“My dear boy, alas, it is I who shall be coming up short.”
“Never say so!” he protested with exaggerated cheer.
“I must admit that I am a trifle tired today.”
“Well, then, what should you like to do if not a walk in the park?”
Lady Darlington looked at Ophelia, a gentle smile tilting her thin lips, then returned her gaze to Andrew. “I’d like to go up to my room, and Andrew, I’d like you to play for me.”
Ophelia swallowed.
“And darling daughter, I’d like you to come and hold my hand.” Her mother gave a small, contented nod. “My journey is almost done, I think.”
Those heart-rending words fell upon Ophelia’s ears, and she wanted to scream that her mother shouldn’t say such things. But she couldn’t. The surety in her mother’s voice and gaze rebuffed any denial of the upsetting statement.
Ophelia couldn’t speak. Her throat was suddenly too tight, so she forced a smile instead.
Andrew’s own smile wavered, but he didn’t falter. Rather, he reached down, tucked one arm beneath her mother’s knees and the other around her shoulders. In one move, he swept Lady Darlington’s childlike body up against his chest. “Let us go then. . .”
“Mama,” Lady Darlington whispered.
Andrew’s gaze darted to Ophelia, but then he glanced down at Lady Darlington, his eyes glazed with a sheen of moisture. “Yes, Mama.”
Ophelia could scarce believe it, but the term was most appropriate. No matter that there was no blood relation, there was a love between her mother and Andrew. Ophelia found herself smiling without restraint through her sadness. Her mother had brought a love into Andrew’s life that no one else could. A type of love that everyone needed and she’d been lucky enough to have all her life. A mother’s love.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Pain can no more be avoided
than the rising of the sun.
-Ophelia’s Notebook
Ophelia rested her hand on the door knob and took one last look at her mother’s sleeping form, ensuring herself that, yes, Lady Darlington’s chest was still rising and falling, even if now the action was shallow and fast. In truth, not only was her mother’s breath abnormal, her body, even in sleep, was tense.
Pain. At long last, not even the laudanum was relieving her mother’s discomfort.
She tore her gaze away from the distressing image and met Mrs. Rourke’s eyes. The capable Irish woman smiled, her own gaze full of knowing. “Go now, m’dear,” she whispered. “Have a cup of tea, refresh yourself, and then come back, but not before.”
So deep was her mother’s sleep that she didn’t stir.
Mrs. Rourke’s kindness and acceptance of her mother’s state only added to the lump forming in her throat.
Her mother was going to slip away very soon. Possibly tonight. Possibly tomorrow or the next day. It was impossible to tell. She’d been told it could be quick once a change had occurred.
And in the last two days, a definite change had occurred. Gone was the mischievous lady who had teased Andrew and reveled in traveling to an artist’s studio.
Oh, her mother could still make light of things, but now only for a few moments, before closing her eyes and drifting off. ’Twas as if she was a newborn babe again. Helpless, unable to care for herself.
Ophelia nodded at Mrs. Rourke and forced herself to shut the door behind her. She had to keep her strength up until the end. And that meant a breath of fresh air, a gulped meal and a splash of water over her face.
When her mother was gone, then she could collapse.
When her mother was gone. . .
Ophelia’s face crumpled, and a wail of pain threatened to break free from her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth and sobbed against it. She staggered away from her mother’s room, crying silently against her hand, not caring that she was in the hallway.
At last, she couldn’t put another foot in front of the other as grief pounded her. She turned to the wall and pressed her forehead into the cool, sage-green brocade. Lifting her palms, she rested them against the fabric, letting the wall hold up her weight.
How was she going to manage?
How was she going to let her mother go?
“Ophelia?”
Andrew.
Her name on his lips shot through her brain like the crack of a pistol. She jerked away from the wall and wiped her hands over her face. “Yes?”
“Oh, Ophelia,” he said softly.
