I moved on to the drawing room, where he would have me sit by his side while he had guests over, insisting that I smile and look pretty, but demanding my silence. I entered the dining room, where he had instructed the staff to cut my portions in half and claimed that I wouldn't care for dessert. Each room sat muted with dust, empty and lifeless. I stood outside the door to Damian's study and willed my hands to push the doors open, but some of the very worst moments in my marriage had happened in this room, from the first time he'd shunted me aside, to the night his guards had dragged me back here, where he'd threatened me at the point of a sword. I hadn't entered this room since I had burned its contents the day he died.
The fear clawed its way up my spine, making me want to cower. I lashed out at my own terror, angry that it had the power to paralyze me, and flung the doors wide.
My breathing was heavy with determination as I looked around. The bookshelves still loomed, tall and imposing, but I crossed into the room, my steps echoing in the empty space. The fireplace was cold and filled with ash, the rug askew.
It was decidedly unimpressive.
Moving through the house, each room was the same, assaulting me with memories of heartache and reminding me of the inadequacy and vulnerability that I had felt. Yet each room was only stone and wood.
Stepping into the emptiness of Damian's bed chamber, seeing the limp curtains and faded portrait, the permanence of his absence settled over me. He had no power.
Continuing down the hall, I tried to remember that as I approached my old room, the room where I had been confined for days at a time.
The door was already ajar and I was shocked at the panic that welled inside me. This room more than any in the house made me want to slink away and hide. Damian had rarely entered here. It had simply been a cage. And I wanted, with everything in me, to never see it again. But I set one foot in front of the other, my shallow breathing rasping through my lungs, my fingers woven together so tightly that they were losing feeling. My steps were halting and short, but I drew myself up and proceeded until I had reached the middle of the room. I took a deliberate breath and turned in a circle, taking in the walls and furniture, the wardrobe filled with dark, plain dresses, the table where I had written letters that were never delivered. I studied them for long moments, reminding myself that I was no longer trapped, that nothing here had power to hurt me.
Damian had endeavored to snuff the life out of me by stuffing me into this room. But I was here of my own free will, and when I was through, I would walk away. Yet he would remain a ghost here, insubstantial and ineffective. A wisp of memory that would fade with time.
In reality, this room was utterly benign, and when I left, I walked away without looking back.
Abandoning the new wing, I shut the doors and let the echo seep into me as I walked away. I crossed to the old wing and climbed the stairs, trailing my hand along the deep rich wood of the railing.
I reached the top of the stairs and stopped. The walls and floor closest to me were as I remembered, but halfway down the corridor, everything turned black—the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The smell of smoke still hung in the air. I didn't bother venturing closer, but instead turned to the stairs leading to the upper floor, hoping it wasn't burned as well.
A layer of soot clung to the ceiling of the upper corridor, and the back wall was black and charred. However, most of the hall had been preserved.
I crossed to my favorite alcove and slipped behind the curtain. The chair and little table where I used to write letters were still there. I pressed my right hand to the large window and let my eyes fall closed. I had found peace in this space, but I told myself that this too was just a room—a tiny room made of windows and curtains—and that it could give me neither contentment nor happiness, just as the rooms of the new wing could give me neither pain nor grief. Those were all things that I could choose despite my surroundings.
I opened my eyes. For that matter, those were all things that I could choose, regardless even of the people who surrounded me. My hope was to have James become a part of my life, that when I went to visit him and confessed my feelings, he would want the same. But whether he did or not, I would still speak the truth about my feelings. Because truth was truth, no matter the circumstance. Truth didn't change with seasons. It didn't shift when entering a new place. Truth simply was, and I had lived with enough lies.
I raised my left hand to rest against the glass as well. My eyes fell shut again, and I let the cool glass under my palms ease some of the hurt that still clung to my insides, the hurt that would likely never go away entirely.
And that's all right. It made me who I am. And as I stood at the top of the house and recognized all that I had endured, I was proud of the person I had become.
The quiet echoing of footsteps made my eyes open. One of my guards, coming to fetch me. I should leave this space, make it easier for them to find me, but I wasn't ready to go, not yet. So I stayed where I was, letting the glass beneath my hands turn warm from their heat, and listening as the footsteps came closer. The swish of the curtain being pulled back was no surprise. I didn't turn around, but simply asked, "Is it time?"
