Chapter Twenty-Three

 

The last guest staggered out the front door, a man Andrew knew only as an acquaintance but well enough to enjoy his company on most occasions.

“I say, Old Boy,” the man mumbled as he squinted back at Andrew, “you sure know how to host a party. I cannot remember the last time I had enjoyed myself so much. If only there existed some sort of magic potion to relieve me of this blasted ache in my head. I believe I will abstain from further consumption of alcohol…at least until the next party.”

Andrew gave him an obligatory laugh. “Have a nice day, Filmore, and thank you for coming,” he said in reply as the man made three attempts to mount his horse. Why he had not chosen to arrive by carriage, Andrew did not know, but in all reality, the man could have walked for all he cared.

The previous evening had proven to not be one of those occasions Andrew had enjoyed with the man, but not due to anything the man himself had done. No, last night’s lack of enjoyment had been of his own doing.

Andrew rubbed at his temples in an attempt to ease the pain in his head. The ache was caused, in part, by the amount of alcohol Andrew had consumed during the party, but only a minuscule part. The majority of his aching head was a direct result of the strain that plagued him at the moment.

As he walked into his study, he was drawn to the window, which overlooked the front of the house. Although it was late morning, the sky was a dark gray, thick with heavy clouds that threatened rain. A fire blazed in the grate behind him, its warmth heating his body but not his heart.

His mind replayed the events from the previous night. What he had hoped was that the party would bring great joy to Lucy; however, as he watched her throughout the night, he soon realized that, in fact, it had the exact opposite effect. Her smile, though wide enough to fool most who did not know her well, had not been genuine, for he knew her smile as well as he knew the back of his hand.

Perhaps he had gone too far too soon by inviting people she should have had some recollection of meeting and not more of those whom she knew before their courtship and then subsequent marriage. Or was the issue that there simply had been too many people at one time? If he had invited only a few close friends, would that have been less straining for her?

Whatever it might have been, his words to her in this very room were cruel. They were spoken by a man who spent day and night concerned for the woman he loved. Since the night she awoke screaming from her nightmare, he had not had a full-night’s sleep, waking every few hours to return to her room to assure himself that she was sleeping peacefully, or spending hours sitting and watching her from the chair next to her bed, praying her dreams were peaceful. Other times, he would simply check on her only to return and repeat the process an hour later.

How he wished he could retract the words from the air that he had spoken the previous night. They were cruel and not from his heart. He loved her, and she in no way had caused him disappointment. In fact, he was quite proud of her progress and how much she had changed since she had awoken—changed as she had done before. The defiant woman was gone once again, and the kind woman she had grown to be had returned.

Andrew turned as one of the maids, Betsy by name, entered with a tea tray and set it on a table. She dropped a quick curtsy and left the room without a word. He walked to the tray and poured a cup of tea and carried it to the window. The sky had darkened even more, leaving the hedges to seem barer than ever. There seemed to be no light nor life around him, and he felt his mood deepen. Would it continue this way?

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he took a sip of his tea as his mind returned to what he had seen the previous night. Three women had slipped out a far door, and as he had watched, he stifled a laugh. It reminded him so of a night nearly two years prior, and wishing to continue his recreation of previous events, he later sought Lucy out. When he saw her beside the fireplace, he felt such attraction to her, even more than he had that night so long ago.

However, this time when he kissed her, rather than bringing about feigned admonishment as she had before, her anger had been all too real. He was unsure what had caused him to lose his temper. Perhaps it was the rejection he had felt, or the constant inquiries by his mother and other guests—most of them friends of his mother—as to where she had disappeared. Whatever it was, it did not matter now, for he would speak with her, explain that his intentions were only to help her with her memories. He would apologize for the way in which had spoken to her. Not all he had said had been a lie; he did wish her to be happy, and he wanted nothing more than to have her fall in love with him once again—in her own time. Berating her would not help the process of returning her memories, but would rather slow it down, and that was the last thing he wanted for her.

The door opened and Lucy entered, closing the door softly behind her.

“Good morning,” Andrew said. “Would you like a cup of tea?” He walked to the tea tray with every intention of pouring for her.

“Good morning,” she replied stiffly, “and no, thank you. However, may I speak with you?”

Andrew nodded as relief washed over him. At least she was willing to talk, which would lead, hopefully, to an open door of communication between the two of them. If he had the chance to explain what he had said and done and why, then they could resume the building of their relationship, and he could prove to her he would be there with her at all times, just as he had promised

“Please, sit,” Andrew said, offering her a place on the sofa.

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I would prefer to stand.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “With your permission, I would like to travel to my parents’ house for a visit.” She wrung her hands in front of her as she spoke. “I believe it would be best for me to see my sister and have some time away…alone.” Her voice trembled and her eyes filled with tears, although they did not fall.

“I see,” Andrew replied. This was not about visiting family; it was about getting away from him. Although the thought of her being away from him broke his heart, he did not wish to stop her from doing what she thought was best. “Do you know how long you plan to…visit?” he asked, his own voice choked.

She shook her head, and a lone tear rolled down her cheek. “In truth, I am not certain for how long,” she said simply.

Andrew brought the teacup to his lips, not because he was thirsty, but because he wished to hide the pain coursing its way through his soul. She might be gone a week or a month or even longer, and fear ran through him as he wondered if she might consider never returning.

“Very well,” he said finally. “I will inform anyone who asks that you are visiting your sister, who is having a difficult pregnancy.”

Tears now flowed down her face and Andrew walked around the chair and handed her a handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes. “Hannah will pack the last of our things,” she said with a small sniff. “I will write to you.”

Andrew nodded and walked her to the door. “Lucy?” he said as she started across the foyer to the staircase.

She stopped and turned, and his mind flashed with memories of their life from the first day he had met her to the day of their wedding, and just as when she had fallen down the cliff before, he had failed to keep her from pain.

“Yes?”

“I am sorry about last night.”

“I am, as well,” she replied. “Take care, Andrew.” Then she turned and walked away.

Andrew closed the door to the study, walked over to his desk and lowered himself into the chair. The realization that he was once again losing his wife was almost too much to bear.