“Have you met this cousin of hers?” Thomas asked Trembath, knowing the connection between him and Mrs. Roskelley.
“Not this one,” he replied without concern. “Pretty little thing. Reminds me of Julia’s sister Kate, in a way.”
Thomas couldn’t make a response to that, given he had never met the woman, but he could see the resemblance between Mrs. Roskelley and her auburn-haired, earthy-eyed cousin.
The music from the pianoforte began, then Miss Berkeley began to sing, and all else in the room stilled when she did so. Her voice held the clarity of crystal and the purity of a songbird, and it robbed the hearer, even if briefly, of the ability to breathe.
“Once I had a sprig of thyme.
It prospered by night and by day;
Till a false young man came a-courting to me,
And he stole all my thyme away.”
The folk song was old and familiar, even to Thomas, and the melancholy tone of it would not help but stir the listener.
“The gardener was standing by.
I bade him choose for me.
He chose me the lily and the violet and the pink,
But I really did refuse them all three.”
Something tugged at Thomas’s heart the more he listened to the song, pulled his attention from Miss Berkeley’s performance, and forced him to look at his wife.
Lily was looking at him in return, her expression one of near torment. Her dark eyes were round, luminous even from this distance, though he could not tell if it was the light of the room or a sheen of tears. He had never seen her demeanor so open, so raw, so full of yearning, and he could not look anywhere else.
“Thyme it is a precious thing,
And thyme it-e-will grow on,
And thyme it’ll bring all things to an end,
And so does my thyme grow on.”
He could sense the emotions from across the room as though he felt them himself, could sense the need and the agony, could almost hear the questions she wanted to ask. Nothing could have broken his connection to her in that moment, not a disturbance in the room, not a scandal around them, not a disaster that could take the entire house down around their ears.
“It’s very well drinking ale,
And it’s very well drinking wine,
But it’s far better sitting by the young man’s side
That has won this heart of mine.”
Lily rose before the song ended, dropping her gaze from his as she turned down the makeshift aisle of chairs, moving toward the back of the room where doors led out to the garden. She slipped through them as applause rang through the room, leaving Thomas to stare after her in bewilderment, his heart pounding in what seemed to be a hollow cavern within him.
What was wrong? What had happened? What did he do?
He blinked once, then set the drink in his hand down on the table behind him and followed her as Miss Berkeley began another song for the remaining guests.
The gardens were dim, lit only by the light of the moon above and the light from the house streaming onto it. A few stands of candles lined some paths, but the majority was that of natural evening light alone.
Lily preferred to be in the garden in such light at the moment, as she could no longer contain tears. Her mind had been full of thoughts of her marriage since that afternoon, of renewed pain in its nature, in wishing for more and fearing it would never be. In frustration at her own inability to change it. In agony for feeling so much and doing so little. In still loving her husband despite having little reason to do so.
Oh, that wasn’t right, nor was it fair. He was not a villain, nor was he bad. He was kind, and he was good, and of late, he had even been sweet and playful. She had simply grown so accustomed to having nothing from him that she moved about freely without consideration of him. Had exhausted her efforts to be loved by him. Had forgotten to care that she loved him.
She turned to rest against an ivy-strewn wall among the hedges, tears streaming down her cheeks, her lungs fighting for the air to breathe.
Something had broken free within Lily in the last few days, something she had thought was long caged and silent but now fluttered about and woke much else within her.
She didn’t want to live in a tepid marriage with moments of pleasure. She didn’t want to let this distance continue and find herself accepting it as the nature of them. She wanted to love her husband publicly and privately, wanted to express it to him and to others. She wanted to feel the love for him within her and not be embarrassed by or ashamed of it.
Why could it not bring her joy?
“Lily?”
She inhaled sharply, nearly choking on a new wash of tears. Her husband’s voice, softly calling to her in this garden at this moment, was extraordinarily wonderful and poignantly painful.
Did she wish for him to find her, or did she wish otherwise?
“Lily?”
Swallowing, Lily looked up at the night sky, a pair of tears tracking down her cheeks quickly as she managed a ragged exhale.
“Here,” she said without any attempt to raise her voice beyond its standard volume.
There was not time for another breath before he rounded the hedge and saw her, his face wreathed in concern. She met his eyes without attempting to hide her despair.
His fingers brushed together, then he was striding toward her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
With a watery laugh, Lily all but sagged against the wall. “Wrong? Thomas, did you know that bluebells only bloom for two weeks? And if they’re trampled, it takes years for them to return?”
“No, I didn’t,” he murmured slowly, pausing before her.
“Are we bluebells, Thomas?” she pressed. She swallowed hard, quivering as her emotions found their way to her tongue more easily than they had done in years. “Have we been trampled and are therefore struggling to bloom?”