"Time for what?" His voice made my stomach tighten in anticipation. It was little more than a whisper, but his words were heavy, weighed down by unspoken thoughts.
I turned to see James standing between the parted drapes. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He took a step toward me, letting the drapes fall together behind him, shutting out the world until there was only him and me. "Hello, Marilee."
"Hello." The word was breathless, pathetic.
"Time for what?" he asked again.
"To leave."
He took a slow step closer. "Might I hope that you were leaving to go visit a certain neighbor?"
"Yes," I answered, unable and unwilling to look away from his gentle eyes. "That was our next stop."
"Why did you not mention in your last letter that you were coming?" His eyes were curious, but not accusing.
"There was something I needed to do first." My eyes skittered to the curtain that separated my little haven from the rest of the house. "But I needed to do it on my own."
He didn't question, likely because he understood already. "And have you finished?" He swallowed. "Or would you like me to leave?"
"I've finished."
"And are you well?"
"I am well." The truth of my own words surprised me.
"And since your neighbor recognized your carriage during his morning ride and came to find you, are you still in a hurry to leave?"
"No."
He moved closer, but I held up a hand.
"But there was something I needed to say." And the way his eyes were taking in every part of me, inside and out, gave me the courage I needed.
"What is that?"
"I'm in love with you." His eyes jumped in surprise, so I hurried on, my voice weaker. "And if you can't say the same, I understand, but I wanted to say it." I took a shaky breath. "Because it's true."
He stepped closer, his fingers caressing the hollow behind my ear. "Were you under the impression that I might not say it in return?"
"I trust that you care for me." My hand lifted to wrap around his wrist, my body pulling me toward him. "But I didn't want to presume more."
"I don't just care for you. I am very much in love with you, Marilee." He moved close enough that I could rest my hand on his coat front. "I just didn't want to say it too soon, push you before you were ready." The sunlight streaming through the window made his eyes shine as they searched mine.
"I'm ready now. It just scared me when you left and I didn't know when I would see you again."
"After all the times we've enjoyed..." he fought a smile, "...appropriate pastimes, you thought I might let you slip away?"
I ducked my head, burying it in his chest to hide my smile. Then I rallied my courage and tipped my head back to look at him. "Will you?"
"Will I what?" He leaned in to press a
kiss to my mouth. "Will I adore you to no end? Yes." He kissed me again, lingering for just a moment. "Will I love you for everything that you are? Yes."
This time when he kissed me, I slipped a hand to the back of his neck, keeping him there so that I could properly return the affection.
"And what about you, Marilee?" He skimmed his lips back and forth along mine. "Will you?"
"Will I what?" I breathed, barely able to concentrate on his words.
He pulled back to look at my eyes. "Will you marry me?"
I smiled in relief and joy. "Yes," I answered.
I only caught a glimpse of his grin before he stooped down to catch my mouth in a jubilant kiss worthy of any romantic fancies I'd ever entertained as a girl. I drank him in, determined to take hold of the happiness being offered me.
He drew back and wrapped me in the safety of his arms, the quick beating of his heart thrumming against my cheek. "Thank you for letting me love you," he whispered.
A little laugh escaped. "It can't be easy."
"It's the easiest thing in the world," he replied, and the love and conviction flowing through his words settled like a balm in my soul, and my own heart reached back, ready to love him as well as he promised to love me.
I walked away from Bridgefield that day, hand in hand with a man I hardly deserved, but who had become my best friend, my confidant, and my safe place.
***
It was one week before my wedding. The past four months had been wonderful and agonizing, but mostly wonderful. Though I had been forever changed by my marriage to Damian, I was able to let go of the anger, the bitterness and the memories a little bit at a time. Some days were better than others, but the nightmares had become a rarity and I had hope that when I could finally sleep with James by my side, he would help in tethering me to the present, instead of slipping into the hurt of the past.
James and I had written letters and managed several visits while we waited for the day to arrive when we wouldn't have to be away from one another and letters would no longer be necessary.
