Dearest Josephine

by Caroline George

  That was a line Elias would not cross. He refused to sacrifice his honour in selfish pursuit, for love gained through deceit was no love at all.

  “I cannot breathe,” Josephine yelled over the pound of hooves against soil.

  “What’s the matter?” Elias glanced to his right, but Josephine no longer rode beside him. He twisted in the saddle and spotted her a few yards back, halted like a bannerman. Her skin was pale, her breaths jagged.

  Elias pulled the reins, trotting to where Josephine sat frozen. He removed his overcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders, more to provide comfort than warmth. “You’ll be well,” he whispered. “Sometimes we tell our minds not to worry, but our bodies don’t listen.”

  “I don’t know why I’m like this,” Josephine gasped, her voice crackling like dried wood in a bonfire. She gazed at the horizon with haunted eyes as if something, perhaps a realization, had drained her vigour. “I’d made peace with it all, so why can’t I breathe?”

  “Peace with what?”

  She waved her arms at the bleak terrain. “Is this my life now? Hunting? Oh, I need to—I don’t know—scream or run or . . . curl up in a ball. Please. Let’s do something else.”

  “Sebastian will notice,” Elias said. His excuse seemed ridiculous, for the party charged ahead without regard for his and Josephine’s delay.

  “Not for a while,” she pleaded, her nose reddening.

  The desperation in her voice gutted Elias, for he’d felt similar emotions the day Lord Welby sent him to Eton. It was a desperation that confirmed his life didn’t belong to him. He was trapped between expectations, responsibilities, and his own need for acceptance. That same desperation had caused him to break down in the upstairs hallway before the engagement dinner. It compelled him to hide behind closed doors to avoid Josephine. Indeed, he understood her pain, so he couldn’t say no regardless of what yes might cost them.

  “Okay. What do you have in mind?”

  Josephine tapped her heels against the horse’s belly and bolted toward a ridge shaped like a citadel. She rode hard and fast, her green tartan waving like a flag.

  Elias joined the race. He grinned as they bolted across the moor, through wavy hair grass and crowberry clusters. He wanted to remember the moment until his dying breath, how golden plovers fluttered out of shrubs, the way hills rolled across the landscape like waves casted in clay. If possible, he would’ve made camp in the memory and dwelled there forever, with Josephine riding beside him. She was soaring, and his heart was falling. Being alone with her was dangerous, but anything else seemed impossible.

  The horses snorted and huffed as they climbed a hill. Daylight had melted the frost, making the ground soft, a torment for hooves.

  Josephine dismounted once they reached the pinnacle. She folded her mother’s shawl and placed it on a rock, then marched to the slope’s edge. “I need to roll down this hill,” she said with a nod. “It’ll make me feel better.”

  “Are you mad?” Elias slid from his saddle. He couldn’t let her tumble down a steep drop. Sebastian would blame him if she got hurt, and what would people say if she returned to the estate with muddy clothes and a man who wasn’t her betrothed?

  “Come on, Elias,” Josephine said as he crawled over boulders to reach her.

  “No, no, you’ll break your neck—”

  “I won’t break my neck.”

  “Or I’ll break my neck, and you’ll feel terrible.”

  She grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the brink. “Look. It’s not that steep.”

  Fifty yards below, the hillside eased into a crevice lined with gorse. No doubt the descent would hurt, but it appeared moderate, not the deathtrap Elias had first imagined.

  “But I have terrible luck.” He looped his arms around Josephine’s waist and tugged her away from the edge. Their closeness violated several rules of conduct, but they were young.

  They were friends.

  “You need to roll down this hill too.” Josephine smiled and ruffled his hair, combing the dark curls over his eyes. “When the world seems dark, we must look for a bright spot, to be bright. We choose our joys.” She gazed at him for a moment, and her message became clear. The hillside was her happiness. It was freedom.

  Elias nodded, a sigh rasping in the back of his throat.

