She’d pronounced herself quite prepared, and then she’d firmly closed the door.
“She’s a sturdy girl, for all that she looks a bit ethereal,” Mrs. Pariseau mused aloud. “Mrs. Gallagher is. I think she will get on just fine tonight. Once you’ve lost someone, you don’t forget it. It toughens your hide a bit, if it doesn’t end you.”
Everyone in the room had lost someone at some time, and knew the truth of this, and fell silent.
A long silence ensued while they somberly contemplated mortality, and the fragile nature thereof. Everyone had a way of coping with chaos which was often an exaggeration of their best or worst qualities. This meant that Angelique and Lucien, who already had a tendency to mordancy, found refuge in it, and Delilah was kinder, and Captain Hardy was even quieter.
Another long somber hush ensued, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the click of knitting needles that Delilah had taken up and an occasional rustle of a page turned, but not read.
“He’s very handsome,” Dot said quietly.
“Dot!” Delilah admonished, astonished.
But he was.
Long limbed, broad shouldered, a face fashioned of the sort of precise magical ratios that stamp themselves on a woman’s memory. Not to mention stir her senses.
Quite a surprise for a country vicar. It wasn’t how they’d pictured Mr. Bellingham. But why couldn’t cozy, charming people also be gorgeous?
And frankly, they’d all noticed, every last woman there and likely the men, too, and what did that say for their characters, or their immortal souls? Surely a possibly dying man ought to be exempt from ogling and judgment.
But what this also meant was that they were fully alive and whole, if they could still appreciate beauty,and that was another thing for which they were all grateful.
Angelique had looked in again on Mrs. Gallagher before climbing into bed with Lucien.
Her husband was lying so quietly she thought he might already be asleep, so she slipped under the coverlet stealthily and scooted over until her bottom was pressed against him. It warmed her up nicely.
“I’ve seen a number of people die. I never expected to, in my wild youth, witness this. But I have. And I have also killed. I killed a pirate. As you know.”
Angelique turned to her clearly awake husband in some surprise. “I remember when we used to talk about things like... oh, how you thought my bottom was shaped like a peach... in bed.”
Lucien gave a short laugh and turned to her. She’d been planning to read a bit, and she hadn’t yet doused the lamp and he was cast half in amber, like a delicious pagan statue.
And he was looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. His expression was so... fierce. So oddly intent.
In truth, they had discussed nearly the entirety of the world in meandering low murmurs in bed. They enjoyed each other’s company immensely.
“Lucien...” she said softly, as she traced his lips with her fingertip. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”
“I haven’t told you when I knew for certain I was in love with you. And I want to tell you now.”
“All right,” she said gently. Cautiously.
“It was the evening we were all playacting pirates. When I first met Hardy. Do you remember?”
“Mr. Delacorte will never let us forget it. He keeps begging us to do it again.”
Normally Lucien would have laughed. He didn’t. “There was a moment when you fell to the floor and pretended to be dead. I think Dot ran you through with a pretend sword to cause this. And Angelique . . .” He gave a soft, humorless laugh. “I swear my world stopped. My heart stopped. Iknewit wasn’t real, but...” He smiled ruefully. “At the time, I wasnonetoo pleased to realize I was at your mercy of such a thing. At your mercy. But that’s when I knew I loved you.”
Her eyes were beginning to sting with tears.
“And today... today was so much worse than that,” he said. His voice frayed. “I knew at once how selfish I truly am. How fragile. There was a man bleeding on the floor and all I cared about in that moment was you. Because if anything happened to you...”
She brushed her knuckle against her eyes; he’d gone swimmy with tears. This weeping at the slightest provocation lately appalled and amazed her. It was such a luxury for someone who had, of necessity, so carefully disguised her emotions for so much of her life in order to survive. Who had, of necessity, been whoever a man needed her to be. Lucien needed only for her to be herself.
“Thank you for loving me,” she said. “I would tell you the moment I knew I loved you but it’s like trying to find the very beginning of the sky.”
He smiled at her, then his smile faded. “I didn’t know it would be like this,” he said pensively.