She longed for him to take her into his arms, to hold her tight, but after her rejection of him, they’d been kind to each other but distant, getting along, no doubt, for her mother’s benefit. “I will be well in a moment.”
To her shock, he snorted.
“Don’t be rude,” she huffed.
“You’re a marvelous woman, Ophelia, but sometimes you are as much a fool as I.”
Her spine straightened, and she opened her mouth, ready to give him a set-down.
Andrew grabbed her hands, tugged her forward and then swept her up in an enveloping embrace. Those powerful arms of his cradled her.
She resisted for just a moment, then melted against him, taking all the comfort he was willing to give.
Gently, he pressed his hand against the nape of her neck, urging her to rest her cheek against his shoulder. “It is perfectly acceptable to cry, my darling.”
His kind words unlocked her tears once again. She blinked rapidly, not wishing to give in, but finally, she grabbed on to him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, holding on as if he and he alone could keep her afloat in this wretched sea of pain. “I-I don’t know what I’m going to do without her!”
And she cried, each breath a sob, her whole body shaking. She soaked her cheeks and the linen of his shirt. She cried until there were no tears left, and still, she couldn’t stop the sounds of pain breaking free from her heart.
He said nothing, but held her, rocking gently side to side.
“Sh-She’s n-not even gone yet.” How was she going to face her mother’s death if this was how she behaved now?
“You’re accepting it, sweetheart,” he whispered. “That she’s really going to die.”
She paused. It was true. She’d known it was coming, but she hadn’t accepted it. She’d been angry. She’d pretended that all would be fine. But now, with her mother bedridden and no longer as responsive, there was no way to ignore the truth.
“I owe you an apology,” he said, stroking her hair softly with his large hand.
“You do?”
He let out a sigh. “Yes. I asked you something the other day—”
She tensed against his embrace. “Andrew, I don’t want—”
“Just allow me to say this, please,” he pleaded.
She nodded against his chest despite her misgivings, but she’d never heard him speak thusly.
He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I asked you to marry me and made it sound as if it was because I was afraid to be alone. Or that you should marry me because you will soon be alone.”
She drew in a breath, tired, ready to pull away if necessary. She didn’t want to hear reminders of how painful the future would be, but Andrew held tight.
“I failed to mention the most important thing,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“And what is that?” she asked, her heart suddenly beating apace.
“I love you.”
Her breath froze. She leaned back and stared up into his face.
Andrew’s face bore a mix of vulnerability and hope. Carefully, he took her hands in his. “I love you, Ophelia. You changed my life the moment I set eyes upon you wading in that river. And every day since, I have lost my heart to you, piece by piece. Your strength, your kindness, your passion for life, they have all awakened what I had been so sure was dead. My soul. You have awakened my soul, Ophelia, because you are my other half. The joy to my cynicism. The passion to my jaded nature. You have taught me to live with hope again.”
; She stared up at him, barely able to believe what he said. Shaking her head slightly, she breathed, “You love me, truly?”
“Yes. And now I need to ask you again. And I’m going to do it properly.”
Slowly, Andrew lowered himself to one knee, her hands still in his. “Come and be my wife. Come live with me for the rest of our days. Let us face the trials of this life together. Because without you, Ophelia, I will continue to exist, but how can I live without you, my other half?”
The hall spun she was so stunned by his powerful proposal. She longed to throw herself into his arms and accept, but. . . “Andrew, marriage. . . There is so much I wish to do. . .”
And she didn’t wish to risk the pain of loss again. Her father had died. Her mother was dying. What if something happened to Andrew?
Andrew brought one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it gently. “Marriage will only enable you to do those things with more ease. A married lady and a viscountess, no less, has much more freedom than a single girl. I have no wish to stand in the way of your dreams. If anything, I wish to help you capture them. Allow me to help you pursue them.”
