by Lily Maxton
Win grasped Sarah’s elbow. It was a steadying grip, but it also pushed Sarah back an inch or two. She didn’t know if this was intentional or not, but the pain that clawed at her throat was visceral and cruel.
“You’re not usually such a clumsy thing,” Win said. She didn’t say it meanly, but her voice held that touch of condescension that was slipping into their conversations more and more often lately.
Sarah hated it.
And now she knew why she hated it. But at this point, when it was far, far too late to do anything about it, maybe it would have been better to live in ignorance.
She stepped back from Win.
“I shouldn’t keep you any longer,” she said.
She stepped back from Win. She stepped back. She walked away. There wasn’t really anything else she could do.
Sarah could rail at life for not going the way it should have, or at herself for realizing too late that she was in love with her best friend, or at Win for trying to grow up too fast, for rushing into something she couldn’t undo, but it wouldn’t change a thing.
Maybe if Sarah was another person she would have cursed or wept, but she was only herself, in the end.
So she quietly picked up the shattered pieces of her heart and did her best to put them back together.
She saw Win a few times after that, but Win was usually busy, and it was never for long.
And when Winifred sent her a letter from London, less than a fortnight after they’d left, in her usually boisterous, overly friendly tone, Sarah had to force herself to answer, and when she did her language was calm and succinct and polite, almost unwittingly widening the space between them. They were not Sarah and Win, anymore, they were simply two people who’d been best friends once, and who weren’t any longer.
It was a cold, lonely space, but she needed it like she needed air to breathe.
It was only when she was heating the sealing wax, and the scent of roses bloomed up from each red drop, that she began to cry.
Chapter 8
The night of the telescope viewing started out clear, but when Sarah glanced out the window of the drawing room, she noticed clouds creeping in from the west. She lifted her gloves from the low table in front of the settee, pausing when her mother cleared her throat.
“I assume the MacGregors will be in attendance.”
Win was standing by the doorway, waiting. They looked at each other briefly, and there was something in Win’s gaze—warm, eager—that made a thrill of awareness go through her before she turned her attention back to her mother. She was probably reading too much into it, anyway—this was Win’s first social engagement in months—of course she would be excited to go out.
“You assume correctly,” Sarah said.
“Your father won’t be pleased.”
“No, I didn’t think he would be,” she responded simply.
Lady Lark arched an elegant eyebrow. “Both too stubborn for your own good,” she murmured, before glancing toward the door. “Did my husband speak to you, Winifred?”
Win shook her head, straightened.
“Sir Richard Wallace is in town. He wrote to express an interest in paying his respects to you.”
Win frowned slightly, as if she wasn’t quite sure what this information had to do with her.
“Sir Richard Wallace?” Sarah asked.
“He was the husband of one my acquaintances in London,” Win explained. “But she died nearly a year ago, and Sir Richard and I barely spoke…I don’t see why—”
“He is lonely, I think,” Lady Lark said. “Perhaps he hopes the two of you could find common ground. From what I’ve heard, he’s an amiable man with a good income, if a bit long in the tooth.”
Unease prickled along Sarah’s spine. She was suddenly very certain that she didn’t want this conversation to continue. “Win and I will be late to the meeting if we delay any longer.”
Lady Lark looked exasperated but waved them on. “Very well. We can discuss it later.”
Win and Sarah spent the first few minutes of the carriage ride silent, and when they did start to speak, Win seemed determined to avoid the issue of Sir Richard. She twisted one of her bonnet ribbons around her finger, pointed out houses that hadn’t been there when she’d lived in Edinburgh, and turned a bright smile on Sarah.
It wasn’t a real smile though—it was the one she’d worn sometimes after she’d slipped away from her parents to meet Sarah…when she hadn’t been utterly defeated, that was. It was the brittle smile, almost cheerfully aggressive, as if to hide something broken underneath.
“That’s new,” Win said as they passed a statue in a park square. She twisted the ribbon so tightly around her finger that Sarah worried she might hurt herself, then let it unravel before she started again. “A bit gaudy, don’t you—”
Suddenly, with more instinct than reason, Sarah leaned forward and undid the ties on the other woman’s bonnet, then threw it to the side with enough force that it bounced off the carriage door.
Win blinked at her, and she tried not to focus on the way her fingers tingled where they’d brushed Win’s jaw.
“I hate bonnets,” Sarah said, ridiculously, as she put on the gloves she’d rested on the seat next to her…as if that might soothe the itch of her fingers. “Cumbersome things.”
And Win laughed, warm and true, and the odd tension seeped from the air.
By the time they reached the Smith’s country house on the outskirts of town, the clouds that had been creeping in from the west were strewn across the whole sky.
“Drat,” Mrs. Smith said, hands on her hips. “I suppose we can wait for a few minutes to see if it clears.”
The rest of the party simply stared in awe at the telescope, a cylindrical tube that appeared to be made of iron and was so massive that wooden scaffolding had been erected around it to help support it. A wooden platform rested near the end of the tube that pointed toward the sky—Sarah assumed so the astronomer could adjust the telescope.
