DURING THE ENTIRE journey home, Emma was haunted by Olivia’s cries coming through the door of the Taylor’s home, begging Emma not to leave her.
And yet she had.
Though she’d left Olivia in the care of family who loved her, Emma could not shake the unnerving sensation of abandonment.
Barbara Cartland’s latest romance lay in Emma’s lap, open to the same page she’d read dozens of times without ever processing a single word.
She wanted to be home. Alone.
But as she entered the tenement building, Tubby announced her entrance and the noisy chatter of voices in Mrs. Pickering’s flat abruptly ceased, followed by the announcement, “She’s here.”
Everything inside Emma flinched. Despite their well-meaning intentions, she desperately wanted to avoid the merry well-wishes so incongruous with the oppressive darkness of her mood. She wanted to curl into bed and wallow in that sorrow, embracing and nurturing the pain until it consumed her.
Mrs. Pickering opened the door with a bright smile. “Surprise!”
Behind her stood Margaret, Charles and Charles’s boss, Francis. Tubby darted from the flat and launched himself so high toward Emma he nearly touched her waist. She bent to hug the little dog, breathing in the familiar comfort of his silky fur as she gathered her wits.
These were her friends, who knew her better than most. Who loved her.
She could do this.
She straightened to face everyone, but the smile she attempted felt wobbly.
And perhaps it was indeed wobbly, for Mrs. Pickering’s happy expression wilted. “Oh dear.” She ushered Emma into the flat, and into a heartfelt embrace that carried the aroma of freshly baked bread and Tubby and that lovely rose fragrance she always wore.
Emma had never known a mother’s embrace but imagined it to be much like this—soft and all-encompassing and smelling like home. Tears prickled in Emma’s eyes and then she remembered the bag in her pocket, the small gift she’d brought from the farm. The perfect excuse to liberate herself from the comforting hug before it was her undoing. Emma withdrew from Mrs. Pickering and pulled the bag free.
Behind Mrs. Pickering, Charles winked at Emma, a welcome distraction that set her heart knocking just a bit harder in her chest.
“What is that?” Mrs. Pickering indicated the bag.
“The vegetable scraps from our Christmas meal in Chester,” Emma replied. “For Nameless.”
Mrs. Pickering huffed and put her fists on her hips. “And how did you know I’d still have him?”
“Because I know you.” She handed the bag to Mrs. Pickering, who immediately took it outside, cooing at the small rabbit about his impending feast before the door was even closed. Francis scooped up Tubby before he could go after the rabbit and held the dog in one massive arm, making him appear little more than a stuffed bear.
Margaret immediately took Mrs. Pickering’s place in front of Emma, a large glittering Christmas tree brooch on her green jumper. She put a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “You’re as beautiful as ever, sweet Emma, but you do look rather peaked. And who wouldn’t after such a long journey?” She turned to face Charles. “Will you be a dear and take Emma’s bag and help her upstairs to her flat?”
Francis nodded at Charles even as he was already stepping forward to claim Emma’s suitcase by the handle, hefting the significant weight in an easy grip. Emma gave Margaret a grateful smile before following Charles out into the stairwell.
He indicated for her to lead the way and followed behind, letting the silence relax between them.
“We told Mrs. Pickering a party might not be a good idea,” he said apologetically when they arrived in front of Emma’s door.
“I know how she is.” Trying to stand in Mrs. Pickering’s way when she’d set her mind to task was a nearly impossible feat. “She means well.”
“She was worried about you.” Charles set the suitcase down, concern in his gaze. “I’m also worried about you.”
A knot of emotion settled in the back of her throat, aching so badly she could barely speak. “I’m fine.”
She was not going to let herself dissolve into tears in front of Charles. Not when she hadn’t seen him in over a week. Not when everything in their blossoming relationship was going so well. Not when she was a grown woman who ought to have a firm control over her emotions.
“I know you were anxious about seeing your former in-laws.” His tone was as gentle as a caress. “I hope they treated you well.”
“My father-in-law was kind,” she said tightly.
“And your mother-in-law?” he asked in that careful, stroking tone.
Emma offered a helpless shrug. “I understand her more now.”
Charles looked down at the ground, quiet for a moment. When he looked back up, his mouth opened a couple of times, as if trying to grasp the exact words he wanted to say.
“I know that leaving Olivia was hard,” he said finally. “Your love for her is obvious and saying goodbye when you don’t know the next time you’ll see someone you love again...” His brow twitched. “It’s one of the hardest things to do.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “When I’m with you, I don’t just want your smiles and your good humor. I want all of you, the real Emma. The one who sometimes has bad days, who might not always feel like smiling. I’m here for everything you are. And if you would like me to leave you be, you have only to say the word. But if you need me, if you’re hurting, know that I’m here.” His hands spread out, palms up, as if he were physically giving himself over to her.
The tears she’d been ferociously restraining since she forced herself to turn her back on Olivia now stung her eyes, hot and determined.
“I abandoned her, Charles,” she choked out. “She begged me not to leave, and I left her.”
He opened his arms and she fell against him the way she’d done after Coventry. And once more, she basked in his solid embrace, in the warmth and comfort he offered.
Emma had spent most of Olivia’s life standing on her own, being her own rock. Always strong. Never breaking.
She couldn’t afford to.
Not when it was always just her.
But in this moment, she had support and strength. And she was finally no longer alone.