Her husband’s brow furrowed a little, and he stepped closer. “No, we aren’t trampled. We just… we’re just…”
“She sang about time, Thomas,” Lily overrode insistently even as her voice broke. “Yes, I realize the word is spelled t-h-y-m-e, but the meaning is there. Time is a precious thing, time will go on, and there’s another variation of the song that warns you not to have your time stolen.” She shook her head now, pain tightening across her chest. “I don’t want my time stolen anymore. I can’t bear it, Thomas. I can’t.”
“Oh, darling, don’t…” He closed the distance between them and cupped her cheeks, his expression full of anguish, the feeling of his hands somehow both icy and warm upon her skin. “We have all the time in the world. We can do anything with it, we can use it however we like. It isn’t stolen, it’s right here.” He pressed his lips to her brow, the contact sending light cascading through her. “I’m right here.”
Lily sighed against him, resting her hands on his chest and finding more stability and balance from him than from the wall behind her. “We have wasted so much time, Thomas. So much of it.”
“I know,” he murmured against her. “I’m sorry.”
The apology warmed her as much as his lips, and she gripped the fabric of his coat in her hands as she exhaled slowly, praying for the strength she sought. “I fell in love with you when I was seventeen,” she told him, whispering the admission she’d carried for so long. “And that did not go away. Cannot go away.”
“What?” he breathed, stilling beneath her fingers.
“I was happy to be marrying you,” she went on, unwilling to stop now, “and my only complaint was that you never asked me. Why didn’t you just ask me, Thomas?”
His hands moved along her cheeks, tilting her face up and searching her eyes when they met his. What he was thinking, what he felt, wasn’t clear to her, but he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, silencing her weak gasp of surprise.
He’d kissed her before, during the time they’d been married, but this could hardly be considered a similar thing. His lips were soft and tender against hers, giving her every
chance to pull away if she wished, hesitant while fervent and now leaving no question as to where he stood.
That was enough.
Lily moved her hands from his coat, sliding them up to wrap around his wrists and hold tight as he cradled her face in his hands. She brushed her thumbs against his skin, willing him to keep kissing her just as he was. She opened to him, sighing as he continued to kiss her in this slow, thorough, consuming fashion she had so yearned for.
She kissed him back, as much as she could, feeling weak in the knees and quivering with relief. She could have melted in his hold, been scooped into his arms for safekeeping as she dissolved into a million brilliant pieces. Yet she could feel the pulse of him beneath her fingers, could hear her own thundering in her ears and knew that she would not break. Could not. He would not let her.
Thomas broke off the kiss, his breathing ragged as he hovered only a breath away, his nose brushing hers.
Lily exhaled a shaking breath, rubbing her thumbs against his wrists over and over. “You’ve never kissed me like that before,” she managed, nudging against his nose gently and smiling.
He laughed a little, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear on her cheek. “Not for lack of want, I can assure you. Had I the courage, I’d have kissed you every hour of every day in such a way.”
Her right knee nearly buckled at his confession. “You would?”
His lips took hers again, more firmly. “Yes,” he assured her, his lips tickling against hers with the simple word. “Always yes, a thousand times, yes.” He kissed her again before wrapping his arms about her and holding her close. “I’ve loved you for years, Lily. Years. How could I have married you as I was had my feelings become known then? I was well enough off, but my reputation wasn’t good enough. Couldn’t be. Not for you. And then…”
“I wouldn’t have cared, Thomas,” Lily insisted, looking up at him, her hands once again on his chest. “I didn’t. And I don’t. But you were so changed after our wedding…”
“I was ashamed to have married you when I was desperate for funds,” he admitted hoarsely, averting his gaze. “When I felt what I did and then to fall in such a way, to crawl to your father…”
Lily shook her head, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. “You could have come to me. I would have said yes regardless, just as my father did, but with better reasons. Would that not have helped ease your conscience?”
“More than you know.” He pulled her hands from his face, kissing the palms of each before cupping them together and kissing them again. “I’ve been a coward, my darling girl. I know it, and you know it. There’s no atoning for that.”
“Stop.” She shook her head, swallowing hard and resting her brow against his chest. “Stop. I don’t think you’re a coward. I think we have both been foolish and silent for far too long.”
He laughed once and kissed the top of her head. “You’re too generous with me. I’ve been a great deal more than simply foolish and silent. I’ve neglected you. Avoided you for fear of being overcome.”
Lily frowned and turned her face, wrapping her arms around him now. “Overcome with what?” she whispered.
“I haven’t felt worthy of showing you how I felt, not in the slightest. I needed to… I had to…” His hold on her tightened slightly, his mouth pressing against her hair for a moment as he exhaled. “From the day I took my vows, I also vowed that I would recover my finances so that it would no longer be a marriage for mercenary reasons. With that hanging over my head, I could not bring myself to love you in truth.”
“But…” Lily bit her lip in thought, then looked up at him with heated cheeks. “Our wedding night…”
The dark of the night prevented her from seeing if he, too, were embarrassed by the topic, but he cleared his throat and put a hand to her heated cheek. “I decided that my duty was to consummate the marriage, and in doing so, it would bind me to you in a way that I could not otherwise do. I hope… I prayed that… that it wasn’t… that I didn’t…”
Pity swelled within her, and Lily put her fingers to his lips, silencing him gently. “I have no complaints about that night, Thomas. None. Aside from your leaving me almost at once. What transpired… There are no complaints for my part.”
