chelsie-anon said:
"Mrs. Hughes?" He found her standing in the darkness, staring out as the rain lashed against the library windows. He worried; she had been winding herself tighter and tighter over the past week or so, ever since that first visit from Sergeant Willis. Stepping up behind her, careful to keep his voice low and calm, "I'm on your side…" His hand hovered near her shoulder, almost afraid to touch her for fear she would shatter into a thousand pieces at his feet. What happens next?
"You're all set then?" he asked quietly, her back still to him. She nodded in the affirmative as she trailed a finger down the silk drapery to her side. He hesitated before speaking again. "I have your train ticket in my office."
"Thank you," she finally spoke, her voice weak, broken. She leaned back against him allowing his solid strength to steady her. Relieved at her need to feel his touch, he leaned in to meet her and snaked his hands around her waist. She rested her hands upon his. How cruel that they had reached something new in their relationship only to be interrupted by the very house that brought them together. "I will miss you very much," she whispered. He could hear the tears in her voice. In that moment, an angry streak of lightening pierced the darkness and illuminated the darkened room. He noticed her reflection in the glass. Her eyes were closed, cheeks wet with tears, and her lip white and numb with agony. She did not want to leave. She did not want to leave him. But she truly believed that there was no other way. He was not ready to go. Not yet. But she had to leave. Now.
"I'll write," he promised as he pressed his cheek into her hair. He felt the gentle pressure of her squeezing his hand in return.
"What did you say to Her Ladyship?" he asked.
She took in a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. "I told her that my sister had taken ill and that the family called asking me to come right away. That they needed me to help tend her and the house." She paused before adding with a wry laugh, "Another secret. Another lie. How ironic."
He tightened his grip on her waist, pressed a kiss into her hair. "They've….we've…asked too much of you. It's time you took care of yourself," he replied quietly, a little ashamed of himself for not offering her the comfort and care she needed.
"I'm not abandoning you."
"I know. When might you return?"
She sighed deeply and he wondered if he had pushed too far. He regretted asking. It was selfish of him, he knew, to be concerned with how he would get along without her. He had spent countless London seasons without her but he knew that she was home waiting. Waiting for him in one way or another. Now he would be the one waiting.
"Before the memorial dedication I should suspect."
How long they stood together watching the rain drops drip down the windows neither knew. Tomorrow he would walk with her to the train station. He would take her hand and help her onto the carriage. He would stand on the platform and watch as the train faded into the countryside. Then he would rattle about the house, marking the days on the calendar until her return.
As always, I do not own them.