Tears stung her eyes, for a very different reason now than before. She couldn’t deny that she loved him but. . . “My experience has made me wary of trusting that all will be well—”
“Ophelia, I cannot promise that you will never be hurt. I’m human and make mistakes. Life is full of pain. You’ll hurt me. I may hurt you. It can’t be avoided. No matter what you do or where you go, you cannot escape the pain of life without abandoning its joys as well. But if we simply think of today and love each other with all our passion, just for today, imagine how wonderful it could be.”
For today.
Just those two words seemed to change everything. She thought of her mother. Lady Darlington had made it plain that while fear was acceptable and even wise, it was the worst of crimes against oneself to yield one’s life to it. And that’s exactly what Ophelia had done when she refused Andrew. She’d chosen fear instead of the man she loved.
“How did you become so wise?” she asked.
“Listening to Mama,” he said simply.
Andrew said “Mama” with such ease that Ophelia couldn’t help herself. She lowered herself onto his knee, needing to be as close to him as possible. “She would be so proud of you. I am still afraid, but not you.”
“Of course I’m afraid,” he countered. “But I will not be ruled by that fear.”
His words so echoed her own thoughts that she could barely believe how alike they were. She slipped her hands from his and took his face between her palms. “Life is far too short to let it control us,” she agreed.
So she’d trust that she and Andrew’s love would thrive for today. After all, today was all they had. Her mother was teaching her that. With every day her mother was still here, the importance of now was all too clear.
Ophelia gazed into Andrew’s eyes, drinking in the love she saw there. “I love you, too,” she whispered.
Joy lit his gaze, and he tugged her tighter against him, her full emerald skirts draping over his bent knee. “Kiss me?”
“With all my heart,” she replied, then she lowered her mouth to his in a soft kiss. A kiss of promise. A kiss that held all the love of her heart.
He met that kiss with sweet tenderness, as if he was answering with his own vow that love would never fail them.
She pulled back, her breathing slow, and her limbs deliciously heavy. Blinking, she suddenly thought of her mother. “Andrew?”
“Mmm,” he murmured, studying her face with love-drunk eyes.
“Can you obtain a special license today?”
He drew in a quick breath. “I suppose, yes.”
Suddenly seized by a sense of urgency, she urged, “Then go. Go now.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Nodding, she stroked her fingers along his jaw in assurance. “I want Mama to be at our wedding.”
Andrew opened his mouth to reply, but then he snapped it shut. Tears glimmered in his eyes. His throat worked for a moment, then he drew in a rough breath. “I’ll go.”
Ophelia pressed one last, soft kiss to his lips, then stood. “Hurry, please.”
Andrew squeezed her hand in his, then wordlessly turned and strode down the hall, his pace fast and full of purpose.
Ophelia listened to his footsteps dissipate, her heart racing. She smiled, then whipped around and ran toward her mother’s room.
Her mother would be overjoyed. Oh, not because of the wedding necessarily, though that would no doubt please her, but because, finally, it didn’t matter that Ophelia was afraid. Ophelia had leaped, and Andrew had been there to break her fall with love. Wonderful, miraculous love.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
At length, I have learned to live
without fear of the future.
I savor the moments at hand,
for one never knows how long they might last.
-Ophelia’s Notebook
Andrew held his bride in his arms and refused to let her go. It didn’t matter that the vicar had proclaimed them man and wife. Or that the man had quickly slipped out of Lady Darlington’s bedroom for his promised large brandy in the downstairs drawing room.
Quite simply, Andrew didn’t ever want to let Ophelia go.
It had taken convincing and a sizable donation, but he’d persuaded the vicar to marry himself and Ophelia in his home. After all, the circumstances were indeed unique. And he’d been determined to fulfill Ophelia’s wish that they marry with her mother in attendance.
Even so, he could scarce believe it had happened, that she’d agreed, that they were in love. Surely such stuff was the stuff of dreams. He gazed down into Ophelia’s eyes and knew without doubt that this was right. And that if this was a dream, he prayed that he never awakened.
