Running as fast as her legs would carry her, Charlaine hastened along the corridor. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her heart ached with each breath she took. She pressed her lips into a tight line, fighting down the sobs that rose in her throat.
He had kissed her!
Nathanial had kissed Abigail!
The image she had glimpsed through a gap in the curtains had burned itself into Charlaine’s mind. No matter what she did she could not seem to shake it. It was there, taunting her, torturing her. Never would she forget the moment Daphne had asked her to check if it was raining, the moment she had glimpsed them together, the moment her heart had broken in two, another loss after so many, robbing her of the last bit of strength she had left.
Blinded by the tears in her eyes, Charlaine stumbled through the house without knowing where she was headed. Voices drifted to her ears then, and she dashed through the first door, desperate to escape prying eyes.
Fortunately, she found herself in the library, its calm silence promising a momentary reprieve from the world outside its doors.
Staggering to the armchairs situated in a small curve under the tall, arched window, Charlaine sank onto one with a sigh. She discarded her slippers, momentarily tempted to hurl them across the room, and then pulled up her legs, hugging her knees to her chest.
Rain now pelted the window behind her, the harsh sound of its downpour an odd echo of her inner turmoil. Closing her eyes, Charlaine sank deeper into herself, her head coming to rest against the chair’s soft upholstery.
And there she sat, her mind returning to the moment she had witnessed, the moment she could not forget for it proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that despite what might have sparked between Nathanial and her, he still loved his fiancée.
Or former fiancée. But for how much longer?
Who knew, perhaps even tonight they would announce their renewed engagement, happy and filled with joy as they looked into their future.
Charlaine thought she would be sick.
He is your friend, a painfully fair-minded voice reminded her. You ought to be happy for him.
Burying her face in her hands, Charlaine tried her best to ignore it, to not hear the echo of her promise; a promise she had given lightly, never considering how it might ruin her one day.
But that day had come and now−
Tensing, Charlaine sat up, her gaze snapping around to the door across from where she sat. Had there been footsteps echoing closer? Or had it merely been her imagination? The thought of someone stumbling upon her, here, in this moment when her heart lay shattered before her−
In shock, Charlaine stared as the handle was being pushed down. Then the door began to drift open. She heard the sound of skirts rustling and breathed a sigh of relief that at least it was not Nathanial who had found her.
In the next moment, Abigail stepped into the room.
Charlaine barely managed to stifle a groan as her soul cried out in pain. Still, she had to have made at least some sound for Abigail’s head suddenly snapped around, her eyes growing wide as they fell on her. “Oh.” The exclamation was soft, whispering of utter surprise.
Charlaine swallowed, unable to conjure a clear thought. All she knew was that she wanted Abigail to leave.
The library.
Markham Hall.
England.
“I’ll go,” Abigail said into the room, a mild echo of her voice drifting upward. “I’m sorry.” She turned toward the door, but then paused. For a moment, she remained still before her gaze moved back to settle on Charlaine, a slight frown coming to her face.
Charlaine tensed, willing the other woman to leave with every fiber of her being. She had won! She had reclaimed Nathanial’s heart! Was that not enough?
Unfortunately, it seemed it was not, for Abigail did not leave. Instead, she slowly made her way over to where Charlaine sat huddled in her armchair. “I’m sorry. I−” Her voice broke off as her eyes narrowed, sweeping over Charlaine’s face. “Are you all right?”
Swallowing, Charlaine moved to wipe the tears off her face. “I’m fine,” she told her with as much conviction as she could, which unfortunately was not a lot.
Inhaling a deep breath, Abigail moved to seat herself in the armchair to Charlaine’s right.
“Why are you here?” Charlaine snapped, instantly regretting the outburst. After all, truth be told, Abigail had done nothing wrong. She had merely fallen in love.
A shuddering sigh left the other woman’s lips before her hand rose to dab a handkerchief to her eyes; eyes that looked red and shimmered with tears.
Frowning, Charlaine shifted in her seat, her traitorous heart responding to the sight of someone in pain. “What happened?” she asked, confused by what she saw. “Why are you crying?”
A sad chuckle left Abigail’s lips. “I might ask you the same.”
Charlaine swallowed, uncertain about what was happening here. By all means, Abigail ought to be the happiest woman alive. Why wasn’t she?
For a long moment, the two women sat in silence, the only sound the drumming of the rain on the windowpanes behind them, a steady rhythm like a heartbeat. Then after a long sigh, Abigail lifted her head, her red-rimmed eyes settling on Charlaine. “He doesn’t want me.”
Her words were no more than a whisper and, for a moment, Charlaine was not certain she had heard her correctly. In answer, her gaze narrowed as though it would help her remember, help her hear the words more clearly. What was Abigail saying? Was she saying that−?
Traitorous hope rose in Charlaine’s chest. “Who doesn’t want you?”
