Wild, Beautiful, and Free(61)

“I have a request,” he said after a while. “A promise, if you will.”

I looked at his profile. He stared straight ahead and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. His eyes had the look of someone seeking within and calculating.

“You must promise me never again to take such a risk.”

“Then you ask me not to live.” I sat up to face him more directly. “What is this life for if not to willingly give it up for those we love? Mr. Colchester, I have attended the deaths of two people I loved most in this world, and it was hard knowing I couldn’t do a thing to save them. To help Dorinda was a cherished privilege. There was something I could do, and I did it. I would never give up such a chance.”

The words emboldened me. I felt them deeply, and it struck me that in a moment when he could have asked anything of me, he wanted a thing I couldn’t supply.

“Dorinda risked greatly for me. She did not have to come here. I am happy, sir, to have inspired such love. I am blessed that I can show it in return.”

“Do you not find such love in Lower Knoll? Or Fortitude?”

“I am appreciated and respected. Of course, Jelly loves me. And Missus Livingston treats me as though I am a daughter.”

We were pulling into the drive now, and George approached quickly. I stood, but before he reached us, I turned to Mr. Colchester.

“You have always been a kind friend. Thank you, Mr. Colchester. I am glad you are still here. You are what makes Fortitude a home for me.”

I took George’s hand, stepped quickly from the carriage, and hurried into the house. Missus Livingston exclaimed at my arrival and proceeded to sit me down to get me fed and rested as soon as possible.

I was so grateful to have made it back to Fortitude that I went to bed refusing to think about the future. It was enough to be safe in my bed. Enough to know he was under the same roof. I would deal with the separation when it was before me and not torture myself by suffering it repeatedly in my mind until then.

But strangely, the time of separation did not come. A quiet fell over the mansion. I supposed it was because of Mr. Colchester’s impending departure, but I’d thought there would be some activity around preparing for his marriage. When nothing happened, I assumed all the preparations and the wedding itself were taking place at the Chamberlains’ home. However, that didn’t explain why no one prepared Fortitude for its new mistress. I wasn’t the only one curious about the circumstances. I overheard Missus Livingston asking Mr. Colchester when they should expect Miss Chamberlain, but he laughed and answered her only with, “My bride is indeed nearby.”

She took it as a joke. She scolded but could get nothing else out of him.

I began to speculate. Perhaps the fighting and Mr. Colchester’s impending departure had made them think better of marrying early. They had decided to wait. Or—and this was a fond hope—they had broken off the engagement. It was possible. I couldn’t read his face—the insurrection was forever before us. Colonel Eshton had gone, and Mr. Colchester was organizing a small band to follow. He seemed grim at times. But then he would still meet me with some measure of contentment. He still sat in the evenings with me and Missus Livingston. We spoke as before, only now he shared his thoughts and plans about the growing army. I admired his bravery. I feared for his life. One evening I returned from the schoolroom to find him in the library trying on his uniform with Missus Livingston suggesting alterations. The dark-navy wool set off his brilliant eyes. Chevron stripes marked his left sleeve. I was proud of him and had never loved him better.

June was nearly done. The summer settled over Lower Knoll and the neighborhood. Roses exploded with riotous blossoms and seductive scents. Wild strawberries grew in the wood near the ruins of my cottage, and the children gathered them in the late-afternoon sun. I ended classes earlier so they could enjoy these free moments before going home to chores. I felt they should be outside as much as possible, and I thought the same for myself.

One evening I ventured out to the back terrace of Fortitude. It had been a favorite gathering place when Mr. Colchester’s friends had been there, and I had not had the opportunity to visit it in recent weeks. The left side of it afforded a distant view of the river. At some point the moon would be visible, too, but it wasn’t late enough yet.

I paced awhile across the length of stone. A measure of contentment steadied me, and I was grateful for the solitude. But I heard voices, including Mr. Colchester’s. To avoid them, I moved down into the yard and sat on a bench at the edge of the wood. The seat was hidden by a small portico and shaded by large oak trees. None of the trees was as old or as grand as the oak Calista and I had once played in, and their branches, even with full leaves, seemed naked without Spanish moss draped over them. Still, it reminded me of home. I settled myself and enjoyed the gathering darkness and the growing scents of the garden’s roses, jasmine, and lavender.

Within a few minutes, though, I realized Mr. Colchester was coming across the lawn to my place. I became self-conscious. I felt I was out of bounds, enjoying the grounds in a way that only Fortitude’s owner and his guests had a right to do. I moved quickly to go back into the house, but he was soon at the bench.

“Where are you going?”

I performed a brief curtsy. “I don’t want to disturb you, sir. You must want your seat.”

“What?”

“You want to be alone.”