Chapter 14

"Searching for something?"

I tore my gaze from the countryside out the carriage window and smiled a little self-consciously at my carriage companion. "Only thinking, Herr Richter." My German was not anywhere near as good as my French or English, so we had settled on English for conversation earlier in the ride.

"A penny for them, mademoiselle." His accent was thick, but his English was perfect.

"They aren't worth even one, to be sure."

"Oh, I find that hard to believe. You're reading Leviathan."

I looked down at the book lying absently open in my lab: Hobbes' new articulation of political science. Even the controversial brilliance of it had not been able to hold my interest.

"Or rather you were, until some thought took your fancy so strongly."

"Yes," I replied rather vaguely. I knew the man was only trying to make polite conversation with the person he found himself traveling with, but I was not in the mood for much of anything social or cheery.

I had not seen Adam since the night my cousin had beat him bloody, and I didn't know if he was alright, or if I would ever see him again. I didn't know if he would even be able to find me should he wish to.

I ached.

"I am thinking only of the place I've left," I said gently. "It is hard to say goodbyes sometimes, no?"

He nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes. Yes, it is."

…

My father's townhouse in London was much, much smaller and narrower than Frankenstein Manor, as housing prices in the city were absurdly high, but that kept it from feeling as lonely as big manors often felt. My arrival back home was earlier than expected, and caused my father's household of five to scramble somewhat.

I was happy to see my own dear household again—Madame Ida, my father's housekeeper; Roy, the butler and valet; Charlotte, Madame's daughter and one of our two housemaids; middle-aged Émilie, our other housemaid; and Monsieur Beaumont, in charge of the kitchen.

Madame Ida was warm but firm, a large, welcoming woman of the temperament that my father said was "good for the health." She was as close as I had to a mother, and she clucked over me when I came in the door.

"Why are you so early, dear? Some trouble?" she asked. Émilie, Charlotte, and Roy busied themselves with bringing in my things.

"My cousin Victor was in very poor health. After everything that happened in the family, the doctors think his mind is a little unstable." I grimaced. "I thought it would be best to leave the family to care for him."

"Lord," Ida murmured sympathetically. "That's hard. I'm so sorry, dear." She took some bags from Roy. "Now, come upstairs—you're tired from traveling." I followed her up the stairs while she continued talking. "We put dust covers on your things, I only received word from you coming back early just yesterday—the post you sent from Strasbourg. You sent it at the very beginning—but it only got in just slightly ahead of you. I've been doing my best to get ready. I sent Beaumont out for more food for the kitchen. How was the crossing over?"

"Perfectly fine. Rainy, of course. I'll miss Geneva's weather." It was drizzling as we spoke.

Ida waved an arm at the ceiling. "'Course you will! Who wouldn't? Damned English grey. Grey and grey and grey." She grunted as she put my bags on the floor beside my bed. The bed looked freshly made, but the floor not freshly swept. Ida was eyeing it as well. "I'll bring Charlotte up," she said.

Roy bustled in with more bags. "Miss me too much, eh, miss? Had to hurry home?" He grinned.

"Roy, I just could not do without you."

He laughed heartily as he left the room. Ida sent a look after him, and I could not help but smile.

"We'll talk later, now, dear," Ida told me. "Once all your things are up, you get some rest. We'll all let you alone until supper."

"Thank you, Ida," I sighed, grateful.

…

My friends and acquaintances barely allowed me to settle in one night before they began calling on me.

Sophia's baby was an absurdly chubby little thing, but in full, rosy health. She herself still looked two terms pregnant and was too exhausted to even share the choicest gossip, which was mildly shocking. Oliver was in the very end of his series of masters of law tests and too busy to call, but he promised to do so as soon as possible.

Eleanor brought over new books and store-bought baked goods and wanted to know all about Geneva in the summer. She was a bit disappointed that I had not seen much of the city, but the little shopping and sightseeing I had done satisfied her, as she knew I had gone to commiserate with my family. We traded books and she filled me in on everything I had missed in town.

My father wrote to tell me he was in Marseille at present, but would arrive the week I had actually been expected to return.

The new semester did not begin for another few weeks, but I found I was not without things to do. I tucked away the clothes I had bought for Adam in still-wrapped packages in my closet, returned the visits my friends had paid me, and wrote to my father and my uncle that I had arrived safely. Eleanor lived in an all-women finishing school dormitory alone in her own room, and enjoyed any excuse to leave it, so she and I bought books, attended local lectures, and spent time shopping for the newest fashions so we would make the desired statement in our new classes.

Six days after arriving back home, I noticed one morning a bit of rolled paper wedged between my tall, ornate bedroom window and its sill. My heart took off and began to hammer even before I had wrenched up the window and grabbed it. As a drizzly breeze wafted into my room, I sat on my bed, unrolling the paper.

Just as it had the very first night I had received a note from him, it read in handsome script, Tonight.

I pressed the paper to my chest, fighting tears.

Adam was alright. He would come see me tonight. I would see him tonight. Touch him, comfort him, kiss him. Fall asleep in his arms. I pressed the script to my cheek, then gently put the paper into the coals of my bedroom fireplace.

I wished he had just appeared in my bed next to me instead of leaving a note for tonight—the anticipation and yearning made the day crawl by. I asked Roy to take me to see the summer fair just for something to entertain me, and I watched the madness and festivities from my carriage. Still, evening could not fall fast enough. I forced myself to eat my dinner slowly like a lady and not a wolf.