Abigail’s hands clenched around her handkerchief. “Do you truly not know?” she asked in return, the sadness that lingered in her eyes heartbreaking. She swallowed hard, and another tear snaked down her cheek. “I hurt him,” she whispered then. “I broke his heart. I was a fool to do so.” Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “I’d take it back if I could.”
Charlaine’s breath lodged in her throat as she stared at Abigail, not quite daring to believe. “He kissed you,” she whispered, and her words conjured the scene she had witnessed, sending a jolt of pain through her heart.
Abigail met her gaze. “He did not.”
“I saw you,” Charlaine insisted, clenching her hands as they began to tremble.
Abigail shook her head. “I kissed him.” She sighed. “I suppose, for a moment, he felt reminded of how we used to be. For a moment, I had hope.” Her eyelids fluttered closed, and another tear rolled down her cheek. “But then he pulled away, and I knew.”
Charlaine’s feet settled back onto the floor as she scooted to the edge of her seat. A thousand questions raced through her head, hope mingling with fear, and she stared at Abigail as though the other woman had grown another head. “But he loves you,” she whispered, wanting nothing more than for Abigail to contradict her.
“He cares for me,” Abigail said with a sad smile. “But he doesn’t love me, not the way he used to.” Her blue eyes lingered on Charlaine. “He said you were friends.”
Charlaine swallowed. “We are.”
A rather indulgent look came to Abigail’s face. “Are you? Truly?”
Charlaine dropped her gaze, torn between wanting to run from the room and finally confess all that lived in her heart.
“You love him,” Abigail whispered into the silence, an agonizing sob following those words.
Charlaine closed her eyes, then looked up. “I do,” she finally admitted, and as much as she feared the consequences of such a bold statement, it did feel liberating.
Somehow, she felt lighter as though a heavy burden had been lifted off her shoulders.
Blinking back tears, Abigail nodded. “I think I knew the moment he received your letter.”
Charlaine frowned. “My letter?”
“You wrote to him, and I was there when he read your lines.” Her eyes closed, and a hint of pain lingered in the way she held her head bowed. “I saw it in his eyes even then.”
“Saw what?” Charlaine asked, her hands clenched so tightly her sinews began to hurt.
Abigail’s head rose and she looked at her then. “That you’re the one who holds his heart.”
Charlaine stared at Abigail as though the ground had opened up at her feet and a little green troll had climbed out, doing cartwheels through the library.
A sad chuckle left Abigail’s lips. “It is true. Believe me for I wish it weren’t. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He looks at you the way I look at him, not as a friend, but as someone in love.”
Charlaine gritted her teeth, trying her best to fight down the joy rising in her heart. “No, he doesn’t,” she stated vehemently. “He doesn’t.” Only too well did she remember the day by the lake when he had told her he wished their kiss had never happened. Why would he have said such a thing if he cared for her? If he loved her?
“You’re afraid he doesn’t,” Abigail objected, once more dabbing her handkerchief to her eyes. “Just as I feared the opposite.”
Charlaine swallowed hard. “Why did you come to find me?”
“I didn’t.” Abigail shook her head. “I wanted to be alone, and I was afraid if I went to my chamber, he would come and speak to me, try to console me, comfort me.” The muscle in her jaw tightened. “I didn’t want his pity.” Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, and she blinked her lids rapidly to force them to retreat. Then she inhaled a deep breath and her gaze returned to Charlaine. “However, now that I’m here, I implore you,” her gaze softened, “don’t run away from this out of fear. I did, and it’s the greatest regret of my life.”
“But−”
Abigail reached across and her hand settled on Charlaine’s, cutting off her objection. “I hurt him, and now he’s afraid. Whatever he told you, whatever happened that led you to believe he could only see you as a friend, he only did or said because of what I did to him.” Her jaw quivered, and she dabbed the handkerchief to her eyes as fresh tears forced their way out. “Now, I have to pay the price.” She inhaled a deep breath, and her jaw tightened, a new determination coming to her gaze. “But I don’t want him to suffer for it. I want him to be happy again. He deserves to be.” Her hand squeezed Charlaine’s. “I think he needs you to be happy. Promise me you will not run.”
Staring at Abigail, Charlaine could not bring herself to respond, to move, to think a clear thought. Her heart and mind were a mess, conjuring various memories, re-evaluating them, trying to find proof for what Abigail had said, trying to assess if there was hope. Could it be true? Did Nathanial not merely see her as a friend? Was there a part of him−a part that for a reason she could not fathom, he determinedly shoved aside−that cared for her as she cared for him?
Never had Charlaine been one to run and hide, and remembering how she had evaded Nathanial these last few days, how she had wallowed in misery, pitying herself, suddenly made her angry. She ought to have confronted him. She ought to have spoken her mind and demanded he do so as well.
For she always had, had she not?
Heaven help her, but she would do so again.