“Is it as big as Herschel’s?” Eleanor asked.
Mrs. Smith scowled. “It’s thirty feet with a ninety centimeter mirror. Herschel’s is forty and one hundred and twenty. Not all of us can get four thousand pounds from the king, you know.”
James MacGregor looked at his wife wryly. “I always knew Herschel was a right bastard. And forty feet…do you figure he’s compensating for something?”
Eleanor nudged him in the ribs, but she couldn’t quite hide the twitch of her lips.
“Herschel is a brilliant astronomer,” Eleanor said. “It’s almost blasphemy to speak of his…” She made a vague gesture at the lower portion of James’s anatomy, seemed to realize what she was doing a little too late, and jerked her hand back abruptly. “…telescope.”
James laughed, whether at the abortive, hip-level gesture, or the euphemism, or both, Sarah wasn’t sure. “But darling, what’s life without a little blasphemy?”
“Hush. Herschel’s telescope is not up for discussion—” When James started to speak, she said, “The figurative one, obviously. Not the real one.” She started forward briskly to examine the telescope and James fell into step behind her. Strange, that Eleanor could lead the large, sometimes brazen man on a string, but lead him she did.
Of course, Sarah was sure that James wouldn’t be led anywhere he didn’t want to follow.
“Are you two coming?” James tossed over his shoulder to them. “Scientific delights await.”
Sarah could hear Eleanor’s snort.
They moved toward the gigantic device, and Sarah listened politely as Mrs. Smith told them all about it, but she was having trouble focusing.
Sarah glanced at Win, only to find that the other woman was already looking back at her. Her heart quickened. Stupid, stupid heart…even after all this time…
Sarah felt like she was fighting a losing battle. As much as she tried to tell herself that they’d been apart for too long, that they weren’t close any longer, she sank back into the same plac
e whenever she was with Win. A place built for just the two of them.
And Win was softer, too, when they were alone now. She wasn’t quite as brittle as she’d been when she’d first arrived.
It was startling, how easy it was to pick up the threads of their friendship, how natural. It was also a little terrifying.
“We can go inside for tea,” Mr. Smith suggested, when it seemed the conversation about the telescope was dying down and the clouds still hadn’t cleared. “There’s also a nice path through the woods that circles back to the house, if anyone wishes to walk it.”
Everyone else opted for the tea, but Win turned toward Sarah. “Shall we walk?”
Sarah, who could rarely deny Win anything when they were face to face and she looked so pleased with the idea, nodded.
Mr. Smith retrieved an oil lamp for them and they set off, moving slowly along the dark path, the lamp casting a hazy circle of light and warmth around them. Above them, budding tree branches stretched out like reaching hands.
The air was heavy with moisture; it whispered of distant rains and summer heat. It brought with it the scent of flowers just beginning to bloom
The promise of summer always made Sarah think of Win, of lazy afternoons and tart, sweet lemonade and the blush of roses. It had been difficult to shake the association, even more so after Win left. It was all tied up together—the heat, the smell, a girl appearing over the garden wall and bringing chaos to Sarah’s heart.
For a long time after Win had left, Sarah hadn’t liked summer. She thought she might begin to rethink that aversion now.
“You were right,” Win said. At Sarah’s questioning look, she added, “They go well together.”
“I’m always right about these things,” she said with a small smile.
“What about Gregory and I? You never said what you thought of us.”
She hadn’t wanted to think about them at all, at the time. “I thought you’d do well enough.”
“Well enough?”
“I—“ She wasn’t sure how to describe it without being insulting. “I thought you would have an amiable relationship, if nothing else.”
“Ah,” Win said softly. “You were right about that, too.”
This was probably a topic Sarah shouldn’t even broach, and anyway, it was none of her business. But she was curious. And a little envious. And she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Did you not enjoy bedding him?”
Win didn’t seem offended. She cast Sarah a look from the corner of her eye, almost sly. “And to think,” she murmured, “everyone used to say I was the bold one.”
Sarah suppressed a smile. She didn’t tell Win that she never would have dreamed of asking that question of anyone else.
“It was pleasant,” Win said after a moment.
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Pleasant. It’s a very mild word, isn’t it?”
Win shot her another sidelong glance. “Was it supposed to be lightning bolts and shooting stars? Surely you don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“You’re more sensible than that,” she said, in a tone that sounded like the world was upside down if Sarah wasn’t.
But she remembered how she’d felt when her lips had glanced the corner of Win’s mouth, and she thought, if lightning bolts and shooting stars weren’t achievable, realistically, there must be something between that and pleasant.
Maybe something raw and hungry, like flame licking at one’s stomach.
She hid a smile. Good Lord, Win had her thinking in metaphors—wouldn’t she be surprised to know?
“What of you?” Win asked.
She glanced up. “Me?”
“You must have had dozens of suitors. Was there never a kiss?”
“I kissed a few of them,” she said, gratified by the slight widening of Win’s eyes. She liked that she could startle her. “I thought it prudent.”
Win laughed. “What do you mean?”
“I always hoped for passion in a marriage. If there was no passion between us, I assumed I would be able to tell from a kiss, and in that case, I wouldn’t want to marry them. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Win repeated, like it was anything but. “There wasn’t any passion, then?”
