Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

It had been nearly two weeks since Lucy had returned to Chudleigh Hill, and Andrew was pleased she was once again where she belonged. They dined together each night, and he felt proud for the effort she made toward building their relationship. The strain of her memory loss still plagued her, he was certain, for he could see it on her face when she thought he was not looking, but she kept her promise and lived her life as a wife should in almost all aspects, save one.

She had asked him on more than one occasion to join her in her bed, but he had refused, explaining that, until she was ready, he would keep their sleeping arrangements as they were. Each time he said this, she would relax visibly, which told him that he was making the right choice. He knew the day would come when they could once again share in their marriage bed, not as a duty, but rather in love, and he knew he could wait so they both could enjoy the intimacy they would share.

Snow fell outside the window, and he gazed at the white flakes that performed their dance to a silent melody.

So engrossed in the performance, he had not heard the door open behind him and he almost jumped when Lucy said, “You asked for me?”

He willed his heart to settle as he turned to see his wife standing in the doorway, a heavy cloak on her shoulders and a bright red scarf around her neck. Her feet were covered with heavy leather boots.

“I did,” he replied with a smile. “Tomorrow, if the weather is permissible, we are going to the theater. I wished only to remind you.”

“Yes, I do remember,” she replied as she pulled a glove over her hand. “I am looking forward to it.”

He took her hands in his. “Are you going outside?” he asked with astonishment. “It is cold and snowing.”

She laughed, that sweet innocent laugh that made his love for her grow even more. “I am quite aware of that,” she said as she reached up on the tip of her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I think a stroll and some fresh air will do me good.”

He almost offered to accompany her, but something inside told him to allow her to go alone. Everyone needed a moment alone, and if she wished to stroll in the gardens in the snow, then she had every right. Plus, she would have requested his company if she had wished it.

“Well, enjoy your walk,” Andrew said as he planted a kiss on her forehead. “I would join you, but I am afraid the eagerness of business is much too enticing to ignore.”

Her smile widened and she turned and walked toward the door. Andrew leaned against the desk and watched her walk away, his thoughts on their trip to the theater the following day. It promised to be a grand event and to be seen out in public as a happily married couple was just what they needed. Though his work was nearly complete, in truth, since she had returned he had been quite busy.

His mind drifted to the various meetings in the following week; merchants, shop owners, and a cousin who wished to speak to him about a shop in London. He was glad he would he had adjusted his schedule to accommodate his wife, for she was of the utmost importance in his life. She did not make demands of his time, but she did not ignore him as she once had. They still were healing, but progress was being made.

The door opened and Mason stepped inside. “Your Grace, you have a visitor, a Lady Alice Blackmoore.”

“A visitor?” Andrew mused. “I was not expecting anyone.” He rubbed his chin, trying to remember the name, but it did not come to mind. “See her in, then, please.”

Mason returned moments later with a woman wrapped in several scarves and covered in a heavy cloak. In her hands she held a large package.

“Your Grace,” the woman said with a curtsy. A lock of bright red hair peeked out from under her hat, but her smile was wide and friendly.

“I am sorry,” Andrew said, completely baffled by the appearance of this woman. “Do I know you?”

The woman shook her head. “No, you do not know me, but I have met your wife. My name is Lady Alice Blackmoore, and your wife was in my millinery in St. Mawes several months ago. She ordered a hat but did not come to retrieve it. I heard of her accident and have kept it all this time until I returned to Exeter for the winter. I was unsure if she would still want it…”

“No, this is perfectly fine. Yes, I remember now. Before our walk, she had gone into your shop.”

“Yes, and I have here the hat she ordered. I heard that she has recovered from her fall, is this true?”

“She has,” Andrew replied. “Thank you for asking after her. She is not in at the moment, but if you allow me to give you payment, I will collect the hat and give it to her.”

Lady Blackmoore handed him the box with a shake to her head. “No, after all she has been through, there is no payment necessary. I am just pleased she has recovered. Inside I have included a letter with my Exeter address. When she is able, I would love to receive a letter, or perhaps she can come for tea.”

“Thank you for taking the time to bring this by personally,” Andrew said. “I will be sure to give this to her straight away.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” Lady Blackmoore replied with another low curtsy before she turned and walked out the door.

Andrew immediately called for Mason to bring him his coat and hat, and once he was ready, he headed into the gardens to find Lucy, the box under his arm.

***

Snow swirled around Lucy’s boots as she gazed out over the valley before her. Once a lush green, it was now covered in a white sheet of snow. Though she had been sad as of late, a sense of joy and hope now filled her. For moments ago, as she walked through the garden, she passed by a row of hedges and stopped where a rose bush now stood bereft of any flowers. That one single memory of the time she and Andrew had spent together continued to play in her head, and she clung to it as if clinging to a lifeline. The memory of Andrew saying to her that, one day, spring would arrive, bringing with it new life and love for them.

For the first time since her waking, Lucy felt alive and hopeful for a better tomorrow. No more would she worry and agonize over how she did not love the man to whom she was married but instead would concentrate on just enjoying being with him. For she enjoyed his smile, his laugh, his kind hand that would reach out and hold her lest she stumble. The man who had cried out as he moved forward to save her on that fateful day upon the cliff in St. Mawes, only to hear his agony as her body hit the rocks below. The man who slept in a chair for months on end simply to be by her side, even when she did not recall their love.

The sound of footsteps crunching through the frozen snow made her turn, and she smiled as she watched Andrew trudge up the hill, the snow blowing around him, a box in his hands. When he reached her side, he stopped and smiled down at her.

“This arrived for you,” he said with a nod toward the box he held.