She smiled up at him, a beautiful smile.
How he wanted to see that smile every day for the rest of his life, and he was going to do everything he could to make that wish a reality.
The faint applause of Mrs. Rourke and Lady Darlington penetrated his reverie.
Ophelia drew in a deep breath, a strange mixture of joy and sadness touching her smile. At the applause, she swept her gaze to her mother.
Holding Ophelia’s hand in his, he, too, turned to view the Lady Darlington and Mrs. Rourke.
Their mama was propped up on several pillows covered with crisp white linen. Her slightly faded blue eyes shone bright with joy, all the more powerful in her withered face. And she was clapping her hands, though they barely made a sound.
Lady Darlington lowered her hands, two surprisingly heavy weights given their thinness, to the down blanket covering her wasted body. “I. . .knew. . .it,” she said.
Ophelia crossed to the bed, tugging him with her.
His wife, a more wonderful term he’d never used, perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to move her mother.
“How did you know?” Ophelia asked.
“With one look at. . .him.” Lady Darlington glanced slowly at Andrew. “I saw. . .his soul and that. . .”—she drew in a shaking breath—“he was your. . .match.”
“Hush now, Mama,” Ophelia soothed. “You must rest.”
Lady Darlington shook her head slightly, and the brightness in her eyes dimmed a little. “You love each. . .other?”
Andrew squeezed Ophelia’s hand. “With all my heart.”
“Yes, Mama, I love Andrew.”
“I’m so proud of you, my daughter.” Lady Darlington laboriously lifted Ophelia’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. “You’ve chosen love, the bravest thing of all.” Trembling now at the apparent effort, she barely lifted her hand toward Andrew.
He stepped forward and took it, tucking himself behind Ophelia.
Her small fingers rested in his, trusting, birdlike.
“Andrew. . .my sweet boy,” Lady Darlington said, barely a whisper. “You’ve found the strength to believe in yourself.” Her lips curled into t
he most loving of smiles. “I couldn’t be happier.”
“I love you, Mama,” Ophelia said suddenly, before she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Lady Darlington’s forehead.
Their mama’s smile softened into a strange, dreamy smile. “I love you, too. . .sweetheart. And Andrew, my boy. . .I love you.”
Andrew’s throat tightened up so hard he could scarce draw breath, but he had to if he was going to say what needed to be said. It struck him that this moment was incredibly important. Slowly, he knelt beside Ophelia, coming eye level with Lady Darlington. “I love you, Mama. Thank you for believing in me.”
Lady Darlington’s eyes drooped, but she murmured, “How could I not?”
Lady Darlington’s face seemed to visibly gray. “Thirsty,” she rasped.
Mrs. Rourke stood, taking a small cloth from the table beside the bed and dipping it in the pitcher of water. Carefully, the older woman placed the cloth at Lady Darlington’s lips.
Eyes half-closed, Lady Darlington opened her mouth and sucked gently on the wet cloth. After several moments, she gave a small sigh of contentment and let go of the fabric. Her whole body relaxed against the bed, her mouth still slightly open.
Ophelia clasped her mother’s hand with renewed vigor. “Mama?”
Andrew kept his hand around Lady Darlington’s, afraid to move. Afraid if he did anything at all, she’d leave them.
“All is settled now,” Lady Darlington breathed, and she closed her eyes.
“Mama!” Ophelia cried.
Andrew’s heart slammed in his chest, not able to believe it, but when he slowed his thoughts, he saw that Lady Darlington was still breathing.
“Mama?” he asked gently, stroking his thumb over the back of her papery hand.
Lady Darlington’s eyes fluttered open.
But this time when her eyes met his, something was very different.
She was no longer present. The vital lady he had known had slipped away in the last moments.
Lady Darlington gave a small smile, not truly looking at anyone or anything. “Love you. . . My darlings.”
Lady Wild Page 12