  “You’re going to roll down this hill with me, Elias Welby. And if we die, then . . . at least we died laughing.” Josephine nudged him with her elbow. “Are you with me?”

  “I’m with you,” Elias breathed. He wanted her fingers tangled in his curls and his arms wrapped around her waist. Always. He wanted her. In this moment. Always.

  He wiggled out of his jacket and tossed it aside. The cold air burned his skin, cutting through his waistcoat and shirt. Of course, Mrs. Capers would call him a fool once she heard about his actions. He might even agree with her, but for Josephine, he’d catch pneumonia, lose a toe to frostbite, or roll down a mountain. His feelings didn’t make sense. They were a mystery.

  And the more he felt, the less he could explain.

  Josephine put his overcoat with her shawl, then crouched on the hilltop. She gazed at the landing below, her face glowing with new colour. Did she fight her emotions like Elias battled his? Oh, how he ached to scoop her into his arms and tell her brokenness wasn’t a crime. Sometimes that was all a person needed—permission to fall apart and a safe place to rebuild.

  “On the count of three,” Elias said with a huff.

  “Three!” Josephine flung herself down the slope. She tumbled sideways, rolling like a spool of thread, her squeal echoing across the heathland.

  “Wait, Josie . . .” Elias crossed his arms and dove headfirst, which seemed a poor decision as the world spun around him. He bounced down the incline, whirling with sensations—dirt in his eyes, bile stinging his throat, and a dizziness so violent, he saw stars.

  The hill would flatten soon. He needed only to last a few more seconds. But the pain grew stronger, the knocks and blows more extreme. He cried out and gasped for air. He choked on a mouthful of sod. If this was a fistfight with the mountain, the mountain was surely winning.

  Elias went limp. A fuzzy blackness filled his eyelids like ink, and when it subsided, he found himself sprawled at the hill’s base, surrounded by gorse and heather. He groaned, an intense ache pulsing through his body. The fall had bruised him from head to toe. He likely wouldn’t be able to get out of bed the next day, which wasn’t the worst fate. Mrs. Capers would insist on a remedy of white soup, warm blankets, and plenty of rest.

  “Josephine?” Elias sat up with a start. He spotted her an arm’s length away, her clothes painted with mud and trampled grass. “Are you all right?”

  She clutched her stomach and laughed, tears streaming her cheeks. “No, but I can’t stop smiling. I can’t unfreeze this horrible grin. I want to show just how not all right I am, but my body is too broken . . . or perhaps it’s so tired of pain and sadness, it decides to exist in denial. I don’t know. All I can tell you is I’m not all right. I want to cry.”

  Her confession ripped through Elias, freeing the emotions he’d struggled in vain to forget. He wasn’t all right either. He wanted to be whole and undamaged, for other people seemed immune to the pain he felt. Then again, no person had expressed their feelings like Josephine. She put her sufferings—her father’s death, the engagement to Sebastian—into words.

  And she wasn’t ashamed to expose them.

  Elias crawled to her side, his elbows sinking into mud. “You seemed content—”

  “Let me assure you I have been deeply unhappy.” Josephine twisted onto her back and dried her eyes. “Sorry. I’m prone to these dark moods from time to time.”

  “You’re the most vibrant person I’ve ever met,” Elias whispered. He placed his hand near hers to feel the prickle of warmth from her skin.

  “My father told me that . . . to live, one does not need to be strong and courageous, just awake. He claimed the world is like a deep pool, and
the bottom of it is covered with seashells. Some blend into the sand. Others sparkle and shine. And the bright shells—those are the ones people treasure. They prompt joy because they dare reflect light in a gloomy place.” Josephine’s body relaxed into the ground. She turned her hand so her knuckles rested against Elias’s little finger. “I wish to live a bright, waking life.”

  The hurt that carved into her voice made Elias tremble. He understood Josephine chose her joys to save others from pain. She endeavoured to reflect light when the world cloaked her in darkness. She was awake, and she was hurting. She was a bright shell, yet sands of sorrow buried her, crushing her beneath the pressure.