“Not enough. None of them were awful kisses. They were all…pleasant,” she said wryly.
Win cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe you were kissing the wrong person.”
Sarah stopped walking, her heart hammering in her throat. There was something in Win’s tone, something almost suggestive, but Win simply watched her in the hazy lamplight for a moment. The air between them felt charged.
“Perhaps I was.”
No, Sarah didn’t just suspect she’d been kissing the wrong person, she knew. She’d been ruined, all those summers ago. Ruined utterly.
Win started walking and Sarah followed, tentative at first, and then gaining confidence again.
She thought her friend would ask more questions about the matter, but she didn’t, and Sarah didn’t know if she should be grateful or disappointed. “So…when you travel the continent, are you still planning on walking barefoot in the sand?”
Win remembered—a foreign warmth spread through Sarah’s chest. “Of course I will.” After a beat of silence, Sarah said, “I always imagined you going with me.”
Win looked down at her feet. “I wish I could. I shall have to marry again, before long.”
Sarah’s step faltered. She nearly tripped. Win’s hand went to her elbow to steady her, and she remembered, viscerally, the last time she’d made that gesture. This time she wasn’t putting space between them physically, but her words were enough to slam down a wall.
“You’re still in mourning.”
“I can’t rely on your father’s charity forever. You know it will only extend so far.”
She was right, as much as Sarah hated to admit it. Her parents were already discussing Sir Richard as a suitor. Even if Win managed to avoid that potential match, there would be more, and Lord Lark would grow impatient if he realized Win wasn’t looking for a new husband. They were family, perhaps, but they weren’t blood.
Sarah felt guilty suddenly. For too long, she’d been angry with Win, but with the passage of time, there was also new clarity. Their first separation wasn’t solely Win’s fault. Like she’d said, she’d only been doing what she thought she was supposed to do. And Sarah hadn’t given any indication of her feelings at the time, because she hadn’t understood them herself.
They’d been so young, and so foolish. Sarah, bitter and confused and heartbroken, was the one who’d pushed Win away, in the end, because she hadn’t known how to reconcile what she’d wanted and what she didn’t have.
And this wasn’t Win’s fault, either. Win had no one to depend on—she never had, really—and women in their place had so few options anyway.
Was that when she’d become brittle? When she’d realized that fact?
Whatever it had been, Sarah couldn’t blame her anymore. She knew what Win’s parents were like…she would have died if she’d stayed with them. Slowly, in a thousand different ways.
“It’s all right,” Sarah said and Win glanced at her sharply.
Sarah couldn’t say for certain if that was true, but there was one thing she did know—she wouldn’t push her away again. She’d missed her too badly.
Sarah took her friend’s hand, and heart racing, laced their fingers together one by one. She could feel the warmth of the other woman, even through their gloves.
Win stared down at the point where they touched and then exhaled shakily. “Let’s not discuss it right now.”
It. Marriage. The unknowable future.
“Very well.” Sarah was looking down at their hands, too. They fit together. They always had. But how long had it been since they’d held on to each other like this?
A sweet ache filled her throat, threatening to steal her breath. She tugged gently, and they continued on.
At
one point, Win looked up at the sky, craning her neck. “I hope it clears. I was looking forward to using the telescope.”
“Hopefully the real one and not the figurative one,” Sarah said drily.
Win bumped into her with her shoulder, laughing. “Dear Lord, Sarah. You’re not such a good girl anymore, are you?”
“I don’t know if I ever really was,” she said. “Though being acquainted with James MacGregor certainly doesn’t help.”
Win smiled. “You’ve been corrupted.”
Sarah looked at her in the dim light, answered her smile with an echo of her own. She pushed down any lingering unease from their earlier conversation—it was something she could think about later.
Now was for the quiet and the night and Win at her side.
“I was looking forward to stargazing, too,” Sarah said. “Even if it doesn’t clear tonight, we should have more chances.”
The message was unspoken but clear—they would go together, no matter what tomorrow held.
Win’s gaze met hers, and then slipped away, a faint darkening to her cheeks. Sarah wished it was brighter out, so she could see her better. She’d always looked fetching when she blushed—that vivid red hair clashing against the soft pink of her cheeks.
After a few minutes more, they came upon a small stone cottage, nestled beside a brook; the sound of water was like the delicate jingle of music.
“Mr. Smith mentioned an old hermitage. I think it’s abandoned.”
Win lifted the lantern, then pushed her way inside. The oil lamp illuminated an empty space with dust collected on a stone mantel—it looked like it hadn’t been lived in in some time.
“Well…that’s disappointing,” Win said.
She raised an eyebrow. “Were you hoping it was occupied?”
Win laughed. “No, but I thought there might be a few things he’d left behind. I don’t like empty rooms.”
For all her boldness, Win had always been more affected by things—quicker to laugh, yes, but also to feel sorrow; quicker to cry or be frightened. Once, Sarah had taken her hand in the dark, after they’d read particularly scary books like The Monk, or during ferocious thunderstorms.