She laughed. “You came out in the snow to deliver it to me directly?” she asked in an amused tone. This was another item she could add to the list of wonderful actions this man had done for her despite her despicable behavior.

He held the box for her as she opened it, no clue as to the sender. Had he possibly ordered something for her? Or had it been her mother or Charlotte? Whomever it was, it did not matter, for there were more important things to consider. Such as the joy she felt knowing the hill he had just climbed was a true representation of the struggles they had gone through, and continued to go through.

She paused in her task and looked up at the man before her. “Andrew,” she said in a quiet voice, “I want you to know that I care deeply for you. I remember you once saying that the bright days would come one day, and I truly believe what you said to be true.” Hot tears stung her eyes and froze on her lashes.

He shifted the box into one hand and brushed a tear from her cheek. “I know, my love, and when that day comes, I will be here waiting for you by your side.”

“You are a good man, Andrew Balfour. A very good man.” She smiled and flicked a bit of snow from his hair only to watch more flitter onto it once again, making her laugh.

“And you are a great woman, Lucy Balfour,” he said in reply, and they stood staring into one another’s eyes.

Lucy could feel a surge of heat rush through her, as if a heated stone had been placed at the foot of her bed, and she knew her cheeks had to be crimson from more than the cold.

“Well? Shall you open your package?” Andrew asked, and Lucy glanced down, having forgotten the object of his attendance.

“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Do you know from where it came?”

“It is from Cornwall, an order you placed before…” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Well, you know. I can return it to the house if you would like. I am not quite sure why I brought it all the way out here.”

“No, please, I wish to open it here. I never receive packages.”

He laughed. “We will need to fix that problem,” he said, a glint of mischief in his eye.

She finally untied the string that was wrapped around the box and busied herself with removing the lid. She felt like a child at Christmas as she opened her gift, apparently one she had given herself. Once again that pang of regret at not remembering caused a twinge in her stomach, but she pushed it aside. She had better things on which to focus.

Inside she found a letter signed by an ‘Alice Blackmoore, Rhos Milliners’, which she removed and slipped into her pocket to read later, the anticipation too much to wait any longer. She moved aside a large sheet of paper and pulled out an exquisite hat. Though she did not recall the person who was the author of the letter, there was something about the hat that pecked at the recesses of her mind, much like a woodpecker picking at the bark of a tree.

Andrew laughed. “Red, yellow, and blue,” he said amusedly. “Those are your favorite colors. Whether it be hats, dresses or embroidery, you always tend toward those hues. Why is this? Why do you prefer those colors over others?”

“I do not know,” she whispered.

The world around her, already quiet in the falling snow, now went silent. Lucy removed her glove and traced a finger along the fabric, resuming the pecking at her memory. Red, yellow, and blue. Why had she chosen these particular colors? They had not been among her choices before.

“Well,” Andrew said, giving a shudder, “I will leave you to your musings. I, myself, am quite cold. Would you like me to bring the hat with me?”

She shook her head, her mind still focused on the issue of color choices. Andrew leaned down to pick up the now empty box and its wrappings, but Lucy barely noticed.

When he turned to leave, however, the tears increased. “Blue…the color of the ocean…and his eyes,” she whispered.

Then, as if a dam had broken, images were being thrown at her in great quantities. Andrew laughing and Lucy walking into a shop where a woman with bright red hair and emerald green eyes greeted her. They had spoken for a length of time and Lucy had ordered her hat with a promise she would return by the end of that week to retrieve the completed project. Now, nearly six months later, Lucy knew what those colors meant.

“Andrew!” she called out after the man she loved with all her heart and soul. He stopped partway down the hill and turned to gaze up at her before rushing back to her side. “Oh, Andrew!” She was sobbing now, the tears making him appear blurred.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice filled with concern and anguish.

“The blue…it is for your eyes; that is why I chose it,” she said, her words now tumbling from her lips. Then she touched the yellow ribbon. “The yellow represents the sun, the brightness you brought into my life. And the red represents the dawn, the promise of a new day and a new life.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and gazed up at him, unable to believe she could have ever forgotten him. The clouds parted above them and the winter sun broke through, casting its light not only on the valley below them, but on the two of them, as well.

He took the hat from her, placed it in the box and set the box on the ground. Then he pulled her into his arms and allowed her to sob into his coat.

Memories bombarded her mind, memories of their courting, their laughs, their struggles. Their engagement party and all the people who had attended, the same people who had attended the party at Chudleigh hill. Their wedding and the sharing of vows she knew were deep inside her soul, even when she could not remember them. And finally, their honeymoon in St. Mawes, the lovely walk on the beach and the visit to the millinery. But most importantly, the love she had for the man who held her.

The embrace ended, and Lucy gazed up at her husband, his blue eyes misted as they lay transfixed on her. “You remember?” he asked hesitantly. “You remember everything?” The look of hope he wore was so endearing, Lucy found it difficult to speak. After all this time, he held onto hope still.

Lucy nodded and a new feeling washed over her as the sun warmed her. It was the feeling one had for her husband, a man who would never give up. One who slept alone in a chair at night while his wife slept in the bed. A man who would stop at nothing to see her happy. Yes, all of it she now knew and understood.

And though she already recognized the final, and most important, emotion, she realized it had always been there, only she could not recognize it for what it was. “I remember that I loved you,” she said, her eyes still fixed onto his, “and I still do.”

Andrew leaned in and pressed his lips to hers and Lucy’s heart soared. This kiss was unlike any other, for this one was met with love. For how long the two stood in that spot with snow swirling around them, she did not know. However, the heat radiated between them both, brought about by the love they shared, which had finally broken through the darkest of days. It was a love that kept two people warm as if they were embracing before a fire, and Lucy would, of course, always remember and hold it close to her heart.