  Elias had lost his sheen years prior. He’d let the gloom dull him, and he’d lived in its shadows ever since. What could he do to help Josephine? He couldn’t resurrect her father, nor sever her engagement to Sebastian. He couldn’t even summon a proper response.

  “Do you miss your mum?” Josephine asked. She rolled onto her side and studied Elias’s expression, her lips parting like a rose in bloom. How did she know about his mother’s death? Sebastian must’ve told her. The bloke couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.

  Elias nodded.

  “Missing someone is the same as breathing, I suppose. It continues until the end.” Josephine sat up and hugged her legs. “When my father died, I promised myself I wouldn’t crumble to pieces. Mum didn’t seem upset, so I pretended not to hurt. I found that if I smiled and only celebrated the good, I forgot the bad, at least for a short time.” She rested her dirt-smeared cheek against her knees and sighed. “What makes you happy?”

  “Books, the outdoors . . .” Elias scooted to a cluster of gorse. He reached into a shrub and plucked a blossom, then handed it to Josephine.

  “You like yellow flowers?” She cradled the bud in her palms and snickered, a grin scrunching her face into a display of white teeth and jewelled eyes.

  “Gorse,” he said with a nod. “It’s thorny and overlooked—”

  “Like you.” Josephine stroked the flower’s petals. She gazed at the blossom while a breeze gusted through the vale and ruffled her tangled hair.

  “I daresay I’m not thorny,” Elias said with a laugh.

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” Josephine blushed as if she knew about the times Elias had ignored her when he’d wanted to kiss her, the glances he’d stolen before looking away. “I meant humans often fail to acknowledge the beauty around them, but their lack of notice doesn’t determine a thing’s value. Gorse does not require an audience to grow, and neither do people. We aren’t who we are because of what others see or say.”

  Her response sent chills through Elias’s body. Did she think him a handsome man, a beautiful thing gone unnoticed? His heart raced at the thought, for she sat beside him, dirty and shivering. And somehow she was lovelier than everything else.

  Elias combed his fingers across the turf. He lolled against his elbows and watched birds swoop from the surrounding hills. “When I was a child, I sneaked out of the servants’ quarters and ran as far as my legs could carry me. I reached a pasture lined with gorse and stone,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want anyone to find me, so I crawled beneath a shrub and watched its flowers sway in the breeze. For a moment I felt safe.”

  Josephine smiled.

  “To this day, gorse reminds me of that feeling, that sense of home. Strange how a small thing can mean so much.” Elias tensed when she tucked the flower behind her ear. “It suits you.”

  “I want to find my safe place.” Josephine collapsed onto her back.

  “You’re welcome to borrow mine,” Elias said.

  She glanced at the shrubs and wrinkled her nose. “Looks a bit snug under there.”

  Elias laughed. He stared at her puddle of hair, the golden flower pressed against her temple, and the small thing that meant so much suddenly meant even more. “I’ll make room,” he said. “I bet Sebastian has a pair of hedge clippers—”

  “Yeah, the ones he uses to trim his side whiskers.” Josephine rolled onto her side. She met Elias’s gaze, and her expression softened. Did she detect his connotations? Was she aware of how the situation could damage them? They were alone, too close. They sprawled on damp soil in a state of undress. If anyone questioned their honour, they would lose a great deal.

  Josephine flinched when the sharp trill of a whistle echoed across the moor. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “They noticed after all.”

  A knot formed in Elias’s stomach, tightening as the hunting party called their names from higher ground. He and Josephine could ignore the shouts. They could hide among the shrubs, talk until the sky turned pink, and pretend they weren’t scared and broken.

  They could find their own safe place.

  “Come on.” Elias rose to his feet with a grunt. “You’re going to climb that hill with me, Josephine De Clare. And if we die—which I think is probable due to our lack of conditioning—then at least we’ll die wheezing. Laughing. I meant laughing.”

  “You might be the dearest friend I’ve ever had,” Josephine said, her nose reddening.