Directly after dinner, I asked for a tray of tea, cakes, and sweets to be brought to my room so I might save them for Adam. I nestled down into bed to wait with a romance novel Eleanor had gifted to me. Despite myself, I actually fell under the spell of it, and was engrossed in the story when my bedroom window suddenly jerked upwards. I jumped.

The window rose further, large hands shoving it to its furthest extent.

I watched, my heart fluttering and then pounding almost noisily on the ceiling of my breastbone. Adam squeezed his way through the tall window, and then turned and pulled it back down. The frame made noise of protest, so he wiggled it faintly and then pulled more gently. When it was down, he made straight for the rolled towel on the upholstered bench at the end of my bed and began to rub his hair with it.

"You're wet," I said softly. Then I internally kicked myself. 'You're wet'?! That's what I say to this man after an entire month of fear and aching and no word? I sat up with a jerk. "Adam," I whispered. "Adam—Adam darling—are you alright?! God, are you alright?!" I threw my legs out of bed and almost ripped my nightgown running across the room to him.

He caught me in his arms as I had hoped he would, the towel cast carelessly aside. His black wool was covered in a fine wet drizzle, though he had somewhat managed to dry his hair. I buried my face in his neck. He smelled of wood and sweat, but no longer of pine. He smelled of city smoke now. I missed that other part of his smell. It made me feel like crying. That, and everything else, and suddenly I was half-sobbing in his arms.

"Shh, love, shhh. You'll wake the house. I'm fine. I'm fine, sweet girl." The French was so lovely to hear again. His voice was so beautiful to hear again. Smooth and deep as the falling of night. I clutched myself to him as tightly as I could and held in my sobs, though I made a soft whimper.

"Adam, I've been so worried," I managed. "Why didn't you come to see me? Or write me? I thought you could have died! What Ernest did… God, I died worrying! Do you not want to see me anymore now?"

He had gathered me up onto his arms easily and was carrying me to the bed. "How can you think so?" he murmured. "How could you think I wouldn't want to see you again? If anything, it should be you not wanting to see me. After everything you went through because of me and the way I spoke to you—"

"I don't care—I don't care," I hushed him. "I only care about you. Are you still hurt?" I pulled back some to investigate his face. Some bruising was still a faint yellowish green, but he looked well.

"I waited until I was better."

I put his face in my hands. "You didn't let me comfort you! For what my family did!"

He turned his head to kiss one of my palms gently. "I needed this time, Chandelle. These were wounds I wanted to lick alone, if you'll forgive me."

I clutched myself tight to him. "But to not send even a note…"

"I thought you knew I would be alright. It was too complicated, with you traveling and all those cities. And…I wasn't sure if I would be welcome again."

"What do you mean? You thought I might not want to see you?"

"I thought that was a distinct possibility."

"Well then you're a fool."

"I have never argued otherwise."

I stared at him gazing at me, his mouth slightly grim. His handsome nose, his dark hair. His quick, tender, heartbreaking eyes. "Adam," I murmured in perfect seriousness, "I'm in love with you."

He was silent. He did not take his eyes from mine. Then he looked away, tears welling. To my confusion, his mouth only grew grimmer and slowly he shook his head.

"You can't mean that and you mustn't say things like that that you don't mean to me. It's unkind." His voice was very low. "It's difficult enough to kiss you, to share your bed… It makes me forget."

"I have already entirely forgotten."

"Chandelle, please, we must think—"

"About marriage? About children? About how you cannot give me either of them?"

His throat worked as he swallowed, agony in his eyes. "Yes."

"How insulting that you think I have thought nothing about it. Adam, I assure you, I have given it a great deal of thought. I have thought about every aspect of you, everything I've seen and heard and felt and everything I might have and go without to be with you. And I am here telling you I am in love with you. I don't understand the how or why. But that is the truth. I don't say it to be unkind, I don't say it like a schoolgirl of her first beau, and I don't say it without full understanding of what it is I am saying. I am in love with you. Do you need it in Italian? Te amo. Or backwards? You love I. I love you and only you, and I don't see it changing, and I demand that you accept all this that is inside of me, or I may very well explode…"

He was kissing me then, his tears wetting my face all over. I sucked in a gasp and molded myself to him, his warm mouth on mine the most perfect bliss.

"Unless…" I managed breathlessly, "unless you don't love me."

"You're a fool."

"Please, Adam…"

He moved his wide hands to my shoulders and moved me back away from him so he could gaze at me. "Hear it, then. It seems insufficient to me to confine what I feel for you into those inadequate words, but you must know…surely you must know that I love you as well. With all the arbor of my soul, with all the strength in my body and thoughts in my mind, I love you. I am devoted to you. I am yours, always. And your love in return is… There are no words to express how overwhelmingly incredible that is to me. I never imagined myself deserving such a thing. It is more than I could ever have asked for."

Tears were streaming down my face. I felt such a deep tenderness down in my chest, like I had become larger or brighter or something more than myself. I loved him so much I felt faint with it. So much that I wanted to sob and sob and never stop. I wanted to kiss the floor. Kiss the sky. Kiss God Himself.

His arms wrapped around me again and his mouth met mine, and if I had died I would not have noticed.

….

….

Author's Note to Readers:

The remaining chapters of this story are designed as a long series of epilogue chapters; snapshots of the future stretching from only a few days later to three years later.

Thank you & enjoy.

L&P

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