Part 18 (2/2)
Please don't! Please don't!
He walked past her chamber without even a pause or hesitation, continuing down the stairs. Instead of the expected relief, her heart ached more, like it could burst forth and fly to him like a homing bird. She rushed to the door, but then stopped and sank her teeth into the edge of her thumb.
Let him go.
She slid down the door, crouching on the floor and resting her head on her knees. The front door closed. She felt cold.
Eventually, she picked up herself and cautiously made her way downstairs to see about Lady Kesseley.
It was a terrible error. Kesseley sat at his mother's desk in the parlor.
He did not look up or acknowledge her, but Lady Kesseley rushed to Henrietta, taking her hands and clutching them, as if Henrietta were coming to rescue her. She looked so much older in the morning light. Severe lines cut circles under her reddened eyes and along her mouth.
Kesseley wielded a letter opener, slicing the envelopes in one fast motion, his gray eyes scanning the contents.
Lady Kesseley made a plea to Henrietta. ”Kesseley says we must go to a ball tonight. But I am unwell.” Was she trying to find an ally? Did she think Henrietta would stand up for her?
Kesseley answered before she could speak. ”I'm sorry if respectability sickens you, Mother, but you are going and staying in the ballroom the entire evening. You will chat with the other mamas, then thank the host and hostess for a wonderful ball.”
He delivered this speech calmly, while penning a reply. A gold and diamond ring glinted from his long white fingers.
”Kesseley! You're wearing a new ring!” She didn't realize she had spoken the inane words until they were already out of her mouth.
He glanced up, the morning light reflected in his eyes. Heat rushed over her.
”Yes, my father's,” he said, then returned to his work.
She wanted him to look at her again and never turn away.
Oh dear G.o.d, she was in love-truly in love-with Kesseley!
The sky was one heavy, gray cloud ready to open up and unleash on the city. The footman looked at Henrietta questioningly as they ventured out to the park. Drizzle stuck to their clothes and hats. Even Samuel seemed hesitant, never straying too far from Henrietta.
The park was empty and the large trees lining the paths swayed and rustled in the wind. Old leaves and trash blew around them.
Oh please be here! Henrietta pleaded silently. Henrietta pleaded silently. Please be here. I need you. Please be here. I need you.
Coming deeper into the park, she saw a lone man by an easel, his hands flying, las.h.i.+ng a tempest of color on to the canvas. She let the footman walk Samuel to the edge of the Serpentine, then came to stand beside Mr. Elliot and his painting of a swirling incoherent mess of gray, black and blue.
”You captured it,” she whispered.
”You shouldn't be out here today. You might catch a chill.” He wiped his hands on a rag and walked over to his bench, taking a long sip of steaming chocolate. ”Go home.” He waved his hand as if shooing chickens away.
”But I love Kesseley!” she cried. ”And I'm frightened!”
He looked up at the sky. The tops of the waving trees disappeared into the clouds. ”Real love is terrifying, my dear.” Some private thought held him for a moment, but he shook it off and began to root about in his satchel. ”Dates?” he said, holding out a branch of big, wrinkled dates.
Henrietta refused. ”You are supposed to say something wise about how I don't really love him. That it's a delusion, like-like with Edward.”
”Oh, no, you were always in love with Kesseley.”
Henrietta flung up her arms and let out a small cry. ”Then why didn't you say so!”
”I didn't know before. But it's obvious now.”
”No, it can't be possible to be in love with someone your entire life and never know it! My parents are mathematicians, for goodness sake. I am very intelligent. I would know.”
Mr. Elliot thought this was quite funny. He patted the bench beside him, inviting her to sit.
”Let's say you're a young tree and you grow beside another tree in a big field. Maybe it's a bigger tree that protects you from the wind or a smaller tree growing too close to you. Either way, years and years go by, just you and the other tree, so close your branches reach into the others and sometimes you can't tell which leaves are yours. Now if we were those trees, we might say that other tree gets on my nerves, taking my s.p.a.ce, stealing my light. But you're just a tree, and that's the way it's always been. Then one night a storm blows the other tree down, taking down your limbs and ripping up your roots. Now you slump over the dead tree, trying to grow back the half of you that died with it.”
Henrietta waved her hand, shaking her head. ”My brain is too tired for metaphors. What are you trying to say?”
”Usually love bursts into two people's lives, a big wave, wiping away everything that came before. But for some people, they were always together even before they even knew each other. It's hardly perceptible until a hard wind blows, but no matter what happens in their lives, even if they marry different people, leave or even die, half of them is still with the other.”
Henrietta dropped her head into her hands, pressing her temples. ”And you think this could be the case? And Kesseley will marry someone else, and I will die carrying this in my heart?”
”It is possible, yes. I cannot give you happy endings.”
These weren't the words she expected to hear. It was supposed to be like The Mysterious Lord Blackraven The Mysterious Lord Blackraven: when the light is the dimmest, the hero rescues the heroine and all that happened before-the bitter words, hatred and misunderstandings-washes away. Now, everything was suddenly so big and inconceivable that she couldn't hold it.
Mr. Elliot looked up at the threatening sky, the wind beating his wild hair about under his hat. ”Have you told Lady Kesseley about me?”
”Oh Lady Kesseley! Speaking of unhappy endings-” Henrietta stopped herself before she blathered out the whole sordid evening.
Mr. Elliot's eyes pierced hers. ”What do you mean?”
”Nothing.”
”Have you told her about me?” he asked again, more plaintive than before.
”Good Lord, no!”
The man took another date, smashed it between his fingers and pulled out the pit. ”Miss Watson, there is something you need to do,” he said without looking at her.
”What?”
He ran his thumb along the hollow insides of his date. ”You have to tell Lord Kesseley you love him. I don't know if your love or your life will be as you want it. But you must tell him you love him. This is the most important thing.”
”He hates me now. I hurt him so much. I've done nothing but hurt him. He is so angry.”
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