Our last visit had been three weeks ago, and I was more than ready to have him return on the morrow. In the meantime, I would do my best not to drive my family mad by pacing the halls.
Cecily finished pinning my hair and I was just standing to go down to breakfast when there was a knock on the door. She went to answer while I checked my reflection in the mirror and pushed an errant curl back into place.
When Cecily crossed back to me, she held a small, folded piece of parchment. Obviously a missive, but it was so small. I thanked her and turned it over to break the seal, which indicated that the correspondence was from James. I gave a silent plea that this note would not tell me of a delay, then opened it.
Meet me at the field where the horse race was held.
For the space of several heartbeats I was too stunned to move, then I flew to my window, which faced the rear of the castle and scanned the field. He was there. I may not have known it was him at this distance had it not been for the letter, but he was there, an entire day earlier than I had expected him.
I dashed from the room, flying down the corridor and racing down the stairs before skidding around the banister in the entry and darting past servants and guards until I reached the doors off of the ballroom that led to the veranda at the back of the castle. I descended the stone steps to the gardens, navigating around bushes and hedges, and running flat out when I reached the field.
He grinned as I approached and bent slightly to catch me as I fairly jumped into his arms. He spun us around, letting my feet dangle.
"So, fairies can fly," he murmured in my ear.
"Only when properly motivated," I said on a laugh.
He set me on my feet. "Glad I could motivate you." He kissed me and I kissed him back, letting all the time I'd been missing him seep into it as I sighed against his mouth.
"Marilee?"
"Mm-hmm?"
"May I have this dance?"
I grinned as he shifted position, raising my hand in his and winding his arm around my back. "Will you sing our song again?" I asked.
"Always." He kissed my nose, then fell easily into humming as he rested his chin against my temple, swaying us back and forth.
The sun warmed our shoulders as we swept through wildflowers and grass bending in the breeze. The vibrations of his voice reverberated through me, assuring me of his presence and promising beautiful things to come.
About the Author
I was born in Utah, part of a crazy, fun family of nine. I grew up in Flagstaff, AZ and St. Louis, MO before striking out on my own college adventure in Virginia. I decided to try my hand at writing novels after I was married and living in Idaho. I write clean romance because it's my favorite genre, but often difficult to find.
I have Charlotte Brontë to thank for the courage to write novels. After being bombarded with assigned reading about women who justified abandoning either their families or their principles in the name of love, I had the great fortune of reading Jane Eyre. And that was it: finally, a heroine who understood that being moral and making the right choice was hard, and sometimes it hurt, but it was still worth it. After rereading it several years later, I realized that if I wanted more books to exist with the kinds of heroines I admired, then I might as well write a few myself. My books are about women who face hard choices, who face pain and rejection and often have to face the reality of sacrificing what they want for what is right. The consequences are often difficult or unpleasant, but in the end, doing what's right will always be worth it.
I believe there is no substitute for good writing or good chocolate. Fortunately, one often leads to the other.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to all those who help me in attaining my dreams of being a writer. Thanks to Jana Miller, my esteemed editor and sister extraordinaire. To my husband for always encouraging me and nudging me along. To all the sisters and friends who gave me feedback and were willing to be picky so that I could improve. To my kiddos for putting up with mommy running off to the computer time and again. To Jennifer Fauset (Fauset Photography) for giving me a fantastic photo to turn into a fantastic cover. To Mckaiden for being the perfect Marilee model. To my critique group members, Lisa, Laura, Dyany and Caryn, for trudging through my chapters and giving me great feedback. To Becky for convincing me that the ending needed a massive overhaul. To my readers who are endlessly encouraging and push me to keep writing by telling me of their impatience. And most especially to the Lord for giving me the ability to write.
I love you all. Let's do it again soon. :)
Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. As an indie author, your support and feedback makes all the difference in how I judge the success of my books. Please take just a minute to leave a review for other potential readers on Amazon, Goodreads or anywhere else. Word of mouth is essential for me to get the word out, so if you enjoyed reading Saving Marilee, tell a friend!
You can also visit my blog (www.annetteklarsen.com) and leave me a comment, follow me on Twitter @AnnetteKLarsen, or on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/authoraklarsen.
Happy reading!
-Annette Larsen
Saving Marilee Page 29