The rush of his exhale brought her to tears, and his near exultant kiss made her heart soar. She wrapped her hand around his neck, pressing up into the kiss now, feeling the years of distance and pain begin to fall away.
“Gads,” Thomas breathed, his lips dusting from her mouth across her cheek. “How could I have avoided you for so long? How could I deny us this?”
Lily sighed her agreement as she arched her neck, clung to him for strength. “I’ve done my part to avoid you as well.”
He laughed against her cheek and placed a delicate kiss below her ear. “You had better reasons, I think.”
“You said in London that you wanted to begin again,” Lily murmured, gently bringing his face back to hers. She pressed her brow and nose to his, wishing she could see deep into his soul, as she wanted him to see into hers. “That was why we came here. Did you mean that? Truly?”
“Yes,” Thomas replied firmly, his hand sliding back a little farther to grip into her hair. “I want to begin again. Even now, since I’ve bungled the attempt since we’ve been here. Events almost every night and business during the day… I’ve turned Cornwall into London, haven’t I?”
Lily laughed a little, pulling back just enough so they no longer touched. “A bit, but I haven’t made much of an effort to do better. It’s our natural way now, isn’t it? Circle around each other rather than with each other.”
“Not anymore.” Thomas shook his head and stroked her cheek, a furrow appearing between his brows. “Not anymore, Lily. I don’t care if I miss every meeting and every appointment arranged for me while I’m here, I’ll spend every moment with you. Every one.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Lily told him with another small laugh. “More time will be enough. It does not have to be constant. Perhaps we take things one step at a time and not all at once, hmm?”
He nodded, leaning in for a soft kiss that wrung the strength from her knees with its sweetness. “Very well. Tomorrow, I’m seeing one of the mines I’ve invested in. Would you come with me?”
“I would love to.”
Chapter Thirteen
Wheal Venton was an older, established mine in the area and one of the consistently profitable ones. Not one bursting extravagantly with either copper or tin, but steadily producing for her shareholders, which all agreed was a far more comfortable prospect. The miners themselves were healthy, which was fortunate, and the wages paid them were, by all accounts, considered fair and equal. This was a right sight better than what some of the other mines in the area were paying their workers, which could barely be considered starvation wages.
Thomas wouldn’t let that happen to Wheal Venton so long as he had shares in her. He was in the process of procuring more of them, taking a majority by doing so, and growing closer to taking full ownership of her. He likely would not rid the mine of all other shareholders, as it would be of use to have the input of others besides himself and the mine captain when it came to decisions regarding the place, but he certainly would not mind taking the responsibility chiefly upon himself.
He’d been engaging in business talks with the shareholders of this mine, as well as shareholders of others, in the days since they’d come to Cornwall, but he had yet to see the place for himself. He’d gone over numbers and figures and facts, examined maps and charts, spoken with experts in mining and businessmen who managed mines. He’d done absolutely everything in his power to become as educated as possible with regard to the mines he was investing so much in.
But he’d had enough of talking and education. He wanted to see the place and feel its energy. He wanted to meet the men risking their lives in her depths on a daily basis. He wanted to feel the weight of a pickaxe in his own hands, though he would likely never be permitted to w
ork the mine even for a moment. He wanted to feel connected to the place, not just invested in it. Having Lily at his side while he did so would only make the thing more perfect.
When he’d woken that morning, he’d been entirely convinced that he’d dreamed their garden interlude the night before. His wife admitting she loved him, he confessing his love for her, embracing one another and exchanging kisses long overdue… The extraordinary emotion that had been shared between them after so many years of silence…
It did not seem real upon reflection in the light of day. Could not be.
Yet when Lily came down to breakfast, she had smiled shyly, her eyes bright, her cheeks holding just enough color to give him hope. Hope that the scene was real, not imagined. Hope that she remembered it. Hope that she held to it. Hope that she, too, wanted it.
He could have kissed her then, if for no other reason than to remind them both of its reality, but he did not. Instead, he’d only smiled with the genuine adoration he’d felt and not the polite mask he had worn for years. He would not wear a mask anymore with her. Not ever.
There had been no helping the delight he’d felt when she’d suggested they take horses to the mine rather than a coach, and their racing to the mine now was a welcome exhilaration from recent formalities required of them. He couldn’t remember the last time they had ridden together, and Lily’s laughter behind him warmed something within him he hadn’t known was chilled.
And she was a marvelous rider. He’d forgotten all about that.
The pumping engine house of Wheal Venton came into better view around a hill, and Thomas slowed his horse just a touch to avoid riding into the area like a madman. First impressions were important, after all.
“What, are you giving up?” Lily asked as she pulled up beside him. “And just when I was about to catch you entirely.”
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