Honor was relieved Josh didn’t seem to be upset by his apparent loss in stature. Rather; he seemed to enjoy the sight of his little boy, asleep in her arms. She returned his smile.
As they were preparing to leave, James wrote down Sarah Jacobs’s phone number and handed it to Honor. “Sarah is the attorney most of us Js use to handle our contract issues. She really knows her stuff. I hope she can help you.”
Honor accepted the recommendation gratefully and climbed into Josh’s truck.
Soon they were back at the hotel, but this time, Honor wasn’t ready to say goodnight. “Why don’t you and Cody spend the night in my suite?” she suggested tentatively. “As a matter of fact, I would love it if you guys stayed with me until I return to Chicago. I mean, the suite is huge and you could save money…”
“Honor, you don’t have to convince me. I’d love the chance to spend more time with you. But I will insist on sharing the hotel expenses.”
“How macho of you,” Honor teased.
They picked up a few things from Josh’s room, opting to finish their move to her suite in the morning. Again, they tucked Cody into the bed in the small parlor that adjoined Honor’s bedroom and quietly closed the door.
They talked for a long time that night, letting the conversation drift easily between topics ranging from the spirits haunting the hotel to family stories and Honor’s options regarding her company… anything that came to mind.
Honor’s last thought before falling asleep with Josh that night was that although they had been too busy talking, and then too tired to make love, she felt closer to him than ever before.
***
Honor was no longer surprised by the fog. She hoped to find Margaret waiting for her at her parlor table, ready to explain the meaning of her recent encounters. Instead, she found herself back with Darcy and Rory.
It was just before dawn when the couple sneaked into the Tampa Hotel through the servant’s entrance and quietly ascended the shabby wooden stairs closest to her room.
Rory checked to make sure the coast was clear, and then turned to Darcy. “More than anything, I want to pull you back into my arms, but I know you belong to the world that exists on the other side of this door and I must let you go.” With a heavy heart, he ushered Darcy into the guest corridor and quickly closed the service door behind her.
Darcy stared at the little door, wondering if Rory was still on the other side, just out of reach. Finally, she turned away, knowing he was right.
Honor could feel Darcy’s racing heart as she fumbled with her room key. She opened the door to her suite, praying Reginald hadn’t returned earlier than expected. She stepped inside, listening carefully for his breathing. There was only silence. Sighing with relief, Darcy turned on the light and ran a bath. She removed a large hat from its box and carefully folded her clothes, still ripe with the scent of their love-making, into the folds of tissue paper. She closed the lid, tied the silk bow and returned the box to the shelf of her closet.
Honor recognized the box instantly. It was the one she discovered in her mother’s closet, still filled with Darcy’s clothing.
Darcy interrupted Honor’s thoughts to explain. “This is the only proof I will ever have that for one night of my life, I was loved as a woman should be loved.”
Honor’s heart broke for Darcy as the familiar fog descended, pulling her away from this scene and into another. They were still in Darcy’s hotel room, but now it was mid-morning.
Honor heard a loud commotion in the hallway and then Reginald banged through the door, coughing uncontrollably. He didn’t notice Darcy was still in bed.
She rose quickly to help her husband unload his fishing gear and valise, while listening to him recount the adventures of his trip.
“Damned fine fishing, but sleeping on the boat in the damp air got to me. Feel my head and tell me if I have a fever. And you best lay out my bedclothes.”
When Darcy put her hand to Reginald’s forehead, he finally noticed that she was still wearing her own bedclothes. He knit his eyebrows together, surprised.
“You were awake, weren’t you?” Without waiting for her to respond, he continued, “Getting a bit lazy while I was away? Never mind. Just get dressed and get me a hot toddy. Did I tell you I caught a monster of a fish the first day out? We feasted like kings! It’s getting harder to keep up with the young bucks, though.”
When Reginald changed into his nightshirt, Darcy couldn’t help comparing his physique to Rory’s. Consumed with guilt, she shifted her gaze to the floor.
Reginald experienced another coughing fit and when it finally ended, he moaned, “I want to sleep a while, so I need you to keep the hotel staff at bay. Come on, Darcy. Move along and get me something to soothe my throat. Can’t you see I’m in pain, woman?”
It was obvious to Darcy that her husband had already been drinking something much stronger than a hot toddy today. She assumed he had been using whiskey to soothe his throat and was certain he would be asleep long before she returned with a warm drink from the kitchen. Nonetheless, she dressed and went to fetch it for him.
“Just as well,” she whispered to Honor. “Sitting quietly at his bedside will give me some much-needed time to think.”
Memories of the next few weeks passed by in seconds. Honor was aware Reginald continued to suffer with a severe cold and that Darcy stayed indoors, caring for him. She left Reginald’s side only long enough to bring him soup and whiskey-laden tonics to help him sleep.
While sitting in a chair by his bed, pretending to read her book, Darcy daydreamed about Rory. She replayed their illicit evening together over and over in her mind, wanting to remember every detail, despite the fact that she was literally sick to her stomach with guilt for having been untrue to her marriage vows.
Sometimes she pretended that she and Rory were happily married, but her fantasies were usually interrupted by Reginald’s coughing and swearing, and his demands for her attention. Each time Darcy was jarred back to reality, her heart ached anew.
Unfortunately, as Reginald’s health began to improve, Darcy’s own well-being seemed to take a turn for the worse. Soon it was she who was in bed, sick.
Reginald, afraid of becoming re-infected, stayed out of their room and away from Darcy as much as possible. He spent his days hunting and fishing, and whiled away his evenings sipping whiskey, smoking cigars and playing cards with the other gentlemen guests of the hotel.
When Reginald returned to their room each night, the smell of whiskey and tobacco would sour Darcy’s stomach, but she faithfully helped him to bed, secretly happy that he was afraid to get too close to her.
By Thanksgiving, Darcy was over her cold, but since she’d had no appetite for weeks, her eyes had grown dull and her face gaunt. Honor sat on the side of her bed, sensing her overwhelming sadness. Watching her spiral deeper into depression was unbearable. Finally Honor didn’t care if talking would result in leaving this awful memory. She leaned close and whispered, “Darcy, don’t give up hope. Reginald is so much older than you; it is certain you will be a widow one day. Then you can leave New York with Rory and start over somewhere far away from there.”
Darcy was so deeply immersed in misery that not even Honor’s words seemed to faze her. She cried, “I’ll never have that opportunity. My days are severely numbered, even as we speak. My sinful deeds will soon be known to all.”
With tears in her hollow green eyes, she stared right through Honor. “I am carrying Rory’s child in my belly.”
Honor was shocked at the revelation. She didn’t have any words to offer that would help Darcy…not in the Victorian society in which she lived. Suddenly, Honor remembered that Margaret Plant said she helped Darcy on her darkest day. Could the dark day in question be the one when Darcy’s pregnancy became known?
Honor wondered if she should risk speaking again, but before she could decide, she was distracted by a bell tolling in the background. The sound seemed to be growing steadily louder. Honor was engulfed in fog and woke in her own bed.