Forsaking love meant survival for them both.
With a groan, Elias dried his face and staggered to the door. He didn’t want Kitty to find him in such a wretched state. The girl would ask questions. Questions with dreadful answers.
He went to the entrance hall and froze beneath an unlit chandelier.
Josephine stood at the top of the staircase. She gazed down at Elias. Her eyes flickered with understanding as if she knew what had transpired between him and Lord Welby.
She gave a nod, then disappeared behind a wall.
“No, Josephine . . .” Elias sagged against a bannister and struggled for air. He needed her to cry or yell, not accept their fate without a word. He needed her to shed tears and resent him, for any response would prove she’d believed in their relationship.
But she had known this would happen. She knew the rules of society’s game.
All along she had predicted they would lose.
Elias followed the inhabitants of Cadwallader Park outside, where they intended to give Josephine a sober send-off. He stepped onto the gravel drive and pursed his lips as church bells echoed from the parish, as blackbirds soared from the manor’s gables. At least the landscape had enough decency to dull its lurid features. Any warmth from the sun might shatter the wall Elias had built around his emotions. He refused to cry in front of his relatives.
He wouldn’t let his father see him suffer.
Josephine emerged from the house. She lowered a bonnet over her plaited curls and tied its ribbons beneath her chin. The Darlings’ carriage would take her into town, where she could hire a stagecoach. Fortunately, the snow had melted enough to allow transportation.
Lord Welby maintained a stone face as Josephine bade her farewells to Mr. Darling and the household staff. He glanced at Elias as though to ensure his son wouldn’t attempt to interfere. Was he pleased with the outcome of his ultimatum? Did he find satisfaction in separating a young couple, who loved each other, for the good opinions of strangers?
“My son is a fool,” Mrs. Darling said as she pulled Josephine into an embrace. She kissed the girl’s cheek and mustered a smile. “I wish you well, dear.”
Josephine nodded and stepped toward Kitty. She drew a breath, perhaps to hold back tears. “I shall miss you, Kitty Darling.”
“You must visit us again.” Kitty snivelled and reached for Josephine’s gloved hand. She laced their fingers. “Perhaps when your mother returns.”
“Perhaps.” Josephine sighed and moved on to Fitz, who mewled like a babe. “Cheer up, my little pirate.” She crouched in front of him and thumbed his chin. “I am certain Miss Karel will entertain you better than I ever did.”
“She’s not you,” Fitz said with a sniffle.
“Indeed, but you must try to behave for her. Not everyone gets along with pirates.” Josephine straightened, her gaze resting on Elias. She inched toward him and curtsied.
Elias trembled. He wanted to pull her aside and explain why she was better off without him. He wanted to kiss her until his heart ceased its torment.
“Time doesn’t work in our favour, Mr. Welby.” Josephine leaned closer to him and brushed her fingers against his wrist. “Write to me,” she breathed, her eyes welling with tears.
He panted as she walked toward the carriage. Letting her go felt wrong. His veins filled with wrongness. But in a world governed by such things, even the right choices weren’t right.
TWENTY-THREE
JOSIE
From: Josie De Clare <[email protected]>
Sent: Saturday, November 6, 10:22 PM
To: Faith Moretti <[email protected]>
Subject: I Told Oliver
Faith, I told him.
Oliver brought firewood to my house this morning. I opened the back door right before he knocked and invited him inside. He looked at me like I was a serial killer, like I planned to lure him indoors so I could tie him to a chair and rip off his fingernails.
After a long stare, he stepped into the kitchen. He dropped his wood near the furnace, then plopped onto a stool without a word. I was nervous. Tremendously so. I kept fiddling with my braid and tugging the flower decals on my jumper.
I babbled for several minutes. About what, I’m not sure. All I remember is Oliver’s expression when I said, “You better not say I’m mental after I tell you this. One silly face, and I’ll throw you outside.” Then I told him I was in love with Elias.
His eyes widened as I mentioned all the similarities between Josephine and me, that I fell head over heels for Elias while reading part 2 of the manuscript. I kept talking. I told Oliver everything—about you, Rashad, Mum and Dad, Stonehill, why I came to Cadwallader.
Being honest seemed like stripping myself naked. I didn’t want Oliver to see what lived beneath my jokes and ridiculousness. I didn’t want him to see the vulnerable parts of me, because no one has ever liked those parts, that is, besides you.
Rashad called me vain when I complained about the stretch marks on my thighs. Mum said I was dramatic and wanted attention, hence my frequent breakdowns. Hearing those comments from people I thought loved me . . . They made me seal up like a carnivorous plant. I thought if I shared my true self with someone, they wouldn’t accept me anymore.
I expected Oliver to leave. I figured he’d laugh and say I had an overactive imagination. But he did none of those things. He just looked at me as if he saw all my expectations and fears, as if he understood. He stood up and wrapped his arms around me. I couldn’t decide if I needed to cry or fake a smile—or let him embrace me for as long as possible.
Oliver put a kettle on the stove, then spent the next hour asking me
