency romances go? Rich boy must sacrifice everything to be with the girl he loves. Clichés exist for a reason, I suppose. People must either fantasize about them, or they really do happen.
Wouldn’t that be nice—to live a life full of clichés? Knowing our dear Elias, he will abandon his wealth and marry Josephine. They’ll live happily ever after. And me . . . Well, I’ll be here in this draughty old house, miserably left out.
We agreed to biweekly updates, but I don’t have much news. Work seems about the same. (My boss lets me ice cakes now.) I still go to club meetings every Wednesday despite the fact recent gatherings consist of Lucille and Margery fawning over Oliver. They love him. Really, really love him. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. He’s a brilliant knitter. He knitted a red stocking cap for me, even made a pom-pom for the top.
He forces me to wear it at least once a week.
A few days ago, I went to a ceilidh with Oliver and his grandparents. It was a social event for Scots, held at a community centre in the hamlet north of Atteberry. As expected, Oliver and I were the youngest in attendance. That’s not a complaint. I rather enjoy old folk. They make superb food, tell interesting stories,
