All true, but… “Do you need me?” he asked.
Fresh tears bloomed in her eyes, and even now, he wanted nothing more than to wipe them away. “I do, Hugh. Really, I do.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Time passed ina daze. Christiana made arrangements as though she were living in another’s body. Hugh agreed that Amelia ought to stay home—Barnsley Hall wasnotan appropriate place for an unmarried woman. However much Christiana disliked Miss Byrd and the manner by which she had attempted to force her will on Amelia, she had at least been right on this. And more to the point, Christiana could not be certain that the house was in a condition to receive guests.
It would almost certainly not be.
Once that was done, she sat in the library with a cup of hot tea, the steam toying with her mouth and nose. How ludicrous love could be. After all this time hating her father, the news of his imminent demise—something she had known would happen sooner rather than later—made her feel oddly untethered.
She hadn’t thought she loved him at all. Certainly, he had done nothing to deserve her love. If he were drowning, she could not be certain she would lend him a hand. Logic dictated that she should feel nothing for him.
Yet here she was, undoubtedly grieving.
With his last breath, he had requested she attend his bedside, and although she knew she ought to refuse, she couldn’t.
Love was foolish. It ate at reason and left her emptyhanded. Sheknewhe would have nothing kind to say, yet hope had her praying he had repented.
The door opened and closed, and Hugh took the seat opposite. Unusually, he wore his mask, closing off half his expression. Unsettled, she frowned at it, and at the coldness of his eyes. He surveyed her for a long moment, and she waited for soothing words that never came.
Once, she might have been content with his silence, the companionship offered by his presence, but now it felt like salt rubbed into a fresh wound.
She didn’t want companionship—she wanted the deeper intimacy they had found over the past few weeks.
“Is everything ready for the journey tomorrow?” she asked.
He shifted in the chair. “I believe so.”
“Thank you for accompanying me. I know the timing is poor. We have made so many positive steps in the community, and I know we ought to make the most of that, but…” But she couldn’t think of that now. Her throat closed. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” He sat still for a moment, then leaned closer, taking her hand in both of his. “What if this is another ploy from your father to gain your pity?”
“Mr. Stephens would not lie, Hugh. My fathermustbe dying. And he must have asked for me. As to what his purpose might be in that… I don’t know. But while he can have my pity, he will have nothing else from me.” She squeezed his hands, hoping to convey everything that had built in her throat, impossible to say. Just like when her thoughts were too much, racing and bouncing about her head, when she felt too much, the words wouldn’t come, either.
What a thing love was.
She loved her father when he didn’t deserve it. And she couldn’t bring herself to tell her husband how much he meant to her when no man deserved it more.
“My reasoning makes no sense even to me,” she whispered. “I thought I had discounted him from my life entirely. But knowing he is about to pass from this world to the next—if there is ever a chance of repentance, this is it. Can I really deny him that?”
Hugh’s eyes were sharp. “I would.”
“Yes, I know.” Her laugh quavered a little on the way out. “You despise him, and rightly so. But if there’s a chance, Hugh… I thought I could leave him to die in his own filth, but I can’t. And I would much rather have you with me.”
He turned her hand over so he could see her lifeline, the way it split halfway down. Christiana put no stock in such things, but for a second, she wondered if Hugh did.
“Why?” he asked quietly.
“Why what?”
“Why do you want me with you?”
“Why do you think?” She came closer, hesitating for a fraction of a second before climbing onto his lap the way she had so many times over the past two weeks. Unlike ordinarily, however, he sat stiff underneath her, his arms not coming to twine about her the way she was accustomed to. “Because you are my husband, Hugh, and that is what marriage is. Facing things together.” She made to take off his mask, but he stopped her with one hand.
“Not today.”
“Hmm?”