  “Are you with me?” Elias offered his hand. Despite his want to stay near Josephine, he wouldn’t prevent her from returning to Sebastian. He’d do what she needed, be who she wanted, forget himself so she could find her own joys. That was the love he chose.

  Love that did what was right even when it hurt.

  Josephine laced her fingers around his palm. She looked at him in a new way, and his resolution faded into the background. Attraction was not seen—it was sensed. And Elias sensed it like coming rain. He’d need to prove himself worthy of her, overcome countless obstacles. But hope drew back the curtains of his gloom and let the light shine bright again.

  THIRTEEN

  JOSIE

  * * *

  From: Faith Moretti

  Sent: Thursday, July 20, 1:10 PM

  To: Josie De Clare

  Subject: DID YOU CUT ME OUT?!

  Josie, I called you, like, a gazillion times. I thought about faking my death so you’d feel horrible. But I couldn’t stay off social media long enough. And Noah said I was overreacting—what most dudes say when they want their girlfriends to murder them. Oh, we’re back together. You would’ve known that a week ago if you’d answered my texts, calls, FaceTimes, and DMs.

  I don’t understand why you need space from me. We had plenty of space until you asked for less space. Then we became friends again, and I still respected your space. Heck, there’s a whole ocean of space between us. What’s going on? Please talk to me.

  You promised to let people care about you, so I can’t fathom why you’d push me away, especially after what happened last time. You knew what you did hurt me. You apologized, and I forgave you. But here we are, back where we started.

  Did I tell you how I learned about your dad’s passing? You didn’t call or text me. No, I heard the news from Headmistress Poston. She came into our residence hall. (I was alone in our room. You’d returned home weeks before that.) She informed all the girls of Mr. De Clare’s death and asked us to pray for you. Don’t you understand how that made me feel? Your dad was yours, but I loved him too. I didn’t get to say good-bye. You took that from me.

  At this point I’m not sure whether to yell at you via voicemail or be worried. If I had Oliver’s phone number, I would call him. Already I searched for his profiles on social media but couldn’t find an account. Josie, email me so I know you’re all right.

  Please don’t cut me out.

  Noah and I went on a date last Wednesday. He took me to a building near Radio City Music Hall with the best rooftop view. We sat in metal lawn chairs—the super redneck kind—and drank blue raspberry slushies while the city flickered. New York resembled a million television screens, each displaying a sitcom of someone’s life.

  We seemed like ourselves again, maybe because the location was so informal. Noah sai
d he wanted a future with me. He asked if we could dream together, find common ground, and I said yes. Our plan is to finish college before we consider marriage.

  I wanted to share the news with you that night. I expected to call you and hear the excitement in your voice. But you didn’t pick up the phone. And I felt robbed. Maybe I am overreacting. I mean, Noah thinks you’re busy or got sucked into the whole Elias drama.

  Let me care, Josie. Please respond.

  Faith

  (Sent from iPhone)

  * * *

  * * *

  From: Josie De Clare

  Sent: Thursday, July 20, 9:22 PM

  To: Faith Moretti

  Subject: Re: DID YOU CUT ME OUT?!

  Elias wrote about me, Faith. I see myself up close, but he saw the bigger picture. He loved me before I knew me. He understood the emotions I feel but cannot put into words.

  For years we envied the girls in romcoms. We hoped guys would look at us like that—like we were beautiful and one of a kind. You found Noah, but I had no one. Until now. Now I’m that girl, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t matter. Something fantastical happened to me. Two hundred years ago, a man fell in love with someone, and that someone—or at least her twin—found his letters centuries later. Elias and I were meant for each other. I must continue to search for his book even if you think I’m crazy because . . . I feel him like a sharp pain in my side.

  This past month, I spent every afternoon in his study. I examined his letters, rummaged through his belongings. I fell asleep in his reading chair, and I heard his voice in the dead of night. But it wasn’t him. It was the wind. And I cried because his absence felt like loss even though I never had the pleasure of calling him mine.